For the Boys ~ From this Mom

I’ve been listening to a few songs off the album ‘Speechless’ by Steven Curtis Chapman.   The songs that have drawn me in particular are The Invitation and Be Still and Know.  As I was listening through the rest of the album (do they even say album anymore) I came across the song With Hope that Chapman wrote for friends of his who had suffered the loss of their child.  So much of it struck a chord with me.

I’m in no way equating what we’re going through with loosing your child to death.  My son is still alive, sometimes I think only partially alive, but indeed alive.  Burying your child has to be one of the most heart wrenching experiences a parent would ever have to endure.  However, seeing Vale the way he is, is very much a loss.  Many of the characteristics of self harm and ED are addictive in nature and so he is becoming more lost in these addictions and I don’t recognize him much of the time anymore.  So there is loss… I miss the way he was, I long for him to return.  I pray for God to restore him.

With Hope by: Steven Curtis Chapman

This is not at all how
We thought it was supposed to be
We had so many plans for you
We had so many dreams
And now you’ve gone away
And left us with the memories of your smile
And nothing we can say
And nothing we can do
Can take away the pain
The pain of losing you, but …

We can cry with hope
We can say goodbye with hope
‘Cause we know our goodbye is not the end, oh no
And we can grieve with hope
‘Cause we believe with hope
(There’s a place by God’s grace)
There’s a place where we’ll see your face again
We’ll see your face again

And never have I known
Anything so hard to understand
And never have I questioned more
The wisdom of God’s plan
But through the cloud of tears
I see the Father’s smile and say well done
And I imagine you
Where you wanted most to be
Seeing all your dreams come true
‘Cause now you’re home
And now you’re free, and …

We have this hope as an anchor
‘Cause we believe that everything
God promised us is true, so …

So we can cry with hope
And say goodbye with hope

We wait with hope
And we ache with hope
We hold on with hope
We let go with hope

This morning I decided I was weary with the House’s left over stale bagels and ventured out to the store after taking Vale for treatment.  I picked up some eggs, sausage, butter and Italian bread to make myself, and Vale as well through the rest of the week, some cooked breakfast.  I pulled my Bible out of my room and after my meal was set before me, and I bowed my head in thanksgiving I opened the Word to read my devotions.  They took me to Job 19 and I had one of those near epiphanies.  The Lord has really been redirecting my eyes so that I can hear Him say, ‘I am indeed listening’.  This chapter of Job… I really relate to.  I would never say that I have suffered as Job has, for that would be a horrid lie, but we have suffered, we have had friends turn their back on us, our family neglect us, accusations turned on us, the feeling of desertion, but not to the degree that Job had.  But in spite of all of that, Job still cried out with confidence, “I *know* my redeemer lives!”.  I really liked how he redirected his critics in this chapter.  So to sort of set the scene, Job has just had to endure yet another long winded, short sided, misguided reproach from another one of his friends.  What you will read here, is his reply:

Job 19

English Standard Version (ESV)

 Then Job answered and said:
 ”How long will you torment me
   and break me in pieces with words?
These ten times you have cast reproach upon me;
   are you not ashamed to wrong me?
And even if it be true that I have erred,
   my error remains with myself.
If indeed you magnify yourselves against me
   and make my disgrace an argument against me,
know then that God has put me in the wrong
   and closed his net about me.
Behold, I cry out, ‘Violence!’ but I am not answered;
   I call for help, but there is no justice.
He has walled up my way, so that I cannot pass,
   and he has set darkness upon my paths.
He has stripped from me my glory
   and taken the crown from my head.
He breaks me down on every side, and I am gone,
   and my hope has he pulled up like a tree.
He has kindled his wrath against me
   and counts me as his adversary.
His troops come on together;
   they have cast up their siege ramp against me
   and encamp around my tent.

 ”He has put my brothers far from me,
   and those who knew me are wholly estranged from me.
My relatives have failed me,
   my close friends have forgotten me.
The guests in my house and my maidservants count me as a stranger;
   I have become a foreigner in their eyes.
I call to my servant, but he gives me no answer;
   I must plead with him with my mouth for mercy.
My breath is strange to my wife,
   and I am a stench to the children of my own mother.
Even young children despise me;
   when I rise they talk against me.
All my intimate friends abhor me,
   and those whom I loved have turned against me.
My bones stick to my skin and to my flesh,
   and I have escaped by the skin of my teeth.
Have mercy on me, have mercy on me, O you my friends,
   for the hand of God has touched me!
Why do you, like God, pursue me?
   Why are you not satisfied with my flesh?

 ”Oh that my words were written!
   Oh that they were inscribed in a book!
Oh that with an iron pen and lead
   they were engraved in the rock forever!
For I know that my Redeemer lives,
   and at the last he will stand upon the earth.
And after my skin has been thus destroyed,
   yet in my flesh I shall see God,
whom I shall see for myself,
   and my eyes shall behold, and not another.
   My heart faints within me!
If you say, ‘How we will pursue him!’
   and, ‘The root of the matter is found in him,’
be afraid of the sword,
   for wrath brings the punishment of the sword,
   that you may know there is a judgment.”

So.  My mind is in a dark and agitated place today.  True, I’m really tired.  I haven’t been home all week and I haven’t gotten my daily doses of kisses and hugs and I’m in withdraw.  Because of all of that, I’m a little beside myself about Jason.  His family has decided to have Jason plead not guilty and push the court case.  Thinking of the ramifications of them loosing has me so scared and tearing up at the drop of a hat.  So you have this whole kettle of fish cooking and that does not lend itself well to good responses.

Today I went for our first ‘family’ session while Vale is in treatment.  It went well, nothing seemed a miss and Vale is coming a long nicely.  Something was brought to light today that has taken all the emotionally instability outlined in the first paragraph and turned it on its head.  The therapist mentioned that Vale was expressing struggles with fitting in; he doesn’t fit in the artsy types, the athletic or sports types etc.  I told the therapist that not even a year ago Vale actually was very much into sports and athletics.  But since ED came into the picture, he’s lost a lot of muscle tone, energy, stamina and feels dizzy or tired a lot of the time.  I told him the interest in clothes and whatnot is a relatively new thing.  When Vale joined our session the therapist asked him about it.  He asked whether it was true that the loss of strength and stamina had caused him to shun sports or if he simply grew out of it.  Vale seemed to be unclear (because he didn’t truly know or didn’t want to admit it, I don’t know).  The therapist drew out his pen and suggested that we all pretend that the pen was a magic wand.  If he could wave it and give Vale all his strength and stamina back, if Vale could run like he used too, be fast like he used too, would he want it?  Vale nearly jumped out of his seat with his hand outstretched and said, “YES!  Give it to me!”  Oh that answered so many questions.  Then I started to think, and in my present emotional state, that’s never a good thing.

I started to think about how many things Vale’s perps took away from him, and his love of and ability to perform sports is just another thing.  The more I thought of it, the angrier I became.  The following lyrics came to mind:

And you can’t fight the tears that ain’t coming
Or the moment of truth in your lies
When everything feels like the movies
Yeah you bleed just to know you’re alive

And I don’t want the world to see me
‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand
When everything’s made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

You know what, even if these creeps (and honestly I wish I could find a stronger word to use here) had been arrested and went to prison for the rest of their lives, they could never repay all that they’ve done to my son.  And the only thing that keeps me from hating them is God.  I know that ‘there but for the grace of God, go I’.  They will face their Maker one day, although I would like to arrange the meeting, personally.  I would rather rest in that truth than be swallowed by the anger, that helps no one.  But in my flesh, it would give me so great a pleasure to flay them alive, to hear them scream for mercy and believe me you, they would find none with me.  Told you my mood was dark.

But I guess I’m recovering too.  In the past I would have cranked up Eminem, Pink or Green Day in the headphones and let the anger burn, feeling so righteous in the anger.  I do believe there is a way to be righteous in my anger, but that wasn’t it.  So today, I made different choices.  I worked.  Tried to keep my thoughts right, leaning on God more.  Doesn’t mean I am not less dark feeling, it’s right there, beneath the surface.  I am just not tearing it wide open.  So I’m trading out the Goo Goo Dolls’ lyrics for the following:

Being confident of this very thing, that He which hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ:  Philippians 1: 6 

To me belongeth vengeance, and recompence; their foot shall slide in due time: for the day of their calamity is at hand, and the things that shall come upon them make haste.  Deut. 32:35

Healthier for me and it allows me to pour righteous anger into profitable things, like caring for Vale.  Still… Lord, how about castration via a spoon?  Just that?  Please?

Through our involvement with Marley’s Mission, we’ve had the privilege of meeting another male survivor and his family.  I just want to share with you some of his story, mostly for two reasons.  One, I love this kid so much, he’s had such a struggle and his story needs to be told.  And two, for a purely selfish reason; it’s such a burden on my heart that I need to write about it.  I’ll call him Jason.

Jason was about 13 or 14 years old when he went to his friends’ house on an April day just shortly after Easter.  When he got to the house, these friends greeted him at the door by wrestling him to the ground, binding him with duct tape, stripping him naked and then proceeded to sodomize him using various objects such as fruit, pencils and other objects.  I believe the beat him up too, but I don’t recall all the details.  I feel rather guilty about that, because darn it, I should have remembered everything, these types of stories deserve an attentive listener.  I do know that his new clothes, which he just got for Easter, were torn.  He returned home and his mother scolded him for ruining his brand new clothes, something she continues to pummel herself for to this day.  I don’t recall how he disclosed; was it right away?  Did he wait a few days?  The family did eventually take his perps to court and the boys were sentenced to a mere 3 months in a juvenile home.  Just three lousy months for placing a burden on this young man’s shoulders that he’ll carry for a lifetime.  One mother didn’t see what the fuss was about, because after all boys will be boys.  I find that so appalling, I don’t even know how to respond to such idiocy.

After having to endure the assault and the blatant lack of justice, Jason continued to suffer from harassment from these perverse ‘friends’ and their friends.  He was called a snitch and a tattle tale for pursuing justice.  He was told he actually liked the sodomy and was called gay, a faggot etc.  They would shove him around in school and call him #2 in reference to the pencil that they shoved in his anus.  They would take pencils and duct tape them to his locker in school.  They would pick fights with him, and Jason would accommodate them.  Jason is a fighter.  His parents moved him from this public school and put him in a private school where he could be educated in peace, but the harassment continues around his home.  People have written graphic, crude and demeaning commentary on a wall near his home, complete with his cell phone number.  It seems that this same set of people seek out ways to provoke him and his family unceasingly.  Jason fights back and defends himself but then gets in trouble with authorities about it.  It seems that this kid just can not get a break.  He recently told me that he can’t leave his house because ‘they’re waiting to jump me’.  How can a person live like that?

I am going to be the first to admit that in spite of the provocation, Jason shouldn’t fight back all the time.  But if you slip into his skin and walk around a little bit, how can you blame him?  Think about what men are supposed to be in this culture: strong, tough, powerful.  Those 4 boys stole this from him, no not in reality, but yes for that moment in time, can you possibly comprehend how his mind must decipher that?  How incredibly weak he may feel?  From what I know about boys who have been sexually assaulted, they carry with them part of the responsibility.  If they had fought harder, avoided that area where the perps where, that they should have known it was going to happen etc.  Female rape victims do the same, but they don’t have the cultural demands of machismo.  Not that Jason has articulated this to me, but I have to think that he feels he needs to fight to get that back, or that he is making it clear that he will never allow it again.  He is riddled with so much anger (and although he won’t admit it ~ fear), and that anger is begetting anger and he is trapped in this vicious cycle.

The latest episode with Jason was when he was with his mother at a church picnic.  The strain of Jason’s sexual assault and subsequent fallout has taken a toll on her and in response she has developed a seizure disorder.  Some trashy kid came up to Jason’s mother and got all in her face and said things like, “why don’t you take another seizure you f@#king retard, you should be locked up” etc.  Well Jason punched the kid in the face.  Apparently there was a policeman there, and although he wasn’t very helpful when it came to the verbal assault on the family he was there to arrest Jason for simple assault.  At 17 years old, a charge of simple assault could alter Jason’s entire future.  It could close otherwise open doors, and severely limit possibilities.  It kills me to think about it.  If only there was more help back when, we could have avoided so much now.

Apparently the lawyer has offered up a bargain.  Jason pleads guilty, is on probation for 6-12 months and if his nose stays clean they’ll wipe his record.  However, if the family pursues this to court, they may very well loose (Jason did indeed punched this other 17 year old, not much to argue there) and Jason could go to a juvenile facility.  And as it has become status quo in their family, they’re angry about it.  They want the opportunity to say why he did this, to explain their side of the story.  So by taking the guilty plead, they feel that they’ve just given up.  For my part, everything in me says PLEAD GUILTY!!  Jason would receive a virtual slap on the wrist, and there would be nothing on his permanent record.  The alternative, being sent to a facility makes my blood run cold.  Although Jason is a fighter, and a good one from what I understand (he’s a pugilist) he’s small.  The likelihood that Jason would be raped, possibly repeatedly, while in the facility is just so great that it scares me to tears.  I think the man who would emerge from that facility would be someone that no one recognizes.  I fear he would become immensely dangerous, and not only to himself.

The family is still thinking about what they’re going to do, at least to the best of my knowledge.  I am trying to understand their delay, because for me it seems to black and white.  For them, it’s one more crap-load of garbage that they have to take, and they’re tired of taking other people’s crap.  It isn’t fair and they want justice.  I just pray that they can see past the fact that justice isn’t going to be found, but their boy is still with them and alive and they have to be content with that.

It’s come to my attention that there are far more readers of my blog who actually know Vale and I in real life than I thought.  This doesn’t concern me, I don’t hide what we’re going through because I’m ashamed, it’s just not my story to tell.  Vale will reveal when he wants to whom he wants when he’s ready.  However, I am becoming incrementally discouraged with the amount of criticism that is coming my way concerning my blog, the condition of my heart and the way we are choosing to treat Vale.  We understand that the situation with Vale has a medical component as well as a spiritual component, and that doesn’t sit well with some folk in our life.  I would suggest that that is due to a fundamental lack of understanding (on their part) and not error (on our part).  Please allow me to expound:

1. Concerning this blog: I would note that this blog is not for those of you who are associated with us ‘in real life’, for lack of a better term.  This blog was created for two reasons.  The first reason was for myself, I needed a way to process and excise the conflicted painful feelings that were being thrown my way on a daily basis.  This is a safe and effective outlet for me.  It allows me to manage my anger in a productive way.  Why is it productive?  For the second reason I write this blog; for the other mothers out there.  When we started down this path there was absolutely NOTHING out there about boys in the condition we found Vale.  No moms out there were talking about self harm, sexual assault or eating disorders (although I have since found a blog about a boy with ED).  Everywhere I turned there was a blog or a memoir or a website about girls with these disorders, but boys have some huge and fundamental differences in the whys and wherefores of these things.  I have heard from readers time and time again tell me that they appreciate the writings that I spill here because it reassures them that they are not alone.  I am open, honest and stark sometimes, because I think that maybe these other moms may be struggling in these ways too.  That is why I write this blog. 

2. About the condition of my heart: I would contend that this blog does not contain the sum total of my heart.  I write my worst fears, nightmares and dealings here.  I put the pain in here.  I articulate the struggle here but that is not all of who we are or what we do.  This is not a daily journal nor diary.  It is a blog about a mom who has a son who was raped at a tender age and this son has since then fallen into cutting and starving himself to deal with the shame, so not every aspect of our lives is put in to this blog.  So if one looks at this blog and thinks that they see the epitome of my heart they’re mistaken.  I would go a step further: what is seen when one looks at us is not all of it either, we’re very good a masking the turmoil within.  Why not ask me?  Why not come to see me?  Why not call me?  Why assume that what is read (or seen) is all of what there is to get?  I recognize that there was much prayer coming our way, and the effects thereof are very visible.  I think that Vale has come so far in such a short amount of time can be directly linked to the time folk spent in prayer.  Prayer is a powerful tool, but is it the only tool out there?  Does praying alleviate any other responsibility that one would have?  That’s something to consider.

I would admit that when Vale disclosed what happened and we began to deal with all the subsequent fallout, I was shattered.  As I look back, do I wish I had responded differently, yes.  Do I wish that I feasted on the Word or drew strength from God instead of myself, oh.. yes I do.  If I had to do it over again, would I do things differently, yes, yes yes!  However, I have learned so much more about God than I ever knew before.  One of my biggest struggles with my faith was understanding the grace of God and that one component of His nature was made so much more clear to me in my brokenness.  And as I begin this journey back to the fullness of faith I say with all confidence that I am …more than I was before.  For instance,  I was just reading yesterday that our English word ‘trouble’ is translated into more than 30 different Hebrew words.  The fact that God uses 30+ words to describe our heartache reassures me that He understands all of my heart, and there is an endearment to Him and His Word that I have never had before.  I am excited to see how this bares fruit.  I hope to be like that famous style of Japanese pottery, Kintsugi.  The pottery that was broken or cracked was filled in with gold making it far more precious in it’s previous state.

3. How we are treating Vale: I find it curious that no one confronts my husband about this, him being the head of the home.  If it is felt we are in the wrong by utilizing medical and/or psychological means to treat Vale’s trauma, why is it brought only me?   I don’t have much to say about this aspect of the criticism, we both feel that it is ignorance (meaning the lack of knowledge, not the absence of respect) that causes this discrepancy.  Moreover, my husband is of the opinion that perhaps we are here to deal with this not only for Vale’s sake but for others as well, because as more people come into our acquaintance who have walked this walk, we will be a resource for them and so we were purposefully place by God in this position to help others, to carve that path for them. 

I also am confused that opinions are so strongly offered when so little information is received.  If one gleans all their knowledge about our family and what we’re dealing with from this blog or from the short tidbits we may exchange than they’re missing large chucks of necessary information that would be needed to form an opinion one way or another.  Lastly, can it not be considered that we are praying and seeking wisdom in every step we take?  We are not running headlong into one thing or the next like some wild decapitated chicken.  We are doing things in a very purposeful manner.  To say we are wrong is to insinuate we have thrown off all of God’s leading, how could anyone make that assumption without truly knowing?

Rebuke and correction are two very valuable assets people can offer in aiding a family in distress.  But where is the edification or instruction in righteousness?  Where is the comfort?  I do not write this open letter out of anger or bitterness; although, the criticism in the absence of comfort is starting to become a bit of a stumbling block. God in His tremendous grace and mercy has addressed this in me and helped me dig those roots out (and yes, I am on the look out for regrowth ~ daily).  I simply write this letter to ask would you mind talking to us to ensure that even the right information is had before there is critic?  And if there is indeed error being made; if the rod is going to be use, then please also use the staff?  Applying comfort when someone is in pain allows them to hear truth, even if it’s not pleasant.  Pour the balm of Gilead liberally first, always.

But most importantly, even if none of this is addressed in us, before judgement is turned on the next family that is seen falling apart because their whole life has been turned upside down, think of this open letter and remember that with what measurement of judgement you are dealing out, the same measure is going to be meted out to you.  I’ll tell you, I’ve learned that and am already trying to apply that in my life and with those I deal with, even though I have much more to learn.

Written with an incredible amount of love,

Vale’s Mom 

I sit and type in a beautiful room of a Ronald McDonald House while Vale is at a psychiatric treatment facility in a partial program.  If you had asked me six months ago if I could ever imagine myself here, I would have laughed.  Of course I wouldn’t!  Let me tell you how we got here.

From the beginning, Vale’s adolescent medicine specialist (AMS ~ I’m tired of typing all that out!) had desired that Vale enter a partial program, but there were no true programs in our area.  I know I wrote about that way back when (seems like forever ago, but in actuality it was only 5 months ago).  We hoped to help Vale by assembling our own little program with the art therapy, equine assisted therapy and Biblical counseling.  However due to his youth and his maleness (this is my opinion) nothing was working fast enough to suit him.  Young people believe they can grab the world by the tale and of course men are fixers.  So Vale wants to be fixed.  He has enough awareness to know he wasn’t always like this and he wants to return to how he used to be.  So Vale started to request to go into a partial program about 6 weeks ago.

I’ll be honest with you, it scared me to death.  I did NOT want to put him into a psychiatric institute, I wanted to be able to handle it on our own.  Pride and prejudice.  I was in an institute for 8 days, a lock down, it was the lowest point of my life.  But more than that, Vale’s father and I wanted Vale to be heard, and knew we were here for him, so we started to investigate the possibility of entering him into a partial program.  Vale was silent for so long and was forced to live in a world for over half his life that didn’t care for his needs and certainly didn’t listen to him about it.  We wanted to draw that line clearly for him, so he knew we were listening.  We talked with his AMS who was willing to help us get there, but the question we needed to consider was to put him in a straight up psychiatric institute or an eating disorder clinic, like the one the AMS ran.  We all talked about it and decided that a psychiatric institute was a better solution.  The ED is a big deal, but it’s not the only big deal, and since we feel that the ED stems from the trauma we were concerned an ED clinic would be treating the symptom and not the cause.  Plus, after he is finished in the psychiatric partial, if need be, he can enter the ED clinic.

The doctor made the referral and then we entered the waiting game.  We were told it would be about a month before Vale could enter the facility, so we were ready to wait, which turned out to be a lot shorter than expected.  In less than two weeks we were down visiting the facility, and I did NOT have a good feeling.  True to most psych institutes that I have seen, it was drab, run down looking and clinical.  It did not give me the warm and fuzzies.  I do know myself well enough that I don’t rely on my opinion in of itself, I look to my husband for guidance and he seemed satisfied.  More importantly, so did Vale.  They were willing to take him the very next day, but we had VBS coming up as well as camp so we asked for a delay so Vale could enjoy both of those weeks.  My secret hope was that Vale would turn to God and no longer want to go to the facility and would rather step up his counseling here at home.  That would be a whole lot easier and less worrisome for me.  I realize that was selfish, but that’s how I felt and I kept that information just between myself and my husband.

When Vale came home from camp he did tell us that he was questioning whether or not he wanted to go into partial.  Initially, I was internally cheering, feeling that my prayers were answered.  However, it turns out that the two people Vale really opened up to at camp… well because of their lack of experience with the things that Vale is struggling with, they misapplied the Bible and left him rather confused.  I do believe the Bible is a wonderful and most necessary tool for life and living, for me it is my guide and my plumb line for truth.  What these men told Vale was true, but misapplied, which is what we’re encountering time and again.  We told Vale we would continue to pray about it and speak with his Biblical counselor before we gave the facility a definite answer one way or the other.  Vale needed to be assured that it was not a sin for him to go into a psychiatric facility and that encouraged me so much, that he was so concerned about sinning against God that he would change his plans if he felt it was a sin.  When we talked with his counselor, he made it clear that Vale’s heart would determine whether it was sin or not.  Was he going to be defiant? to push out God? to strike out his own path? to be self reliant? to ‘show’ up these two men from camp and do what he wanted to do?  No, his heart truly wanted to do what was right and he was willing to change his plans if it was shown that what he wanted wasn’t right.  When asked why he wanted to enter the facility he explained to his counselor that he wanted to be like he used to be; active, loving sports, eating well, not depressed and most of all he missed his relationship he had with God and wanted to quiet down all the anxiety so that he can focus on getting better and closer with God.  That was the first time that Vale articulated his desires without parroting me *at all*. 

When he said that, I became at peace with the decision.  Other things came in to play as well.  Vale’s father had always been secure that this was the right decision, which is a big deal because my husband is a very careful man, and RARELY is secure in a decision.  We prayed muchly, sought Godly counsel and moreover God provided all the funds we could need for the trip.  Even the timing is ideal.  My two youngest are at camp this week, so they do not need my care while I’m away with Vale and the third week that Vale would be at the facility the children would be engaged at Camp at Marley’s Mission, keeping them occupied.

So here I sit, passing time by blogging, reading and studying the Word while my son is in treatment for depression and anxiety at a psychiatric treatment facility.

I just found this in my drafts, I can’t believe I never posted it.  It’s rather like old information, not really current, but it is what it is.

I don’t remember how it began, but I think the tussle was over school work.  Dolorosa, didn’t want to complete a science lab and spirally further and further out of control.  The more we tried to calm her down the more she became exacerbated.  She was running about, screaming, “don’t hurt me” almost like she was going mad.  

Then I saw her slide a paper off my desk and head to the shredder.  It was stuck between two books for me to find it.  You have to understand that my desk is a dump all so the chances of me finding that paper within a day or two was slim, I think that troubles me the most.  Fortunately, I had the wherewithal to stop her from shredding the paper, even thought I wasn’t sure what was on it.  She, trembling, gave me the picture that she made and what you see below is it:

Do you have any idea how much I was leveled when I saw what she wrote?  After sitting down with her and speaking with her, she expressed how she wished she could die.  My 11 year old.  Wants to die.  Now I don’t think it’s a literal wish to kill herself, and she’s said that she doesn’t really want to hurt herself, but I think the expression of her heart is that she would rather die than continue the path that she is on.  

She is so continually afraid that Vale is going to die that she seems to be beside herself.  She sits next to Vale during the school day, so when he wears a t shirt she sees his scarred arms, and that troubles her quite a bit.  She has a very sensitive soul, so those scars are a constant reminder of the distress that Vale is in.

Yes, of all my children, Dolorosa is the most dramatic.  Yes, of all of them she would be the most sensitive, she can’t watch Monsters, Inc. because it’s too frightening for her.  But still…to have such a heavy impact.  Vale’s perp damaged that precious child so badly, but he’s damaged so many other people as well.  It’s as if he shot Vale with scatter shot, and we are all collateral damage.  

I have a couple of ‘series’ going, if you want to call them that.  I have the Fallout series, which I keep adding to, because more issues crop up all the time.  And I also am thankful to have the Guest Blogger series.  I hope that grows as well, I love having guest bloggers on!  I’ll admit that partly it lightens my blogging load, but mostly I like it for a two-fold reason: I get to be a venue for others to make their voices heard, and it validates our voice a little more.  I know none of you need convincing, but I feel with more people sharing a very similar story, it makes me feel like, “See!  I told you it’s a big problem!”

So the Ordinary Day series is just going to be posts where our family went through something typical without PTSD, SI or ED intruding.  I guess it will give you a snapshot into our regular lives.  Let me know what you think.

So, yesterday was Father’s Day.  My husband isn’t the type that likes a big fuss, so I tried to prepare the foods he liked and planned a simple activity in the afternoon.  Sunday is church day, so anything we did had to fit between the hours of 12:30-5:30 so that we can make morning and evening church.  Although my honey does enjoy a good steak, he really likes all those salad-y type dishes, so that’s what I made.  I’ll share with you a little about each dish, because I altered some stuff and it was really good!  Here’s the menu:

Turkey salad on homemade whole wheat bread: I roasted the turkey breast, cleaned the meat off, mixed it with celery, chives, chopped apple, mayo and onion salt/pepper.  I served it with sliced avocado and canned jellied cranberry sauce.  Not really a big fan of canned cranberry sauce, but it is good sliced on a turkey sandwich!

Broccoli salad: cut up broccoli florets, craisins, flaxseed, chopped sweet onion, bacon and pineapple

Greek style pasta salad: gluten-free pasta (Payne is gf), cubed cukes, halved cherry tomatoes, feta cheese, chopped sweet onion, green olives and minced cilantro.  I know cilantro isn’t necessarily a ‘greek’ herb but I love it.  I tossed it all with a bottled Greek salad dressing.

Tandycake: this is reminiscent of the Tasty Cake treat that you can buy.  You bake a yellow sponge cake then spread a good amount of peanut butter on top while the cake is still hot.  Let it all chill then spread melted semi sweet chocolate over top.  It’s a family favorite.  So easy, so yummy.  We also had some ice cream as a gluten-free option for Payne.

Homemade iced tea and pickles rounded out our menu which my husband declared two thumbs up!  Yay!

We then went to this river festival which we apparently arrived too late for, because no one was still there!  Not even the vendors! LOL  Oh well, we had a nice time walking along the banks of the river.  Someone left sidewalk chalk around the river walkways and the kids had a good time using that.  Dolorosa used her daddy’s name as an acrostic and wrote out character traits for him.  Grey drew boxes designed just for dads and their wives. Vale tried to draw a building of which Payne teasingly criticized.  He got her back by drawing a non-flattering picture of her and labeled it “My twin is a BatFace”.  Watching the two of them was too funny.

“That line is crooked!  What’s that supposed to be?? It’s pitiful” provoked Payne.

“Shut it Batface!” teased back Vale.

We ended up having some of the kids who are interested in photography take pictures of the same thing, but with their own composition and then they’ll edit it.  It will be neat to see how the photos come out.  I’m pretty sure my man had a good day.  It was kinda a bummer that we missed the River Festival activities, but my husband said it was a fun and relaxing afternoon.

Vale ate his lunch well, with no sneering or visible pickyness.  There wasn’t a hint of self harming anywhere.  Vale was pleasant and funny, making up his own little rock song of “BAT FACE!” to which his twin rolled her eyes.  Even Oldest Brother wasn’t difficult.  Hmmm, there was harmony.  What more could you ask for?

It seems that Vale has switched out some former anxiety habits for some newer ones.  One habit that’s bothering me quite a bit is his obsession with his fingernails.  He was trying to clip them every week, so that they were down to the quick with absolutely no free edge.  He *hates* when there is dirt under his nails, so by clipping them that short he could avoid it, for the most part.  The thing with nails is that the more you keep clipping them the lower the nail bed becomes.  That’s why people with bite their nails seems to have only half nails instead of nails that come up to their finger tips.  So obviously we took all the clippers and locked them away.  I got him an orange wood stick so he could clean them out, but then he was cleaning them all the time and carrying the stick with him in his pocket!  If you know anything about the sticks, they are rather sharp, so carrying an orange wood stick in your pocket could potentially become dangerous.  Not only that but orange wood sticks are porous and need to be kept clean or you spread germs etc.  So I had to take the orange wood stick off him.

The second fun thing we are experiencing is compulsive organizing in the grocery store.  Vale is fixing shelves, organizing the fruit, stacking cans etc.  The longer I linger in a particular aisle the harder it is to get him to move on and shop.  I’ve left him in an aisle and continued my shopping only to find him in the same spot fixing the shelves when I was finished elsewhere!  When he’s doing this, he gives me this smile that makes me wonder if he’s just playing me.  So I asked him about it today, I asked him if he felt compelled to order shelves in the store.  He looked at me like I was insane and replied, “uh… yeah”.   He made a scoffing sound to punctuate the stupidity of me asking such an ‘inane’ question.  Alright dude, I get it.  You’re compelled.

We live right across the street from a grocery store (well actually, across the street, across the railroad tracks and across the parking lot) and often the kids, which includes Vale, will run across the street and pick up something for me.  I asked Vale how he does when he’s by himself in the store (wondering if having an audience enhances his compulsion).  He says if he has to stay in an aisle long enough in order to make a decision about something I asked for, he has the compulsion to fix the shelves.  So I guess if it’s an in an out thing he’s okay.

He is cutting less and less, which is wonderful.  And in the grand scheme of things, keeping clean nails and ordering shelves in a grocery store are far less dangerous than self harm.  But all the behaviors point to anxiety habits, and even being neat and tidy can morph into disturbing proportions.  I guess all I can do is keep an eye on things for the time being.