Migraines and children

I’ve had a nasty migraine for going on two full days now. One of those terrible ones, the kind that makes you vomit up things you don’t recall ever eating, so violently that every muscle in your body tightens and twists and burns for days. I wrapped my head in ice packs and shook and cried with pain. I writhed in my bed for hours and yelled at anyone who touched me.
Every smell was horrific and magnified times ten. Every movement felt like a 9.8 on the richter scale. I had to unplug the bathroom nightlight-it was like a flashlight shining right in my eyes.
I begged for someone to take me to the emergency room, but everytime I got up to go, I would either get hit with another wave of nausea, sending back to the nearest place to vomit or dry heave for twenty minutes, or I would go completely blind yet again with pain and my legs would go out from underneath me and all I could do was lay on the ground and shake.
Sleep finally found me in fits and phases here and there and the next 24 hours were a blur.
I’m up again now courtesy of Gavyn COMPLETELY breaking a huge rule, breaking my heart in the process, totally pissing off his father to the point of ME and the dogs sleeping on the couch, and my head once again pounding and approaching status migrainus.
So tomorrow is Gavyn’s Last Day of school before his big official graduation from middle school. They are having a big graduation ceremony and everything. He gets to wear a suit. He’s going to receive an award. They walk up on stage and everything. My Last Child. MY BABY.
So tomorrow . Last day at school. He wanted to do something crazy with his hair. Now, I love Gavyns hair. It’s beautiful . It’s shoulder length. Straight. Silky. Blonde. Just so pretty and amazing. He looks like a rock star. The girls all flock to him because of it. They all want to touch it.
There’s a barber shop right in the corner by our house an Gavyn asks if he can go and get a trim for tomorrow . Ok. Fine. We all talked it over, he needs a trim anyways, it’s all good. And we’ll get some of those colored gels and make it spikey and fun. One inch we tell him. He can go and get a TRIM and take off ONE INCH.
OH MY GOD.
My son walks in this house an hour later with both sides of his frickin head shaved and an 18 inch MOHAWK sticking off the top of his damned head!!!
THE DAY BEFORE HIS GRADUATION!
I burst into tears and ran into the other room. I want to kill him. His father wants to strangle him. What am I supposed to do? His beautiful hair!!! It’s all gone!!! Except for the racing stripe down the middle!! How is he supposed to take pictures with his 87 year old grandfather with THAT hair at Graduation?? I’m just sick!
Sicker than usual!
What am I going to do????

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Anger and the Teenage Son

So I don’t know what on earth I am supposed to do about my newly 14 year old son. He has gotten to the point where I don’t ever recognize him. He is Angry. At. Everything. AllOfTheFuckingTime. He stays in his room 24/7.  We try to talk to him and he blows us off. Or completely blows up and it turns into a giant fight. He burned 4 giant holes in his  ARM last week because he was “bored”.  Everyone from the school called to tell us about it and his constant picking at them, causing deeper, more infected holes in his arm that are going to leave giant scars. When we asked him to stop or cover them up  he said “why, I don’t have nothing to be ashamed about”, and I tried to explain to him “its nothing to brag about or show off either” and he flipped out on me. We’re going to counseling. He is on a first name with the principal and the counselor at his school, both of whom have changed the way they do things so that they can have an open door policy with him. He is welcome to leave his class at any time he wishes and go and talk to them.

He blames everything but himself.

He has ADHD and takes daily medication for it. Then he goes into a diatribe about how he hates taking his pills. He hates taking medication of any kind. They’re all Drugs and they’re all bad for you. And they are what makes him angry. Even on the days when he doesn’t take them. Even after 6 hours when the short acting pills are out of his system. Again he flipped and wouldn’t listen to anything I had to say. Just kept screaming that I was calling him a drug addict. Or making him one…

Then it was because we make him do chores. He has four tiny chores a day! FOUR!!!! 

1. Bring the dirty dishes out of your room. (just put them on the counter,not even wash them!!)

2. Refill the dogs water water dish (there’s a filled 1 gallon water bottle next to the bowl, just lift and pour!)

3. Put his laundry off his bedroom floor into the basket in the bathroom (not rocket science,right?)

CRAP. Time to get the Monster up for school. Remind me to come back and finish this later.

Forgot I had this thing

I remembered going through old email folders that I had this blog started from right before/right after Mike left. That was such a hard and horrible time in my life, in all our lives, so I turned to writing to try to help. I don’t know if I should show any of those old entries to Mike just yet or not, but one day…. One day I will.
On the other hand, Mikes back, where he should be, my health is fucked up and out of control and I’m seeing every damned Dr under the frickin sun and no one has any damned answers for me, EVER. I’m sooo sick of this whole being sick thing. All I ever do is sleep and hurt, hurt and sleep.
I don’t know where the fuck to go from here.