Confessions of a Blogger

I woke up this morning after an awful dream which left me with a painful stomach ache.  It was one of those vivid dreams, and all the feelings that had occurred in the dream were affecting me as I lay there.  I felt angry and powerless and frustrated and then I burst out crying.  Uncontrollably.

The intensity of my feelings in the dream, the ache in my gut and the fact that clearly I have been stuffing down these feelings all washed over me.  Everything was so tangible, I needed to dissect the situation in order to best understand it.

Before I discuss the dream itself, I want to give a little background.  While I have alluded to the fact that something happened that made me feel less comfortable about expressing myself freely in this blog, I haven't come right out and said what it was.  This very act itself, I believe, the act of suppressing my creativity in order to protect myself, is, well, it's killing me.  Not immediately, of course.  But bit by bit the cells of my body are in revolt.  My back has been aching, I haven't felt like myself, I have been short-tempered and I have been trying to figure out why.

This morning, I have.  While I have been busy being politically correct and writing about movies, things that I want to say, things that should be said, have been jammed down, because we wouldn't want my words used against me in a court of law now, would we?  Then I thought, this is MY GFB, and NOBODY PUTS BABY IN A CORNER.

Nobody.

Fear of litigation.  One should live in no fear at all.  The purpose of my blog is to write what I am feeling (if that is what I choose) mostly because it is a wonderful outlet for me.  I can say things that I might not want to have a conversation about, but are still fragments of my life that affect me in one way or another, or that have an impact on me.  Whether it be politics, nutrition, the environment or relationships or whatever.

The fact that it is "public," has never bothered me, and I think this is because as a person who reads other people's blogs on a regular basis, I get it.  The sharing of ourselves in this manner allows a window into a world we would otherwise never get to see.  I have read about people's personal pain over the death of a loved one, their journey with cancer, living with a child with a scary disease; many, many different things.  Sometimes I comment and create a dialogue, and sometimes I don't.  But whatever the case, I often learn things, or I am able to understand that we are all dealing with something.

So, if one person, just one person stumbles across this entry and it resonates with them, or it helps them to understand that they are not alone, then it is worth it.  It is worth the threat of being thrown into the pokey for the misperception of my words.  It is worth remaining true to myself, despite any type of threat, and knowing that shutting up and being good has NEVER been, and hopefully never will be, my style.

So what the hell am I talking about?  

Charlie started to exhibit his frustrations in such a manner that I knew something was really up late in November.  And ironically, I posted my own frustrations about his frustration in an entry:

Yesterday Charlie was in rare form. That translates into he was being the biggest jerk on the planet. Rude, obnoxious, nasty ... he felt toxic. I wanted nothing to do with him -- and of course he knew that, so he started pushing buttons. In most cases he hits dead buttons -- I have long since figured him out, but there are times when I'm not prepared. And that would be after a long stretch of him being nothing but sweet, helpful and easy to get along with. I can't remember the last time he was the biggest jerk on the planet -- so -- I guess a part of me had forgotten that he can indeed be just that.

I didn't engage when he started mouthing off. I ignored him when he said he wasn't going to go shopping with me (a pre-planned event that he was trying to get out of at the last minute) but when I was driving out of the driveway and he came running after me, and then acted like he was going to slam the car window and then swore at me, I felt like killing him.

A deep primal urge to smash his head against the pavement, or even better, drive over him.

It's not like I had to keep myself from doing either of those things. I wasn't shaking with anger or had my foot poised over the gas pedal. But it's just so sad that I even have such thoughts. That he can evoke such anger out of me.

But why am I surprised? He's done it a million times before.

Because I am always (stupidly it seems) hopeful that the change he has exhibited for months and months has taken permanent hold and that he is no longer capable of being such a ... a... creep.

So what I did that day, instead of anything to him, was write about it and vent my frustrations, and then afterward I asked myself what had changed with him?  Was it puberty?  Having a bad week?  As I had stated, he felt toxic.  Kind of like I felt this morning.

Anyway, he started to come home with comments about what was going on in school.  He had never gotten along with his chorus teacher, and he would talk about how he was always in trouble, and I told him to just drop the class.  It made no sense to me that a child with a beautiful voice should be experiencing anything negative in regards to music.  I'd already seen him develop an intense hatred toward reading because he didn't know how to read when he entered first grade.  It became the first of many things he would see that he couldn't do "properly."

But he didn't want to drop chorus, and so when his mood didn't improve, I questioned him further.  What else was bothering him?  Then he told me that one of his teachers had told him that she was going to write him a bad recommendation for prep school because she said that she never lied on them.  He was beside himself, very upset, crying, and saying that he was having a horrible time with school, that he was always getting in trouble and this other child never did, and that he went to the office and the principal said he would do something, but never seemed to, and on and on it went.

Had I heard a word from the school?  No.

But I did regularly vent my frustrations about this in the blog, because I just couldn't believe that we were back here again.  I had to pull him out of school in 5th grade because the teacher had been so mean to him in front of me, I just couldn't fathom what she was like when another adult wasn't around.  It scared me.  I mean, enough so that I made a snap decision and told him to gather his things, he wasn't going to go back.

I had already had experience with teacher's being very unprofessional and downright mean.  And now it seemed as though he was experiencing this same thing in droves.  I tried my best to give him coping skills.  I told him to ignore this other kid, to not engage when the teachers yelled at him or blamed him.  I told him that if HE knew the truth, then that was all that mattered.  But here I am, 45-years-old, and I can't ignore it either.  How can anyone expect a 13-year-old pubescent child to figure out how to navigate a world that he perceives he is the bad guy NO MATTER WHAT?

Well, you can't.  That is why there are adults trained as teachers, and guidance counselors trained as counselors and countless programs set up so that all of our children receive an equal and fair education.

So, Charlie was coming home and telling me tale after tale.  I didn't take them all at face value, but I continued to tell him to IGNORE this kid and I assumed that he was just blowing things out of proportion, because obviously if things were as bad as Charlie was portraying, I would have heard from the school ... right?

Wrong.

He came home panicked and said that he was sure that he was going to be moved into the other cluster.  He cried and said that he didn't want to move, that he liked his classes and the friends he had in them, and he said that it wasn't fair.  He also talked about being yelled at by several teachers in the course of one day and how they all hated him, one said he was the worst student they had ever had in their entire teaching career, and I thought, what the hell is going on?

I sent an email to the principal, vice principal and guidance counselor seeking some type of dialogue, initiated by me, to figure this situation out.  There was a meeting set up for the following week, but that morning Charlie called upset and said that they had moved him.  I had told him to call me if they did this, and so Peter and I went to the school without an appointment to meet with the principal and vice principal.

They were very insistent that this was definitely all Charlie's fault.  The vice principal had spoken to kids in the class who had all corroborated on the fact that Charlie is the only one that instigates things with this other child.  The fact that he had been moved without anyone notifying us, "was unfortunate," but the principal never had the time to let us know.  I did ask why we weren't notified about any of this, and was told that they had hoped that the situation would resolve itself.  (It had been months, with an escalation taking place, not a resolution.)

The principal did make some comment about how I had told them to visit my blog, but my mind was working a million thoughts a second, as I tried to parse through the information and figure out what was true and what wasn't, so it didn't really register.  We left with the knowledge that we had our "big meeting" the following week, and the hope that we would find answers there.

The meeting consisted of the principal and all of Charlie's teachers with the exception of his english teacher, who was absent.  I noted the hostility the moment I sat down, but thought maybe it was because they were just mad that they had to take the time to meet.  The meeting started out well enough, with the principal reading a letter from the physical education teacher, who had good things to say, then followed up by his FACS teacher and art teacher, both who said he did fine, though the art teacher did have the other child in the class and commented that it was a bad situation.

Then the teachers all basically stated their feelings about how it was absolutely Charlie instigating everything with this other child, but the thing that pinged in my head was the comment, "... (the other child) ... is fragile."  So one child is fragile and the other is the monster.  It was pretty cut and dried.  Fine.  But then what to do about it?

But oh, wait, we weren't really there for solutions.  Because then the blog came up.  And then I realized that the papers in front of the principal weren't papers that had something to do with a solution of any sort, but were print-out's of my blog, with little sticky notes obviously showing the places where I had said certain things.

Okay, I see.  So this isn't about how can we help Charlie be all that we can be.  When the principal brought up my blog, and how I had instructed them to read it, it became quite clear:  At the end of my emails I have an automatic signature that says "Hey, check out my blog," with the address.  I put this in quite some time ago because friends were asking me how to find it, and it was just easier to give them a link via my email.  I quickly assured them that I did not MEAN to specifically have them read my blog, and that while my opinions might be extreme, they were not necessarily Charlie's -- and that Charlie absolutely did not read my blog.  (Heck, I can hardly get him to read a book, much less words from a long-winded mother!)

Then the principal commented on how he was happy to hear that, because that they are legally obligated to contact the necessary officials if they feel a child is in danger, and he referenced the above portion that I pasted where I'd mentioned wanting to kill Charlie.

Unbelievable.  So there I was, totally stunned.  And in total recognition at that point of the hostility in the room, because hey, I'd said I would kill my child in my blog.  I must be a mad, psycho, crazy fruitcake mother, and OF COURSE my son would be a monster.

Unbelievable.

And then again, maybe not.

So, they changed all of Charlie's classes so he doesn't have any more with the fragile child, and it is anyone's guess how things are going, because no one bothers to let me know.  Charlie doesn't say much, but his grades suck, so that pretty much indicates that things are not going well.  And I began to examine the fact that someone had read through my blog, searching for negative things that I had written, and then printing them out to have them ready to use as some ammunition of some sort?  To protect my child?  Yeah.  The un-fragile one.  FROM HIS MOTHER?

But it all became crystal clear to me this morning, as a result of the dream, and the way I have been feeling, and the fact that I blog with less freedom because of my fear my words will be used against me in a court of law, so help me god.  I am being stifled.  As Charlie is, in the public school system.

He isn't permitted to learn the way he is most comfortable because it is not set up for that.  He apparently does not do well sitting at a desk.  Well yes, I know this.  He can listen better if he is laying on the floor playing Legos and humming then he can without distractions.  Is this wrong?  Or is it just the way it is?  Does this make Charlie imperfect?

Despite the fact that he runs through the same channels, seeking out the principal for help in a situation, the end results are not the same.  Because of this other child's fragile status, the situation is inequitable right from the get-go.  But does Charlie understand this?  Oh sure, he does.  Because what he sees is a kid who gets good grades because he has an aide who helps him do his work, and a kid who will not get in trouble despite whatever Charlie tries (this is my theory, that Charlie in crazy frustration, is trying to push the envelope beyond recognition to see if ANYTHING would get this kid in trouble). The fact that only HE gets in trouble, and all the teachers are quite sure it is ONLY him, doesn't quite resonate with him.  I told him, go bang your head against a wall over and over, and then tell the wall to stop.  And when it doesn't listen, try it again, and then tell the wall to stop.  Doesn't make much sense, does it?  (I don't think he got that either!)

I think it is the injustice of the situation that just rankles him beyond sane reasoning.  So then my thought is, let's get him on an equal playing field.  Let's have Charlie tested, coded, etc. etc. but then again, why?  It's not going to change anything now.  I should have played the system a long time ago, but nope.  I stupidly believed that I could change things, when now all I know for sure is that the only person I can NOT let be changed is myself.

Hence this blog.

So in the dream I dropped Charlie off at school and he saw all of his teachers talking and pointing at him.  He started sobbing, and I stopped, got out of my car and went up to him.  He said that the teachers were making fun of him, and I looked, and all of them had turned away, except for one.

I went over to her and I told her that she was hurting Charlie's feelings, and she threw her head back and laughed loudly and told me so what, he deserved it.  I again asked her nicely to please understand that Charlie was not the monster she thought he was, and she used a taunting voice and repeated my words.  

(I add the following disclaimer before I write the following words:  This was a dream, this was only a dream.  I do not now and never have any intent to do any of the actions my dreams portrayed.)

I was filled with an unbelievable feeling of rage and frustration and I started to yell at her.  Another teacher, who seemed very uncomfortable by this teacher's words, said something like, "this isn't good, this isn't good."  I said no, it's not, and then the "bad" teacher started laughing at me, taunting me.  And I started screaming at her, and swearing, and then I wanted to choke her, but then I woke up.

And my stomach was in absolute total knots, I could hardly stand the pain.  And then, I started crying, which helped to alleviate some of the pain.  But as I lay there, I knew.  I knew that I had to write this all down.  That this was a very important part of my life, for whatever reason, and I needed to document it.  That the way I felt in that dream is the way that Charlie feels every day, and that is why I cried.  Because it is a horrible, awful, inhumane way to feel.  And it makes me very angry and upset that the only coping skills I give him are to IGNORE IT.

Well.  Look what happens when I ignore my need to vent my frustrations (via my blog).  I make myself sick.  When you stuff something down, it doesn't dissipate into the ether.  It doesn't go away.  It festers.

The situation with Charlie grew to a point where the truth is no longer visible.  What is true now for all involved at that school, is that Charlie is the problem.  I can't believe that this is so, and MY GUT tells me otherwise.  MY GUT was screaming at me, do not, DO NOT, doubt your child.  You have had bad experiences in this school with your smart, quiet, daughter.  DO NOT FORGET THE LESSONS OF THE PAST.

And most importantly, my gut told me that what they did to me is exactly what they do to Charlie.  They took one of my most creative venues -- a catalog of words that depict countless things: funny; irreverrent; sad; informative and true -- and nitpicked out only the negative and painted me with that brush.  Charlie and I are BOTH monsters!

Wow.

WOW, WOW, WOW.  Think about it.  In that paragraph where I said I wanted to kill Charlie, I said, only words away from that statement, that they were only thoughts:  

It's not like I had to keep myself from doing either of those things. I wasn't shaking with anger or had my foot poised over the gas pedal. But it's just so sad that I even have such thoughts. That he can evoke such anger out of me.

But the focus was on the negative things I had said.

And how did that make me feel?  It infuriated me that the focus of the entire situation had somehow been diverted toward that.  All those people could see in their heads were my words.  We weren't there to discuss a positive action plan for Charlie.  We weren't there to discuss anything positive at all.

I still don't know what to do, though my gut is pretty damn sure.  The bottom line is, as long as the focus is on the negative things that Charlie does, that is what will ensue.  And he is just awful now -- just awful.  I write this in full recognition that it is my job to protect my child and that calling him awful probably isn't the way to go about it.  But it's affecting him to his very core -- and that core is being steeped in a negative stew that might just erode it forever.

When you can't do anything right, then why do anything right at all?

OR ... when you can't do anything WRITE, then why WRITE anything at all.

I will NEVER STOP WRITING.  Not even to protect myself.