Today started out with another struggle to keep a panic attack away. I can't keep living every day wondering when Sissy is going to rage again. It's making me very jumpy, irritable, weepy and angry.
I found myself getting very teary a lot but I pushed that away too.
And she was obnoxious, and defiant, manipulative and superficially sweet, angry, untrustworthy, incapable of leaving unattended for 10 seconds, she raged, she told The Dad that she doesn't care about us and then asked about food ... she was Sissy. Why do I bother hoping for anything more than that? It only does her a disservice for me to care or to hope or to love her beyond what she is capable of.
Truth: If we didn't give a flying flip, Sissy would probably manage much better in a home environment.
But how in blue blazes does a mother turn off her "love button" for her daughter? It's not possible. Every time I think I can successfully pull off the I-will-be-the-clinical-robot-caregiver-for-this-child-and-not-expect-love, a part of me dies inside. It hurts SO bad.
I'm not really sure which hurts more,trying to not love her or knowing she will never be capable of reciprocating my love, that my love may actually be hurting her.
So I sat on the back porch and sobbed. Sobbed until I thought my heart would stop. And the anger built because this is so impossibly unfair, mean, cruel and heartless, all of it. Infertility, adoption, mental health issues and developmental delays, abuse and RADs, and a God who seems so indifferent to it all. What I really wanted to do was break things, tear it all to shreds and get a can of spray paint and spray profanities indicative of my pain all over everything, and I do mean EVERYTHING. But all i could do was sit there and cry.
Then i did what any reasonable woman in my shoes would do. I tore up the Prayer of Jabez book. Because like hell does Bruce Wilkinson with his fancy schmancy PhD have any effin' clue what this life is about. Seriously, the Prayer of Jabez is gonna fix this? Prosperity? Reality check - i live in a tiny house that is falling apart. The Dad drives a truck that is as old as our marriage. I've given 100 million percent of my life to Christ's cause and still there is pain in this life I lead. Not prosperity. Pain.
I would have burned the torn shreds but I didn't want to set off the fire alarm and wake everyone up. I thought about emailing Dr. Bruce to tell him what I thought of his stupid feel good philosophy on prayer and self motivation, you know, tell him where he could stick his little book? But I didn't because I wouldn't have come across as a rational woman. It would have just been another "delete this email because clearly this woman is psychotic" message that crossed the desks of some peon that works for the all mighty Dr. Bruce.
I wonder if the pain, anger and tears will ever stop? I wonder if the Dr. Bruce's of this world will ever care to notice that their stupid feel-good motivational twists on some rogue biblical philosophy are empty, mindless drivel that serve only one purpose, to fatten their personal bank accounts?
yeah, and that will happen the day Sissy decides to stop raging and start loving back.