My family
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Me Verse Lupus: My son is mad.
Me Verse Lupus: My son is mad.: "I went to see my son yesterday for his birthday. He's still in the hospital and they're going to send him to another 28 day rehab and ..."
My son is mad.
I went to see my son yesterday for his birthday. He's still in the hospital and they're going to send him to another 28 day rehab and then try to find him a long term rehab for mica patients. His parole officer told him that if he hadn't gone to the hospital she was going to violate him. Then he would of been locked up for 7 more years. I pray this boy... no man learns that he has to do what he's suppose to do. He's been home for a year and a half if he gets violated he's going to have to do another 7 years. He needs to love life and realize that the confines of these programs are nothing like being back in jail where he was locked down on 23/7. But he should know that better then me. He is a grown man and he has to realize mommy can't save him no more he has to save himself. I need to learn how to let go and let God. I'm his mother and I don't want him locked up. Did I mention his father has been locked up for about 27 years for murder.
When he was a baby I had so many dreams and hopes for him. When he was a teenager and going through his thing I thought it was just rebellion stage. Then he was hospitalized and I was told he was schizophrenic. I refused to believe this. They doped him up. He fought the staff and sent 3 orderlies and 2 nurses to the hospital, so they gave him even more drugs.
I went to the library and read up on mental illness. My son had all the signs. I started wondering if I did anything wrong. Even to this day. Is he my punishment for all the bull shit I did in my life. Before I knew I was pregnant I smoke cigarettes and reefer. The night before I went into labor I went with my sister and we went to this guys' house, my sister went to get high and I said what the hell and took a couple of drags from the joint. The next morning I was in labor and gave birth 36 hours later. He was consider a preemie even though he weighted 5 pounds 2 ounces. On the 19th the doctors had me sign for him to have surgery because he had a perforated abdomen. The first time my son was held was 28 days after he was born. I could touch him through the incubator but it's not the same as cradling your child. Not being held had to affect him.
\
He was a good baby, but I do remember one night he was crying and crying and I just couldn't take it any more and I shook him. I didn't know better. He stopped crying for a few seconds and started right back up. I didn't think it was a problem, but today you hear so much about shaking baby syndrome. Maybe I fucked his head up.
As a toddler he use to sit against the wall and bang his head. I would stop him and sometimes he would just sit and stare in space.
When I meet Mr. 23 years and moved into the hotels my son was 3 years old. He saw a lot, pimps beating on their women. Drug dealers, transvestites. Mr. 23 and his brother use to take my son on the roof and my son told me years later that they use to throw him back and forth between the roofs. My son said they use to be high. Now he told me this, after he was sick and had a hard time distinguishing truth from illusions. So I don't know.
I taught him how to read and write before he started kindergarten. The teacher he had loved him, said he was so bright. But we had to move and I moved back to my mothers and put him in the school around the corner. It was over crowded and the teacher was new, fresh out of school and couldn't handle the class, she couldn't recognize how smart my son was. I didn't know I could of demanded that he be taken out of that class. The kids in the class were all left back and bad. My son stopped doing well and started behaving as bad as the other kids.
We moved again and lived in Mr. 23 years step fathers' basement. The five of us in one room. I smoked reefer around my children. I should of known better, but I believed there was no harm in smoking reefer. My son was in 2nd grade and he was having problems. They sent him for an evaluation and it turned out he had above average intelligence but was hyper active. I refuse medication for him.
\
We move again to Far Rockaway. He just wouldn't behave he would get in trouble for talking, getting out his seat and not doing his homework or classwork. He started to smoke cigarettes and reefer. He was normal to me he had a girlfriend that was older then him. Then he started cutting school. He had a friend I didn't want him to hang with, this friend was robbing people, breaking in house and doing all kinds of shit. I tried to keep my son from him. This is how he ended up staying with my sister and her husband.
After my mother died he came back home and this is when shit hit the fan. He wasn't going to school, started drinking and doing drugs. More then reefer, later he told me he smoked PCP and after that he was no longer right in the head. One night Mr. 23 was playing chess with him and my son just started crying, he asked Mr. 23 if he saw those things flying around the room. My son was having audio and visual hallucinations.
He was going in and out of hospitals. I tried to get him in programs but at 16 the availability of programs were limited. He ended up doing 6 months on Rikers Island. When he came home, he was in a half way house that should have been condemned, it was just trying to get paid from medicaid. He was in out patient programs but wouldn't comply.
One night he was gone all night, he took my car. The next morning he came in and thought I called the police and was threatening me and the girls. I told the girls to go get in the car. My oldest daughter was trying to protect me, she didn't want to leave me. She was clinging to me as we walked down the stairs. We got into the car, locked the doors and I started the engine. Before I could pull off my son busted the back window with a shovel, then the drivers side window as I pulled off. This was before cellphones were the norm. I went a few blocks away to a pay phone and called the cops.
When I got back to the neighborhood, we were in the car across the street. My son was on the roof, with the stick from the shovel, the shovel part was in the car. He was smoking a cigarette and a cop was under the roof with a gun pointed up at him. One of my stepsons' friends was trying to talk him down. The cops grabbed him in the house from the window and took him to the hospital.
Shortly after that he got arrested again and did I think 2 years for robbing someone for $10. He wasn't taking his meds and ended up beating a CO and was sentenced to a 23/7 lock down for over 11 months. I wrote the head of corrections and they reduced the time. But every time he got in general population he got himself in some kind of trouble and ended back in the 23/7 lock down.
He came home for a few months and robbed this guy for his Walkman. When the police picked him up he had the Walkman on his ears and was sitting right where he robbed the guy at. He got 7 years for the crime and 7 years parole. He did most of the 7 years in 23/7 lock down again. He was in super max prisons with ruthless criminals and he was there for a Walkman theft. When he came home a year and half ago he was so skinny, he looked like a man of 60 years old. Today he looks healthy but he acts like he wants to go back to prison as I mention at the start of this story. I shared all this information because I believe I made my son the way he is. I not afraid of dying, I don't want to go anywhere yet, and today I believe I have plenty more time ahead of me. But if lupus plans to take me out sooner then later, I pray that my son is on his two feet. That he finds someone to love him and take care of him when I'm gone. So I ask God to keep me alive until that time arrives.
When he was a baby I had so many dreams and hopes for him. When he was a teenager and going through his thing I thought it was just rebellion stage. Then he was hospitalized and I was told he was schizophrenic. I refused to believe this. They doped him up. He fought the staff and sent 3 orderlies and 2 nurses to the hospital, so they gave him even more drugs.
I went to the library and read up on mental illness. My son had all the signs. I started wondering if I did anything wrong. Even to this day. Is he my punishment for all the bull shit I did in my life. Before I knew I was pregnant I smoke cigarettes and reefer. The night before I went into labor I went with my sister and we went to this guys' house, my sister went to get high and I said what the hell and took a couple of drags from the joint. The next morning I was in labor and gave birth 36 hours later. He was consider a preemie even though he weighted 5 pounds 2 ounces. On the 19th the doctors had me sign for him to have surgery because he had a perforated abdomen. The first time my son was held was 28 days after he was born. I could touch him through the incubator but it's not the same as cradling your child. Not being held had to affect him.
\
He was a good baby, but I do remember one night he was crying and crying and I just couldn't take it any more and I shook him. I didn't know better. He stopped crying for a few seconds and started right back up. I didn't think it was a problem, but today you hear so much about shaking baby syndrome. Maybe I fucked his head up.
As a toddler he use to sit against the wall and bang his head. I would stop him and sometimes he would just sit and stare in space.
When I meet Mr. 23 years and moved into the hotels my son was 3 years old. He saw a lot, pimps beating on their women. Drug dealers, transvestites. Mr. 23 and his brother use to take my son on the roof and my son told me years later that they use to throw him back and forth between the roofs. My son said they use to be high. Now he told me this, after he was sick and had a hard time distinguishing truth from illusions. So I don't know.
I taught him how to read and write before he started kindergarten. The teacher he had loved him, said he was so bright. But we had to move and I moved back to my mothers and put him in the school around the corner. It was over crowded and the teacher was new, fresh out of school and couldn't handle the class, she couldn't recognize how smart my son was. I didn't know I could of demanded that he be taken out of that class. The kids in the class were all left back and bad. My son stopped doing well and started behaving as bad as the other kids.
We moved again and lived in Mr. 23 years step fathers' basement. The five of us in one room. I smoked reefer around my children. I should of known better, but I believed there was no harm in smoking reefer. My son was in 2nd grade and he was having problems. They sent him for an evaluation and it turned out he had above average intelligence but was hyper active. I refuse medication for him.
\
We move again to Far Rockaway. He just wouldn't behave he would get in trouble for talking, getting out his seat and not doing his homework or classwork. He started to smoke cigarettes and reefer. He was normal to me he had a girlfriend that was older then him. Then he started cutting school. He had a friend I didn't want him to hang with, this friend was robbing people, breaking in house and doing all kinds of shit. I tried to keep my son from him. This is how he ended up staying with my sister and her husband.
After my mother died he came back home and this is when shit hit the fan. He wasn't going to school, started drinking and doing drugs. More then reefer, later he told me he smoked PCP and after that he was no longer right in the head. One night Mr. 23 was playing chess with him and my son just started crying, he asked Mr. 23 if he saw those things flying around the room. My son was having audio and visual hallucinations.
He was going in and out of hospitals. I tried to get him in programs but at 16 the availability of programs were limited. He ended up doing 6 months on Rikers Island. When he came home, he was in a half way house that should have been condemned, it was just trying to get paid from medicaid. He was in out patient programs but wouldn't comply.
One night he was gone all night, he took my car. The next morning he came in and thought I called the police and was threatening me and the girls. I told the girls to go get in the car. My oldest daughter was trying to protect me, she didn't want to leave me. She was clinging to me as we walked down the stairs. We got into the car, locked the doors and I started the engine. Before I could pull off my son busted the back window with a shovel, then the drivers side window as I pulled off. This was before cellphones were the norm. I went a few blocks away to a pay phone and called the cops.
When I got back to the neighborhood, we were in the car across the street. My son was on the roof, with the stick from the shovel, the shovel part was in the car. He was smoking a cigarette and a cop was under the roof with a gun pointed up at him. One of my stepsons' friends was trying to talk him down. The cops grabbed him in the house from the window and took him to the hospital.
Shortly after that he got arrested again and did I think 2 years for robbing someone for $10. He wasn't taking his meds and ended up beating a CO and was sentenced to a 23/7 lock down for over 11 months. I wrote the head of corrections and they reduced the time. But every time he got in general population he got himself in some kind of trouble and ended back in the 23/7 lock down.
He came home for a few months and robbed this guy for his Walkman. When the police picked him up he had the Walkman on his ears and was sitting right where he robbed the guy at. He got 7 years for the crime and 7 years parole. He did most of the 7 years in 23/7 lock down again. He was in super max prisons with ruthless criminals and he was there for a Walkman theft. When he came home a year and half ago he was so skinny, he looked like a man of 60 years old. Today he looks healthy but he acts like he wants to go back to prison as I mention at the start of this story. I shared all this information because I believe I made my son the way he is. I not afraid of dying, I don't want to go anywhere yet, and today I believe I have plenty more time ahead of me. But if lupus plans to take me out sooner then later, I pray that my son is on his two feet. That he finds someone to love him and take care of him when I'm gone. So I ask God to keep me alive until that time arrives.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Me Verse Lupus: Gonna tell the my whole story
Me Verse Lupus: Gonna tell the my whole story: "I am doing too much. I don't see how people get bored when they stop working. I am busy. The only thing I miss about going..."
Gonna tell my whole story
I am doing too much. I don't see how people get bored when they stop working. I am busy. The only thing I miss about going out to work is the interaction with other folks. I guess that's why I seem to babble on and on when I have someone to talk to. Well that's what my mate says. I ignore her now. I also miss feeling important and in charge of things that matter.
I've been told that my blog has touched some people. This keeps me writing. But does it matter, like the work I did for my jobs? I thought everyone was interested in the Lupus part of my life but I found that I have more readers when I share stories about my dysfunctional life. I was a real fuck up like my brother said, but writing this blog and putting my story out there for the world to read has given me a sincere peace. I wasn't a bad person, I just made bad decisions. I can't blame anyone for them. I do wish I listened when I was spoken to. I wish those who spoke to me were more clear. Mom use to say if a man wallows in mud he can get up, shower and put on clean clothes and everyone will forget. But if a woman does that, everyone will talk about her for the rest of her life. Her aunt must have told her that. You see bougiest ran in my family. They were always concerned about what people thought. When I was younger in my mind, fuck what people thought.
What I needed my mother to tell me was that life is short, make your choices wisely. I wish she told me that sex is special and I should wait until I found the right man. That what I had between my legs was special. But sex was a subject not spoken freely in the house I grew up in. I mean my mom told me when I got my period that the boys will want me to go with them, but don't go. She never told me where they would take me or what they wanted. What I learned about sex was from my friends and they were lying. They told me that they were having sex, so I was anxious to find out myself. A friend I had as a teenager was shocked when she found out I was really having sex, she thought I was lying too.
My grand mother told me I shouldn't be with a man if he couldn't give me anything. She was crazy I thought. I wasn't going to use a man, I wanted love. Every man/boy I met I imagined was love. When they touched me I melted, my family wasn't affectionate. So any physical contact was accepted and desired. I never got to know all the men I had sex with. I can't even remember most of their names, but I can remember the act, places. I probably had sex with about 100 or more me and about 6 women.
Anyway I wish someone had told me I had all the time in the world for sex and love. I was in love with love and the fantasy of true love. Now I'm cynical and I wrote about my views on love in my other blog.
What I did a few days ago is copy and paste all the stories about my past in one file and all the stories about my struggles with lupus in another file. Now I have two files that I will work on to develop into novels. One of my readers suggested I do this. This gives me three projects to work on these two and my fiction novel that's half way done. I read an article yesterday, the writer said, if I say I don't have time to write then I'm not a writer. Well I a a writer and I'm going to make time to do so. I've been writing this blog so I still have a bit of the talent I had when I was in my prime.
As I wrote this blog I didn't tell my story in chronological order and left out a lot of stuff. I have stories that can lead into the full story. I'm going to write an out line and then just write. I've been working on this blog since August. I have 85 pages of my life written up and over 130 of my lupus story. If I dedicate myself to my work I should be finished in no time.
I finished my family newsletter. I'm proud of it as I always am. I wrote everyone a Christmas letter and I made a family tree. And I've been making birthday cards, I think I'm getting really good at them. I went to see the pulmonary doctor who says my lupus is under control and that I'm a good patient. In other words I'm proactive in my care. I don't have to see him until March. Wooowho! I see the Rheumatologist on Monday. Holding my breath. I have most if not all my records from when I was first diagnosed. If he says something stupid like the other doctor, I'm getting another Rheumy. I see my medical doctor on the next day, he'll give me a suggestion. No one is making any decision on if they want me to start on cumindain. I'll speak with my medical doctor about it next week. Right now there doesn't seem to be any blood clots in my body. I had a Doppler last week and it indicated that I had some clots in my right leg but they cleared up. I didn't care for the vascular doctor. When you are over weight like me, morbidly obese, you feel the disgust from people and I felt it from the vascular doctor. But any way I feel good, I'm not going to complain about anything. No one listens anyway.
This is what I've been doing. Oh I lost ten pounds and holding steady at that loss. I've slacked up but my stomach shrunk and I'm trying not to stretch it again. I continue to stay away from the sweets but I slipped up on the starches. I'm going to continue to work at it. Not only do I see the disgust from strangers, but I see it in the mirror too.
I've been told that my blog has touched some people. This keeps me writing. But does it matter, like the work I did for my jobs? I thought everyone was interested in the Lupus part of my life but I found that I have more readers when I share stories about my dysfunctional life. I was a real fuck up like my brother said, but writing this blog and putting my story out there for the world to read has given me a sincere peace. I wasn't a bad person, I just made bad decisions. I can't blame anyone for them. I do wish I listened when I was spoken to. I wish those who spoke to me were more clear. Mom use to say if a man wallows in mud he can get up, shower and put on clean clothes and everyone will forget. But if a woman does that, everyone will talk about her for the rest of her life. Her aunt must have told her that. You see bougiest ran in my family. They were always concerned about what people thought. When I was younger in my mind, fuck what people thought.
What I needed my mother to tell me was that life is short, make your choices wisely. I wish she told me that sex is special and I should wait until I found the right man. That what I had between my legs was special. But sex was a subject not spoken freely in the house I grew up in. I mean my mom told me when I got my period that the boys will want me to go with them, but don't go. She never told me where they would take me or what they wanted. What I learned about sex was from my friends and they were lying. They told me that they were having sex, so I was anxious to find out myself. A friend I had as a teenager was shocked when she found out I was really having sex, she thought I was lying too.
My grand mother told me I shouldn't be with a man if he couldn't give me anything. She was crazy I thought. I wasn't going to use a man, I wanted love. Every man/boy I met I imagined was love. When they touched me I melted, my family wasn't affectionate. So any physical contact was accepted and desired. I never got to know all the men I had sex with. I can't even remember most of their names, but I can remember the act, places. I probably had sex with about 100 or more me and about 6 women.
Anyway I wish someone had told me I had all the time in the world for sex and love. I was in love with love and the fantasy of true love. Now I'm cynical and I wrote about my views on love in my other blog.
What I did a few days ago is copy and paste all the stories about my past in one file and all the stories about my struggles with lupus in another file. Now I have two files that I will work on to develop into novels. One of my readers suggested I do this. This gives me three projects to work on these two and my fiction novel that's half way done. I read an article yesterday, the writer said, if I say I don't have time to write then I'm not a writer. Well I a a writer and I'm going to make time to do so. I've been writing this blog so I still have a bit of the talent I had when I was in my prime.
As I wrote this blog I didn't tell my story in chronological order and left out a lot of stuff. I have stories that can lead into the full story. I'm going to write an out line and then just write. I've been working on this blog since August. I have 85 pages of my life written up and over 130 of my lupus story. If I dedicate myself to my work I should be finished in no time.
I finished my family newsletter. I'm proud of it as I always am. I wrote everyone a Christmas letter and I made a family tree. And I've been making birthday cards, I think I'm getting really good at them. I went to see the pulmonary doctor who says my lupus is under control and that I'm a good patient. In other words I'm proactive in my care. I don't have to see him until March. Wooowho! I see the Rheumatologist on Monday. Holding my breath. I have most if not all my records from when I was first diagnosed. If he says something stupid like the other doctor, I'm getting another Rheumy. I see my medical doctor on the next day, he'll give me a suggestion. No one is making any decision on if they want me to start on cumindain. I'll speak with my medical doctor about it next week. Right now there doesn't seem to be any blood clots in my body. I had a Doppler last week and it indicated that I had some clots in my right leg but they cleared up. I didn't care for the vascular doctor. When you are over weight like me, morbidly obese, you feel the disgust from people and I felt it from the vascular doctor. But any way I feel good, I'm not going to complain about anything. No one listens anyway.
This is what I've been doing. Oh I lost ten pounds and holding steady at that loss. I've slacked up but my stomach shrunk and I'm trying not to stretch it again. I continue to stay away from the sweets but I slipped up on the starches. I'm going to continue to work at it. Not only do I see the disgust from strangers, but I see it in the mirror too.
My 2Cents Not Worth A Penny: Smell the Sh----, I mean roses.
My 2Cents Not Worth A Penny: Smell the Sh----, I mean roses.: " By: K. W. FloriaMay 9. 2008 A few weeks ago an eleven-year-old child was found hanging in her bedroom closet. Could you imagine ..."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)