A mothers vent vs. teenagers bedrooms

Oct 22, 2012


I do not think it is truly the myth that "monkey see, monkey do." If that were really the case then my teenaged children’s rooms would not look like a squatter’s house. I cannot for the life of me understand why the hell a room cannot be picked up? What is so difficult about hanging up clothes (that is why there is a damn closet), throwing out not wanted pieces of paper, scraps of who knows what, empty juice cans, empty soda cans, banana peels, paper plates, half eaten pizza...trash, it all belongs in the garbage can.
I keep and have always kept a clean house, even when all 4 of the babies were all under the age of 5, I kept a clean house. I remember not being able to even think of going to bed unless the house was spotless; there was no way in hell I could have ever gone to sleep with dishes in the sink. I am not as anal as I once was, I can sleep if there are a few dishes in the sink, if there are clothes that need to be hung up (we are talking about three shirts and some socks to be put away), I can sleep. I know that I will rise much earlier in the morning than my beloved little heathens and have the kitchen dishes put away in less than 10 minutes.
Funny how the garbage can just fills itself up. They all claim to have not used the kitchen garbage can and that it all must be my garbage, therefore I should empty the receptacle and not one of them. It is the same with laundry. They tell me since I have the most change of clothes in one day that I should be doing all the laundry; washing, folding and putting away. I cannot understand their justification on that one...I do not even attempt to go there for fear of turning into a raging B***h.
The hardest part is when I do go into their rooms; I just shake my head, roll my eyes and then get mad. It is a maddening insane way to live, knowing what negativity is in store for oneself on a daily basis. I can’t help but go into their rooms every day, just praying and wishing and hoping that that little opening on the ground where there is room to meandering through the filthy area of sleep has widened. I hope that when I open at least one their bedrooms that it is going to be filled with sunshine, smell of crisp apple blossoms, and that the ground actually is a beautiful red Saltillo tile. I have forgotten what color their bedroom floors are. Seriously.
I have been asking on a daily basis since we moved into this house back in July/August that they clean their rooms, daily I ask, daily I am told begrudgingly that it will be done, daily I come home from working all damn day only to find out once again that their rooms are stock piled with my dishes and glasses. At least the kitchen cupboards are empty.
My room is clean, the bathrooms are clean because I clean them twice a week, and the living room is beautiful clean with a lovely scent because I dust the furniture, pound the rugs, and oil the piano. They have not a clue as to how much I do for them and all I ask them in return, after I have birthed them, lost my beautiful tight butt, have enough lose skin on my tummy to cover the state of Montana, lost a good part of my senses and my ability to think straight, give them all what little money I make...again, all I ask in return is that they clean their smelly, garbage infested rooms. Hell, they did not even remember my birthday on Saturday...not a word about it but they did remind me that they all needed to be driven somewhere and they all needed money.
It will come down to me loosing what little shitty sanity I have left to have those rooms finally clean and free of ants and teenage garbage. It will be very soon I believe. I feel it coming on and once it is in my system and the rage boils over it is a done deal. I have told them that one day they will come home (after I have driven for hours picking them all up) and their rooms will be empty. Anything that is on the floor will be thrown out and not just thrown out in our big garbage; it will have a new home to settle in called the landfill. However, that will just be the garbage crap, whatever clothes found on the bed, stuffed under the bed, found anywhere on the floor…will all be given to a shelter.
I really want to follow through with this threat in which they have been hearing about for the last three months, I am ready and willing…I just need to find the time, energy and build up enough mental resistance to their screaming tantrums they will all be displaying.
When it finally does happen, I will have my phone video set up to get in all taped and then I will post it on YouTube and hope it goes viral. Hehehehe
I do love my children more than life and would lay down my life a million times over for their happiness and health…but it is such a small request of mine…

A Mothers Vent, a child's pain

I don’t have much to blog about. Have spent the good part of my days all week searching for my 19 year old daughter. No one has seen her or heard from her. She is not taking her meds or her birth control. Without her med's she is completely psychotic without her birth control she could get pregnant. Wow, a schizophrenic pregnant 19 year old is not a good combination. The police do not really help; at first they would not even let me file a missing persons report. Something that has to do with the time line, age and pretty much bullshit on their part. We put up fliers with her photo and contact numbers, but to no avail, have not heard a word from anyone. I would like to think that she is ok, just sick, scared and can't manage to pull it together. That is such a better thought compared to the other thoughts I have had.
It is a sad, hurtful somber feeling knowing that your child is ill, not just ill but a sickness that is stigmatized in society; like she had a choice of getting sick or not getting sick. She was such a beautiful baby, born on Easter of 1994, my first born. I always knew something was wrong with her as a child, and once she was diagnosed at the age of 7 with Asperger’s it all made sense. Did not make it any better, but at least I had a name to put with her different approaches and mannerisms. Her current illness began to rear its ugly head during her junior year in HS. This was the year she had a little pig in her pocket that she talked with and the ghost boy that followed her everywhere she went, but only talked to her during the night. These were her friends, her only friends. She is a waif of a child only 5 feet tall, 90 pounds dripping wet, pure white almost translucent skin and dark, dark brown eyes. Wish I could take all of it away and put it in me so she can finally be free from this never ending battle of voices and being terrified. There is nothing I can do for my child. I have tried everything and have exhausted every resource that is available. There is nothing out here for individuals such as my daughter, who suffer endlessly because the state and insurance companies are all too greedy and they all want their hand in the cookie jar.
This is a debilitating illness which takes away all that is sane, all that a person is. It takes the light and sparkle away from their eyes leaving them dull and lifeless looking. This illness strips a person of even knowing who they are. It is a mess of an illness...it is close to what I think would be like living in Alice and Wonderland.
I am terrified for my child, my bright, beautiful, talented, gifted brilliant child.

I pray we find her. 

A Mothers (much to loud) Vent.

Breaking points. We all have them and we all will continue to have them. I am talking specifically about mothers...single mothers; I believe have finer more easy breaking points than others. However, don’t really want to start any research on that.
I lost it with my kids which not entirely their fault. They were not to blame...this was all my doing...venting...in a very unconstructive and unaccepting manner.
I lost my house after my husband left and was left with zero child support or alimony, he skipped the country and is back somewhere near his home in Germany. I am raising these children 100% on my own on a very meek salary. I lose it, weekly and sometimes daily but each time I lose it I feel horrible for my children. Nothing with the divorce or his leaving all of us did they bring on. It was his decision; I am sure with help from his Mistress of the last 6 years that helped him with his decision to leave. I digress, after losing the house the children and I have had to rent and I am not very accepting of this but I must do what I much do. The landlords are kind of friends, would not say very close friends but friends and I guess this gives them the right to come in the house whenever they want, tell me how to cut the grass, allow handy men to show up whenever they please and stay as long as they please. they came to the house yesterday after I had a unhappy morning of realizing that it had been a year ago that my scoundrel ex-husband had come back to the children and I asking for forgiveness from us all (which we gave two different times) only to have him leave, as usual days before Christmas. The third time to be exact, however this year he has not come back to put us through agony again. I don’t think he can get back in the country? It was a bad day; I was sad, crying, working from home, $3.77 in the bank for the next 7 days, driving my usual 38 miles round trip to two different school for the kids on an empty gas tank and having the landlords come over to tell me I need to move all our furniture out and have the carpets all pulled before Sunday because they are having stained concrete poured on Monday, which will take 6 days to cure. By the way that suggested the t kids and I should stay at a hotel for that week.  F**k me. Right. Then they inform me that the second half of the house will be done the following week and that too will take another 6 days to cure. I am beside myself. I felt numb. I wanted to literally scream at them until I burst their eardrums and watch them hemorrhage from their ears. I hit my damn breaking point. Hit it hard, full force and straight on.
By the time I started my 1.5 hour long drive to pick up kids from their (different) schools I was more than upset, I was completely bonkers.
My children suffered my rage which was so unfair to them. It was one of their birthdays and I had made sauce for dinner, pasta being her favorite dish and had baked a birthday cake and adorned it with 16 beautiful candles. I so messed it all up. I was crying when I picked them up and then began giving them heck because their rooms were messy, glasses on their dressers, plates stashed under a bed, an empty soda can on the bed, clothes all over the place...and then it really starts. The venting: no one helps me clean, no one helps with dishes, no one ever helps me cook, no one ever feeds the dog, no one ever says thank you to me, and no one does anything in that damn house but me and only me. Ughhh, it was horrible, I vented so loud that my vocal cords are strained today and are highly painful.
I made my children cry because I am sad, broken hearted, penniless, almost 50 and loathe the land lord.
my beautiful babies suffered because I am selfish and cannot find enough energy and happiness to get through one day without being a b***h to them.
I know the younger ones did not understand but at least my 17 year old, 6'0, blue eyed boy understood. He came to me later on and hugged me and told me how sorry he was that dad had left us and how he should help me more now that he is the man of the house. This made my cry even more. My son, my child comforting me, his mother telling me everything will be ok somewhere down the road; my child, giving me solace. I am doing everything I can do right now not to cry here in my office. I am riddled with guilt that is going to stay with me forever, guilt, guilt, guilt. I have not been fair to my children since my husband, their father left, I have put blame where blame should not have been, I have fallen apart too many times in front of them, and I have burdened them with my pain which is unforgivable for a parent.
My children are my life, the only reason why I breath, they are my soul...even with the trials and tribulations of everyday survival and my eldest' schizophrenia and Asperger’s, the financial despair, the heartbreak, I try to get through life and be the best I can be for them...but sometimes, just sometimes I just cant.

I hate my breaking point as much as I hate my ex-husbands mistress (and him).