Under Attack

I've been working really hard, trying to bring balance, strength and health back to me. Somewhere I became lost, bitter, hateful...a quitter.

I think the RA <-read constant pain- was the final straw but in this process, I have learned. I haven't ever truly quit. The fighter in me is still here.  My faith in God never truly left no matter how much I argued, threw tantrums and "disowned" Him.  I think I spent more time talking to God after I had called it quits than before. That's saying a lot considering those from my past will know I've mainly operated on my faith alone to get me through my entire life.

Somewhere, that solid constant got lost.   Maybe it was the loss of feeling safe in my home both on the inside (the kids attacking me) and the outside (the shooting across the street), maybe it was the false accusations (by the children and the therapist), maybe it was the threats (by everyone) and maybe it was when I thought I was losing it all financially.  When we thought our house was going to be foreclosed on and I had to stand in lines for food boxes.   Maybe it was the fear that I was losing Hubbins when he came so close to death last year.

Or maybe it was simply the voice inside my head that kept shooting me down. That kept snarling at me "Who the hell do you think you are? You CAN'T do this! You're just...You!" Maybe that voice belonged to my ex stepfather and abuser, or maybe it belonged to my mom...most likely it was my own voice.

Last week, I heard myself tell CDQs therapist I was worthless.  The words came out and it was like it wasn't even my own voice.  I heard them and the tears came to my eyes because the truth had been  spoken. But it couldn't be the truth.

Whatever it was, I'm working my way back. Yes, CDQ is hating every minute of it. Yes, she is attacking me multiple times a day.  I keep telling myself mind over matter. But my physical being has other plans.  Even though my mind is not sensing her as a threat so much anymore, my body changes gears on me. Her attacks make me physically ill. I'm typing right now with stiff swollen hands. She didn't stop until she saw her goal.

They say not to take it personal. They say it's not about you.  I try so hard to believe that even when I'm staring into CDQ's eyes as she tells me it IS about me and that *I*, indeed, am the one she hates.  My mind calmly ignores the perverse smile that plays on her lips.  But my body reacts to it.  My body reacts to her yelling at me to shut up even though I am not talking or even in her room. My body reacts to her calling me a bitch because she doesn't get her way.

Mind over matter, mind over matter mind overmatter mindovermattermindovermatter.....

Yesterday, Hubbins had a seating appointment for his new seating system. The appointment was an hour away. There was a big accident on the freeway that closed down all lanes in the direction we needed to go. We didn't get to his 12:30 appointment until after 2:30. While we were there, my mom called and told me CDQ had asked for water and called 911 instead.

She was calling to accuse me of beating her or some such thing and I wasn't even home.  The other kids were huddled hugging each other and crying because they had a girl at the emergency children's center they were placed in who had told them they were there because her little brother had called 911 and lied to the dispatcher. My kids (minus CDQ) were terrified they were going to be taken away because CDQ lied.

I talked to them over speaker phone and reassured them they weren't going anywhere. I called the therapists office and spoke to the director who told me to have the police contact them if they need additional information. Then I called 911. I made arrangements to take the kids on a tour of the facilities for today.

I decided I was taking my power back and I was empowering my other children. Because CDQ has held this 911 nonsense over our heads for waaaay too long.  So today we went.  We were fortunate enough to run into an officer who I had confused with the 911 dispatcher who was going to give us the tour.  I asked him to explain the process for children to be removed from the home.  He told them they had to have some kind of evidence of abuse, they just wouldn't remove them. I reassured them that they could breathe because as we know there is no abuse in our home. My poor kids looked so solemn and fragile as they shook their heads. Except for CDQ she scoffed.

Her idea of abuse is not having access to television or radio (even though she now recognizes that those things cause her stomach pains, diarrhea and acid reflux), not having a cell phone or clothes from the mall, etc...

The police officer basically told her I was her parent and I called the shots. Sweet idea wasn't it? Then the actual dispatcher came out.

Needless to say, CDQ was not pleased.

She's going to not be pleased A LOT more often because I've been able to vocalize to CDQs therapist what has been going on in our home. Ever since CDQ flipped in front of her, she's been listening more than she did before.

I've fought so hard to keep CDQ under the radar. To keep her from being labeled, to keep her out of residential treatment. But I read this sentence from one of Joyce Meyer's books:

"The most foolish thing in the world is to try and do something about something you can't do anything about."

and it hit home.

As I said in my last post, I'm letting go and I've given it to God.