I almost gave up yesterday.
I almost threw in the towel. For about a half hour, I sincerely thought that my family would be better off without me. I seriously thought about running away.
Parenting is hard. Parenting kids who deal with mental illness is much harder. Parenting pre-teens who deal with mental illness on top of the wonderful hormone concoction their bodies throw at them. Well, I don't dare say it is impossible, but yesterday, I just couldn't see how it could be done.
I couldn't find my keys. That's why I didn't leave the house. I dont think I would have actually run away, but I needed air, space, and time to think, and I couldn't find my keys.
So, I stayed. I sat in the van and cried.
Then, she came outside and went for a bike ride. She was swearing up a storm, but I chose to ignore it. "I hate this f------ family. Why don't they just leave me the h--- alone." Loud enough for me to hear. Then, she would go around the corner, and stop. As soon as she knew I could hear, it would start again.
At one point, she said "and my moron Dad, he wouldn't take me to Starbucks."
Then, it dawned on me. Even though she couldn't talk to me in the moment, she was trying to communicate with me.
So, I asked my wife for her keys, and I took my daughter to Starbucks.
We were able to talk. We were able to share what made us angry, what made us scared. We we're able to forgive and ask for forgiveness.
I bribed my daughter. I don't care. I got her back.
What scares me the most, I think, is how close I was to becoming the very thing we had rescued her from. I thought about giving up, just like many in her life before us did.
But, I didn't.
Today's a new day. We press delete. We start over. We work on healing.
I'm so glad I lost my keys.
