I’m Kind of a Jerk

Okay, so. When your husband goes outside in the cold, in shorts, to retrieve something out of your car and the last thing he says to you before closing the back door are “Hurry it’s cold” while you’re searching for your keys, and you find the keys, unlock the car, watch him walk to the car, wait until he’s juuusssstttt about there, and lock the car back while you are still in the nice warm house, you may NOT want to stand in the kitchen window, where he can see you, laughing your ass off.

Not that I would ever do anything like that.

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A Time to Shout

For years, I have been quiet. YEARS. I didn’t talk about my daughters mental illness. I didn’t want the looks of horror or pity that come after you tell someone you have achild who not only has a mental illness but is a violent Sociopath. There is no cure. There is no magic combination of pills that will make her “normal” or “level her out”.

There is also no help. There are no resources for parents who are dealing with violent mentally ill children. Social services, the courts, law enforcement, all virtually useless. They have to be a “Danger”. They have to make certain “Threats”. They won’t be arrested when they vandalize your home. Social Services will bring in a Sheriffs Deputy to threaten you & your spouse with Child Abandonment if you go there begging for help when they have more resources available to them because you’ve exhausted your own & have nowhere else to turn.

It is exhausting.

It is expensive.

Your other children will live in the shadow of their siblings mental illness.

Some will escape to your former spouse or another relative if they can.

The ones that can’t will be left to take what their exhausted, worried parents will have left to give. That leaves its own set of scars.

I have treated my daughter and her mental illnes like the biggest skeleton in my closet and I. Am. Done.

I am raising my voice. I am speaking out. I may be not be as loud or as influential as some, but I will add my voice to the many.

And we will be deafening.

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You’re In My Spot

Okay, so. Wednesday was TWH’s work Christmas gathering. We all met at a local restaurant where we were led to the banquet room (do they still call them that??) in the back and chose our seats. TWH sat us in the middle of the looonnnggg table so we’d be able to interact with pretty much everyone. There were about four or five chairs to my right and they were filled with one on-time couple and one late-arrival couple.

After I finished my rather large drink and several glasses of water, I excused myself to the restroom. While I was in there, the Husband of the late-arrival couple thought it would be funny to have everyone move down a chair. Effectively forcing myself & TWH to move down to the very end of the table and allowing them to move into a more sociable table position. He was boasting about his brilliance and telling TWH to go ahead & gather our things because “We’re not moving. Ginger’s gonna have to sit at the end of the table. If you wanna sit by her, you’re gonna have to move too.” TWH calmly stated “Yeah, we’ll see” and stayed where he was.

When I returned from the restroom, I noticed something was up, but wasn’t sure what until I got around to my side of the table and realized my seat was GONE. I leaned on the back of my chair staring daggers at the head of the poor developer who’d been forced to take my seat while I considered the best way to go about getting my chair back.

I was damned skippy getting my chair back.

I finally decided to employ the biggest weapon in my arsenal. The MDGOD (Mommy Death Glare of Doom) then I very loudly and calmly announced to everyone on my right. “I know where I WAS sitting and I intend to sit there again. I can either sit IN my chair or you (poor developer guy) and I are going to get to know one another VERY well because I will sit IN my chair ON you and if that doesn’t make you uncomfortable enough, consider this, I intend to be FACING YOU when I do it.”

I got my chair back. TWH sat in silent triumph.

The moral of this story: Don’t EV-ER try to steal the Queens throne bitches. I will NOT end well… for YOU, that is.

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