Am currently on vacation in Ashtabula, Ohio. A small town in northeastern Ohio about 15 minutes from Lake Erie, Ashtabula seems stuck in a time warp. The people who choose to live here grew up here, as did their parents and grandparents, etc. They play in the school parks, go for long walks, sit on their front porches or stoops and wave to people walking by. It's the type of place where every one knows everyone else and your business is not really your own. I love it here because it's peaceful, quiet and gives you time to think. With Cleveland about 50 minutes away, you can experience the fast paced life if you want but most people would rather go visit the Pymatuning Spillway or go to the Little League baseball games. Family is more important than computers/texting/Facebook and life moves at a much slower pace. In San Antonio (where I'm from) people are constantly on the go, going from work, to the gym, to the Riverwalk, to the clubs, etc., but here, you have time to just sit and enjoy the breeze, the thwack of the bat hitting a baseball, the squeak of the swings, whoosh of the wind through the screen door, the "Yoo-hoo" from family coming over to visit. Relaxation is the key - though people do go about their daily lives with work and gym visits, etc., it's not fast-paced.
Yesterday, we went with my uncle for a drive through Amish country, enjoyed the scenery and had an impromptu cookout over a fire pit located in a park on the Green River. We'd driven out there because I used to go there as a kid in the summers for family picnics (my dad's family is from this area). Then we drove through several "townships" (county's back in Texas) looking at houses, trees and covered bridges which are abundant in this area. We stopped in Mesopotamia, OH at a store called "End of Commons General Store" for ice cream and penny candy. There were girls dressed in Amish clothing (I think they were but not sure!) and the store itself was a treasure trove of homemade jams, jellies, candy, ice cream, gelatin, and many other delights. At the deli counter, the selection of meats and cheeses was enough to make your mouth water and the piece of sharp Cheddar I bought was so creamy, it had to be homemade. Coming back home, my uncle let me drive his 1963 Malibu/Chevelle - man the power those classic cars have!
All in all my vacation so far has been completely stress free and relaxing. The things I've enjoyed most is sitting on the screened-in porch talking with my cousins and just chilling. I'm not looking forward to leaving for my fast-paced home again in a couple of days....except for the fact that I miss my husband and other girls.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Friday, July 9, 2010
For my beautiful daughter
For you I wish the world to be songs every day
Because I know how much you love music
For you I wish the world to be pictures and drawings
Because I know how much you love art
For you I wish the world to be rainbows
Because I know how much you love colors
For you I wish the world to be full of books
Because I know how much you love to read
For you I wish to world to be full of friendship
Because I know how much you love people
For you I wish the world to be full of love
Because I love you.
Because I know how much you love music
For you I wish the world to be pictures and drawings
Because I know how much you love art
For you I wish the world to be rainbows
Because I know how much you love colors
For you I wish the world to be full of books
Because I know how much you love to read
For you I wish to world to be full of friendship
Because I know how much you love people
For you I wish the world to be full of love
Because I love you.
Sometimes I Wish
Sometimes I wish I were a thousand miles away with you
On a white beach talking and laughing
Sometimes I wish I were sitting next to you on that beach
Holding your hand saying ‘it’s okay’
Sometimes I wish you hadn’t done the things you did
To end up where you are now
Sometimes I wish that we could go back in time to your childhood to right the wrongs
That make you the way you are now
Sometimes I wish your disorder allowed you to make better decisions growing up
So you wouldn’t have ended up where you are
Sometimes I wish the choices I had made were more well thought-out
So maybe you’d be a better person, but your decisions weren’t my fault
Sometimes I wish more mature choices had been made on your part
So that my decisions hadn’t hurt either of us so much
Sometimes I wish that circumstances had been different
So I didn’t have to make the decisions that I did, that resulted in sending you away
But I also realize that sending you away was the best thing for all of us
Sometimes I wish we had a better relationship
So I’d feel like this situation wasn’t all my fault
I know that the decisions made were the best for all of us
But sometimes I wish I could change them
But I know in my heart it was the best thing for you in the long run
Sometimes I wish you were still here
So I could show you how very much I love you
On a white beach talking and laughing
Sometimes I wish I were sitting next to you on that beach
Holding your hand saying ‘it’s okay’
Sometimes I wish you hadn’t done the things you did
To end up where you are now
Sometimes I wish that we could go back in time to your childhood to right the wrongs
That make you the way you are now
Sometimes I wish your disorder allowed you to make better decisions growing up
So you wouldn’t have ended up where you are
Sometimes I wish the choices I had made were more well thought-out
So maybe you’d be a better person, but your decisions weren’t my fault
Sometimes I wish more mature choices had been made on your part
So that my decisions hadn’t hurt either of us so much
Sometimes I wish that circumstances had been different
So I didn’t have to make the decisions that I did, that resulted in sending you away
But I also realize that sending you away was the best thing for all of us
Sometimes I wish we had a better relationship
So I’d feel like this situation wasn’t all my fault
I know that the decisions made were the best for all of us
But sometimes I wish I could change them
But I know in my heart it was the best thing for you in the long run
Sometimes I wish you were still here
So I could show you how very much I love you
For my students and children...
My wish is that all of you will go out into the world and be successful and keep reaching for their dreams, just like we always talk about in our wonderful class discussions. And remember these things:
1. Keep your opinions, they belong to you and you alone and no one can tell you not to have them.
2. You are beautiful, intelligent, wonderful people and deserve the BEST of everything.
3. Life is hard work. The harder you work at living it, the better it will be. Live to the fullest but don't forget that life also has rules that must be followed in order to be successful.
4. There is a time and a place for everything...school is not the place for cuss words! :) The only reason that people use words like those (you know the ones I'm talking about) is because they can't think of anything more intelligent to say.
5. You must take pride in what you do. If you can't take pride in what you're doing in life, at school, or anywhere else, then what is the point? Doing illegal things is not something to have pride in either - at least not in my deluded little fantasy world!!
6. I love you guys. I wouldn't put as much of myself into my work if I didn't care for each and every single one of you.
1. Keep your opinions, they belong to you and you alone and no one can tell you not to have them.
2. You are beautiful, intelligent, wonderful people and deserve the BEST of everything.
3. Life is hard work. The harder you work at living it, the better it will be. Live to the fullest but don't forget that life also has rules that must be followed in order to be successful.
4. There is a time and a place for everything...school is not the place for cuss words! :) The only reason that people use words like those (you know the ones I'm talking about) is because they can't think of anything more intelligent to say.
5. You must take pride in what you do. If you can't take pride in what you're doing in life, at school, or anywhere else, then what is the point? Doing illegal things is not something to have pride in either - at least not in my deluded little fantasy world!!
6. I love you guys. I wouldn't put as much of myself into my work if I didn't care for each and every single one of you.
Mexico City
Originally written March 19, 2007
My husband and I have just returned from Mexico City this past Thursday and it was an experience let me tell you. I was so excited when we left because this was my very first time visiting somewhere outside of the US for more than a few hours. My husband decided to surprise me with this because he knew just how stressed out I'd been lately and because he's such a wonderful person...anyway it was a great surprise with a few exceptions.
3/10 - When we were on the plane descending into Mexico City, the thing that stood out the most to us was the abject poverty that overwhelms the city. I thought that I'd seen poverty before, through my own experiences and through what is shown on TV, but never had I seen poverty like this. The next thing that amazed us was the traffic! There are lanes that they don't use, there are lights that are completely ignored and their ability to narrow five lanes down to two in three seconds is amazingly scary. If you ever go to Mexico, my advice is don't drive!
3/11 - On our first day, we arrived to our hotel at around 5:00 p.m. so we decided not to wander too far away from the hotel. We ended up walking around the Zócalo a little bit and reveling in the beautiful architecture of the Palacio Nacional and the Catedral Metropolitana, as well as the judicial building and the other buildings in Mexico City's main square. For dinner, we ate in the rooftop restaurant in our hotel, the Best Western Majestic. Needless to say, we discovered that Mexican food in Mexico is NOTHING like Mexican food in the States. Mexican food in Mexico is unidentifiable (to us) and is rather bland...I guess I'm kind of a snob, I'll stick with our TexMex Mexican food here in the States. I've never had such a craving for spicy foods!
3/12 - Our second day started off crappy! I woke up with a migraine and was so nauseous it wasn't funny. I couldn't hardly eat anything because I wasn't feeling good at all. It finally wound down to a residual headache so we contacted the guy who was conducting our tour of the pyramids at Teotihuacán to see what time he was going to pick us up on Monday. We met with him at our hotel and he told us about a tour of the floating gardens at Xochimilco which we decided to take him up on it and I'm glad we did! This was an incredible display of the culture of Mexico, with the floating trajineras (flower-painted boats) for hire, the mariachi boats, the vendors of various textiles, souvenirs, jewelry and food it was an incredible experience! We were with another young lady from Australia (hello Catherine!) and had such a great time people watching and soaking up the culture! The other part of this tour was a visit to the plant market which was another experience. All the plants, animals, foods, and textiles for sale, it was awesome. Catherine fell in love with the baby tortugas and I actually enjoyed the parrots even though I'm not too great with birds.
For dinner that night, we at at the Gran Hotel de la Ciudad de México. Another disappointing experience though it was better than the previous evening. I had ketchup chicken (it was supposed to be sweet and sour but wasn't) and Nick had filet mignon but swears it was rat! I know it wasn't but it was a pretty bad steak. Needless to say, we weren't impressed with the food.
3/13 - The good, the bad, the ugly!
Day three, we had a half day tour of the city (meaning churches) and a half day at Teotihuacán. The churches (the Shrine of Guadalupe and the other one we went to) didn't interest us much, seeing as how we aren't very religious but the Aztec temple that was UNDER the church did..though the churches were pretty impressive architecturally. The pyramids at Teotihuacán were AMAZING! I couldn't believe that those had been standing for thousands of years and built completely by hand. It's awesome to think about. I managed to climb the Pyramid of the Moon but since half of it was closed because the archeologists were working on it I only climbed about 40 steps - though they were HUGE!! Each step was about 1 1/2' high and my thighs were absolutely killing me the next day. It was completely awesome though and I was totally speechless for about 30 minutes. I never did manage to make it up the Pyramid of the Sun but Nick made it almost all the way to the top.
We ate at some local restaurant and I ended up eating only black beans and corn tortillas because I couldn't identify anything else. For dinner that night, we ended up eating Pizza Hut because we wanted something recognizable and Nick had a migraine. I think the altitude or smog or something was affecting both of us. Unfortunately, Nick was worse off than I was and we ended up going to bed at like 7:00 p.m. - or rather Nick did or tried to. He had to stick toilet paper in his ears and pillows over his head because of the stupid whistles! Traffic cops trying to direct the pedestrian traffic because the pedestrians don't have the right of way at all in Mexico.
3/14 - Our final day. We decided to get around for ourselves instead of go on a guided tour and we took a taxi to the Museo Nacional de Antropología which was completely amazing as well. All the different representations of the various cultures that have inhabited Mexico since its inception, it's just incredible to think about. Someone could easily spend hours upon hours gazing upon the different sculptures, drawings, paintings, masks, and of course, the amazing Aztec Sun stone - it's too much for mere words to express. We remained there until around 2:00 in the afternoon and returned to our hotel for a bit of a rest. then we had the best meal of our entire trip...Burger King followed by Krispy Kreme donuts for dessert. Yum yum!
3/15 - was our flight home, back to civilization and a return to reality. It was a great trip and I'd definitely like to go back someday. I hope you all get the chance to enjoy it too!
The good: the museums, the floating gardens, the architecture, the beauty, the markets, the people, the ruins, the pyramids, the lack of inhibition, and the culture.
The bad: the traffic, the poverty, the traffic cops (damn annoying whistles at all hours of the day), the food (I was never so glad to see a Burger King!), the noise and smog (next time we'll take doctor's masks!).
The ugly: some guy with metal bars sticking out of his face that we saw walking around the Zócalo on a daily basis.
My husband and I have just returned from Mexico City this past Thursday and it was an experience let me tell you. I was so excited when we left because this was my very first time visiting somewhere outside of the US for more than a few hours. My husband decided to surprise me with this because he knew just how stressed out I'd been lately and because he's such a wonderful person...anyway it was a great surprise with a few exceptions.
3/10 - When we were on the plane descending into Mexico City, the thing that stood out the most to us was the abject poverty that overwhelms the city. I thought that I'd seen poverty before, through my own experiences and through what is shown on TV, but never had I seen poverty like this. The next thing that amazed us was the traffic! There are lanes that they don't use, there are lights that are completely ignored and their ability to narrow five lanes down to two in three seconds is amazingly scary. If you ever go to Mexico, my advice is don't drive!
3/11 - On our first day, we arrived to our hotel at around 5:00 p.m. so we decided not to wander too far away from the hotel. We ended up walking around the Zócalo a little bit and reveling in the beautiful architecture of the Palacio Nacional and the Catedral Metropolitana, as well as the judicial building and the other buildings in Mexico City's main square. For dinner, we ate in the rooftop restaurant in our hotel, the Best Western Majestic. Needless to say, we discovered that Mexican food in Mexico is NOTHING like Mexican food in the States. Mexican food in Mexico is unidentifiable (to us) and is rather bland...I guess I'm kind of a snob, I'll stick with our TexMex Mexican food here in the States. I've never had such a craving for spicy foods!
3/12 - Our second day started off crappy! I woke up with a migraine and was so nauseous it wasn't funny. I couldn't hardly eat anything because I wasn't feeling good at all. It finally wound down to a residual headache so we contacted the guy who was conducting our tour of the pyramids at Teotihuacán to see what time he was going to pick us up on Monday. We met with him at our hotel and he told us about a tour of the floating gardens at Xochimilco which we decided to take him up on it and I'm glad we did! This was an incredible display of the culture of Mexico, with the floating trajineras (flower-painted boats) for hire, the mariachi boats, the vendors of various textiles, souvenirs, jewelry and food it was an incredible experience! We were with another young lady from Australia (hello Catherine!) and had such a great time people watching and soaking up the culture! The other part of this tour was a visit to the plant market which was another experience. All the plants, animals, foods, and textiles for sale, it was awesome. Catherine fell in love with the baby tortugas and I actually enjoyed the parrots even though I'm not too great with birds.
For dinner that night, we at at the Gran Hotel de la Ciudad de México. Another disappointing experience though it was better than the previous evening. I had ketchup chicken (it was supposed to be sweet and sour but wasn't) and Nick had filet mignon but swears it was rat! I know it wasn't but it was a pretty bad steak. Needless to say, we weren't impressed with the food.
3/13 - The good, the bad, the ugly!
Day three, we had a half day tour of the city (meaning churches) and a half day at Teotihuacán. The churches (the Shrine of Guadalupe and the other one we went to) didn't interest us much, seeing as how we aren't very religious but the Aztec temple that was UNDER the church did..though the churches were pretty impressive architecturally. The pyramids at Teotihuacán were AMAZING! I couldn't believe that those had been standing for thousands of years and built completely by hand. It's awesome to think about. I managed to climb the Pyramid of the Moon but since half of it was closed because the archeologists were working on it I only climbed about 40 steps - though they were HUGE!! Each step was about 1 1/2' high and my thighs were absolutely killing me the next day. It was completely awesome though and I was totally speechless for about 30 minutes. I never did manage to make it up the Pyramid of the Sun but Nick made it almost all the way to the top.
We ate at some local restaurant and I ended up eating only black beans and corn tortillas because I couldn't identify anything else. For dinner that night, we ended up eating Pizza Hut because we wanted something recognizable and Nick had a migraine. I think the altitude or smog or something was affecting both of us. Unfortunately, Nick was worse off than I was and we ended up going to bed at like 7:00 p.m. - or rather Nick did or tried to. He had to stick toilet paper in his ears and pillows over his head because of the stupid whistles! Traffic cops trying to direct the pedestrian traffic because the pedestrians don't have the right of way at all in Mexico.
3/14 - Our final day. We decided to get around for ourselves instead of go on a guided tour and we took a taxi to the Museo Nacional de Antropología which was completely amazing as well. All the different representations of the various cultures that have inhabited Mexico since its inception, it's just incredible to think about. Someone could easily spend hours upon hours gazing upon the different sculptures, drawings, paintings, masks, and of course, the amazing Aztec Sun stone - it's too much for mere words to express. We remained there until around 2:00 in the afternoon and returned to our hotel for a bit of a rest. then we had the best meal of our entire trip...Burger King followed by Krispy Kreme donuts for dessert. Yum yum!
3/15 - was our flight home, back to civilization and a return to reality. It was a great trip and I'd definitely like to go back someday. I hope you all get the chance to enjoy it too!
The good: the museums, the floating gardens, the architecture, the beauty, the markets, the people, the ruins, the pyramids, the lack of inhibition, and the culture.
The bad: the traffic, the poverty, the traffic cops (damn annoying whistles at all hours of the day), the food (I was never so glad to see a Burger King!), the noise and smog (next time we'll take doctor's masks!).
The ugly: some guy with metal bars sticking out of his face that we saw walking around the Zócalo on a daily basis.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Living with Bi-Polar Disorder: A Parent's Truthful Tale
Recently, I’ve come to realize that no matter how good of a parent I am, how much I love my kids or how hard I try to guide them on the right path, there are just some things that don’t make any sense.
“Your son is highly intelligent,” The doctor said with a smile, “His IQ test came back showing an above average intelligence for a 10 year-old, but there is a problem.”
‘I know this. The problem is why we’re here’ I thought to myself. “Please, just tell me what’s wrong with my son.” I requested.
“Your son has an emotional disorder called Bipolar disorder. It’s a mental disorder that causes severe mood swings, depression, and violent outbursts in some cases. To control these outbursts and mood changes, he’ll have to be on medication for the rest of his life, otherwise, he could be a danger to himself or others.” he replied.
Silent tears rolled down my cheeks as I listened to my child’s fate. They say that being a mother is the toughest job there is. When I signed up for motherhood, I didn’t expect it to be the toughest job I’d ever faced.
Only about 7% of the children seen at psychiatric facilities fit the bipolar diagnosis according to research standards (The Child & Adolescent Bipolar Foundation); so for me to have a child with this disorder seemed incredible. How could my child—my beautiful, sunny, energetic boy have this awful “disease”? Genetics often plays a role in a bipolar diagnosis, but just as often, it just happens, there is no explanation. In our family, the genetics connection was easily explained—my grandmother had schizophrenia (and we think my mother does as well). The second reason, was harder to accept—no explanation? No reason? How could that be?
Learning that my son had bipolar disorder made the shock drain the color from my face and hope seemed the furthest attainable emotion. I’ve since learned that hope is possible, and that in dealing with Bipolar disorder, you have to know when it’s time to let others help you deal with it, and sometimes, even let go completely.
Michael started showing signs of his disorder at the age of six. I am told that children cannot be diagnosed that young but I knew something wasn’t right, even back then. When he was kicked out of pre-school for biting one of his classmates, I knew. When he was asked not to come back to pre-kindergarten because he ‘scared the teacher’, I knew. When he was suspended from kindergarten for yelling at and being disgracefully disrespectful to his teacher, I knew. My ex-husband and I divorced because he believed that Michael was just a rambunctious normal little boy, but I knew. I knew because mothers always know when something is wrong with their children. When he turned eight, I finally had enough, something was wrong and I wanted help.
I took Michael to the doctor first. A kindly, older man who gently suggested that I was reading too much into Michael’s behavior, told me he probably had Attention Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder. AD/HD caused my son to get into fights, caused bouts of depression, made him lock a cat in the refrigerator and bring home things he claimed were “gifts” we would later find out he’d stolen from classmates? That was interesting to learn. He suggested Ritalin to control the AD/HD and suggested that it would curb these impulses help control Michael’s emotions, and supposedly improve his schoolwork as well. We’d see.
The medicine seemed to help do all these things, for about a month. Then Michael’s behavior returned to the way it was before meds and Michael started coming home from school with black eyes and unexplained “gifts” (stolen). We received phone calls from school about fights and suspensions, he pulled multiple stints in alternative school, he faced shoplifting charges, and we found weapons while searching his room. I dragged Michael back to the doctor and tolerated him telling me Michael was “a growing boy; going through a stage. Give the medicine a chance to work.” For the next two years I gave the medicine a chance to work. At ten years of age, I decided the medication definitely wasn’t working, and took Michael to a psychiatrist.
Tests were run: I.Q. tests, Rorschach tests, a 200-question survey, blood tests, and a session with the psychiatrist, which seemed endless. Finally, we had our diagnosis, “Bipolar disorder type II with rule out schizophrenia”. To our family, it meant heartache, tears, and innocence lost. For two more years, we lived with weekly psychiatrist and psychologist visits, medication changes and adjustments—it’s hard to get the correct medication at the correct dosage the first time—and family therapy sessions. Michael, my daughter Elizabeth and I, along with my new husband Nick, endured all of these things trying to get some sense of normality back to our family.
“Your son is highly intelligent,” The doctor said with a smile, “His IQ test came back showing an above average intelligence for a 10 year-old, but there is a problem.”
‘I know this. The problem is why we’re here’ I thought to myself. “Please, just tell me what’s wrong with my son.” I requested.
“Your son has an emotional disorder called Bipolar disorder. It’s a mental disorder that causes severe mood swings, depression, and violent outbursts in some cases. To control these outbursts and mood changes, he’ll have to be on medication for the rest of his life, otherwise, he could be a danger to himself or others.” he replied.
Silent tears rolled down my cheeks as I listened to my child’s fate. They say that being a mother is the toughest job there is. When I signed up for motherhood, I didn’t expect it to be the toughest job I’d ever faced.
Only about 7% of the children seen at psychiatric facilities fit the bipolar diagnosis according to research standards (The Child & Adolescent Bipolar Foundation); so for me to have a child with this disorder seemed incredible. How could my child—my beautiful, sunny, energetic boy have this awful “disease”? Genetics often plays a role in a bipolar diagnosis, but just as often, it just happens, there is no explanation. In our family, the genetics connection was easily explained—my grandmother had schizophrenia (and we think my mother does as well). The second reason, was harder to accept—no explanation? No reason? How could that be?
Learning that my son had bipolar disorder made the shock drain the color from my face and hope seemed the furthest attainable emotion. I’ve since learned that hope is possible, and that in dealing with Bipolar disorder, you have to know when it’s time to let others help you deal with it, and sometimes, even let go completely.
Michael started showing signs of his disorder at the age of six. I am told that children cannot be diagnosed that young but I knew something wasn’t right, even back then. When he was kicked out of pre-school for biting one of his classmates, I knew. When he was asked not to come back to pre-kindergarten because he ‘scared the teacher’, I knew. When he was suspended from kindergarten for yelling at and being disgracefully disrespectful to his teacher, I knew. My ex-husband and I divorced because he believed that Michael was just a rambunctious normal little boy, but I knew. I knew because mothers always know when something is wrong with their children. When he turned eight, I finally had enough, something was wrong and I wanted help.
I took Michael to the doctor first. A kindly, older man who gently suggested that I was reading too much into Michael’s behavior, told me he probably had Attention Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder. AD/HD caused my son to get into fights, caused bouts of depression, made him lock a cat in the refrigerator and bring home things he claimed were “gifts” we would later find out he’d stolen from classmates? That was interesting to learn. He suggested Ritalin to control the AD/HD and suggested that it would curb these impulses help control Michael’s emotions, and supposedly improve his schoolwork as well. We’d see.
The medicine seemed to help do all these things, for about a month. Then Michael’s behavior returned to the way it was before meds and Michael started coming home from school with black eyes and unexplained “gifts” (stolen). We received phone calls from school about fights and suspensions, he pulled multiple stints in alternative school, he faced shoplifting charges, and we found weapons while searching his room. I dragged Michael back to the doctor and tolerated him telling me Michael was “a growing boy; going through a stage. Give the medicine a chance to work.” For the next two years I gave the medicine a chance to work. At ten years of age, I decided the medication definitely wasn’t working, and took Michael to a psychiatrist.
Tests were run: I.Q. tests, Rorschach tests, a 200-question survey, blood tests, and a session with the psychiatrist, which seemed endless. Finally, we had our diagnosis, “Bipolar disorder type II with rule out schizophrenia”. To our family, it meant heartache, tears, and innocence lost. For two more years, we lived with weekly psychiatrist and psychologist visits, medication changes and adjustments—it’s hard to get the correct medication at the correct dosage the first time—and family therapy sessions. Michael, my daughter Elizabeth and I, along with my new husband Nick, endured all of these things trying to get some sense of normality back to our family.
Normality escaped our grasp. For those two years, we lived through hell. The fights, threats, mood swings, violence, depression all increased even while on medication. The last straw was when my son set fire to his bedroom carpet with a lamp and watched it burn, not making any move to put the fire out. Knowing how much trouble she’d get in if she didn’t let us know what was going on, my daughter, Elizabeth started to tell us, but Michael, my charming loving, wonderful son, held a knife to her throat and threatened to kill her. I never actually thought he would hurt one of us, but now I knew I needed to find some place to shelter my child so that he could be safe, and so that the rest of us could be safe as well.
Making the phone call to the Mental Health people at the insurance company, riding to the hospital, checking in, the doctors there telling me that they were going to put my son into psychiatric observation for 72-hours, having to leave a twelve and a half-year-old boy in tears, wailing for his mommy, all these things are a blur. Thinking back now, it’s amazing that I got through it all without my heart or mind shattering into a million pieces.
We took Michael to a residential treatment facility outside Austin, Texas on a sunny Sunday afternoon. Even as anxious as I felt, I knew that I was taking a positive step in getting my son the help he needed to get his life back on track. Though he stared sullenly out the window without speaking to any of us for the entire five-hour trip, I like to think that he knew it too.
While at the treatment facility, Michael would have his medication monitored closely to see if it was working, be receiving regular therapy sessions, going to school every day, seeing a psychiatrist, be able to interact with other children with diagnoses similar to his, and be able to see how they handle their issues. Unfortunately, after nine months in this facility, Michael was asked to leave for his violent outbursts towards other students and staff. It was time to try other options.
Waco Center for Youth was next. Also a residential treatment facility, located in Waco, TX, WCY is a state run facility that “bases its treatment philosophy on the belief that both behavior change and an understanding of self and others (http://www.dshs.state.tx.u
My parents were willing to allow Michael to live with them on a temporary basis. We filled out all the necessary paperwork, allowing my parents to retain temporary custody of Michael for one year; he was 14.
He put my parents through physical and mental anguish. He started sneaking out of the house, smoking cigarettes, marijuana, having sex, getting in brawls with the kids at school, and shoplifting from malls and grocery stores. He was disrespectful to adults, no matter who they were, he would yell and scream at my mother (who would yell and scream back making matters worse) and at one point, my mother and Michael actually got into a physical altercation. All of these things happened even though my parents gave made Michael take his medication daily and issued discipline in the same manner their parents issued it to them. This was too much for my sixty-something year old parents to handle. We started considering alternatives.
Conducting research on the Internet, I found lifelinesoptions.com, a website devoted to helping parents find boarding schools for troubled teens. This service allows parents to find safe places for their children and matches schools to the particular problems that parents and teens are facing. They helped us locate Red River Academy in Lecompte, Louisiana just 12 miles outside of Alexandria. On September 9, 2007, my son became a student at Red River.
For the first few months, it seemed like a dream come true. RRA is a wonderful facility, which not only helps children but parents as well. Parents must attend the same types of seminars that their children do in order to better understand the processes their students go through. I attended these seminars and learned more about myself than I thought I would and in the process, learned more about my son.
In addition to seminars, you receive weekly support from other parents whose children are in schools (RRA or others) and phone calls from your child’s “Family Representative” (the person who interacts with your child on a daily basis and is in charge of group sessions) as well as updates on their school, mental and physical progress. All in all, it’s a great program and I would recommend it to others who are seeking help for their troubled teens. For my son, however, it wasn’t meant to be. His patterns of behavior continued and he was once again asked to leave.
Making the phone call to the Mental Health people at the insurance company, riding to the hospital, checking in, the doctors there telling me that they were going to put my son into psychiatric observation for 72-hours, having to leave a twelve and a half-year-old boy in tears, wailing for his mommy, all these things are a blur. Thinking back now, it’s amazing that I got through it all without my heart or mind shattering into a million pieces.
We took Michael to a residential treatment facility outside Austin, Texas on a sunny Sunday afternoon. Even as anxious as I felt, I knew that I was taking a positive step in getting my son the help he needed to get his life back on track. Though he stared sullenly out the window without speaking to any of us for the entire five-hour trip, I like to think that he knew it too.
While at the treatment facility, Michael would have his medication monitored closely to see if it was working, be receiving regular therapy sessions, going to school every day, seeing a psychiatrist, be able to interact with other children with diagnoses similar to his, and be able to see how they handle their issues. Unfortunately, after nine months in this facility, Michael was asked to leave for his violent outbursts towards other students and staff. It was time to try other options.
Waco Center for Youth was next. Also a residential treatment facility, located in Waco, TX, WCY is a state run facility that “bases its treatment philosophy on the belief that both behavior change and an understanding of self and others (http://www.dshs.state.tx.u
My parents were willing to allow Michael to live with them on a temporary basis. We filled out all the necessary paperwork, allowing my parents to retain temporary custody of Michael for one year; he was 14.
He put my parents through physical and mental anguish. He started sneaking out of the house, smoking cigarettes, marijuana, having sex, getting in brawls with the kids at school, and shoplifting from malls and grocery stores. He was disrespectful to adults, no matter who they were, he would yell and scream at my mother (who would yell and scream back making matters worse) and at one point, my mother and Michael actually got into a physical altercation. All of these things happened even though my parents gave made Michael take his medication daily and issued discipline in the same manner their parents issued it to them. This was too much for my sixty-something year old parents to handle. We started considering alternatives.
Conducting research on the Internet, I found lifelinesoptions.com, a website devoted to helping parents find boarding schools for troubled teens. This service allows parents to find safe places for their children and matches schools to the particular problems that parents and teens are facing. They helped us locate Red River Academy in Lecompte, Louisiana just 12 miles outside of Alexandria. On September 9, 2007, my son became a student at Red River.
For the first few months, it seemed like a dream come true. RRA is a wonderful facility, which not only helps children but parents as well. Parents must attend the same types of seminars that their children do in order to better understand the processes their students go through. I attended these seminars and learned more about myself than I thought I would and in the process, learned more about my son.
In addition to seminars, you receive weekly support from other parents whose children are in schools (RRA or others) and phone calls from your child’s “Family Representative” (the person who interacts with your child on a daily basis and is in charge of group sessions) as well as updates on their school, mental and physical progress. All in all, it’s a great program and I would recommend it to others who are seeking help for their troubled teens. For my son, however, it wasn’t meant to be. His patterns of behavior continued and he was once again asked to leave.
There was only one last option, his father, who hadn’t seen Michael since he was 9 years old. Fortunately, in the course of the year that Michael was in RRA, his father and I had built a relationship that was more cordial and almost friendly than it had ever been when we were married. Labor Day weekend of 2008, I drove to Louisiana, picked Michael up from RRA, three days later he was on a plane to Oregon.
Within two months, he was in jail for much the same type of behavior he exhibited at my parents only this time; he’d attempted assault on his own father with a hunting knife he had stolen from one of his friends. His father didn’t want to press charges, but the police in Oregon do not allow violent acts to go unpunished, and because it wasn’t his first offense he was facing serious charges. Attempts to contact his public defender did no good because my calls were unreturned. The law didn’t care that my son had a mental disorder; all they cared about was putting my little boy behind bars. Now he’ll be in jail until he’s at least 23 years old.
Though my husband, my ex-husband, parents and I all tried our best, using all the tricks, techniques, and discipline we knew, Michael has not grown up to be a successful, happy, healthy human being. Elizabeth, my 16 year old daughter, is a wonderful young woman who is a member of her high school yearbook staff, earns a 3.0 average in school, works part-time in her step-dad’s office and doesn’t commit those usually teenage crimes that others do, just the opposite of my son. Now 17 years old, Michael is a resident of the Oregon Youth Authority due to some bad decisions he has made as a result of his disorder. Many success stories have been told about living with bipolar disorder; but there are just as many stories of heartache and pain like mine, where therapy, medication and treatment are unsuccessful and the victims are left floundering.
So how did I get through this experience? Some days I’m not sure. Thinking back now, it’s amazing that I got through it without my heart or mind shattering into a million pieces. I think the most important thing I had to remember was I didn’t have to go through it alone. So here’s some advice to other parents who may be wondering, how can I get through this?
• Stop being ashamed and ask for help—you did nothing wrong!
The worst thing you can do is to not seek help when you need it. This disorder is not your fault; it’s a chemical imbalance in the brain that you have no control over, and there’s no shame in admitting that. Find support services, short-term treatment centers, or long-term facilities if necessary. If you need the help, ask for it.
• Take advantage of services that are offered through your school, community or church.
At the boarding school my son went to, seminars were mandatory for parents to attend. This was the best thing that I’ve ever done. I learned about myself, and my child and through my self-discovery, I became stronger as a human being. Take advantage of whatever services you can. Seek out support groups specifically for bipolar disorder. You’ll be amazed at the amount of resources there are. The Internet is also a great resource for support groups or help in finding treatment centers.
• Seek professional help.
There is nothing wrong with going to a therapist nowadays. Finding a good therapist is the first step; the second, trusting them with your deepest darkest family secrets. A therapist offers you an unbiased opinion and helps you gain insight and a new perspective.
• Ask for the support of your friends and family.
Family and friends are the best way to keep your sanity. Helping you by giving you an outlet to vent your successes and frustrations, they make a great sounding board. After all that’s what they’re there for. If you can’t turn to your family and friends, whom can you turn to?
At the end of the day, you have to let your child know that you love them, you’re there for them, but you won’t condone or enable their behavior any longer. Learning when it’s time to let go is the toughest thing for any parent, but sometimes you have to just do it.
Within two months, he was in jail for much the same type of behavior he exhibited at my parents only this time; he’d attempted assault on his own father with a hunting knife he had stolen from one of his friends. His father didn’t want to press charges, but the police in Oregon do not allow violent acts to go unpunished, and because it wasn’t his first offense he was facing serious charges. Attempts to contact his public defender did no good because my calls were unreturned. The law didn’t care that my son had a mental disorder; all they cared about was putting my little boy behind bars. Now he’ll be in jail until he’s at least 23 years old.
Though my husband, my ex-husband, parents and I all tried our best, using all the tricks, techniques, and discipline we knew, Michael has not grown up to be a successful, happy, healthy human being. Elizabeth, my 16 year old daughter, is a wonderful young woman who is a member of her high school yearbook staff, earns a 3.0 average in school, works part-time in her step-dad’s office and doesn’t commit those usually teenage crimes that others do, just the opposite of my son. Now 17 years old, Michael is a resident of the Oregon Youth Authority due to some bad decisions he has made as a result of his disorder. Many success stories have been told about living with bipolar disorder; but there are just as many stories of heartache and pain like mine, where therapy, medication and treatment are unsuccessful and the victims are left floundering.
So how did I get through this experience? Some days I’m not sure. Thinking back now, it’s amazing that I got through it without my heart or mind shattering into a million pieces. I think the most important thing I had to remember was I didn’t have to go through it alone. So here’s some advice to other parents who may be wondering, how can I get through this?
• Stop being ashamed and ask for help—you did nothing wrong!
The worst thing you can do is to not seek help when you need it. This disorder is not your fault; it’s a chemical imbalance in the brain that you have no control over, and there’s no shame in admitting that. Find support services, short-term treatment centers, or long-term facilities if necessary. If you need the help, ask for it.
• Take advantage of services that are offered through your school, community or church.
At the boarding school my son went to, seminars were mandatory for parents to attend. This was the best thing that I’ve ever done. I learned about myself, and my child and through my self-discovery, I became stronger as a human being. Take advantage of whatever services you can. Seek out support groups specifically for bipolar disorder. You’ll be amazed at the amount of resources there are. The Internet is also a great resource for support groups or help in finding treatment centers.
• Seek professional help.
There is nothing wrong with going to a therapist nowadays. Finding a good therapist is the first step; the second, trusting them with your deepest darkest family secrets. A therapist offers you an unbiased opinion and helps you gain insight and a new perspective.
• Ask for the support of your friends and family.
Family and friends are the best way to keep your sanity. Helping you by giving you an outlet to vent your successes and frustrations, they make a great sounding board. After all that’s what they’re there for. If you can’t turn to your family and friends, whom can you turn to?
At the end of the day, you have to let your child know that you love them, you’re there for them, but you won’t condone or enable their behavior any longer. Learning when it’s time to let go is the toughest thing for any parent, but sometimes you have to just do it.
Six Minutes of Insanity
Terrified didn’t begin to cover the way I felt that day. I had clammy hands, a nervous stomach, and sweat beads popping out on my forehead – I was quivering with fear - and that just barely covers my description. Shining in brilliant beams between the clouds that dotted the sky like jet-puffed marshmallows, the sun beat down as the light breeze attempted to cut the degree heat while we drove towards my doom that day, a perfect Texas day. ‘Why couldn’t it rain?’ I thought to myself. What I really wanted to do at that moment was to go back home and hide under the biggest rock I could find in the eight acres of cow pasture we rented, or maybe hide under one of the cows. However, Marty McFly and I have something in common; I, too, never backed down from a challenge of a bully. Unfortunately, that bully wasn’t Biff Tannen, but instead, my loving husband, Nick.
We pulled up to the gray, steel metal building in Bryan, Texas; full of parachutes, jumpsuits, harness’ and other paraphernalia, Nick got out of the car, grabbed his video camera and started filming. Sitting in the car for long moments, I contemplated my fate. Would I actually go through with it? Would I survive? Knocking on my window with the lens of his camera, startling me out of my reverie, Nick asked, “Are you all right?” with a mischievous grin.
“No, I’m not. I feel sick. I think I’m going to throw up,” I replied with a pained expression.
“Oh come on, you’ll be fine!” he retorted.
“Easy for you to say. You wanted to do this. I don’t!” I exclaimed.
“Yes you do. Think about all the fun you’ll have. Think about what a rush it will be. I wouldn’t make you do this if I didn’t think you’d love it.” He countered, taunting me with his boyish love of adventure.
However, I didn’t quite see it that way. “The thing is, and you said it yourself, you’re ‘making me do this’. What if I didn’t want to do it?” I queried.
“But…but I already paid for it. And you said you would…” he looked as a child looked when their favorite toy is taken away from them.
“I know. And I never back down from a challenge. But I’ll have you know, you so owe me big time for this.” I replied.
Getting out of the car, I walked dejectedly toward the yawning mouth of the hangar. I often look at that tape now and laugh to see myself, my bright red hair shining in the golden sun; a big, fake smile plastered on my face; acting as though I’m walking to the gallows waiting for the hangman to put the noose around my neck.
I put on my gear, climbed into the cramped space of the soaring sardine can they called a plane, between the instructor, pilot and cameraman and endured the taunts - references to my intense fear of heights being the topic of utmost fun – while my stomach began doing somersaults in time to the turning of the planes rotors. At 12,500 feet, we reached our cruising height and Dave, my instructor, indicated by tapping me on the shoulder that we needed to get ready to meet my fate. I squeezed myself into the tightest fetal position that I could, slowly worked my way 180˚ around so that my back was to Dave, and waited patiently while he connected the straps that would hold me tightly to him while we soared through the air at 120 miles per hour.
Suddenly, the door whipped open and a roaring in my ears began; I felt as though the entire world opened up and wanted to swallow me whole, I wished it would have. Knowing it was too late to back out now, my stomach began gymnastic floor exercises and rounded it off by twisting itself into knots; I don’t think I’ve ever felt so sick. The cameraman gave me a smile, stepped onto the minuscule step that served as man’s last tether with sanity, waved and fell backwards into nothingness. Then Dave tapped me again, the signal telling me my brush with insanity began now.
Taking a deep breath and feeling my heart in my throat, I scooted slowly to the door of death, careful not to look down, my fear of heights causing me to not want to see the events as they unfolded by knowing I had no choice. Dave’s finger pointed to the step that I needed to stand on much the way I remember Death’s finger pointing to Ebenezer’s grave in “A Christmas Carol”. Gingerly, I placed one foot on the step, then the other, Dave right behind me not giving me much time – for anything. He began rocking back and forth; one…two…three…and we pushed off into thin air…into nothingness.
Amazement doesn’t begin to describe the feeling that free falling gave me. Sixty seconds of the world rushing up to meet me so fast I didn’t feel as though I could catch my breath. Making me feel as thought I were on the ride at the carnival where you stick to the walls and the floor drops out from underneath your feet, the wind pushed at me and the skin on my face flapped back and forth like Dumbo’s ears. Those sixty seconds felt like forever right then.
With a tremendous jerk, the parachute opened and I was yanked up and then dropped back down as though being on the end of a rubber band. We now floated towards Earth, almost a mile up in the air, with the parachute billowing above us like sheets on a wash line. Looking down, the world below unfolded before my eyes. The toy cars moving slowly over the ribbon roads, the black shapes dotting the fields, from that height everything looked so surreal.
Within minutes the ground rushed up to meet us and Dave, behind me, told me to prepare for landing. Trying to recall what Dave had told me, I pulled my feet in, picturing myself sitting on a chair and prepared for the impending impact. My feet hit the wet earth and I started sliding, slithering on my rear in the crab grass and mud, while Dave tried to keep us upright. We were safe…and alive.
We pulled up to the gray, steel metal building in Bryan, Texas; full of parachutes, jumpsuits, harness’ and other paraphernalia, Nick got out of the car, grabbed his video camera and started filming. Sitting in the car for long moments, I contemplated my fate. Would I actually go through with it? Would I survive? Knocking on my window with the lens of his camera, startling me out of my reverie, Nick asked, “Are you all right?” with a mischievous grin.
“No, I’m not. I feel sick. I think I’m going to throw up,” I replied with a pained expression.
“Oh come on, you’ll be fine!” he retorted.
“Easy for you to say. You wanted to do this. I don’t!” I exclaimed.
“Yes you do. Think about all the fun you’ll have. Think about what a rush it will be. I wouldn’t make you do this if I didn’t think you’d love it.” He countered, taunting me with his boyish love of adventure.
However, I didn’t quite see it that way. “The thing is, and you said it yourself, you’re ‘making me do this’. What if I didn’t want to do it?” I queried.
“But…but I already paid for it. And you said you would…” he looked as a child looked when their favorite toy is taken away from them.
“I know. And I never back down from a challenge. But I’ll have you know, you so owe me big time for this.” I replied.
Getting out of the car, I walked dejectedly toward the yawning mouth of the hangar. I often look at that tape now and laugh to see myself, my bright red hair shining in the golden sun; a big, fake smile plastered on my face; acting as though I’m walking to the gallows waiting for the hangman to put the noose around my neck.
I put on my gear, climbed into the cramped space of the soaring sardine can they called a plane, between the instructor, pilot and cameraman and endured the taunts - references to my intense fear of heights being the topic of utmost fun – while my stomach began doing somersaults in time to the turning of the planes rotors. At 12,500 feet, we reached our cruising height and Dave, my instructor, indicated by tapping me on the shoulder that we needed to get ready to meet my fate. I squeezed myself into the tightest fetal position that I could, slowly worked my way 180˚ around so that my back was to Dave, and waited patiently while he connected the straps that would hold me tightly to him while we soared through the air at 120 miles per hour.
Suddenly, the door whipped open and a roaring in my ears began; I felt as though the entire world opened up and wanted to swallow me whole, I wished it would have. Knowing it was too late to back out now, my stomach began gymnastic floor exercises and rounded it off by twisting itself into knots; I don’t think I’ve ever felt so sick. The cameraman gave me a smile, stepped onto the minuscule step that served as man’s last tether with sanity, waved and fell backwards into nothingness. Then Dave tapped me again, the signal telling me my brush with insanity began now.
Taking a deep breath and feeling my heart in my throat, I scooted slowly to the door of death, careful not to look down, my fear of heights causing me to not want to see the events as they unfolded by knowing I had no choice. Dave’s finger pointed to the step that I needed to stand on much the way I remember Death’s finger pointing to Ebenezer’s grave in “A Christmas Carol”. Gingerly, I placed one foot on the step, then the other, Dave right behind me not giving me much time – for anything. He began rocking back and forth; one…two…three…and we pushed off into thin air…into nothingness.
Amazement doesn’t begin to describe the feeling that free falling gave me. Sixty seconds of the world rushing up to meet me so fast I didn’t feel as though I could catch my breath. Making me feel as thought I were on the ride at the carnival where you stick to the walls and the floor drops out from underneath your feet, the wind pushed at me and the skin on my face flapped back and forth like Dumbo’s ears. Those sixty seconds felt like forever right then.
With a tremendous jerk, the parachute opened and I was yanked up and then dropped back down as though being on the end of a rubber band. We now floated towards Earth, almost a mile up in the air, with the parachute billowing above us like sheets on a wash line. Looking down, the world below unfolded before my eyes. The toy cars moving slowly over the ribbon roads, the black shapes dotting the fields, from that height everything looked so surreal.
Within minutes the ground rushed up to meet us and Dave, behind me, told me to prepare for landing. Trying to recall what Dave had told me, I pulled my feet in, picturing myself sitting on a chair and prepared for the impending impact. My feet hit the wet earth and I started sliding, slithering on my rear in the crab grass and mud, while Dave tried to keep us upright. We were safe…and alive.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Camping in Paradise
Paradise Canyon, TX located along the Medina River is an virtual gem of relaxation only 20 minutes outside Bexar county. Friends invited us to spend some time with them out there on Father's Day weekend and we've continued going on weekends since. Offering daily or overnight use, we went camping this weekend (I know, the fourth of July, crowded right? Not at all for overnight) and had the most relaxing time. My husband, who is incredibly stressed at work, did nothing but sit and enjoy the rushing of the water over the rocks, the chirping of the crickets, the croaking of the frogs and the whoosh of the wind blowing through the trees. Even being as aqua phobic as he is, he sat in the "natural jacuzzi" (formed by the rapids) with me for over an hour. Being a city girl myself, I loved sitting in my camp chair in the middle of the river, enjoyed the sun on my skin and watching the leaves float as the current dragged them further down river. The only parts that weren't enjoyable were the snake that swam so close to us we could almost touch it, the animals that took off with our trash bag (our fault for leaving it out overnight), the group of overenthusiastic night fishermen who decided our campsite looked like a great spot to fish and not having a real toilet (yes I am a city girl!). Oh and my newly lobster-like skin! We're going back in three weeks for our 10-year anniversary and I'm looking forward to it!
More information on Paradise Canyon can be found on their website www.paradisecanyon.com. If you live in Texas anywhere near San Antonio, you've got to visit this place!
More information on Paradise Canyon can be found on their website www.paradisecanyon.com. If you live in Texas anywhere near San Antonio, you've got to visit this place!
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Random thought #1
It's summer. I'm on vacation and supposed to be enjoying time. Time is something I do not have. Husband is so busy (a great thing!) that I've worked almost every day. Don't get me wrong, I'm have a loads of fun working for him but at the same time, I feel as though I'm not able to do anything for myself. Oh well, I get to spend a lot of time with him and that's awesome because I love him so much. Good news is, vacation starts next Saturday! 10 days of driving, exploring, seeing my family who I haven't seen in years...I'm looking forward to it!
I really want to get started on my novel again, but I'm so scared. What if it's not any good? What if the subject is something no one wants to read about? What if I can't keep the reader's interest? What if I can't figure out how to finish it? I'm not even half way through it! It's inside me like a niggling tooth ache but I can't bring myself to pull it out. I guess that's one good thing about having to work all summer is that I have an excuse, but one of these days, those excuses will go away. Why did I even start this process???
I really want to get started on my novel again, but I'm so scared. What if it's not any good? What if the subject is something no one wants to read about? What if I can't keep the reader's interest? What if I can't figure out how to finish it? I'm not even half way through it! It's inside me like a niggling tooth ache but I can't bring myself to pull it out. I guess that's one good thing about having to work all summer is that I have an excuse, but one of these days, those excuses will go away. Why did I even start this process???
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