I was always different.  I've been teased and taunted and called by various names;  from nerd, to geek to freak in the younger years and then weirdo, bitch, butch, dyke in my latter years. My feelings at times, hurt and bruised. But since we came from a house where we were sometimes called worse, it didn't phase me much.

The kid has joined the freak club. At 12 she looks, on the surface, like your regular tween. But at this young age she bears a list of diagnosis: Aspergers, Severe Depression,  Anxiety and now Trichotillominia, which is a new one, brought on by her anxiety. This last one is the one where she plucks her eyelashes, eyebrows, hair, skin...etc.  Peels and plucks like crazy. Skin is scarring and nails are non existent.

These are the things you see when you scratch the surface. These are the things the other kids have started to see, along with her obsessions on Pokemon and My Little Pony.

So they have noticed. And they know how to get under her skin. She says they call her "Pokemon" or "My Little Pony" to taunt her. She says they throw paper balls at her. They fuck with her head and self esteem to the point where she broke down in therapy and cried and asked "Why do they do this to me? Why are they mean?"

Sigh.
kids are assholes.
but I couldn't say that.

I wish we knew the answers to those questions. I wish people would embrace the quirky, oddball, exceptional children we have. I wish I could magic wand all this shit away. I wish she were strong like me.

I wish, like me, that she wouldn't give a rats ass on what other people thought. But this is not the case.

She is fragile and sentimental and naive.  And that hurts, because I can't protect her forever.

I want her to embrace who she is, love her differences and wave that freak flag, like her momma and give a big middle finger to the normal cats that don't get her.

Fuck normality. Cause we run on crazy in this house.

People do not change. That is not an opinion. It is a hardcore fact. No religion. No love. No massive quantities of therapy can change the core essence of a person.

That is the harshest reality for me right now. Even harsher when you try to play by the rules, keep the peace, in vain.

I will never change as well. What I have tried to supress and channel slowly unravels and I am back at square one.

You cannot compromise your dignity, your heart and your family on the idea that people will change. You cannot live your life turning a blind eye. It doesn't work that way.

Ultimately you decide.

What and who you put up with is on you. And as we continue our paths ignoring red flags, compromising our being and believing in change, we only cheat our selves. And sooner than later the gig is up.

So we expand like rubber bands, changing and stretching our limits to accommodate others and hoping others will do likewise, until we snap.

And that hurts.

I don't speak of the word "love".  It is difficult for me to pronounce.  It gives me chills.  It makes me nauseated.  I am not the opposite of it, but I am not its counterpart. It is like, the unspeakable.  Like the bald villain from Harry Potter, who I always forget his name, but know, his name cannot be said.  But yet, you anticipate and wait and sometimes even yearn for it.

...this past week my eyes have been a victim of things, no eyes should see.  And memories resurface like old stains on a good ol' shirt you've lost too early.  Funny how memories can open up a whole lot full of emotions and scars and bullshit you thought you were over.  Funny how the human mind loves to relive all this stuff in all its rawness and gory.

...As I primed our outfits for Miss C's Honor Roll Ceremony tomorrow, a haunting thought came to mind.  A  thought that has come to mind many times before but today as it rang in my head and  pounded in my chest, I  just had to catch my breath.

I have done this shit alone.

Alone.

We have survived alone.

And in these days of me being uncharacteristically happy, I realized that alone maybe not that bad.

I wasn't sad at the 'doing it alone'.  I was no longer bitter at 'alone'.  I was in fact, stoic.  I can zip up my own damn dress, most of the times. I can wash my own car.  I can hold up a full time job and be a full time mother to a child who is a handful.  I have done it alone.  I mean, I have had my small corner support team and Miss C's dad is always hands on, but he doesn't live here.  I have the kid 24/7.  Enough to make me wanna drive off a cliff, literally, a few times.

I have done this alone.  The Dx, the tantrums, the job loss, the no money, the heartbreaks, the men that worked and I pushed away, the men that didn't work and messed me up, the parents who could give a shit, the fucked up jobs, the nights where I wanted to just send it all to hell and disappear and never come back.  Alone.  Alone and I am still standing.  That has got to mean something. Something. Damn it.

and maybe a day will come when I will have someone to zip up my dress, or sit and be a political junkie with me and talk bullshit and watch a game and just chill.

And maybe I won't.

Regardless, when tomorrow the kid goes on stage to get her recognition and we both look fabulous I will know I can pull my own weight.

and to that: Fuck yeah.