Just an Option

It always starts the same,

Want, need, crave, desire - love.

It is beautiful and dangerous,

it will bring you

to.

your.

knees....

That moment before your forever can begin.

Sleepy morning voices whisper promises.

You love me. I love you. We love us.

Even the old know that.

I am the left..... ......to your right.

Tomorrow's band-aid to yesterday's pain.

Today,

the lifetime before and

two.

more.

after it.

Those whispers have faded,

Blown away on the backs of last week's kisses.

It always ends the same,

Lack, retreat, yearn, covet - love?

It's beautiful and tragic,

It will bring me

to.

my.

knees....

It will break you.

I have become......

.....just an option.

Are you with me?

It's always so hard to choose

between the pleasure... ....and the pain.

-or-

are we just not strong enough to stay away?

The One Where I Take Residence Under the Mulberry Bush

Today Thing One had an appointment with the new child psychologist. As some of you know, he has had two previous doctors, Dr. Monkey and Dr. Weasel. Dr. Weasel was our regular child psych and Dr. Monkey took over when Thing One was hospitalized on the unit for two week observation.

This doctor needs a new name, but I haven't quite been able to figure out how she fits into this whole mess. After moving back to our hometown in June, Dr. Weasel increased his medication due to a recurrence of some of the hallucinations he experienced beforehand. This was attributed to the stress levels of moving, and a child like mine DOES NOT DEAL WELL with change. So up until now, he's been taking 150mgs of Seroquel daily.

However.

Over the last couple of months, Thing One's aggression has been way up. He's been throwing things, raging, trashing the house and verbally and physically abusing Thing Two. We've tried all the usual things: time outs, behaviour mods, token economies and the like. To no avail. In fact, the aggression has only gotten worse. Over the last month, I've seen more issues that cause me concern:

-increased apathy and reduced or inappropriate emotional responses

-sleep disturbances

-talking to himself about things he has done throughout the day (full blown convos)

-signs of depression

These things I brought to the attention of the new doc (yet to named), and she promptly asked him if he'd like to come into the hospital onto the unit for a little while. At this point, Thing One fell apart... burst into tears. He has this irrational thought that if he goes onto the unit, he will never ever come out. When a child is admitted onto the psych unit, no release date is given. It is common knowledge that the child is there until they don't need to be anymore. Last time that lasted two weeks. It was the wrong thing to ask him, and it totally ruined any chance of a real observation period for him. Obviously, we don't want to make him do something that makes him acutely stressed, but I think that maybe that is the right place for him right now. Especially since the new doctor is ready to change his medications.

Most of you know that Thing One's descent into insanity came while he was under a Prozac regimen. There is some question that that drug specifically may have been the trigger for his Psychosis, as he suffered his first reality break while taking it regularly. In addition, the main reason he WAS hospitalized was due to the suicidal and homicidal thoughts. The NEW drug that she wants to start - is also an SSRI. The first warning I saw in researching the drug was: that people who take this drug can find themselves having feelings of self harm. This behaviour can occur spontaneously and decline rapidly.

This?

Is the same as Prozac. It also cautions giving this drug to anyone under the age of 18. In addition, the new doctor hopes that it will work so effectively that Thing One can stop taking Seroquel and be fine. I feel like we are going backwards. We tried an SSRI on its own and wound up with psychosis and hospitalization. Now she wants to work backward to the same treatment, with the same class of drugs.

I think I'm losing my mind.

I am FRIGHTENED.

If anyone knows anything about the drug "Cipralex", please comment to me and let me know what I should watch for.

DAG.

Again.

Today I watched myself.

From a hidden corner I watched as this shell of skin lived.

Perform puppet. Smile on command, raise your eyebrows and feign interest. Move through the day, accomplish this, finish that, start the other.

I watched as “I” moved my hands up and down, extending digits, retracting them. Laying the ridged pads on textures around me and feeling nothing. Disconnected, I peered through my own wet eyes, dulling colors and fading details. Lain aside.

Turn the pages, one by one, take in the words. Black and white impressions that I see when I close my lids, but I cannot ever know what they say. Scan and re-scan, look for the meaning, pretend to invest . . . sleep peasant. Tomorrow is another day.

I watch as my feet lift and lower, planted on the ground, toes splayed - solid. I do not move them. I sit in this darkened corner and I will those ligaments to refuse. Disconnected. They owe me nothing and do not heed my commands.

Chew and swallow. Gnashing teeth, pulverizing what goes in. Over the tongue and down the throat into the gaping blackness. Digest. Make eye contact, show smile lines - say interesting things. Dance puppet.

Motionless motion.

Loss. Disconnect.

Sleep.

From the Cradle to the Grave

I never thought that I had any more to give.

It's fair to say that I am struggling. I'm shuttled between euphoric highs and desperate lows. Thinking and re-thinking, confirming and re-confirming. Still, I'm at a loss on how to move forward when I'm chained to what is behind. This is not about you. This? Is about me.

How do you stand on top of the world comfortably? When I'm here, I am so busy waiting to feel the coming shift of the world's axis that I forget to enjoy the view. Sometimes I cannot be sure if I can feel the tremors in my toes or if anxiety is only cramping my feet. I want to be here. I want to enjoy. I want to give. I wish this could last forever.

I am afraid to give. Afraid to trust. Afraid to fall. I laid my worry stones on that imaginary line half way between and then travelled away from them in faith. Now, when I thrust my hands into my pockets on a cold day, I find no polished stones and no unpolished truths. I ask and am sometimes answered. Sometimes I am not. As if this could last forever.

I want to believe that my time will come. That I will be rewarded with happiness that I can feel in my hands despite what I find in my pockets. I see threads of that on tomorrow's horizons and they are beautiful. And unreachable. I am waiting for that string to be tied to my finger so that I may always see that I am connected to it. To find comfort in everydays seems an impossible tail I've been chasing for FAR too long.

How do I accept that, this time, there are no cruel handed fates with sharpened scissors? How do you hang your hat on tomorrow's promises and keep your head warm today? Or will it become another collection of possibilities? Pictures, cards, letters and whispers. Music and memories and cotton embraces? Lay them upon my buried hope.

Wishing for a cradle to lay my heart in.