The Missing Social Studies Book & What Happened To The Baby?

The Missing Social Studies Book

The last few months I have posted only general updates. Last night it occurred to me that I am missing a critical factor by not blogging on a more regular basis and with details: DOCUMENTATION. I know how important documentation is. I’ve used the information I’ve documented on my blog numerous times as reference for dates and events. It’s time for me to push through the fact it’s uncomfortable and blog more frequently.

On, that note, the ongoing minor drama of the week is The Missing Social Studies Book! Daffy’s teacher emailed me Monday and said that we need to pay $80+ for the book. She said that Daffy had searched the school and couldn’t locate it and asked that we look at home. First of all, Daffy NEVER mentioned any missing book. I have no idea how long it’s been missing. Second, when I asked Daffy about it and said she should spend time looking, she said she had already looked at home but that she needed to check at school. I confronted her with the fact that contradicted what her teacher said and of course she shut down. Per usual. I’ve emailed the teacher about the book and indicated that I DO NOT want a new book issued. I do NOT have the money to be replacing books that Daffy loses. I have yet to hear back from the teacher and Daffy doesn’t seem to be spending any time looking. This doesn’t seem to bother Mickey at all. Maybe he has hidden money that I don’t know about.

I’m sure you are really here, though, to find out what happened to the baby? So last night a friend of mine came over. She comes over on a fairly regular basis and usually brings her littlest one, who is now 18 months. We hang out in the game room and her son usually is in the same area, sometimes going into the dining room which is up 2 steps from the game room. All of us (myself, Mickey, my friend, Tink, Tink’s friend and 9 month old baby and the 18 month old) were in the game room last night, except Daffy. She was in the dining room. The 18 month old wondered over and went into the dining room. Since my friend had already put up the dog bowls, there really wasn’t a lot of concern. Suddenly, there was an ear piercing scream. There was a split second where everyone froze and then my friend raced around the corner into the dining room. She found Daffy standing calmly next to the 18 month old. Daffy matter-of-factly stated “His fingers are jammed in the drawer.” My friend had to pry the drawer back open to get her son’s fingers out (which were already badly bruised) and scooped him up and brought him into the game room.

She walked in to dead silence. I think everyone had realized at the same time the likelihood of what Daffy had just done. Well, everyone except Mickey of course. He maintains that she was “emptying the trash” around another corner and into the kitchen. Since there is a window into the kitchen from the game room, I could clearly see that Daffy was NOT emptying the trash. Then Mickey decided that maybe Daffy WASN’T emptying the trash, but that she had been there but was totally calm because she didn’t know what to do. Ok, Mickey, smoke another one. No matter what Daffy’s behaviors, either she, Mickey or her therapist have an excuse to explain it away. It kind of reminds me when my mother was sick and not yet diagnosed with Lou Gehrig’s disease. She would say that the muscle weakness was from one thing and the cough from another and other symptoms from other things. As a nurse, she did not want to admit that all her symptoms together would ultimately diagnose her with a a fatal illness that would kill her in two year’s time. I think that Mickey and the therapist are in that same denial. If they excuse away each behavior (drawings, threats, suicidal and homicidal thoughts, etc) they don’t have to look at the reality of the problem we have on our hands and the fact that our mental health system is not equipped to help her.



Depression Sucks

Depression SucksI have suffered from depression for as long as I can remember. My first diagnosis came during my teen years, but I had been in therapy long before that. My depression has been well managed for more than a decade with anti-depressant medications. Each year at my physical, the doctor has suggested that maybe I come off them. I have tried. It doesn’t work. If my prescription runs out and I go a few days without them, I feel it… and so does my family.

I’m coming back from a bad place. In the past month, I spiraled down as low as I have ever been. Like not-leaving-the-house-can’t-get-out-of-bed-cutting-myself-suicidal low. I couldn’t stand myself, let alone anyone around me. Especially Daffy. Once I realized that and started to accept it for what it was is the exact moment when I was able to start the long journey back from this dark place.

I’m no expert and I have not seen a doctor for this particular bout with depression, but my money is on Post Adoption Depression.

It makes me sick to even write those words. How could my depression be triggered by the very thing that brought me so much joy? I feel an incredible amount of guilt for even admitting that. Even more than that, I HATE sharing this in such a public way, but my goal of this blog is to be transparent about our adoption process. I would be doing myself and my readers a disservice to only post the rosy parts of adoption, keeping the dark parts a secret.

I have spent hours contemplating how I got to my lowest point. Sure, there were the stressors of this thing we call “open adoption“…. and it’s been very clear to me (and everyone else) that Donald’s case has caused an exorbitant amount of stress in my life over the past year. Is that it? Is that all? How could I jump from my anger toward’s Daffy’s birth family and the state to anger towards by beautiful daughter? My best guess is that I resent her denial of what they have done to her. I know, I know…. its her birth family. OF COURSE she loves them. I’m adopted myself. I get that. I really do. But somewhere deep inside myself, my rage boils for what happened to my sweet little girl. I have spent a year ignoring how I felt. I spent a year focusing on moving FORWARD for Daffy. I need to process my anger. I need to process the neglect, the abuse. And somehow, I need to accept it. For my sake. For Daffy’s sake.

My battle is not over. I still don’t feel entirely like myself, but I do see glimmers of the person I was. I am going to keep working hard, and being honest, to get through this. Depression will NOT rob me of my happily ever after.