Break the Silence ... Throw the Lifeline

There are a few new mental health initiatives going around right now – 

The Semi Colon Project,  Always Keep Fighting,  Medicated and Mighty, and a whole slew of others.  I think that’s great – fantastic in fact.  I support every chance in getting the word out there in spreading awareness in understanding mental health and getting help for yourself.

I applaud every opportunity to make sure we are supporting each other.

But as a community, are we doing enough?  I don’t think we are.  I think we have more to do on a one-to-one basis. When we say “hugs, I’m there for you…” are we really?

Case in point… There was one of our own on Facebook who had come to the end of her rope.  She reached out and said that she was done.  She was drowning in all that was going on.  She was emotionally, physically, mentally exhausted. That she wanted to give up, but she knew that she didn’t have any options.  It was hard for her to ask for help, but that she desperately needed help.

After the end of the many comments of “hugs”, “you are not alone”, and “we love you’s”

The silence was deafening.

A week has gone by…..   not one single person has checked up on her.

No emails.  No messages to see if she is doing ok.  No silly memes sent to make her laugh. No texts to see if she needs help.  No phone calls to make sure she’s gotten out of bed. No family, no friends.

Is this how we have personally helped someone in our tight little community?

I know she understands that people have lives and things going on. I know that she gets that others struggle just as much as she does, and that she cares.  I know that she has loved on people during the time she was hurting, because they were hurting too.  I know she realizes that not everyone fully gets that she was at her rock bottom and that if suicide wasn’t against everything she believed in that it might have been an option. I know she is hurt that friends didn’t make the time or effort….. but be damned, if it were them, she would do it for them in a heartbeat – even now, because she loves them. 

 

But, I also know, that she will probably never lay herself out bare again, exposed for the world to see, because asking for help is so hard……… so fucking hard.

And if we can’t ask for help we might truly be lost

If we know better - we can do better.

So, let’s do better.   It just takes a second to send a quick message to say:

 “I’m thinking of you”

“How are you doing”

“ Here’s a funny joke”

Or send a cat picture, the funny photo you got off the internet…. Pretty much anything!

It’s not hard, it doesn’t even have to be “right”, if it breaks the silence – it is a lifeline to the person that is drowning!

We need that life preserver thrown to us.

Because our lives depend on it

Because my life depends on it

Because that person was me

But I don’t. I just can’t.

I’m trying not to give up….. but it’s hard. 

I put on makeup, pulled my nice jewelry out of the safe and dressed as if I cared. 

But I don’t.   I just can’t.

I can’t make myself be what I’m not.   I didn’t want to get out of bed, but I am a responsible adult, so I did what I had to, but I can’t get myself to wake up inside.

Some days I am raring to go……. Motivated, wanting to do 17 things at once. Color my hair with crazy streaks and so on.

 And then the wrecking ball comes and knocks me down.  Flat on the ground, the air taken out of my lungs.  I can’t breathe. I want to give in to the feeling and stay there.

But I don’t. I just can’t.

Because I’m supposed to be a responsible adult.   I’m tired of having to be a responsible adult.  I just want to give up, let go, crawl into bed and never get out.

But I don’t. I just can’t.

Because nobody will do what needs to be done for my boy.

So…… I do, because I have to.

Sports, Scouting and Second-Guessing..(part 1)

Things haven’t been going the way that they were “planned” as of late.  Actually, that’s a lie. They never go as I had imagined when I first had my boy.

I thought of all of the things I would do with him once he was bigger…. Little League, Cub Scouts, School fun days, riding his bike, playdates with friends.  I had this picture in my mind.  I think we all get this picture once our children are born, it’s natural to think of the future fun.

But that was then……… this is now. I have a son that would rather read than play, has no real friends and is so afraid of failing -  so he doesn’t want to even try.... BUT he also wants to do what the other kids are doing. He wants to be involved in all that they do. 

So, in Kindergarten he asked me if he could play baseball.  He had seen the kids out practicing in the field behind his school. I was a bit unsure, but figured that all of the kids would be about on the same level, since they were all so little.  Boy was I wrong!  I had no idea that most of them started T-ball at 3 years old.  He was already behind the curve, but there were a few others, so his differences did not stand out too much.  It was hard to watch, but he made progress….. I made progress in not caring what other’s thought.  We still didn’t have a diagnosis, but I knew something was just “off”.

Our little baseball player

The next year he begged me to play again. By this time we had received the diagnosis of autism. I figured we would try and if he didn’t last the season, well, then we wouldn’t worry about it. He lasted the season, but even though he didn’t notice…… I did…… the differences were showing to the other kids. They were picking up on his quirks and making fun of him.  I played momma bear and tried to teach them to play nicely with each other, no matter who they were dealing with.  Once again, he was happy and once again, I was miserable. I was happy that he hadn’t seen the cruelness of kids, but hurt that when he finally did notice, that he would see it was directed at him.

I was happy that the next year, he never mentioned baseball again. I asked him about signing up, just in case, but he declined. I was thrilled when he didn’t want to.  I figured that he had just been bored in the outfield and that sports were just not his bag.

I was wrong once again. You would think that I would get used to this, but it still amazes me each time I’m wrong!  He piped up at the end of summer that the kids at school were going to be playing soccer and that he thought he would be a great soccer player. AHHHHHH!!!  I had hoped that we were done with sports, but alas…..  So I signed him up with the rec department with much trepidation. I pulled aside one of the board members that looked like a grandmotherly type during their evaluations, told her of my plight and asked if she could put him on a team with a coach who would be understanding and supportive. She was an answer to prayer. He had a great coach that never left him out.  He taught the kids to value one another and that everyone had different skills and traits.  It is amazing what a good coach can do.  He loved it, I loved the team and even though I could see the differences, we made it through a great season. Yippee!

I'm not sure if he is excited enough!

Fast forward to the next season……… He asked, I signed him up, I once again had a quick chat with the same board member…….. and lo and behold…….. we got a crappy coach!  The kids made fun of him, one kid actually hit him in the face with a ball on purpose (kid & parent were mad that he was punished by another coach that saw it) and he was only put in for a couple of minutes each game because he wasn’t a “star player”.  Many of us parents went to this coach about his attitude and behavior…… but it didn’t really change.  He still had fun, and it was nice to meet a great group of parents .  Now being 8, I could see so many differences, but we were better at working through them…… we were both learning.

Now I’m scared.  He asked me a few months ago to play baseball again.  He’s been out of playing for 2 years. The other kids have not. They have grown and matured, practiced, learned the game and built up skills…….. he has not.  The stark reality hit me the other day at his first practice.  (Oh, and his coach starts practice before I even get out of work, so we can’t make it, but don’t even get me started on that!)  While he was remembering all of the basics of throwing, catching, and hitting, the other kids were having a real game!  It was heartbreaking.  At Opening Day this past Saturday, the kids were grouping together, milling about, playing …. And he was hiding behind  a book. He wanted to be there, but didn’t know how to interact. I tried to engage the kids with him, but to no avail.  I so don’t want to watch this season. His coach is unaccommodating…….. it is hard. I fear most of all that this will be the year he sees the differences……….. and for the hurt that will come along with that. 

You might think that by now I would be able to overcome my concerns and worry about sports after these years, he’s 9 already, but……. I can’t, I may never, I’m just too scared for my little boy.

And yes..... I know I should happy that he can participate at all, many kids can't at all...... and I do know this in my heart, and I am happy that he can participate, it just hurts....... and I do feel the hurt for my friends who can't experience this at all..... that would like for their kiddos to be able to just try sports.... I do understand, but it doesn't change the hurt in my heart for my sweet baby boy.

Opening Day....... before it got crazy

Masks......

When we were kids, we couldn’t wait to see the stores line their shelves with boxes filled with Halloween costumes.  It was the 70’s, and they were nasty plastic/fabric wonders – think “hospital gown with two ties in the back to hold it all together.  Yeah, those…..  But the best part of it was the mask.  You weren’t that character until you put on the mask.  You couldn’t see, and the elastic band was totally too tight, but you could be anyone you wanted.  Whether it be Superman, Wonder Woman, The Lone Ranger or Princess Leia……. It was so exciting.  Do you remember that feeling?  You could BE an entirely different person.  The power, joy, FREEDOM coursing through your veins…….

It’s all still there as an adult…. But we probably don’t enjoy putting on those masks anymore.  We do it because we “have to” or we need to be someone that we are not.  We might have to use them to empower ourselves, because we really don’t have it inside of ourselves to do what needs to be done.  Or maybe we are hiding something about us that we don’t want people to see.  Possibly we are putting on that brave face that everyone has come to expect from us.  There are so many reasons.  But I have found that as adults, we simply can’t remove the mask.  We tend to just put another one on top of it to hide the first one.  Over and over this happens.  We could barely see through the first one, but the layers are making our sight of those around us and ourselves more obscure.  We come to a point where we finally forget who we are deep down inside, before we started wearing the masks.  I,  for one, would love if we all just dropped them to the ground, but know that is easier said than done.  I’ve created that façade that is hard to break and the emotional insecurities are just too much to handle. 

Wouldn’t it be nice and refreshing though if we all COULD do that? 

below rock bottom

So - I’m not sure what is below “rock bottom”, but I think I’m about to find out. 

Little Man has been having problems at his summer program.  He just can’t seem to keep his hands to himself.  He feels the need to react to other kids and disagreements by hitting.  I can’t tell you how many times I have gone over and over it…….. I really can’t – I’ve completely lost track in the past 5 years!  How can he not get this through his thick skull?!?!?  He KNOWS he will be in trouble, no matter who started it if he uses his hands.  He just acts impulsively and just lashes out when he feels he has been wronged.  The other kids know that, which just makes it worse….. they  try to get him to react – but his actions get him into trouble.

I’m so frustrated – beyond words – that I just want to cry. 

I don’t want my child to hit.  I don’t want my child to be looked at in a “bad light”.  I don’t want to get the phone calls or the messages that he can’t handle himself and that I have to leave work to pick him up. 

I can’t afford that – emotionally, mentally, financially………..

I want a break, I need a break…….and yet - I can’t afford a break from all of this………This is a full time job that I deal with daily.  I’m tired, so very tired of it all.

The trouble with shoelaces, blogs & why I will never get an Olympic Gold Medal

So – you know how you are watching the Olympics and that one figure skater just makes an incredible leap……..and then falls right on her ass?  Well, that would be me.  Well, with one exception – she gets up off the ice and keeps going.  Me – not so much!  I would be that one skater that would sit there, crying into my hands, ugly tears……. until someone came out and escorted me off the ice.  Yup - THAT’s me!

That brings us to the shoelaces…… no, really, it does!  My Little Man just turned 8.  He is totally afraid of learning to tie his shoes.  I mean, like he refuses to even touch them, try to tie them…….. get anywhere near them without just slipping them on.  As soon as he tries to do it, he gets one little step wrong, or it doesn’t work exactly right – and BAM – tears start flowing and he throws a fit and won’t try again.  I can’t figure out how to get him to do it……….so the kid still doesn’t tie them.

Yeah – that getting back up on the horse really doesn’t happen around my house!

Finally that brings us to this little blog right here.  I’m afraid of rejection I guess.  I want approval – well who in the hell doesn’t???  BUT, I’m so afraid of rejection or failing, that I’ve never even told my family about this page.  Actually, I’ve told almost no one about it.  Making it worse, I’m too afraid to “post” anything because it might not be funny enough or good enough – so I let things languish in my head and saved folder.  Cyclical – yes – hell yes – you betcha………. But that doesn’t mean that the feelings aren’t real and scary.

So, here’s my getting my ass off of the ice – medal be damned.  Although, maybe I could get a medal in “Ice Sitting”!

look for the orange

“Matthew” 

Look for the orange shirt, I tell myself silently……find the orange………I’m yelling now - ”Matthew……Matthew”………look for the orange (tears falling – uncalled – unwanted – unbidden – silently – slowly – tears falling on my cheek)    “MATTHEW”

My heart is alternating between stopping and pounding too fast in my chest…….this is the first time that I have opened up and let him “be a boy” as my husband has wanted me to – against my inner fight. He tells me to “leave my helicopter blades at home”.  This is our first Mom and Son Cub Scout camping trip. Yes, my son does need more independence…yes, I probably hover a whole lot more than I should……but he also has autism.  He is "high functioning" (whatever that means), so he understands what I tell him, but he doesn’t fully comprehend danger in the same way, nothing scares him.

“MATTHEW”….. “MATTHEW” …..  I’m screaming – there are places to fall where I couldn’t get to him, places to hide. There is poison oak over in those bushes…….there is a major drop off to a stream below…. find the orange……… look for the orange …. find the orange……… look for the orange…

There he was – blonde little head, bobbing up and down, arms flapping, waiting by the two metal poles.  He knew not to go out past the boundary line.  He makes mental notes of where things change.   I had told him not to leave our circle of cabins.

I was too upset to be mad at him……. Even though that was there too.  I reminded him, probably too sternly to not venture out without someone – don’t run off into the woods.

He was ready to go again, to go see what he could see……I was ready to drop on the ground, I couldn’t breathe, ready to curl up in a ball and cry……but I had to push on……I had to keep looking for the orange – running ahead of me.

(Ed note - this was written awhile back, but I was too afraid to post - too afraid to finish it... it's really still not finished.......I'm still looking for that orange everyday - scared to death - struggling with anxiety and helicopter blades swirling above my head........)