Where to start?

It would be too difficult to start at the beginning, so I’ll start with yesterday.

When I picked the girls up from school, the older one, whom I’ll refer to as Dylan from here on out, started her usual onslaught of verbal diarrhea. This time it was about her visit to the nurse’s office. She started by telling me about her nosebleed (she has these chronically and yes, we know there is a procedure that can cauterize but if you keep reading, you’ll understand why it’s not possible.) Then she went on to explain that the reason she was at the nurse’s wasn’t because of the nosebleed but because she’d had a sore throat. It started the night before, it was ‘strep-y’ and in gym she was coughing and coughing, and then her breathing got really rattle-y, and on and on. The nurse saw a little irritation at the back of her throat, no doubt from coughing, but there was no fever, aches, pains etc. Dylan told me, though, that the nurse said she should see a doctor. So, when I could get in a word edgewise, I said, ok, I’ll see if I can make you an appointment this afternoon while Jennifer (her little sister) is at her acting class. That’s about when Dylan started losing it. “What?! No, no, no, I don’t need a doctor!” Yet, she’d spent 10 minutes explaining how very sick she was. She’s not, in fact, sick. This happens every month or so. Her biggest fear, actually, is to BE sick. She associates illness with throwing up and has a paranoia about vomiting. Its a long story, stemming from her mother lying to her about chocolate milk (that was really a protein shake because we were trying to get Dylan to gain weight, since she doesn’t eat anything. But that’s a story for another day.) Anyhow, I said we’d discuss a doctor’s appointment later with her Dad.

When Dylan is quiet, its unsettling. I’d love to believe its because she’s feeling peace or calm, but its usually because something is stirring. She is spinning so badly that she’s not even talking to herself. Later that afternoon, before dinner, we discovered Dylan had forgotten some homework at school. After some attempts at connecting with the teacher via email, she found she’d be responsible for doing it tomorrow instead. But because this is a chronic habit of hers (yes, yes, I know, school is very difficult, there is so much homework, yada yada,) her Dad said she couldn’t watch TV that evening. We are trying to implement rules around accountability and responsibility, of which she feels zero. Ever. Its part of her personality, brain chemistry, and upbringing. The knowledge that her little sister would get something that she wouldn’t started her in a woe-is-me tailspin. Mopey at dinner, which for her has consisted of bread and cheese for the last couple of months. Then its “Da-da, can we talk in private?” One of her attempts to manipulate (a skill she’s learned from her mother.) She puts on the baby talk, even though she’s 12 years old. Her Dad is learning not to cave anymore, and understand that love and boundaries are best – not giving her everything she wants. It turned into her calling her Mom and crying for pity because Dad is so mean and Jennifer gets what she wants, why can’t I blah blah. Poor, poor Dylan.

And yet, yes, I feel badly for her. I feel for her. OCD, high anxiety, oppositional defiance disorder, classic narcissism, and possibly ADHD are the most common diagnoses she’s received from two psychiatrists and two MFT/social workers, not to mention being under height and weight. It isn’t just an unwillingness on her part, its an inability. She can not feel empathy, she can not see beyond herself, her needs. She is most comfortable telling people what to do, keeping order and control within her grasp. And she is exhausting. I’ve spent the fast few years feeling badly about myself – not being a better role model, not being able to always be ‘on’ or even myself with her, for sometimes losing patience. But I am a human being. And while I love her, I don’t always like her. Yes, that does, in fact, make me feel like a shitty person. How can someone not like a child? And how can they admit to that fact? Am I terrible? Is she in a bad environment because of my feelings? Are we doing more harm than good because despite every single effort we make (therapist, medicine, consistent behavior training, love love love and positive affirmation,) she is about 3% better than when I met her. Now, don’t get me wrong, I hang on to that 3%. I pray that in another few years, she might actually recognize the need of another human being before hers, or even something simple like – not trying to trick or bait me in every conversation. That is a skill she doesn’t need to hone. I pray that she’ll choose to eat with a fork instead of her fingers, that she’ll be able to have dinner at a friend’s (oh and actually EAT the dinner.) I pray that she’ll be able to spend time on her own, without direction every moment. My biggest fear, though, is that she’ll never know how to keep a job, pay a bill, have a relationship, and worst of all – never love herself. And we, my wonderful, sweet, amazing husband and I, will continue to play ping pong with Dylan’s mother, well into our 60’s and 70’s, trying to figure out a way for her to exist without us.

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