The Darkness

Okay, so.  This is a story I thought would be a MUCH longer time coming. As in maybe NEVER.  Recent events, however, have prompted me to write this and I don't know that I'm really ready.  I may never be ready. My stomach is in knots and I think I'm gonna cry. Here goes nothin'.

A maniac walked into a movie theater & shot 47 people. Twelve of whom died.
This has sparked quite a lot of commentary in the social media.  The Twitterverse, Facebook, and Blog-world have been abuzz with shock, condolences, theories & opinions.
This is in response to one of the Blogs I saw in my FB news feed  last night. I can't find the damned thing today & I'm sick of looking so please don't ask me who.
 This particular Blogger blamed the parents of the Aurora, CO shooter for his murderous rampage.

I disagree with this on SO many levels and for SO many reasons.

I have a 19 year old daughter. Her name is Chelsea. This is the first and ONLY time you will ever hear about her. EVER.  I won't be answering any questions. I won't reply to comments. this is hard enough with out having to re-hash the gory details multiple times. Quite frankly, it hurts too damned much.

Chelsea is a diagnosed Sociopath.  Ted Bundy (the serial killer) was a Sociopath.
Chelsea is also a drug addict & a runaway.
Chelsea is my Darkness.

There were signs that something was "Off".  So many, many signs.
She was manipulative.
She was abusive.
She was unusually moody.

When she was a toddler, I rationalized these things away.
"Oh. She's just jealous of her baby sister."
"Oh. She's just playing sides to get her way."
and the Perennial Favorite of Parents Everywhere
"Oh. It's just a phase."
Never underestimate a parents power for denial and rationalization. It's powerful Ju-Ju people.

We took her to her first therapist when she was 4.  She saw 4 subsequent therapists.
None of them had any answers. Except the last one. He diagnosed her with "Borderline Personality Disorder" and told us that when she was re-evaluated at 18 he'd diagnose her as a Sociopath.
That was the scariest thing I'd ever heard.

Here's an overview of Sosiopathic behavior. I can put tic marks next to just about everything on the list. She was a habitual runaway. She hurt herself & others. She never felt remorse. She was sexually promiscuous & exhibited criminal behavior. By the time everything was said & done, she had a file that had nearly 30 pages of runaway & criminal charges.  Our house was a psychological battlefield and her Dad & I were losing.  We were terrified.

This is what I brought into the world. The pain of that haunts me every day. I DO NOT talk about it.

For someone to say they blame the parents of the CO shooter hurts and enrages me to no end. We did  everything, EVERYTHING to try and help our daughter.The child lost to the Dark. The child who embraced the Dark so fully. Who seemed to revel in it. That it was terrifying to behold.
We tried medication. Stays in THREE different mental health facilities. Group homes. Rehab. She was kicked out of them all..We exhausted every avenue open to us as well as ourselves and our financial resources. We snooped, pried, questioned, double checked, gave space, took away everything, gave everything. Anything we could think of to try and make this child happy and whole again. All to no avail. Her Darkness had consumed her. Swallowed her up whole. There was absolutely no room for us, our worries, our attempts to help. There was only the next thrill. The next high. The next person to screw. The next...whatever.  We'd lost. We didn't give up, but we'd lost all the same.

One weekend, I faced the Darkness alone.  TWH & TB were away for the weekend at a Scout Camp-out. I'd gone and collected Chelsea that Thursday morning from the Sheriff's Department after she'd been picked up after her latest disappearing act.  She'd been back home for a little over 24 hours.  I was in the kitchen when she came out of her room and asked to go to a friends house for the evening. like it was the most natural thing in the world. When I told her "No" she flew into a rage the likes of which we'd never seen.  She attacked me.  She flew at me screaming like a banshee and began punching me anywhere she could land a blow.  I tried to hold her off. I would not defend myself. I would not strike this child because I was afraid. I was afraid all the anger & frustration I'd felt at her behavior would coma out and I'd HURT her. I held her at arms length as best I could until she bit me. She bit me the way a caged animal bites. She bit me with all the hatred she could muster. She bit until she drew blood. I let go.  I let go & she ran off into the rainy March night.

She was gone for five days. We knew she'd been found when we got a call from Child Services telling us they were filing charges against us for abuse because Chelsea had shown up in their offices with two black eyes. She said I did it.  She'd finally come up with a way to get out of our house and punish us for our "Transgressions" against her.  Abuse charges.

What followed were months of  "Supervised" visits with her & her "Foster" mother, interrogations by detectives, & endless court dates. She managed to keep herself in check for roughly a month before her pattern resumed with her "new" family.  She ran away after she attacked her foster "sister".  She was found and placed in a group home. (Her second at this point).  She attacked another girl there, was charged with assault, and ran away a week later.

She was 16 years old.
We haven't seen her since.

I guess what I'm trying to say here is that some people do truly come into this world "Broken".  Some vital piece of their very Soul seems to be missing.  I have no better way to say it.  There is nothing anyone can/could say or do to fix that.

Don't blame the parents of this madman.  Blame the madman.  He made the choice to commit the atrocious crime he did.  HIS choices. HIS atrocity.  HIS Darkness.

His parents may have done all they could and lost the battle anyway.

We did.

And we have to live with that.

Memories!! Yay!!

Okay, so. I just read a guest post over at Yeah. Good Times. that reminded me of my Grandmother's funeral.
Part of my snark comes from my less than stellar childhood. My Dad was basically a selfish dick and my Mom did what she could but she had her own baggage to carry so we foundered along as best we could but the cracks were HUGE.
Anyways, about 7 years ago, my MeeMaw passed away. (My people are from East Texas. MeeMaws are real, not just a product of Chuck Lorre's Imagination.) TWH & I loaded up the kids and drove to Texas for the funeral. I think it was Texas. I'm the worst passenger EV-ER.
We were standing around at the pre-funeral, socially awkward, thingie where I was completely overwhelmed by seeing family I hadn't seen in close to 20 years when my wayward father comes up to us with a tall blonde woman in tow. He had left my stepmother about a year or so before (after 17 years) and moved off to Ohio or somedamnwhere.  We make our niceties and introductions and then it happened...
Tall blonde woman looks at TB and exclaims "Oh my Gosh!! Look how big you've gotten!! I remember seeing pictures of you when you were BORN!!"  Did I mention TB was SIX?? What. The. Motherfucking. Hell?!?! I just stood there gaping and trying to do the simple math. The penny dropped for TWH far sooner than it did for me. This wonderful man put his hand in the small of my back, guided me away, and said to That Man and his Tramp, "We have to go over here, now" while giving That Man a Death Glare.  The rest of the funeral was a blur.  I remember standing in a corner with TWH in front of me telling me to calm down as I gasped for air like I'd been sucker punched. I remember making small talk with relatives I adored and had missed terribly. I remember weeping for both the loss of my MeeMaw and my own hurt and confusion during the service. I remember the graveside service was hot & sunny. I remember practically running for the car after it was all over in an attempt to get away from That Man. I had no words. I had too many words. Most of them profane. I couldn't talk to him.
I could, however, talk to my Mom. I called her sputtering and babbling. She told me something that didn't really come as a surprise. "Honey, she's been around your whole life. She's not new. She's just new to you."
Oh. Uuuuuhhhhh... Well HELL!!
I tell this story, aloud, to people sometimes. I tell it with humor. Sort of a "You know you're at a Redneck Funeral when..." kind of thing. I can laugh at it now. I could laugh at it just a few weeks after it happened.
Maybe that's my superpower. Being able to laugh at things. Maybe I'm just more in need of therapy than I think.
Who the fuck knows??
However, after reading Elder Daughter's post. I know things could have been so much worse.

I'm NOT down with O.P.C.

Okay, so. Here's my (probably not so) dirty little secret. I'm not a fan of Other Peoples Children. Hell, there are days when I'm not that fond of my OWN children. Why in the hell would I like other peoples??  I'm sorry, but I find nothing endearing about the little shit who felt compelled to inform me that what was on the television in the shop was "inappropriate". I, of course, felt compelled to tell him that he wouldn't know if he weren't WATCHING. I could have gleefully tripped the kid who told me my son's Origami Yoda "Doesn't even LOOK like Yoda".  This was after he asked if it WAS a Yoda. Some of the kids I see are entitled. Some are mouthy, others are just downright spoiled assed rotten. And not in the good way.

This is not to say I dislike ALL O.P.C.  There are some I find absolutely delightful that I DIDN'T give birth to. However, they are rare.