Posts from the ‘Demagogues’ Category

Mixed Family Emotions

I haven’t spoken to anyone from my adoptive family, besides my Auntie Paula, since roughly October of last year. I’ve “run into” a few members at the grocery store since then but I always look the other way; hoping to avoid more confrontation.

Now I am faced with a choice:

Either talk to them and likely have the confrontation I’ve only had nightmares about (for months) so that I can get the rest of my childhood (which fits into one box – how depressing is that?)

or

Continue to avoid the confrontation and lose all of my childhood things?

You see, they are moving – out of the house I grew up in from 8th grade to graduation. The house I called home while I was married to Nick. The house I ran to when I left that situation. The house I was standing in when my soul shattered and I learned that my beloved, precious Granny had died.

I don’t know where they’ve moved to. I do not have the address. I haven’t asked and they likely won’t offer.

I have nightmares every night they – usually just Barb but I’ll cast nightmare blame on both – attempt to take the Boys from me. Sometimes by legal means. Or force. Even lying.

Then we fight. They scream. I scream. At first (8+ months ago) it was all rather cathartic – the screaming and fighting dreams/nightmares – because I was really making my voice heard for the first time. Now it just terrifies me.

The nightmares terrify me.

The impending face-to-face terrifies me.

Them moving.

It all just terrifies me.

* posted on the fly w/o the use of proper editing tools 😉 *

~ Lizzeann

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

It’s varied slightly ever since I was first diagnosed back in 2004-2005 but my psychologists believe I’ve had – undiagnosed and untreated – PTSD for most of my life.

There are times when life is okay and I almost forget that I have it. Then I’ll have a panic attack or nightmare and I remember.

Lately, I’ve been reminded of my diagnosis by the fact that all loud, sudden noises cause me to jump and my heart to skip a beat. Then I sit and I wait. Wait, for my heart rate to return to normal. Wait, to see what’s going to follow the noise, mostly.

Even though logically I know and fully and completely realize that Nick and I are divorced. That not only has the divorce been finalized for 8 years but the custody battle has been over for quite a few months. I know and realize that he can’t get me or hurt me, anymore. And yet, I can’t help but respond to things as if he’s lurking around every corner.

It’s exhausting and I’m not sure how long I can’t keep going like this – on top of everything else.

* posted on the fly w/o use of proper editing tools 😉 *

~ Lizzeann

Honesty: My Story: Dear Nicholas,

Dear Nicholas,

We’ve been apart nearly 10 years and there’s apparently still a piece of me that is afraid of you. I used to be so strong before you. My Granny taught me never to fall for a guy like you. I still don’t know how it happened. Well, that’s not entirely true. I thought I could save you. I thought I could save you from yourself. First, from the gang that didn’t exist in the end. Then from your parents because they didn’t understand you. Little did I know that they didn’t understand you because you were stoned all the time.

I wish I had known how much of my life was based upon lies.  How do you keep your life straight in your head? All the lies you tell? Or did you only tell them to me? Did everyone else get the truth? No, that can’t be right because I know you aren’t Autistic. You’re a Sociopath. So you lied to the doctors in Columbus, those are more lies to keep straight. Unless you just don’t go back now that you have the diagnosis.

This whole “I’m a changed man” crap. Is just that, crap. You don’t just change from what you were. Not who you were but what you were. You were a monster. You are a monster. You always will be a monster.

I don’t know how you treated your other fiancées. Do they know how you treated me? Are they aware of how you used to sit on the couch and obsessively clean your swords? Especially while we fought? Or how you used to sleep with the swords under the couch, thereby under you, because you refused to sleep in bed with me?

To this day, I don’t understand why you never wanted to sleep in bed with me. You asked me to marry you. It was your idea. And yet, even when we lived at your parents house and they were on vacation, you wouldn’t sleep in the same bed with me most of the time. I didn’t understand it then. I don’t understand it now.

You said you loved me. Yet you did everything you could to sabotage our marriage. You wouldn’t sleep in bed with me. You abused me. You misused me. You were hurtful. You neglected my son. You abused him. You sabotaged marriage counseling. You continually brought your mother into our marriage. Every fight. Every misunderstanding. Every time I told you “no”. Every time you wanted beer. You called your Mommy and pulled her into our marriage.

Should we discuss your treatment of me throughout our relationship? I think we should. The technical term is Domestic Violence. Let’s call a spade a spade shall we? Since if I remember correctly, you just love the Ace of Spades…so a spade a spade…

YOU. ABUSED. ME.

You screamed at me. You tormented me. You mistreated me. You threatened me with your sword collection. You called me names. You threatened me, in general. You threatened to take Gavin from me – then you would lie to the courts and see to it that I “never saw Gavin again” if I ever told anyone how you treated me. You cheated on me. You pushed me down the hallway. You showed me how you would plot your abuse case against me – so you could tell the police how abusive I was against you if I ever tried to leave. You sabotaged marriage counseling – my last-ditch effort to make our marriage work. You denied me affection if I sought it out. One night when I tried to connect to you by partying with you and your friends (including your mistress), you raped me. You pinned me to a door by my throat with Gavin clinging to my left leg. You tried to put your fist through a table over a childhood milestone – an over-reaction because I had company over for once. You tried to put your fist through the side of the refrigerator. Drugs? You did those. Alcohol? You drank those. To excess? Yes, you had that covered too. You are an alcoholic, addict wife-beater. You stole my social security number in order to obtain social services after I’d left you. You ran up massive charges in my name at Hollywood Video renting movies I already own after I left. You also ran up large bills in all the utilities – gas, electric, cable, phone – and left them in my name but refused to pay them. (That one is okay though because I just had your electric shut off on you.)

Let’s talk about Gavin for a second. Gavin is mine. Now he is ours – mine and Rob’s. Then, he was mine – just mine, not ours. You may have had a slight part is helping to create him but that’s it. You didn’t help to care for him. You never truly loved him. You skipped his 1st Birthday Party! You say it was to work. I say it’s because you’re an ass. You could have requested to have the day off. They would have given it to you. You didn’t ask. So you missed the party. You slept through his 1st Christmas morning! You were sleeping on the couch and I tried to wake you up. You yelled at me and said, “He’s not going to remember. I’ll see it all later!” then you passed out again. (Never mind the fact that the gifts for his 1st Christmas were purchased by your parents because you took the money out of our checking account and spent it on drugs. But who’s counting, right?)

Were those not good enough examples of your horrible parenting skills – or the complete and total lack there of – with Gavin? How about this one then? How about my first day of work at HH Gregg? Remember that one Nicholas? I had to be at work at 9am. At 8am I was getting ready and I woke you up – again from where you were sleeping on the couch. You woke up and smoked a cigarette. You promised you would stay awake and not go back to sleep. I left at about 8:30am. You were still awake. Gavin was asleep and not due to be awake until about 10-ish. I called from work at 11am – no one answered. I wasn’t too worried – yet. By 1am, when you still didn’t answer I was worried. I called repeatedly. Finally, I called the neighbor. She went to the Apartment Complex Manager and got the spare key to the apartment. Do you remember what she found when she let herself into the apartment? Do you?! She found you – passed out cold and totally unresponsive on the couch. She found Gavin – in his crib, where he had been for over 19 hours at that point! He had cried himself hoarse. He was soiled through his diaper, through his sleeper and onto his crib sheets. He had attempted to finish his bottle from the night before – the one with spoiled formula in it. (Formula because you made me wean him because you were jealous of the fact that he was breastfed when he was 6 months old. Let us not forget that.) When she found him he had no tears left to cry. Which means he was dehydrated.

All that happened because you had to get stoned while I was at work because you couldn’t and wouldn’t hold a job and couldn’t and wouldn’t stay sober. Just out of curiosity, do you remember what happened to the job you had right before I got that job? You were working at Check Smart and $300 went missing. The way I hear it, it went missing on your shift. They can’t prove it was you but they also can’t prove it wasn’t you either. So they just let you go. Interesting…

You know, when I started this letter I didn’t set out to bash you. I also didn’t set out to word vomit everything you did, or said, or thought. I was aiming to be more graceful and eloquent with the whole thing. I guess somethings you just need to get down and out. At least it’s out there though. Now I know that I’ve finally said my piece, or part of it, and I’ve been heard.

Good, bad or indifferent…I’ve been heard.

You. Woke. Me. Up.

7:30am ~ Gavin is just waking up and already in a horrible mood.

Good morning. Happy Tuesday to you.

Gavin KetZchup

This is my life.

Gavin has an alarm clock. His teachers gave it to him just before Christmas break because they worked on these class projects of “resolutions” of self-improvement before they left for Christmas break. Everyone received an alarm clock to assist them in becoming more independent. They were to begin setting the alarm clock every night so that they can wake up on their own every morning. Thereby removing one thing from our, the parental figures, morning to-do lists.

Gavin doesn’t remember to set his alarm for school. He’ll remember to set it for the weekend when he wants to wake-up at say 4:00am so that he can draw 50 pictures for his imaginary boss but to set it for 7:00am or even 7:30am for school? Forget it.

Therefore, Rob or I must wake him for school every weekday. He’s next to impossible to wake-up. (Thank you, genetics. Thank you, ex-husband.) However, our options Monday through Friday are either fight with him to wake him up or allow him to sleep and eventually go to jail for truancy. I’ll take the fight, thank you. This morning this is how my day started:

6:15am ~  Mr. Emmett John wakes up. He’s grumpy. We go downstairs and begin our morning routine.

6:30am to 7:00am ~ Somewhere in there Rob wakes up and comes downstairs. I just don’t happen to remember when that happened. I was half-asleep.

7:30am ~ Rob takes on Gavin. I mean wakes Gavin up. I make myself a cup of instant French Vanilla flavored coffee. I’m slightly more awake. Gavin is also grumpy.

7:30am to 7:50am ~ Gavin gets ready for school.

(This involves the following:

  1. Wake up
  2. Get dressed
  3. Brush teeth
  4. Go to the bathroom
  5. Find shoes & Put shoes on
  6. Take morning medications
  7. Put coat on
  8. Grab book bag)

7:55am ~ Gavin and I leave for school. I take Emmett John along for the ride this morning, just because. As we leave it is obvious that Gavin is in a horrible mood. So being the good mother that I am, I ask him what’s wrong. Here’s the conversation that I was not expecting to have at 8am.

Me: Gavin, why are you so grumpy?

Gavin: You. Woke. Me. Up.

Me: Excuse me?

Gavin: I said, You. Woke. Me. Up.

(Now technically, I didn’t wake him up. Rob did. I choose not to argue this particular point with him.)

Me: Well, you kind of have to go to school today.

Gavin: I wanted to sleep in and You. Woke. Me. Up.

Me: Yeah. Well, you have school. You didn’t set your alarm clock. You had to wake up somehow. So yes, we woke you up. Get over it.

Gavin: I wanted to sleep in. I didn’t want to get up. You. Woke. Me. Up. So I’m grumpy. ARGH!

(The longer this asinine conversation goes on the more irritated I become.)

Me: Look! In order for you to sleep in as late as you’d like on a school day you would have to be late. If you are late and/or absent too many times, the police will come looking for me and Daddy. They may even send us to jail. I’m not okay with that just so that you can sleep in.

Gavin: I try to remember to set my alarm but I forget.

Me: I thought you had come up with a sign or something at school with Miss S to help you remember to set it.

Gavin: I still can’t remember.

Me: I don’t know that it matters anyhow. You either sleep through the alarm, which leaves Daddy and I to turn it off and then wake you up. Or you hit the snooze, which still leaves us to Wake. You. Up.

(Now, yes, I was getting snippy. I was probably pissing him off and egging him on a bit. I shouldn’t have been. I’m his mother. I’m older. I’m wiser. Ya-hooey ka-blooey. But you know what? Sometimes, as awful as it sounds, I just don’t care. At 7:45-ish in the morning, when he’s being snippy because we dared to wake him for school, I. Don’t. Care. Truth be told, after a few minutes of hearing “You. Woke. Me. Up.” repeatedly; I was exhausted.)

Gavin: I know! I just want to sleep. I don’t want to get up. I want to sleep. I want to be left along. But You. Woke. Me. Up. ARGH!

Me: Again, I’m unwilling to go to jail so you can sleep as late as you like!

Gavin: You. Woke. Me. Up. AH!

(At this point, he slams his head into his lap and just growls at me from the backseat – terrifing Emmett John.)

Me: Really?! I mention the police and you’re still stuck on “You. Woke. Me. Up.”??

Gavin: I’m. Tired.

(As soon as we reached the school, he jumped out as if I had set his seat on fire.)

Me: Goodbye, Gavin! I love you! Have a…

Gavin: Yeah, bye! *SLAM*

Me: good day.

8:10am ~ I’m home. I have a raging migraine, which means my day is shot to Hell. I don’t know where any of that came from. I don’t know what to make of it. I’m pretty sure that his day is also shot to Hell.

PS I did in fact suffer from the “migraine from Hell”, which made my day Hellish. Gavin, however had a “SUPERB DAY” at school. Figures.

How many times must I mourn?!

I keep trying to get this blog exactly right. Just perfect – the way I want it. I’ve decided that it’s going to take me close to forever to get that accomplished and if I keep putting off my first official post until then…well, you may never hear from me again. (lol)

Emmett John had his ABR sedation hearing test yesterday. We’ve been waiting for this test for months. He had his basic OEA hearing test in January and the Audiologist couldn’t officially diagnose him but she said she felt comfortable saying that he had “moderate to severe hearing loss”. Meaning he was very close to being profoundly deaf. I was so sure he was deaf. I was ready for him to be deaf. I was ready to learn sign language.

Honestly, with the Hell that we live through every single day with Gavin and his Autism and Bi-Polar and whatnot. The Hell I endured at the hands of NTD and his mother before I met Rob. Then the continued Hell we suffered because of them after Rob and I were together – all throughout my divorce and custody battle. The various moments of Hell throughout my childhood. Surely, God wouldn’t do this…not again. Surely, he watched and he understood. Surely, he knows and understands that we can’t handle another Autistic child.

Oh forget the we*I* cannot handle another Autistic child…at least not right now. I just can’t. Not with Gavin manic the way he is. Not with Gavin hearing voices again. Starting puberty and having medication changes because we are on the “medication roller coaster” again. Not with Gavin having meltdowns of a caliber unlike anything I’ve ever seen from him before. It’s only a matter of time before he breaks his window or seriously injures himself.

Emmett John’s hearing is perfect. Everything we say…every sound…every everything he hears physically. But developmentally, he doesn’t hear most things. Apparently, this is common in Autistic children. I didn’t know this. He doesn’t make good eye contact – I thought he did. He throws these fits – I thought they were normal 21 month old fits…the Terrorist 2’s…now, not so much. So he can hear us but doesn’t talk. He babbles – like a 9-12 month old. I have no idea if he’ll ever actually talk. Does that mean he’s more likely Full-fledged Non-Verbal Autistic? Or could he still be some sort of High Functioning Asperger’s?

This will probably sound crazy and stupid to many of you. But how many times must I mourn the loss of my baby?!

How many?! He stopped responding to us. So obviously he couldn’t hear us. Right? So we schedule and take him for his OEA hearing test and he fails. The Audiologist says she feels he has moderate – severe hearing loss. I mourn the loss of my baby boy. I mourn the fact that I likely will never hear his voice the way it was intended. I mourn everything that he will never do. Never experience. I mourn every time he shoves a finger in his ear and gets frustrated because he appears to be unable to hear. I mourn because I don’t know when the last time he heard our voices was. Will he be able to remember them? How long can he hold on to those memories? I mourned many things when I believed Emmett John was deaf.

Yesterday all of that was Gone. Swept away in a moment. I had an Audiologist telling me that my baby could hear. Explaining that his “hearing was perfect” and he “doesn’t make good eye contact” and “hearing problems are common in Autistic children“. Now all of my work to recover and work on my mourning over his hearing loss had disappeared in a flash. The sedation nurse was so positive about the fact that Emmett John could hear – isn’t this great? Of course it’s great. It’s wonderful and I’ll do cartwheels – as soon as I mourn, again.

So here I am. Mourning my Baby Boy, again. Mourning for him. Mourning for us. This isn’t a life I would have chosen for him. This isn’t something I would have chosen to add to our lives – ever.

I’m mourning the loss of Emmett John in a host of new ways. I’ll recover in a few days. Until then, I’m just going to mourn and work on trying to make my peace with things.

I Don’t Wednesday ~ #6 KetZchup

Its been a while since I’ve posted (sorry about that) but I felt like posting an I Don’t – Wednesday” today…and away we go!

I Don’t Wednesday #6: KetZchup

I Don’t … Know why I haven’t posted in so long.

I’ve started ketZchup posts but they are all so long and unfinished and the longer it takes me to finish them – the more behind I become. I hate being behind like this. So they are still waiting to be finished.

I Don’t … Know why I don’t just start from the here and now.

You know…Say, screw the postS waiting to be finished and move on. To Hell with those damn wanna-be posts!

I Don’t … Know why I just wrote that “I Don’t” because I do know.

I Don’t … move on because for starters, I’m suffering from some serious OCD. Secondly, someday I will publish this blog. Someday it will be added to the other journals I have that chronicle my life. And to cut those things out would be to remove large sections of my life.
As it is, I’m already not blogging HUGE, GINORMOUS parts of my life over the past 3 to 6 months because it has been made quite clear to me that if I chronicle those happenings:

A) I would be using MY BLOG against others. You know, because that’s why I started it. Revenge. Spite. Viva la Revolution! And all that jazz. *insert eye roll here*
B) I would be hiding behind MY BLOG even though the thoughts, feelings, expressions, etc that are/have been/would be covered (if I were to cover said taboo topics) have already been shared privately (via emails and a very few phone calls) with the parties involved. So I’m not hiding behind anything. But whatever.
C) I would be discussing other people’s lives and that isn’t right. Nor is it fair.
Now I have not had a single complaint about my blog from people – except for a few loons who felt that I was being unkind to my dead-beat-dad exhusband once upon a time. So I stand corrected – by myself – that I have had a few complaints over that past 2 years or so. That being said, in case it has escaped anyone, I tend to discuss other people’s lives on a pretty regular basis – when I can find time to blog that is. I discuss my own and those of my family (ie Rob, husband; Gavin, 9 year old son; Elliott Richard, 3 year old son; Emmett John, 17 month old son; Maggie Sue, nanny-dog; Cleo, cat). I discuss my sister, Trisha, my Mom, Mary. (See Mom, I’m posting again. lol) I discuss quite a few people. Yet no one else is screaming unfair. But don’t worry … I think I have come up with a way to discuss what I want without further pissing anyone else off. Hhhhhhmmmm……..I’ll have to think about that some more.

Anyway, I digress.

I Don’t … Believe how quickly the month of December is flying by!

I had it all planned out so that the boys could do our usual traditions – make ornaments, make Christmas gifts for Grandma & PaPa and now for Grandma Mary (who they are beyong super excited to include to the traditions this year!) etc. Plus there are Godparents to consider. Then while I get the gifts together for the 3 boys. I’m also putting together a group gift for the boys. Plus a few surprises. I’ve had it all figured out, planned out and ready to go on paper since mid-October.

I was so sure I had it all figured out. Then I forgot to take my Lyrica for 1 flipping day! Which has thrown me off by like 3 days! So I’m back to not being able to drive again; so unhelpful right now!

I Don’t … Know how to care for Gavin effectively all the time.

Sometimes its a breeze. Sometimes I see the damage others have done to him before the legal system finally got a clue. Before I finally got a clue. Sometimes that damage is more than I can deal with and I know that they knew what they were doing – whether they deny it now or not. Sometimes I wish for the chance to interrogate them about it, with the chance to only get honest answers and then smack them all silly in the end. Sometimes I wish for a winning Lotto ticket, too. None of those things is going to happen.

I Don’t … Know how to raise Gavin his way.

Elliott Richard his way. Emmett John his way. Without making any of them feel singled out. Without damaging any of them.

I Don’t … Know how to survive anymore.

Surviving is usually the only thing I know to do. It comes naturally. After a lifetime of various rings of my own personal hell. Surviving is as natural to me as breathing. Lately, I can’t seem to remember how.

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The Story of Gavin

Ah, yes, the Story of Gavin. Definitely not your “fairy tale princess” story, that’s for sure. But it’s part of our story and it’s the beginning of his story, nonetheless. So it must be told. Besides I know you’re all simply dying to know where it all began with my ex. 😉

Before (Coming Soon!)

The Pregnancy (Coming Soon!)

Labor & Delivery (Coming Soon!)

Birth to 6 months (Coming Soon!)

6 months to 1 year (Coming Soon!)

Gavin’s 7 Rules

Our Support Teams

What is Autism?

What is Aspergers?

What is Bi-Polar?

What is ADHD?

What is OCD?

What is PICA?

What is Sensory Integration Disorder?

What is a Conduct Disorder?

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