My Brother…My Hero…Rest Peacefully

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I have fought and fought with myself about writing this post, because for some stupid reason, it brings finality, which is why I haven’t written for a while. Something has been tugging at my heart for a few days telling me to write this down, instead of continuing this endless war between my heart and my brain…I submit…here it goes.

My brother David was born when I was 15 years old. He was the love of my life the first moment I held him. Hell I even got to name him! We had a close connection from that moment on, one that even could be described as a parent to son relationship. I’ve been there for him through staples in the back of his head at 2 from a fall, broken arm at 7 from the playground, his mother’s alcohol addiction and verbal abuse, getting arrested, drug addiction, going into Army AIT boot camp and watching him graduate from Ft. Benning. We FB messaged while he was deployed into Iraq, sometimes during our chat we’d lose connection, and he’d come back telling me “Sorry sis, mortars flying over head”. (oh how I hated that) He was the first man in to clear a dwelling, he saved a brother when their Humvee blew up from an IED, he was respected and known as “The toughest mother fucker to have ever served”. When he honorably discharged from the Army, life became more difficult for him than I can really describe, unless you’re a Veteran that saw this type of combat, you know what I mean.

Upon going back home to dad’s house up in the mountains, he bought a new car,  entered college and started dating. That’s when the first signs of PTSD started to surface. Excessive anger, nightmares, hated public places, loud noises and started taking narcotics to ease his pain. This all started in 2011.

By 2013 he was so heavily into narcotics he dropped out of college, totaled his car and broke up with his girl friend. Stealing from family, friends and strangers to pawn items for money to buy his next fix. Finally, my dad got him to listen to him about going into rehabilitation. He entered a VA rehab and succeeded beautifully, was there for 6 months and was discharged and went back home to dad’s.

By March of 2014 he was using again and in serious legal trouble. Judge had mercy on him, sent him back to the VA for inpatient care again in September 2015. Then his mom died from an alcohol related infection September 29th. He left rehab for her funeral and to help dad; which caused him to start using again. At this point for not returning back to rehab he had a warrant out for his arrest. On December 4, 2015 dad found him on the front porch early that morning (Below freezing temps) not breathing and no pulse. He pulled him into the house, dialed 911 and started doing CPR on him. It appeared that David OD’d and the cold temps actually saved his life, along with dad’s quick actions. Only spent 3 days in the hospital, they discharged him and back out he went again to use. I was beyond furious with him and my dad. Dad knew of the warrant and refused to help the police catch up to him. The one thing I will not do is love an addict to death, I will not be that co-dependent person. The week before Christmas I had talked to my dad and he told me that David was home sleeping. I called the sheriff’s office and sent them up there to arrest him. I would rather see him in jail than overdose again, no one in my family knew I did this. They still don’t.

David got to spend Christmas 2015 in jail, the sheriff’s office coordinated transportation and got him back up to the VA rehab for a minimum 6 month treatment program. This time…something clicked! Right away I mailed him a bible, pictures of his nephews, letters of encouragement and brought him back to Jesus. He finally…FINALLY wanted to live! Praise God! During the next 6 months he and I spoke regularly about PTSD. We could share our stories with each other, our fears, our anger, our lessons….everything. Brought us closer than I could ever explain.

At the end of June 2016 he felt he needed to be back with our dad. He was scared for dad being alone in that big house up in the mountains, he was going to get a VA loan to buy the house to take the pressure off dad, he had been approved for 100% Veteran disability and was on a mission. Until July 2nd.

Dad lives in a very remote area, his property backs up to Bureau of Land Management land and the first stop light is an hour away. Fireworks were David’s enemy after the Army. Apparently a local had been shooting off M-80’s while my dad was away from home and my brother had a major flashback. Prior to this incident, David would have these flashbacks that brought him to a level of a total psychotic break. He would see enemy soldiers in the tree’s of dad’s property, grab his weapons and take off after them. He would be missing for days, making “camp” here and there and live off the land. After about 4 days he would come back home, once he felt safe and knew where he was.

Dad came home the night of July 2nd, thinking David was asleep, because his truck was in the driveway and keys on the hook. The next morning when David hadn’t come out of his room yet, dad went in and realized David was missing. He didn’t think much of it, or he didn’t want to think much into it, his initial fear was that David was using again. Therefore, dad didn’t tell me that David was missing until day 2. I encouraged him to call the sheriff’s office, but he was afraid to, because of all the trouble David had been in before. I couldn’t accept this answer nor did it make sense to me. David and I had just talked on the phone on June 25th, I know him and I know if he’s not well. Then my neighbor set off a bottle rocket….and it hit me! I didn’t call my dad, I called the sheriff’s office and spoke with a deputy. My fear was that he was in another PTSD psychotic break and back in the tree’s and BLM land, it being a holiday weekend meant there would be hikers back there. I was afraid if he was back there and thought a hiker was an enemy soldier, he would kill an innocent person. The deputy listened to me, told me he would first contact some of my brother’s friends to see if they had seen him. Little did I know, the deputy was calling David’s old druggie friends, and spoke with one of them. This low life piece of shit, thinking my brother was in trouble, told the deputy that David was with him and didn’t want to talk to him. Deputy called me back and informed me of this information. Told me that his “informant” doesn’t lie to him, apologized in a very cocky way and that was it.

July 3rd in the evening, I pulled a STUPID! I tried to jump up with a butterfly net and catch a dragonfly for my 2-year-old. I came back down and blew out my left ankle. The pain was so extreme that I couldn’t breathe and ended up in the ER that night. Why is this in the story you ask….just wait.

July 7 at 6:06 pm my sister called me to tell me they found my brother’s body. A hiker that was back on the BLM land came up on his body and called for help. The sheriff was “pretty certain” that it was David, but we had to wait for an autopsy for further identification.

It felt as if the universe cracked.

Made arrangements to go with my sister since I couldn’t drive due to my ankle. The next day after arriving and trying to take care of dad and all the massive chaos at his house, I had a friend drive me to the sheriff’s office and to stop at the coroner’s office. I spoke with the coroner and was able to provide him information of David’s known scars and missing teeth. He had me wait for a second and brought out some car keys, and asked, “Are these your brother’s keys?” They were. I asked for a complete autopsy, including drug screening. I then proceeded to the sheriff’s office. This time I demanded the Sheriff and no fucking deputy. I confirmed to him that it was my brother’s body and I expected a further investigation to be done at my dad’s home and the property.

Here’s what ultimately happened:

David apparently had a PTSD psychotic break on July 2nd from the M-80’s set off by a neighbor, verified they were set off about 6pm by another neighbor. He grabbed his .45, buoy knife and machete. Then around 5pm the next day it appeared he tried to climb a 50 foot cliff, that would have taken him to an area where he would have had a 360 degree view of the valley with areas for shelter and recon. they found his buoy knife jammed into the cliff 30 feet up. David must have fallen from that point and blew out his left ankle. The open compound fracture he endured lacerated his artery and he started to bleed out. Due to the amount of blood they found at the base of the cliff, and the trail to the location of his body, he was in dire straights. He did not have his phone. He cut his t-shirt off and tied a tourniquet, but it wasn’t enough. He made a series of gun shots in 3’s, “soldier in distress”, which was reported at 5:30 pm by a Marine Veteran from other side of the valley, which went unattended to by the sheriff’s office. He bled out and died leaning against a tree stump in about 45 minutes. Due to the extremely hot weather conditions, his body was unidentifiable. No drugs were found in his tissues nor system. He did not shoot himself.  Cause of death was exsanguination. When they located his body per the hikers report, his gun was laid by his side all rounds spent and his machete on the other side of him. No wild animals disturbed his body, which is amazing, as the area is full of bear and mountain lion.

On July 3rd, based on times given, David blew out his ankle at about 5:30 pm. I blew mine out at about the same time. Explain that to me.

I can’t write any more on this right now, I knew this was going to be hard to write, and I’m fucking cooked. I’m shaking, crying and need a break. This isn’t the end of the story; a little more drama unfolded, more heartache and challenges; and through my amazing brother’s death so much beauty came out of it.

The above picture is of my brother.

 

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Mommy Anxiety

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I believe every parent goes through a level of anxiety when their children start school, for the first time or even every year they go back.  It’s a natural instinct to be nervous for them, especially in todays day and age of atrocities that have happened at our schools. I know my fears and anxiety aren’t unique nor earth shattering, but if I ignore these feelings, then I’m doing a disservice to myself, my family and others. Here’s where I am right now and I have to acknowledge the truth.

When my oldest son who is 22, Spicoli, was 10 months old and I was married to his dad; my life at that moment changed drastically.  I had doctors appointments on a day in June, so I had taken the day off from work, but I took Spicoli to daycare to make the running around easier on me. After all of my appointments, I went home to grab a bite to eat and was getting ready to head over and pick him up from the daycare. I got a knock on my door, and there stood some man who asked me “Are you Katy Sheffer?”, as I responded with a yes he handed me a large envelope and walked away.  I opened the envelope and wasn’t grasping what I was reading.  It was a court order of divorce papers and a restraining order to stay away from my son. I still wasn’t grasping any of it, we had just celebrated our 2nd wedding anniversary 2 days earlier.  Went out to a lovely dinner, he sent me a huge bouquet of flowers, so what I was reading wasn’t making sense.

I called Dick right away, he answered and I asked “What are these papers that were just delivered? I don’t understand.” His response, “Just read them and you’ll figure it out.” I did respond “Okay I’ll read them after I pick up Spicoli and then I’ll call you.” He sternly responded “No you won’t pick him up. He’s not even at daycare, he’s with my mom, besides you now have a restraining order from seeing him. You are no longer welcome to go to the daycare and if you do, they have been ordered to call the police to have you arrested.” At this point I started yelling “I don’t understand! What are you doing? This is crazy!” Then he hung up on me.

I called a friend that is an attorney and asked her to please help me, that I couldn’t understand what was happening, so together on the phone we read the documents word for word. Bottom line, Dick went to the courts that morning and filed for divorce. In order to gain leverage to keep Spicoli all for himself, he told the judge I was unstable, suicidal, had severe postpartum depression that he was afraid I would pull a Susan Smith and kill our son. The TRO (Temporary Restraining Order) was issued based on a lie. From this point forward my life dramatically changed.

Spicoli was only 10 months old and it took three months to get in front of the judge to prove that Dick had lied, so basically my baby was kidnapped from me for 10 months, at least that’s how the judge put it once he was proven to be a liar. During these three months the prolonged trauma caused PTSD, I went from 155 lbs down to 98 lbs. I couldn’t eat, sleep nor stop the fear of wondering where my baby was.  What was he doing? Were they feeding him correctly? Are they cuddling him? Are they talking about me to him? Will he recognize me when I get him back, or if I get him back?

Yes I got him back, but the trauma still lingers. I’ve been in counseling for 22 years, I’ve gone through desensitization therapy, EMDR, PFT, trauma therapy; but the fear and trauma is still there.

Right now my 4 yr old, Calvin, is set to start pre-k tomorrow. I’m a fucking wreck. When I had him I experienced postpartum depression again, but this time it was way worse. A lifetime of trauma’s and having CPTSD made it ten times worse. It caused me to develop a ferocious level of protection over him, it was so bad I couldn’t go back to work. No way in hell would I have my child at a daycare, because in my mind, they aren’t safe. No my marriage now is nothing like it was with Dick, and I know this, but that doesn’t stop the mamma bear instinct to protect my young.

I wish I could wait until he was 5 and ready for kindergarten, but Calvin needs speech therapy support. He really has had a heck of a time with certain consonants and vowels, and in order for him to be ready for kindergarten we felt it best for him to start pre-k and obtain some special education with speech therapy. Yes I could clearly just take him to a speech therapist, but I believe peer support is an important part of his growth.

I am a mess. I’m irritable, tired, shaky, can’t sit still, can’t stop thinking. That trauma from 22 years ago has played in my memory over and over and IT WON’T STOP! To add to this, he’s scared too! We now live in a new state as of 3 months ago, so he has a new home, new room, new friends, new experiences…his life has changed. He was doing great about starting school, until we went for the meet and greet at school last night. This poor kid was so overwhelmed, there were people everywhere, he held my hand so tight he refused to let go, he didn’t want to explore the room on his own, I had to hold his hand and walk him through it. When we got home he had a complete meltdown. “I scared mommy, I scared!”

Meanwhile inside I’m thinking ‘DAMN IT! I’m scared too!’, how do I handle this? How do I convince my son it will be all okay, when inside I’m scared it’s not going to be? How do I nurture him and calm him, when I’m a bottle of nerves? We went to bed, read a book and I cuddled next to him and told him a story. A story about a brave little boy who was starting school for the first time, that he was scared too, and that it was okay to be scared. The little boy was going to have wonderful nice teachers full of love and comfort, he was going to meet and make new friends, he would have daily adventures and different toys to play with; but most of all his mommy would be there to pick him up at 1:30 on the dot and because he knew this…he felt safe. I reminded him that he has Jesus with him ALL of the time, protecting him and loving him, and because of this he’ll never feel alone. Calvin then kissed me and said “I love you  mommy” and rolled over and fell asleep. It was so very precious.

I don’t know if that story I told him was just for his benefit and comfort, but I think it helped. I hope I convinced him or helped him, especially because I can’t help myself right now. I can’t stop the intrusive scary thoughts, my body remembers that day, not just my mind. Sick to my stomach, can’t eat much, headaches, shakes and rapid heart rate….body memories are as bad as the mental memories.

I will continue to push forward, I will continue to ask God for strength and pray daily, I will do my best for as long as it takes for me to get comfortable….if I ever do. I will put lipstick on this pig and keep on keeping on.

Oh and one more thing: Fuck you Dick.

Stalking Family

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As I’ve blogged about before, there are “blood family” members we’ve had to end relationships with due to many narcissistic traits and unhealthy boundaries that don’t serve our family well. My husband’s family is one of them. He made a very difficult choice of ending all contact with them, and for reasons that only he can explain.

Yet no matter how much he’s detached from them, they just won’t let go. In fact, they’re reading this right now. You see they know about this blog and they follow it so they can follow what is happening in our lives. Stalk much?

So family, are you enjoying my pain? Are you enjoying reading this and then sitting around the table and gossiping about it? Are you still blaming me for my husband no longer speaking to you? Still vilifying me as the “bitch” and wall between he and you? Still pointing that finger of blame and shame? Taking NO responsibility in this?

Let me ask you this. Did you enjoy calling his boss (lead pastor) multiple times to whine about him? Did you enjoy making complaints about him to his employer, which was our church, in an effort to hurt him? Did you enjoy the shaming voice messages you left him at his job? Do you feel satisfied cutting him out of your wills and financial inheritance? Have you enjoyed hurting him passive aggressively? Satisfied yet?

AND why? You did all of this because he refuses a relationship with you? Because he wouldn’t lie to a court for you? Because he reported abuse concerns to proper authorities as he was obligated to do with his profession? Because he’s married to me?

You did all of this based on revenge and retribution. Have I been silent in this, nope. Unlike my husband I have no filter, no desire to hold the dirty secrets you have spent a lifetime hiding. What I don’t do….I don’t stalk you! I don’t follow you and I don’t involve children in your sick games. But I do blog about your bullshit and my experiences, true or not in your eyes, it’s what I’ve experienced. It’s my truth and you can’t take away my truth. I don’t use your names nor details, so calm the fuck down. You don’t like what I blog about? Simple resolution to that, STOP READING MY BLOG! But you can’t help yourself can you? It kills you to not know what we’re doing, or where were going? Then…

You TEXT him on his milestone birthday? Wow! I’m sure you’re saying to each other “we tried”…yes you tried. Pat each other on your backs…good for you! Based on his lack of response to you, when are you going to get the clue?

So let me leave you something to chew on as I end this. We’re making it in this life despite you. We’re surviving financially with our move because we have non-blood family who love us UNCONDITIONALLY! Our family consists of caring, non-judgemental, non-interfering healthy people. They offer love and support when we don’t ask for it. We are thriving and God has opened all doors for us in our path because THIS is all in His great plan. As for you…you’ve given us nothing but heartache, pain and validation that stepping away from you was the best decision possible.

Enjoy chewing on this post, but don’t choke on it as I don’t want to be blamed for more stupid shit.

This Pig Is Going To Fly WITHOUT Lipstick

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New adventures are on our horizon!

God never fails us! I know this in my heart, but the struggle between my heart and mind is a difficult one. This became apparent to me more over the past couple of months. I live where the cost of renting or buying a house has gone through the roof over the past 3 years. At the start of this year we began looking for a home to buy, due to many unforesen reasons, it won’t happen here.

It first started when my husband lost his job as a Pastor and had to switch gears and go back into the trades industry. Because of this, we wouldn’t have been approved for a loan because of this change. We knew God had a plan, we just couldn’t see it.

Then I got diagnosed with several autoimmune diseases, which caused some financial distress having to go through so many tests. We knew God had a plan, but we just couldn’t see it.

Then our landlord decided to sell our house and we had to move. Because of this housing crisis our rent doubled and depleted us of our entire savings. We knew God had a plan, we just couldn’t see it.

It quickly became apparent over the past couple of months, we’d never be able to buy a home here in our native state. Born and raised here, but it’s not the home we both grew up in anymore. So we decided to expand our horizons and check out other places, cities and states.

Then recently, for some crazy ass reason that only God knows, Texas has been calling us! TEXAS! A state that I never in my life thought I would ever consider moving to, a state where everything is bigger….like spiders! Including employment opportunities, housing, schools and beauty of the human soul. My husband has a really good friend who lives there and I have 2 childhood friends that would live close to us too. We knew God had a plan, we just couldn’t see it!

The employment opportunity will give my husband the chance to use his trades skill AND pastoral skills together! Seriously…how did that happen? God!

With our savings is depleted and our pockets on empty, that’s not going to stop us, because God has a plan and we are trusting in Him and His plan. We have no one to help us financially with what we need to be safe moving there. We’ve had a couple of amazing people in our lives who we love deeply that have gifted us some cash to help with gas and moving our home in a truck, and the crazy thing is, we didn’t ask for this money. They’re just true gifts from God and real friends who love us unconditionally. Because God has a plan, and we’re starting to see it.

I’ve put up with a lot of undeserved shit from my family over the past few years. Mostly because I choose sobriety, I choose healthy boundaries, I choose no drama, I choose not to be like them. Therefore I have become their sacrificial lamb in so many ways. So finally I am choosing me! I have nothing here to keep me here and I no longer want to be shackled to their poor choices, so I’m going to FLY! We are going to FLY, we are going to spread our wings and fly and be free from doubt, shame, blame, hate and pain.

God gave us this opportunity and has been slowly closing doors to open this one. With the clothes on our backs, the minimal necessities and each other we are saying goodbye. We’re going to have a huge yard sale to put extra cash in our pockets, selling some family heirlooms on eBay and selling my mom’s diamond…but let’s face it; that crap doesn’t make us happy and won’t go with us when we die.

God has a plan and we are trusting in Him to guide us every step of the way.

For we walk by faith, not by sight. 2 Cor 5:7

WAIT! How’s my CPTSD in all of this? It’s firing on all cylinders and it’s kicking my ass, but I trust God, and that’s all I need right now. (Ask me tomorrow though, as my fear & excitement rollercoaster is vasilating)

This Pig Is Going To Fly WITHOUT lipstick!

WTF is CPTSD?

It’s on again! As I have many stressors happening at once…again! We’re moving to a whole new state where I’ve never been before. New life experiences which seems exhilarating and it’s scaring the living shit out of me. Have to start everything over, new psychiatrists, psychologists, doctors, insurance, surroundings, people and and and and…. **breathe**

Lipstick On The Pig

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CPTSD (complex post traumatic stress disorder) is what a person can suffer after being traumatized or victimized over and over and over for long periods of time; or repetitive traumas that aren’t related and a person never gets a chance to heal in between them, which puts the person is in a constant state of victimization.  PTSD usually refers to 1 to 2 events in a person’s life that they experience. CPTSD can be a number of things a person experiences long term such as:
  • Prisoner of war
  • Concentration Camps
  • Child physical, emotional or sexual abuse
  • Domestic violence
  • Sex trafficking / Prostitution
  • Child exploitation rings
You read my list of traumas and some of them went on for years. The symptoms, pain and self destruction that came with it made it all even worse. Like myself, people with CPTSD experience symptoms and difficulties such as:
  • Zero Emotional Regulation. Consistent sadness…

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Lipstick On Suicide

I can’t believe I’m writing about this, I can’t fully express myself verbally but I am about to try. I have got to get this out of my mind.

The night before Easter, right after my husband and I got the Easter goodies prepared for our son’s seeking adventure the next morning…I got the call.

My father usually never calls me past 8:30 at night as he knows we’re usually getting our son to sleep, but sometimes Clint (Dad) has had way too much to drink and calls me drunk and depressed. So when the phone showed he was calling at 9:30 PM, I just didn’t have it in me to answer the phone and deal with his ramblings like I have for the past 2 1/2 years. I waited for the little alert on my phone to show a voicemail was recorded, but it never showed. I assumed he realized the time or decided calling me drunk once again wasn’t a good idea. Until my phone rang again and it was my cousin. At that moment I knew something bad had happened and I had to answer. “Hey Katy it’s Josh, my mom wanted me to try to get a hold of you. You’re dad is in an ambulance on the way to the hospital. He’s overdosed on Ambien and has been drinking all day. That’s all I know. She tried calling you, but you didn’t answer and your sister won’t answer either so I’m not sure what to do next.”

My heart hit the floor and was pounding out of my chest. FUCK!

I kept calling my Aunts cell phone and she wouldn’t answer. I kept calling my sister and her husband and they wouldn’t answer. The drive from dad’s house to the hospital is 45 minutes and I was shaking uncontrollably. I called the hospital ahead of time to give them my name and number, who I was and that he was coming via ambulance and why. For one hour I sat with my heart pounding and dying inside with panic because I couldn’t reach anyone. Is he dead?

Clint tried to kill himself the day after my brother died a year and a half ago, luckily he only had ingested 5 Ambien before he was able to get stopped by his friend. Then 6 months later he parked his truck in the garage running and closed the door, to have been discovered by a friend in time again. Then 2 months later he called me drunk again telling me he was going to do kill himself as he just couldn’t walk this earth any longer, so I called the Sheriffs office to get there. They did, he said he was fine and they left.  He was really pissed at me that I did that to him. Since then he has spoken of killing himself on a weekly basis. I have called his doctor begging her to stop prescribing Ambien to him and she ignored me. I have begged him to get counseling, grief group, help of some sort…but he’s refused. Always the next day after he sobers up he says he feels stupid and doesn’t know why he gets that way. I have talked to him until blue in my face and he refuses to get help. I’ve cried, begged, threatened…you name it I’ve done it.

After 1 hour I called the hospital, all she could tell me is they were working on him and she would have the doctor call me. My father has been an alcoholic all his life, he has had many traumas and crisis that he’s refused to get help for. Recently his wife died of alcoholism complications 2 1/2 years ago and then his son 10 months later from a tragic fall from a cliff. I have yet to tackle writing about my brother’s death because it hurts so bad.

Basically my dad is a 73-year-old hot mess and I can’t save him.

Finally the phone rang and it was the doctor. Dad took 30 Ambien with a lot of alcohol, he was dead on arrival to the emergency room, but they were able to counteract the sedative and bring him back. He was placed on life support measures to help him breathe because the Ambien would cause him possible respiratory distress for the next 12 hours. The Doctor was admitting him to the ICU for close observation. He should survive this, but only time will tell.

Finally my sister called me and she was extremely intoxicated as well as her husband was, both of them very dysfunctional and incapable of rationalizing. My sister and I have medical power of attorney, but my copy is at my dad’s house 5 hours away, so we agreed she would get her copy faxed to the hospital the next morning.

I cried myself to sleep and woke up crying, slept for 3 hours and had to wake up and do the Easter egg hunt with our 4-year-old son. After a couple of hours awake I called the ICU and talked with the doctor, he said based on my dad’s history and his deep intent on dying he is going to recommend admitting my dad to a mental health facility for a few weeks. I started to prepare myself to drive there so I could help with the logistics and being there for when dad woke up. I called my sister and explained to her the hospital needed the POA as soon as possible and to please get it faxed there. She said she would.

Two hours later the doctor called and told me they got dad awake and extubated and he was breathing on his own so not to rush myself, that my dad would be in the ICU for a few days. I called my sister to explain this and she refused to talk to me because she was drunk and couldn’t deal with it, as was her husband.

My Aunt lives with my dad, she had gone up to my dad’s bedroom the night before to check on him and say good night and found him unresponsive with the empty bottle. She saved his life. That next day I called her and asked her to please grab my dad’s legal papers for the hospital and she refused. She knew he was going to possibly go into a long-term admission to the mental health facility and she didn’t want to lose her drinking buddy, nor the control she has over him. She also told me that she wouldn’t let me into the house, so don’t bother showing up. Later that day my Dad called me and told me I wasn’t allowed to come and he put an order with the nurses not to let me in.

Apparently my Aunt told my dad that I was going up to commit him into the mental ward and use the medical POA as my tool. My sister was refusing to help because she thought I was doing the same.

Seriously? Even with the medical POA, I don’t have the power to do this; but in all of their codependent alcoholic dysfunction they couldn’t see that. Even if I could have done this, it’s to save his life!

So now what?

The next day psych does their interview with him and he told them everything they needed to hear so he couldn’t get admitted. Small country town therapist, NOT a psychiatrist made this decision. Instead she agreed to let him go home and that he had to enroll into a strict outpatient mental health program. Mainly because all of his previous attempts aren’t documented, because none of his codependent alcoholic friends didn’t want to cause problems and get him the help.

The day he was to be discharged he had a minor issue that had to keep him in the hospital one more night. That evening he finally started alcohol withdrawal. He is so pickled in Black Velvet that it took 3 days for the withdrawal to start. The hospital started him on a sedative to keep him comfortable and calm, but still discharging him home the next day.

I tried calling my sister again, and I was immediately placed into voicemail.  I called her husband and got the same.  I sent a text to both of them and still no response. Through our mom’s death and our brother’s death, I was in charge of everything, because no one else could stay sober and get the job done.

I watched my mother slowly kill herself with alcohol, most ugly heartbreaking and emotional fuck of my life. Now I’m faced to watch my father do the same? Yet the suicide attempt is really messing with me. Why aren’t my sister and I and his two grandson’s enough to want to live for? Why does he tell me how much he loves me, yet chooses the fucked up way out? Why leave us (actually me) with another mess to clean up?

I can’t take it anymore. I can’t sit on the sidelines and watch him continue down this road. I can’t continue in a relationship with him, my sister and aunt; which is actually a very sick triangulation of emotional fucks of narcissism. My son had to watch his mommy cry all day on Easter and at four years old can’t understand nor should he have to. My husband feeling deeply pained to watch my pain, knowing there’s nothing he could do either to ease my pain. Then my oldest son who is 22 knowing that his most favorite Grandpa is a destructive mess. Not only can’t I take it anymore, I can’t do it, and I can’t let my family go through this anymore.

So I quit. I wrote my dad and sister both a letter telling them goodbye. Letting them know that how this all transpired is beyond dysfunctional and completely unacceptable. I’ve learned that when trying to help an addict, you should never work harder than the addict. That I am tired and exhausted from trying to help and be there as expected, but only if I support them in their endeavors to continue to be sick. I won’t do it. I deserve better than this, my husband and children deserve better than this. That I am going back into counseling so I can make sense of what the fuck just happened. Heal myself once again and walk away from their choices.

Before I mailed these letters I received a voicemail from my dad. Damn it…you can block numbers from calling you or texting, but it doesn’t stop the voicemail. In the small valley he lives in, everyone knows everything about you and what happens. One neighbor checked on my aunt and asked what had happened, because ambulances with lights and sirens in a small town that has no stop light is noticed. My aunt told this neighbor, who then told another and it was spread like wildfire within one day. Most of the people up there know me very well, I used to live there and they’ve all been extremely supportive of me after my brother died up there. I received messages from people and calls and I verified the stories and corrected the mistakes, but I won’t lie for my dad. I won’t make this a dirty family secret, because those secrets will eat you alive. They wanted to know why I wasn’t there yet, so I told them the truth.  I was stopped for bullshit dysfunctional reasons. In turn many of those people reached out to my dad, as they too have had run-ins with my aunt and they also think she is a bad influence on my dad. They spoke their truth.

As part of my dads embarrassment for what he did and is continuing to do, he called me and let me know the following. I needed to basically get the “burr” out of my butt about my aunt and that I should be grateful she saved his life and that all I have been doing his “hurting” him. Wow. Hello pot…have you met kettle yet? Look in the mirror dad! I will not lie for you, I will no longer be your escape goat as the “black sheep” of the family, I am choosing MY family and health over your sick choices. Oh and by the way you hurt me.

Can you tell I’m extremely angry with him? As well as my sister and Aunt? Can you tell my pain runs so deep just typing this brings tears to my eyes? I’m the one and only one making the healthy decisions and I am being punished for it. S fuck it. The letters have been sent, written with a lot of love and compassion, but most importantly honesty. It’s time to cut those ties that have bound me and restricted my growth, it’s time for me to fly. I refuse to put lipstick on suicide.

Post Conviction Paralysis

jump

This daunting image is what it felt like after John was convicted and mom died.  I felt captured in mid-air leaving one nightmare and entering another.  Full of uncontrollable fear. I had nowhere to go, nowhere to run and no safety net to catch me.  What’s even more symbolic of this picture, is it happened 9 days after his sentence, 9/11 was felt so deep down inside me this moment resonated with me and I couldn’t get it out of my head.

For years I have had dreams of falling from a tall building or cliff, wide awake feeling the crisis of the moment all the way down, and right before I hit the ground I wake up.  This is a recurrent dream for me and I’ve had it since I was a pre-teen. This is how I’ve felt since I last posted about this douche bag.  Over the past week I have kept feeling like something is about to happen.  Something bad, maybe an anniversary or birthday; it didn’t hit me until today.  January 30, 2002 was the night I was attacked at my home.

My subconsciousness knew this was the next chapter of John, hell I even knew it but couldn’t come to writing about it.  Yet this moment has been gnawing at me and this anniversary is not one to celebrate.  The longer I ignore this demon gnawing at me the more I will crawl into my hole.  So, I’m taking my jump by choice, I’m jumping into the next round of my story and it is my choice to do so.  Praying this is a healing moment.

From August 2001 until January, 30, 2002; I lived in a cave.  I didn’t go places, I shut myself off from everyone, broke up with a guy I was dating and I lived in constant fear.  John wasn’t put in prison, there was still nothing protecting me.  I still woke up 4-6 times per night checking and re checking every door and window in the house.  Kept my porch lights on, alarm armed and my gun within quick reach.  I even had a knife hidden between my mattress set.  My dog was a wolf hybrid and she was a badass and very protective.  I got a job that was 45 miles away from my home, I left medicine as a nurse and went into the mortgage industry.  I felt that I needed to change my career so he couldn’t find me again, driving to a from places was different every day and I read every book I could to learn more about stalking and the effects.

On the day of January 30th, I went to work and my son was staying with his father that night, we had a set schedule of when he would be with his dad.  On those nights I would work late, I dove into my work so I didn’t have to be at home alone.  When I got home and pulled into my driveway it was about 9:30 pm and obviously dark outside.  I noticed immediately that the side gate to my backyard was open and I immediately thought only about my dog.  What if she got out, how will I find her, she had a doggie door she could use.  I decided to go through the gate and call for her, because then if she was home she would come through the doggie door and meet me in the backyard.  It’s a pitch black area, no lights on this side of the house, as I entered through the gate I yelled for her.  Then out of nowhere I hear “Hello Katy” and I’m immediately hit in the forehead with a large object.  I know I lost consciousness because I woke up face down in the dirt with someone sitting on my back with a rope around my neck.  Fuck I’m having flashbacks typing this, I’m shaking.

The fight or flight in me kicked in immediately and I started fighting.  Trying to grab at his hands, but he had gloves on and a Carthartt canvas feeling coat.  The rope was really thin and I couldn’t get my fingers between it and my throat.  I flailed around the best I could and then I realized my car keys were stabbing me in the leg and I grabbed for them.  I had a key fob with an alarm and that car alarm was loud as hell and I managed to push the alarm button.  Then he was gone.  He took off and I don’t know which way he went, when I realized he was off of me I got up and ran to my door and got in, pushed the house alarm panic button and locked myself in the bathroom with the phone.  I coward to the floor in fetal position calling 911 and what felt to be hours was merely minutes before a I heard sirens and a female voice at the bathroom door.  She told me who she was and it was safe to come out.  I came out to my home full of police officers and flashlights and questions coming at me.  I was coughing because my throat was swelling up from the strangulation, I had blood all over my hands and didn’t know here it was coming from, I couldn’t breathe through my nose and I was covered in dirt with rips in my blouse and holes in the knees of my slacks, and I was missing a shoe.  I kept asking for my dog, where the fuck is my dog?  A lady officer told me she was asleep on my bed, breathing but she wouldn’t wake up.  I ran to her and cried and was dropping blood off my face onto her and couldn’t comprehend shit.

They called for an ambulance to take me to the hospital, animal control took my dog to get checked out at a vet and I couldn’t stop shaking.  I shook like I had hypothermia, I felt paralyzed and confused.  The emergency room doctor looked me over, took x-rays of my throat and CT of my head and nose. Gave me one hell of a sedative to calm me down and watched over me for hours.  Meanwhile I had this detective, a woman, who was there to ask me questions.  I explained over and over what transpired.  It was fresh in my head, and I kept telling myself “you have to keep remembering, close your eyes, keep the imprint in your mind”.  I remember the doctor giving me a steroid for the swelling in my throat, a narcotic for pain and the sedative all in my system.  I was at that moment just trying to piece things together, all these drugs and I couldn’t keep anything straight.

Once the hospital released me the detective took me to the police department.  Took me into an interrogation room with mirrored windows and a camera.  Then proceeded to ask me more of the same questions.  I kept relaying to her about the stalker, kept telling her to go find John.  I felt like she just wouldn’t listen.  I got very frustrated and upset and demanded to see the lead detective that helped with John in the first place and she kept saying “He’s not on duty, I am”.  After telling her my story and what happened, she said I couldn’t go home because the police were processing the scene and would be there all night.  I had to stay at a neighbor’s house. My sister lived across the street and when the officers originally went over there to tell her what had happened, she was high or drunk and told them she just didn’t have time to deal with any of it.  Yeah, my own sister, the self-absorbed trained narcissist just couldn’t deal with it. So I stayed at the neighbors.  I laid on their couch, I tried to sleep but seriously who was I kidding.  I couldn’t sleep.

The next day I went home, called the vet and went to pick up my dog.  She had been sedated with a hotdog laced with an animal sedative. I called my dad Clint and he was on his way to my house, he was 5 hours away.  My son stayed with his father.  I just laid in my bed, waiting….

The detective called me the next day and asked if I had any ideas of who would want to hurt me.  I busted out laughing. “Are you fucking kidding me? Do you not remember me telling you over and over about John?  Did you find him, did you interview him?” Her response took this trauma to a whole new level, “No we didn’t, we felt that if we came to him about you it would reopen his obsession with you.” UN-FUCKING-BELIEVABLE! She asked if she could call my psychologist to see if maybe she could understand better what I’ve been through with the stalker.  Weird ass question, but okay, please go for it.  I had an appointment with Madeline the next day because of this attack, maybe she could shine some light on me about this detective and what the fuck she is doing.  Madeline trained Police Officers on this type of violence and the victims.

That night my dad was with me shaking his head in shock, then told me he was going to run an errand and would be back so I wasn’t alone for long.  5 hours later Clint stumbled into my house, so drunk he couldn’t even speak.  Good ol’ dad went and got drunk, that was his coping mechanism and his way of helping me.

My support system, non-existent.  Sister didn’t want to be bothered and didn’t even come to check on me once, because she was headed to Mexico for a vacation.  Dad was drunk the whole time.  My ex-husband was threatening to get a court order to take my son away (once again) on the grounds of an unsafe home.  I had no friendships because I cut them all off during my cave hibernation.  I was so very alone there were no words to explain how alone I was. I went to see Madeline that next day, she told me that the detective hinted around that she thought I did this to myself.  It “Just seemed weird that I was able to get away so easily. That based on her experience she’d never seen anything like it before.”

If you’re sitting there with your mouth wide open and shaking your head, yeah, that just happened.  Madeline knew me better than that, she knew I was telling the truth.  I’m still not sure how I hit myself over the head and wrapped a “shoestring” around my neck and strangled myself.  Not sure how I broke my nose.  Really not sure how I could have sedated my dog while I was at work for 12 hours and she was still sedated when I got home.  Apparently according to Inspector Gadget, I did this to myself and she refused to further investigate.

At that very moment I was crying so hard in Madeline’s office I couldn’t breathe.  I hyperventilated and told her I was just going to kill myself.  Fuck it.  Nobody cares, everyone around me is fucked in the head, I’m scared as hell and I will not live like this any longer.  My .38 would have been my best choice, hollow point bullets, blow my fucking head off.

Madeline being the badass psychologist she is, immediately got me admitted into a behavioral health hospital for a full workup.  She even drove me there.  She called my father and told him to go home, that I was admitted and didn’t want anyone to know where to find me.  She told him his behavior did more harm than good. She arranged for my dog to be looked after by neighbors.  She also called the detective and informed her that her disbelief in my attack was destructive, unprofessional and would be reported to the Chief.

I was finally in a safe place.  Getting real help.  Being cared for.  To this day, I can’t wear a scarf, no tight necklaces or fashionable “chokers” and I can’t be grabbed from behind. My little boy now likes to ride on my back, and I have to remind him each time not to grab tightly around my neck and I have to remind myself, it’s just my little boy.