Sometimes people disappoint us. As a friend, spouse and parent it may often seem that these sometimes morph into ugly a lot of times…

One step forward- “I am so proud of you. I can tell you are working really hard and trying really hard and I am so proud of you and so grateful for you.”

Three steps back- Stolen candy wrappers, stolen cough drop wrappers, stolen make up, lies about how it isn’t her fault and she didn’t do it… Profane, angry responses and zero responsibility.

Same song and dance. Same game. Same, Same, Same…

Reactive Attachment Disorder is a bitch. PTSD too, for that matter. But at the end of the day, there are choices too. She makes the choice. She takes the path. She absorbes the praise and takes secret joy in thinking she’s “pulled one over on us.” She once again punishes us for not trusting her in the illusion of the good times, and then punishes us for realizing (again) that she isn’t trustworthy or responsible.

Same, same, same…

I have slept roughly eight hours in three days. Life is huge and overwhelming right now, and I’d be more than happy to comp her the reality that if ever there was a time for big, hard emotions and struggles- these changes were a time. EXCEPT that this garbage has been going on for months. She sleeps in a complete stripped room, minus her furniture and her clothing, because of this garbage. Because of the screaming and the verbal cruelty and the hatred.

She’s been doing so good, I am so amazed– We’ve spoken every single day for a few weeks now.

But she wasn’t doing well. She was playing the part, hiding the truth- until the truth was in the light, and then she tossed her character aside like trash and the cruelty came out again. And for the gazillionth time, I’m here, disappointed.

She’s a good girl, she’s a sweet girl.

She is.

She is also a thief, by proud decision, and a compulsive liar. She also loves to be mouthy and cruel to us. Not because she is thirteen, but because she has a sickness and that sickness makes her feel the need to be in control.

I am tired of stepping… forwards, backwards. I kind of just want a nap.

Got five minutes? Let’s write. Let’s write in shades of real and brave and unscripted.
Let’s just write and not worry if it’s just right or not.

1. Write for 5 minutes flat for pure unedited love of the written word.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. Go buck wild with encouragement for the five minuter who linked up before you.

Won’t you give me your best five minutes for the prompt:

Bare….

Go…

Vulnerability stands us, where our feet are, awkward.

It strips us.

It builds up, in us, false senses of hope and security and then robs us of our true sense of worth all at once.

It leaves us crumpled and naked, hoping someone will find us with value, but believing that likely they will not.

All within the span of milliseconds we cycle through thousands of waves of emotion and inner struggle.

Bare.

It’s no mystery where the word barely comes from.

Barely breathing. Barely there. Barely hanging by a thread. Barely present. You barely ate anything…

Barely… Bare. Naked. Isolated. Alone. Vulnerable.

But maybe it’s more. Maybe so consumed by the want, often turning urgent aching need for validation, we miss the point.  The opportunity of nakedness. Good things come from such.

Soft silks on skin, fingertip warmth, baths, kisses and even sex.

Metaphorical nakedness isn’t much different. Without baring our soul to life and others, we risk the passing of true friendships, true success, true valuable moments, firmly planted seeds of self worth and real love.

Barely leads to so much, if only we set our sights beyond the isolation and the fear.

Naked vulnerability isn’t the true enemy, but our fear of what we could potentially lose (which is never larger than what we may one day gain) is.

END.

I am about ready for Genny to turn fourteen. Let’s face it, her 13th year of life has not been the luckiest. I feel so bad for her too because her thirteenth birthday was full of bad luck and we joked about it- (and how it’s “just a number”) but as the months have gone on and on, we have started to wonder.

Lately though, we just go with it. Like on Christmas eve when she is opening gifts and starts throwing up all over the place around barely decipherable sobs saying “This is the worst year ever, I hate 13!”  Or, in case you missed it, there was the horrifying experience during the family vacation of her thirteenth year of life.

Now, whenever something goes drastically wrong, she just sighs- so young and already so jaded by life (LOL, she thinks) and says “Don’t worry, I’ll be fourteen soon.” Except for the time when she thought she was going to die and not make it to fourteen at all. That time was last Friday.

It was a normal morning. She’d been sick (routine, yucky, winter virus) and was working at making the most of her first semi-recovered day. She decided she’d do something super crazy, like get dressed in non-pajamas, and that’s when the bloody nose started. She calls out to tell me, as she’s rushing to the bathroom.

Ironically, in the fall (when she was 13) she got her first bloody nose and it was followed by one a day for several weeks. Her doctor assured her that no, it’s not a brain tumor- it’s just dry weather. She believed her. At least until Friday anyway. The bleeding wouldn’t stop, and it was far heavier than anything we’d seen before.

Five minutes passed. Ten minutes. Twenty… She started to panic. We tried plugging it but it would run down her throat and she would cough up tons of blood. Tissues would be soaked in seconds and her bathroom sink was full of blood. Her pajamas were covered. Truthfully, her hands look like she slaughtered someone, while her face looked like she ate their fresh bloody flesh.

She started to feel faint. Whether it was from the site of the 8″ long hemorrhages stringing from her nose, or the twelve constant minutes of her screaming “I am dying, I am going to die. i have a brain tumor, help me. Don’t let me die!” I am not sure. Either way, when we hit the twenty minute mark and things were progressively worse- i decided it was time for yet another trip to urgent care. She had a washcloth and I had the sense to grab a towel and call my husband- as we rushed to the car.

He left work, risking a point (like a demerit of sorts- whole other sordid story) and possible termination all in the hopes of making it in time to say goodbye to his beautiful thirteen year old daughter before her head exploded or the zombie virus set in… (both were what she was sure were going to happen, though how they both could, I am not positive.)

Much to Genny’s disappointment, the receptionist at urgent care did not take sympathy on her as she bled to death. I still had to fill out a million forms, even though they confirmed that she was still on record and absolutely NOTHING had changed. Chw made it as we were still in the waiting room. In fact, he was fortunate enough to have quality time with Genny in the waiting for a really long time. Apparently people had appointments ahead of us, which seems odd. Why would you schedule an appointment for URGENT care. Are we scheduling urgent circumstances now? Weird.

Anyway- the good news is, Genny lived. Zombie crisis averted another day. Turns out she has a cracked vein, super thin skin and a huge crush on the surprisingly charming PA who taught her how to shove tampons up her nose. Quite an adventure. So much so that there have been 7 bloody noses since then (though none to that degree) which we’ve barely thought twice about.

In fact, this morning as we were in the car, she piped up from the backseat “My nose is bleeding again.”

Chw- “watch the seat please.”

Me- “And your pea coat. Please try not to get blood on your pea coat.”

G- “oh, way to worry about your daughter.”

Chw- “we know you are fine- it’s the stuff the blood doesn’t wash off of that we’re worried about.”

Truth.

Like the memories of the horror movie that played out in our second bathroom, and the intestine looking hemorrhages, and the screaming.

There is a unique little bistro that our family adores, be it a date night, random family meal out or their extraordinary Sunday brunch. It’s our go-to special occasion eatery, (they are our absolute favorite street vendor during food truck rallies as well, so you could say we’re pretty loyal.)

We don’t make it every Sunday, or most Sundays for that matter, but when we do it always serves to be a memorable experience… Like the time our waiter insisted on giving our twelve year old daughter a glass of champagne to try, despite our urging that she was under age. (he did not believe us.)

Our focus, this weekend, was that of trying to spend quality time together. It seemed fitting (and we had a really great coupon, too) to head to brunch after church. Their menu changes every week, (except for the most amazing bacon on the planet. That never changes.) and after we familiarized ourselves with what was offered, we settled into a rhythm of conversation laced with random bits of people observation.

During our wait to find a table we’d sat near an Asian foreign exchange student his host family. The boy (14) was drawn to Genny almost instantly and his attention both embarrassed and stressed her out a bit. He was adorable and he obviously thought Genny was as well, which was sweet. Though she liked his attention, there was another boy around the same age that Genny felt drawn to. That boy, incidentally, did not give Gen the time of day.

All in all, it was a nice brunch, complete with delicious food and memories, but the parallels to every day life struck me. We often focus our attentions on things that simply don’t care about us, (television, internet, facebook, toxic people) while other bits of our life are staring sweetly at us- begging us to return their admiration. It all sounds so middle school and trite when lumped into the category of 13 & 14 year olds at a brunch bistro- but really it’s everywhere. It’s the beat with which our lives seem to function, distractions vs. reality.

Here’s to a week of like the boys who give us the time of day, and loving the ones here because they love us, while looking past the distractions for a change.