Out of Doors

"...you're such a fucking pussy. you're too busy sucking your boyfriends dick to fight like a man."


is that sentence a bit shocking? it was to me, and i don't shock easily.

that sentences wasn't hurled at or by me. that sentence, in all it's ignorant, homophobic glory, was an insult hurled at my 12 year old son last night after he walked away from a group of kids that had surrounded him and sprayed him all over with silly string.

this all happened at a youth group meeting.

mere feet away from the "adults in charge" (most barely legal adults).

NO ONE DID A DAMN THING.

i got a call at work from a child in TEARS. he had left the church and walked home and called me.

this isn't the first time.

this isn't the second time.

this is TWO YEARS of bullying from the same kid.

i'm out of doors to knock on. i don't know what cage to rattle any more.

TWO YEARS of escalating bullying and not a damn thing has worked.

you may remember a rant a while ago about the school teaching my son "safe words" to use to get help when the bullying happened.

you may remember rants about me calling the school staff, the superintendent, the city police.

TWO YEARS. multiple school district complaint forms filed with the school superintendent. it spread from school to campus kids- a local college mentoring program my son participates in on thursdays on the college campus. it spread to the city park and involved SCRAPS (the local animal control) and a harassment report with the city police. it spread to a church youth group and ANOTHER harassment report with the city police.

my son doesn't want to go to school. i've told him to stay away from the park near our house. fortunately, the college mentor program realized what was happening and dis-invited the student doing the bullying so my son still has ONE safe place to go. but for fucks sake, even a church isn't sanctuary for him at this point.

the school principal is "working on it." the key phrase he kept saying this morning in his office as he leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed.

i *just* found out there's a city police officer assigned to the school as a safety/resource officer. why wasn't i informed of that two years ago?

i've had to teach my son to just take it. all the insults, the pushing, losing friends, being the narc because he did the right thing and told me. remember "...snitches get stitches..." from last school year?

he can't fight back or he gets in trouble. he can't verbally defend himself or they consider that bullying as well.

so he just has to listen to it and tell me about it in tears later.

he has to listen to "you're such a fag," "go suck your boyfriends dick," "no wonder your dad left," and a myriad of other juvenile insults. i don't know if he's gay. he doesn't know if he's gay. we've talked about it. he's questioning.

IT DOESN'T MATTER. 

the officer last night was the first one to get that. the first question from the reports has always been "...does the bullying bother him because he's gay?"

NO YOU FUCKING IMBECILES.

THE BULLYING BOTHERS HIM BECAUSE HE DOESN'T LIKE BEING BULLIED.

the officer last night was actually thrown off my me answering the question before he asked it.

me: "...and no, i don't know if he's gay or not. He's 12."
officer: "I wasn't going to even ask that. Why would that be an issue?"
me: "Well, it's the first thing everyone else has asked."
officer: "Doesn't matter if he is or isn't This shouldn't be happening."

FINALLY. someone gets it.

but now what? i have two case report numbers. i have multiple harassment complaints. i've talked to everyone i can think of. i've started down the path to see if there's any legal help i can get.

BUT MY KID IS STILL SCARED TO GO TO SCHOOL.

so what? what door do i knock on? what cage do i rattle? how can i get more than one police officer to take this serious? 

i'm at a loss. i'm frustrated. i'm sad. i'm angry. i'm insulted. i'm so incredibly hurt for my kid. i'm having flash backs to when i was in school. i know EXACTLY what he's feeling. i know EXACTLY what it's like to be the target and have no one listen or help. i know what it's like to be standing right next to an adult and have them walk away when something happens.

I DON'T WANT THAT FOR MY KID.

i'm going to keep fighting. i don't know what i'm fighting for or against or which direction i'm pointed, but i'm not giving up.

excuse vs reality

2015 is all of 16 days old and it's already started with a bang.

i'm working on arranging an interview to get back into published magazine writing for a local brand which is VERY exciting.

i've written and had a piece accepted for OffBeat Homes. Publication is loosely scheduled in a few weeks online (and more to possibly come!).

i've worked on organizing the house and have actually been keeping up on things and making myself JUST DO IT instead of sitting on the couch hating myself for not doing it (ie: fixing the bathtub and sink in the main bathroom that weren't draining. i'm like a super hot bob villa (i've been told i'm actually not. whatever.)).

AND: one of the things i'm proud of: i've been getting my ass OFF THE COUCH. it started with doing the rowing machine while watching tv at night (only after finishing other chores). i just made myself do it. no particular reason or trick- just. did.

i also am contemplating roller derby.

and that's where my main battle is right now.

what's the difference between an excuse and a reality?

i want to do roller derby.

not because i'm all WOO HOO! GO SPORTS TEAM! i'm not. i didn't do sports in high school. well, i was a cheerleader, but if you knew our squads you'd know it was more of a whoever showed up for try outs and not one of those competitions you seen on ESPN 8, The Ocho.

i want to do it because i know it's a great way to get in shape and be active and biggest part: because i know it's an amazing group of supportive, strong, confident women that help each other and accept each other and that sounds DAMN AMAZING.

BUT.

practices start at 7:30 on tuesdays and thursdays. shouldn't seem like a big deal, but for the kiddo, that half hour before bedtime of me not being home is pretty much on par with abandonment. not to mention the 3 hours saturday morning practice. i went on tueday night (yay! survived an actual practice!) and wednesday morning the kiddo was a nasty grouch and wendesday night he was a bundle of LOOK AT ME while i was trying to get photos taken for the OffBeat Homes article. In the space of an hour while editing pictures i had to ask him three different times, "Can we do this later?" because he kept interrupting with school papers, permission slips, etc.

if that's the way it's going to be three times a week? oh. my. pending. insanity.

he always has been a high maintenance kid and i have been trying to figure out the balance between telling him to just deal with it and not ignoring him FOREVER. he's the type of kid that you can spend ALL DAY WITH and the next morning he's insulted you don't want to do it all over again and insisting you NEVER do anything with him. it's been like that as long as i can remember.

i already feel guilty enough for him being home alone before and after school while i'm at work. and i have this HUGE ball of parental fuck up in my gut at all times for my down time while dealing with depression. what toll would it be emotionally and mentally to me to add more away time (even just a half hour) to the fire? how much would his behavior shift and would it be a constant battle?

is this an excuse or a reality?

additionally, there's the fact of WHEN, not if i get injured. it seems like everyone in derby has a story of when they messed up their ankle or knee or arm or miscellaneous body part. i have ZERO wiggle room or cushion for missing work. i have no one to watch the kiddo if i'm in the hospital for any length of time. i have no savings account or fall back if there's medical bills or missed pay. one injury would wipe me out across the board. YES, i fully realize i could get injured walking down the street or driving to and from work with the same consequences. that, to me, is drastically different from signing up for something that has an inevitability versus a possibility.

again though, excuse or reality?

there's the thought that since i'm considering spending money on dues and gear i could put that towards personal trainer sessions/gym fees and be able to work out after the kiddo is in bed and get the same health benefits. but that misses out on the interaction and belonging to something or being a part of a group.

there's the thought that i can't let the kiddo dictate my life forever, i need to just GO. but i know my brain and i know it would be a constant nagging/distracting thought.

so. here i am, waffling. if it's just excuses i can kick myself in the ass and say SUCK IT UP.

if it's a reality then i need to find a work around or alternate solution.

 and i really just don't know.

on being excommunicated...

i don't remember becoming catholic. or joining a cult. i haven't had any koolaid of any kind recently, nor have i sacrificed any black cats at midnight.

i have however managed to be excommunicated.

so. there's that.

a little over a week ago, at the seven week mark since the teenager moved, it officially happened.

the small spawn called the big spawn to tell him about his new bike, chat in general, and he asked if the big spawn wanted to talk to me.

"NOPE."

i knew it was coming. i know there's so much anger and emotion and teenage angst and pure hate. i've been expecting it. but to actually hear it...

OUCH.

you know?

and i did something that i rarely do: I LET MYSELF FEEL IT.

i didn't stuff it down. i didn't distract myself. i just...let it hit. and i cried. holy shit did i cry. snotting all over the place, kleenex in a pile on the coffee table. i went in to make dinner and just stood over the stove crying.

it hurt. and i let it.

the worst part though, was the small spawn. apparently watching mom have feelings, a LOT of feelings, is unsettling.

i tried to reassure him through the snot and tears- it's OK. i held it in for seven weeks. it was bound to come out. i just need to purge it all out and get back to rights.

but seeing mom sad is hard for his tender little heart, so he tried to make it better.

he tried to text his big brother:

"do you hate mom?"

i know he SO DESPERATELY just wanted to see that "no" come back. he wanted to be able to show me a text that it wasn't true. the big spawn isn't so angry, he doesn't hate me.

instead he got back "what's it to you?" and "don't be such an asshole."

totally uncalled for and even more hurtful to a little brother who still doesn't really understand what all happened and was just trying to make things right.

and then i REALLY fell apart. i expected the anger towards me. i didn't expect him to take it out on anyone and everyone in the general range of fire.

i cried. i hurt. i let myself totally fall apart. i snotted and sobbed until 4 in the morning when i finally fell asleep. i called in to work the next day- something i NEVER do and took the time i needed to put myself back together. a friend came over for lunch and let me talk it out. i cleaned house and purged the rest of the emotions while i purged the piles of clutter that had built up.

maybe it's just me, but depression is half emotional and half environmental- neglecting my feelings tends to go hand in hand with neglecting my house. purging both and getting them both in order was a tremendous boost.

i had posts of encouragement from friends, even a bright delivery of flowers from across the state to show support.

and here i am a week later.

it still hurts.

i know i'm missing out on his first season of track. i'm missing out on his new school and new experiences and new friends.

i know it will take a LONG time for him to work through all his hurt and hate and anger- and then only if he chooses to.

i knew it would be hard going in. i expected something like this- i just didn't know what.

one of the side effects of all this is that it's made me rethink a few of my relationships- mostly with my own mum.

as much as i hurt going through all this, i'm sure she's felt similar feelings.

it made me really evaluate the decisions i've made- have i been too harsh? have i been intentionally hurtful and hateful?

end of the day i still stand by my decisions, even going through something as painful myself.

a change of perspective, yes. a change in results, no. but it's good to re-evaluate. it's good to question. 

i'll deny it if you tell people, but it's good to let yourself have all the feelings. they don't just have to be stuffed away and moved past without a second thought.

things are settling down around home now with just the two of us. it's still strange, but it is what it is.

i really hope some day i'll be back on the good list. but until then, it's ok. it's part of the process. it hurts. and it's not fair. and i don't like it. and i SO wish i had a magic wand to just make it all better and get rid of all the yuk. but the yuk is part of the learning and growing process. even plants need a little shit to be healthy.

...and counting

it's been six weeks since my oldest son moved.

it feel like a lifetime. it feels like a few days.

it feels like the world has completely stopped. it feels like everything is on fast forward.

i've had a fuck of a time writing lately. there's so much hurt and anger and sadness and worry and gut wrenching sickness.

but i still get up and go to work.

i still meet up with friends.

i still make sure my youngest son has a good birthday.

i still try like fuck to hold it all together.

that's the real reason i haven't written.

i can't fall apart.

there's too many things to do. i can't write at work because i can't let them see me cry.

i can't write at home because there's dishes and dinner and grocery shopping and all the things i'm supposed to be doing (but can't because i'm just frozen).

i can't think about it. i can't fall apart.

i've lost my son. for probably a long time. i hope not forever.

but i can't think about it because i still have another son that needs me.

i'm so worried. everyone says he'll come back around. he won't hate me forever. he didn't really mean it when he told me he never wants to see me again.

i shouldn't read into him avoiding phone calls, stilted text message conversations. i shouldn't focus on the anger and blame during the few phone conversations that have happened.

i've taken my time thinking over the last few weeks. i can't say it's all been good thinking. i've used (and quite possibly abused) my sounding board friends. i've tried to look at things from all different angles, all different options.

i still haven't found another option that would have been better. i know this is the way it needed to be. it hasn't made it any easier. even weeks out.

i have so many questions and theories and ideas of why it all happened the way it did. i'm still working through them. i know i may not have any answers, ever. i'm working on being ok with that. some of the questions i'm still working up the courage to ask the right people and hope that they're willing to give me an honest response. i've been realizing half truths and passive destructions and undermining that go back years. it makes me think i'll i honestly never get real answers to my questions. it makes me think i've never gotten any honest answers from some people.

people ask how i am. how i've been doing. i answer politely but vaguely. i'm battling. it's true. i don't say it's a bloody, ugly, mean, horrible battle. i just answer politely and move on as quickly as possible. i feel like i've become adept at distractions- ask people questions, keep an arsenal of current events handy to change the topic, know ways to move on as quickly as possible. 

speaking of which.

i had a huge realization last week with the small spawn aging one more year: i'm the same age now as my mum when she got married to her second husband, and the small spawn is the age as my brother (and then me, three years younger).

it's hard to imagine my mom at 27 dating and...being young. hard to imagine her being the age i am now getting married to have someone help her raise her kids (her words). she's always been old to me. i never remember her being young or going out or anything. i remember one time in seattle she showed us she could change lanes without hitting the turtles in the road (the raised lane markers). i remember she had one gal she worked with that we would occasionally go over to their house on the edge of town. i think that was it for the extent of her friends and the extent of activity. she, to this day, has never had a drink of alcohol. she would go to work parties during the holidays but only stay a half hour because she didn't like being around people "like that" (drinkers). we went to church and i'm sure there were people there...but i dont remember her having a social circle. to this day i have NO CLUE what she would do during spring break and our two weeks in the summer my brother and i spent with our dad. we usually came home to rearranged furniture and her with a fresh perm. that's it.

it makes me wonder how my kids see me. i try to take them places and do things- movies, baseball games, hockey games, vacations (well, just one of those). i have a good circle of friends. i take time for myself and go out with said friends, attend theater, tweet-ups. i have friends over for dinner parties and bbq's and movie nights and just hang out nights. i've attempted dating (as well as that's gone...ugh). i've tried to make life LIFE. i've tried to show my kids conflict and resolution. i've tried to show them how to have a good time but still be responsible. i've tried to show them all the things that were hidden from me as a kid because they were grown up issues (never too early to learn budgeting and being money wise to me.)

i don't want my kids to look back on their childhood and only vaguely remember stories associated with pictures but draw a huge blank for the rest of it.

i'm 33. my youngest is 11. my oldest will be able to drive in a few months. life FLIES BY. i want them to remember it and love it.

on another track- i look at how my mom felt like she HAD to get married to have someone help her raise her kids. while i don't agree with that in any way shape or form, i also realize i've gone almost too far in the opposite direction shunning anyone that offers help (especially those that tried to force their help or tell me how it should be done). i'm so afraid of being like her- not being strong enough to do it on my own. i'm pretty sure i'm able to do it on my own. at least i have been able to for 15 years. pretty sure i don't have anything to prove to anyone at this point, so i need to just cool my jets and stop being so...harsh.

it all comes back to balance. i want someone willing to help, but not someone that thinks i NEED help. i'm not some fucking damsel in distress. i'm a damsel- maybe more of a dame. but i'm not exactly in distress. i've kept the lights on and the cupboards filled just fine. i want a partner, not an asshole knight on a horse that is going to shit all over my lawn (the horse. not the knight. well, maybe both). BUT. to get someone willing to help, i have to be willing to LET them help. i have to quit being so worried people will think i'm weak.

i have to quit being worried about people in general.

yeah. that's the biggest part of the equation. people are always going to have their own opinions. i can't control that. i'm sure no matter what someone out there is going to think i'm baby daddy shopping. someone is going to think i needed rescued. someone is going to think i'm with a guy i don't deserve. someone is going to think i could do better. someone is going to think i'm a fucking beached whale. someone is going to think i have soft movie cuddling enhanced plushness.

i have to quit worrying about others and worry about me. i have to look for what i need. what is important to me. what is best for my little core that's left.

IN OTHER NEWS:

i've said it before and i'll say it again: tattoos are my form of healing/working through things. i PLANNED on finishing up my second half sleeve before venturing out into any other tattoos, but gene had other ideas.

i've already introduced gene:

 well, gene needed a friend.

so.  meet anita:

she helps take care of gene. she's there to ice his injuries, mend his broken little heart. sweet little pigeon-toed anita.

together they're kind of AMAZING.

i know for sure i have gene in me. i've taken my hits. i've had my heart broken. i've been knocked around pretty good over the last few years but i'm still going.

but i also have anita in me (i know it's not a proper sentence. shut it.) i'm a fixer. i'm a helper. i want to make things better and take away what pain i can. i want to help put things back together, be there when someone needs me...especially my own damn self. back to that balance thing. admit my hurt, but also my own power to heal. like gene and anita. they go together. i'm going to keep taking hits over the years. and i'm going to keep fixing over the years.


so. 

six weeks. six weeks and counting.

i have plenty to say. i've been taking notes. i just haven't been able to get it out.

i'm trying to come back around. i'll get there.

six weeks is a lifetime and a blink. i'm getting there.