Worthy Adversity

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Growing up my family and I moved around a lot. We never stayed in any one place for more  than a few years. I went to five different elementry schools in six years. I never could develop healthy attachments with anyone.

I remeber being the new kid in junior high, and getting in a fight the second week of school. It was not the first time, nor would it be the last. This would happen whenever we changed schools, and girls picked on me.

At the time, I was just coming out of that awkward gaukines, one can only attain in adolescents.

I was blossoming into womanhood.

This did me no favors, being the new girl and all. I remember not feeling comfortable in my own skin, and being the mean girls target. It didn’t take long for me to get sick of their shit, which lead to me getting beat up under the oak tree at lunch time.

Oh, to be young again.

Deep down I was always looking for someone, anyone to see my worth. To feel like I was seen. Truly seen. Not just for how I looked, but for who I was, and what I could become.

I did have worth, I just didn’t know it yet.

I was constantly trying to fit in where I didn’t belong.

I have spent most of my life with this burden. Trying to connect with others is just straight up hard for me. The awkward adolescent still lurks beneath. On the outside, I have been called pretty,  beautiful even. The inside never matched the outside.

Even now, I feel tattered and worn. I have seen to much ugliness with these eyes. My body has suffered as well. From weight gain to child birth, I have not been kind to my body. Our body is our temple, and mine is a little worse for the wear.

I’m working on changing all that.

Although, I feel the exhaustion of life, I also have new feelings like hope, and gratitude for the experiences that made me who I am. I am no longer looking for my worth in others. I now look to myself for my happiness.

It helps that I finally learned to form healthy attachments the day I met my other half. He sees me. He sees my worth and pushes me to do whatever I need to, to attain my own happiness.

He’s secure enough in himself, to want me to to have that same security within my own self. He wants me to go back to school at 33 years old, so I can major in Sociology with an emphasis on Human Services.

Even if it takes me years.

He’s willing to take care of everything else at home as well as financially for me, so I can do this one thing for myself. He believes I can do it. Even better, I know I can.

We shouldn’t look to others for our worth, but sometimes it gets lost for awhile, and we need that extra set of eyes to help us find it.

“His love roared louder than her demons”

~ unkown

Raising A Strong-willed Child

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Having a strong willed child is definitely a blessing, and at times a curse. This is the one thing no one ever tells you: Some kids are made for pushing limits, and you just might end up with your hands full.

My little girl is very smart and independent. She is also strong willed. What does that mean? Some might say it’s code for a rotten brat. The ones who say that usually have really easy-going kids. Those parents will never fully understand how it is to have a strong-willed kid.

Like most kids my little princess can be a brat, and maybe a bit more often than most. She is also really smart and knows what she wants and screw the rest. Parenting her means there is never a dull moment.

She is really one of the funniest kids I have ever been around. She even has her very own cake face for when she wants cake (gets me every time). She’s super creative and makes her own accessories videos. In these mock YouTube videos, she puts on a bunch of hair accessories and describes them in great detail.

She is also only four years old, so if she didn’t sound remarkable before, she should now.

So far what I have learned is that parenting her can be extremely entertaining and equally trying. I have also learned to roll with the punches and choose my battles wisely. This means if she wants to wear a black and white polka dot skirt with a long sleeve My Little Pony pajama top, by all means, be my guest.

What I have also learned are my limits. This means that if I’m shopping, and she wants a new toy EVERY time we go out, she is out of luck. She can cry it out, and she does.

Strong-willed kids need limits. Otherwise, they are smart enough to know who they can run right over, and they will. This does not mean she will stop trying to get her way; it just means she isn’t going to.

The hardest thing is taking a strong-willed child around other parents. It’s easy to stand back and judge another mom. We all do it.

Being on both sides of that fence, I have learned that parenting is not easy — period. Some of us are just barely hanging in there. Sometimes we just have to learn not to care what others think and ask for support when its needed.

If you’re raising a strong-willed child, keep in mind that they grow up. They will be the leaders one day, not the followers. They will rule the world!

So the next time you find yourself ready to pull your hair out or lock yourself in a bathroom, just try and picture them as the C.E.O of a fortune five hundred company or the head of the world’s largest conglomerate of deliciously scented candles.

Who knows? The sky’s the limit!

The Real Vegas Vacation

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file00056133704Disclaimer: this is my version of events. No children were harmed in the making of this trip. Some names will be left out to protect the innocent.

It was a early Friday morning when I woke up to my husband (will call him Joel) asking me what I thought about us skipping out for the weekend to Las Vegas. This was very last-minute, and would mean we would have to be packed and in the car within the HOUR.

Of course me being the awesome and very attentive mother that I am, said I had to think on it.  Thirty seconds later we were running around the house like crazy people trying to pack.

My two daughters who are ages five and nine, immediately started following me around asking questions like “What’s Las  Vegas mama?”  and  “Will there be a pool?”

 

As I was rushing through the house throwing random stuff in bags, I rationalized it to myself that Las Vegas could be fun for kids. I’m sure there were plenty of things for a five-year old to do in Vegas right?

Plus we had the trump card: We had  the grandparents who were already there visiting family. That was really the main reason we were even going. To visit family.

This was still my first trip to Las Vegas however and Joel had advised me it would only take us six to eight hours tops to get there. So I packed up some snacks, a few dvds, and a halfway charged tablet.

We were on our way.

I would be lying if I said that this wasn’t the most exciting thing we had ever done last-minute as a family.

Visions of the movie Vegas Vacation kept dancing through my head.

Of course for me it was mainly the parts where the parents were alone in Vegas doing fun things like gambling and meeting Wayne Newton.

I’m not a big fan but it sounded like a lot more fun than cleaning my house and taking care of kids at home all weekend.

Not to mention we were getting a chance to visit with a part of my husband’s family we rarely get to see. This was going to be the best trip ever!

Fast forward an hour later: the girls were fighting, the tablet was dead, and our DVD player we realized was to dark for daylight viewing. In not so many words, we were screwed.

Four hours in, and we had hit a huge traffic jam. It was the middle of October but in California that means nothing. The heat was blazing and at one point our truck started to make a funny noise. “Joel is that our truck?” I said with a tinge of fear in my voice. “Maybe it needs water?”  “No!’ Joel answered “It’s just the air conditioner. I will turn it off”

The truck deciding instead that wasn’t good enough, made a final sputter and then nothing. The truck had died.

Over heated in the full death grip of the angry October sun.

We sat there for a while letting it cool off. It was then that I noticed cars in front of us pulling onto the other side of the highway, and heading back the opposite direction.

The truck next to us rolled his window down to tell us there had been a huge mudslide a few miles ahead.

Luckily for us after a few minutes and some water, our truck started with no problems. We eventually we made to the front of the line just to be detoured back the way we came.

Afterwards I thought about how I should have let Joel make that illegal U-turn he wanted to make hours ago.

Nothing we can do about it now. No reason to make that thought public. Besides he didn’t listen to me about the whole water fiasco earlier. So by my count we were even.
In the end it took us 13 hours to make it to Las Vegas. That’s five hours longer than I had originally anticipated being locked in the car with two little tiny crazy people.

Not to mention a very irritated Joel.

We reached the hotel around midnight to find most of the highway traffic was now in line in front of us at Circus Circus.

We had now entered the seventh circle of hell.

My five-year old looked at me and then back at the smiling clown with the evil gleam and then back at me. The clown was offering her what appeared to be some sort of balloon animal.

That. Was. It. Her breaking point.

She began to sob heavily. The tired look in her eye forced me to hold her dead weight for the rest of the lines duration.

Would this day ever end? 

Finally we reached the room. I tucked the littles in bed with me. Joel who was still pumped from the ride over took off to hit the casino for a while. I just needed sleep.

Tomorrow would be better. It had to be better. 

The next day we took the girls to the The Pawn Stars Pawn Shop. We waited twenty minutes in line to walk a crowded 10 paces ahead and turn around to go right back out the front again. Not bad. At least it killed time and it was free.

Later we met up with the family and afterwards we were given the chance to really experience Las Vegas. Without kids.
First things first, we went back to the room so I could change. As I was getting dressed I started noticing Joel skulking around the room. It look like he lost something. “Joel honey did you lose something?” I said sweetly to my husband.

“Ugh it’s nothing. I think I might have lost a 25$ poker chip in here somewhere” he said.
30 minutes later I was ready. Joel on the other hand was still looking for this chip which I finally convinced him was no big deal and to forget about it.

He later told me he didn’t want to ruin my night but it was a 100$ poker chip, not 25$. He had taken a 100$ and tripled it on the black jack table in three hands the night before. That was a third of his winnings!

After we ate dinner and gambled a bit we walked down the strip. I had a couple of drinks at dinner and really wanted to take in a show.

Suddenly a young women stepped in front of us. She was offering two tickets to a show with a limo ride included. What luck I thought. I was in!  Joel (who never drinks) politely declined as she handed him a card.

To a strip club. In the worst part of town.

This was the city of sin right? No reason to be shocked at the lack of respect this women had for the sanctity of marriage. Besides apparently she was willing to give us a two for one deal.

A little while later we ran into another man who was trying to sell us some tickets. This time it was to a club event that Bruno Mars was going to be hosting that night. He had to tickets for 60$. We said no and kept walking.

An hour later we saw the same man. He told us he only had two tickets left and that he would give them to us for half price. I looked at Joel and said “why not?”

So we did it.

I figured worst case scenario: we lose 30$. Which I could easily have lost playing the slots. Best case: we get the best night of our lives. It’s Bruno Mars people!
The club which we had passed on the way into Vegas was on the opposite end of the strip and we held in our hands the best counterfeit tickets those bouncers had ever seen.

Yes we got ripped off. I bet you didn’t see that coming. Not one of my proudest moments.

Plus I’m sure Joel was kicking himself by now that he let me talk him out if that live Brittany Spears show earlier. To his dismay she even managed to have some sort of wardrobe malfunction that night.

It took us an hour and a half to get back to our room on the bus.

The next morning we picked up the kids and headed back home. The detour was still in effect and it took us another 12 hours to get back. On our way out we stopped at a drive through for breakfast.

At least we can save some money somewhere on this trip I thought. We where only in Vegas 36 hours and had spent close to $1000!

We should have stopped and ate somewhere else. Anywhere else. All the rest of the trip my five-year old had the runs. I was down to using puppy training pads I had got off the grandparents.

Thank god they followed us back! I probably would have resorted to using every article of clothing we brought otherwise.
While we were trying to maneuver our way home we got lost. Two hours later we finally saw a gas station. My husband pulled over to use the bathroom and pay for gas. Meanwhile I changed another puppy pad and then we hit the road again.

It wasn’t until we were ten miles down the road that we realized we never pumped the gas we originally stopped for! It was at the point I felt my emotions get the best of me.

This was my breaking point.

I could feel the tears prick the back of my eyes. As we were driving back to the gas station I looked my husband dead in the eye and said : (okay I’m not going to lie, I may have screamed it)  “This is the worst trip ever!”

I knew as soon as I said it was a mistake. The look in his eyes told me so. I hurt his feelings. After all he was just trying to take his family on a last-minute fun-filled road trip. He couldn’t control a damn mudslide, shitty people, or even shitty food (literally) for that matter.

Later after first apologizing to my family, I realized something: life is full of unexpected events and missed opportunities. It’s who we experience those moments with that matters most.

For now anyways I’m pretty sure my Vegas days are behind me. Unless of course Bruno Mars is hosting at one of the hottest night clubs in town! 

Videos Games And Why They’re Not The Devil

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I am one of those eighties babies who grew up on Nintendo, Super Nintendo, and their cooler younger brother PlayStation. I have been lucky enough to witness and enjoy the evolution of videogames.

 

I started out small as a kid playing Mario Bros on regular Nintendo and gradually progressed to Goldeneye 007 on Nintendo 64 and then PlayStation. 007 was the first first person shooter game I ever played.

It was awesome! You really felt like you were in the game. It was miles apart from my beloved Mario Bros and the graphics were amazing.

Eventually I took a long hiatus to adult and stuff. I became a mother to a blended family of two girls (9 & 5) and a boy in college (20).

Raising kids in this technical age means most families have at least one game system or computer in their house. So I know I’m not alone in having kids who love video games.

The weird part is I never really grew out of my love for video games. The urge to play came back small at first. Here and there I would watch my daughter play Super Mario Bros on her Wii. I found myself taking the controller when she asked for help, and having a hard time giving it back when I was done.

Finally I said screw it one summer vacation when the kids were driving me nuts. I turned the Wii on and we all sat down and played on a split screen. My three year old just held the extra controller as I pointed to my character and told her it was hers.

Oh the small joys of parenting a toddler.

Two Christmases ago we bought our first PlayStation 4. I was shocked by how good the graphics were. I mean seriously on a big screen TV you can see each blade of grass move in the wind. Wow just wow. Remember I started out on Tetris, PACMan and Mario Bros. So best believe I was astonished to say the least.

 

I have to say there is certainly a lot of stigma attached to video games. Recently I watched an interview on CNN where someone was blaming video games like Call Of Duty and violent television shows like The Walking Dead for the Sandy Hook shooting. The unidentified women said the shooter practiced for days on Call Of Duty before the shootings.

Umm okay… How the hell do you practice shooting a real gun on a video game with a controller?  

I have to say I call bullshit on that. I have played video games off and on all my life and never had a violent outburst.  At least not unprovoked. 😉

 What happened at Sandy Hook was extremly sad and my heart goes out to anyone who was affected by that tragedy or others like it.

I am personally more inclined to blame the perpetrator who was obviously very unstable and in no way should have ever had access to any kind of weapon. 

The truth is some people are violent and some aren’t. Everyone has choices. You can’t go around blaming (at least in part) video games, TV shows and Twinkies for other others horrible actions. 

For my family I find that video games monitored, and in (mostly) small doses bring my family closer together. Currently I have a PlayStation 4 in three rooms of my house.

It sounds excessive I know, but in order to play some of our games like Star Wars Battlefront (definitely recommended) online together you need one system per person.

My five year old still holds the extra controller and thinks she’s playing. Thank the gods for small miracles. 

We are a video game family and honestly I love it. Not to mention my nine year old daughter is a dancing machine now that she has Just Dance 2016. Entertainment and exercise all rolled up into one awesome game!  What more could you ask for?  

Not every parent will agree with my stance on video games and that’s okay. Every parent is different, and only they know what’s best for their family.

As for me I think I feel a dance off coming on right about now. Time to go school my girls in some Just Dance interpretive dance. Watch out now! 

 

An unforgiving Illness

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Sometimes I feel like a terrible daughter.  My mother who raised me the best she could for as long as she could suffered from mental illness. She is a Bi-polar Manic depressive to be exact.

She never wanted to take her medicine. She said she didn’t like the way it made her feel. I can’t imagine how it must feel to be in her shoes. Dealing with something so severe on a daily basis.

At her best my mother was soft spoken and loving. She loved to sing to us her children and she had a beautiful voice to match.

At her worst she thought the devil was trying to kill us and constantly moved us around all through out my childhood. Sometimes she would stay up all night talking to herself, and sleep all day when she had one of her mood swings.

My father  was never around when I was growing up. He is a Vietnam war veteran. I don’t doubt that he and my mother loved each other very much at one time. I have heard that as much hate as you show someone at the end of a relationship there had to be an equal amount of love at some point. They haven’t been together in over twenty years and to this day they are still legally married. So there is that.

I think war is a terrible thing and I wonder how different my life would have been had my father stayed in college instead of going off to fight. Would he still have abandoned us? I assume when he came back he must have been a changed man.

I have to think that it wasn’t just a character flaw and that the drug and alcohol abuse is evidence of that.

I don’t remember him ever being a father figure but my older siblings do. They say he was a really good dad at one time. I wish I had some memories of it. Once my father and mothers relationship ended he stopped coming around completely.

As I grew up my mother who lost her own mother at 12 years of age, was the one who raised us. Even as chaotic as my childhood was, I never doubted her love for us. At around 16 years of age and after moving in and out of my moms home several times it all became to much for me and I left.

11 years later the responsibility for my mother fell to me. I was the only child of six in the state of California who could take care of her. At that point I had children and my mother was rapidly becoming worse over time.

She still refused to take her medicine and her paranoia was ever present. Part of my mother’s illness is having paranoid delusions. This caused her  to throw things away all the time. In fact growing up I literally had no toys or pictures. Everything normal for children or famiy including school was deemed evil. I literally don’t have one picture of my mother and I together.

This made it impossible for me to live with her or subject my children to that. So my only other option was to find her a small studio near my house that she could afford.

It lasted one year before she was asked to leave because of her behavior. This went on for several years. In California the laws for the families of mentally ill are completely flawed.

The doctors would not commit her without her agreement, in a mental health facility because she wasn’t a threat to anyone. They would not tell me anything about her illness. They do however require her to have a payee for her social security disability check she received every month.

Of course I was good enough to be her payee and handle her money for her but I wasn’t allowed to be told what medications she was taking? The system set up for the mentally ill is fundamentally fucked in California. There is no safety net set up for them and my mother fell through the cracks.

After three and half years and moving her three separate times my mother was on the verge of a complete mental break down. I didn’t know how to help her anymore. Her health was rapidly deteriorating due to the high anxiety from her dilusions. Sometimes she would see things. Scary things. She would never tell me exactly what she saw but the fear she would show told me it was bad.

Finally my sister offered to take her out to Utah where she lived. The week before my mother left I stopped by to check on her. She was in a terrible state and whatever she was seeing scared her half to death. For the first time ever she begged me to take her to the mental health facility that for years she had refused.

A week later my younger brother arrived to get her. Of she course she was still in that place and was due to be released the next morning.

When I picked her up she was a mess but glad to be going to live with my sister and her boyfriend. All she ever wanted was to live with me and my family. As sad as it is, I couldn’t give in. I refused to let my children be subjected to what I was growing up. I was relieved and happy for her that she was finally getting what she wanted.

Six months later my sister called me and said my mom had left and she didn’t want her back. She was way to much to handle. She had stopped taking her medicine and started throwing everything out again. It was understandable. There was no way I could live with her myself.

Luckily my oldest brother stepped in and got her in to a facility in Utah. Surprisingly Utah does have a safety net for those with mental illness. She lives in a place that employs a full time staff. Her social security check covers most of the costs. She takes her medicine regularly for the first time in years.

I hadn’t talk to my mother in 8 months. I am terrible daughter. As soon as she was safe I went on with my life and didn’t even so much as ask about her. The truth is it’s to painful to think about.

Sometimes as selfish as it sounds I wish I could forget my entire childhood. My mother whom I love dearly is a constant reminder of that.

Her mental illness even with medication will never make her “normal”. She has set backs all the time. Today my brother went to see my mother and called me for her. She sounded drugged up but we had our first normal conversation in years.

When I asked her where she was she wasn’t sure. She had fallen and cut her chin open and she thinks she had 18 stitches. She thinks?

My heart broke just hearing that. How selfish am I? I haven’t asked about her. She’s been stuck alone in some facility I have never been to and I haven’t even checked on her.

Of course my brother is there for her but I am still her daughter. I should be there for her especially when she can’t be there for herself.

I once received a picture of my mother from when she was around 16 or 17 years old from one of her relatives. She was living with her older sister at the time, my aunt. It was the 1960’s and she was standing in one leg of a pair of men’s striped pajama pants. She was so tiny and had a mischievous look in her eye. She looked like she was quite a character.

I wish I could have known that version of her. Unfortunately her mental illness kicked in soon after I was born when she was 33 years of age. So I have no memories of her in a normal frame of mind.

I use try and imagine how she would have been had she been normal when I was growing up. Its hard for me but I imagine she would have been a lot like I am now.

Two weeks ago I turned 32 years old. I am not far off from my mothers age when her symptoms first kicked in. Talking to my mother today reminded me that she is still here and that I still have the chance to become the daughter I would wish I had, if I was in her situation. It’s not to late to be the daughter I should. It’s never to late to stop the regrets before they start.

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For my mother, who despite all the terrible traumas she has faced in an unforgiving world never gave up on her children

Why Do Some Women Expect Less?

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Why do we as women sometimes learn to expect less from our relationships? If you expect less that’s what you will get is less. Lately I have been noticing a common link in some of my friends relationships.

They are willing to overlook some major red flags and continue down what seems to me, a destructive path. All of this is none of my business of course, but it doesn’t stop me from wondering why.

First I should point out my own relationship is not perfect. We have our moments for sure, but never for a second will I ever worry about who my husband has been with. Nor will I have rumors constantly surrounding us about his alleged infidelity.

To put it mildly where there’s smoke there’s fire.  My own relationship is built on mutual trust. If it wasn’t, it sure as hell would have been a tumultuous last 9 years.

I refuse to accept less. Its all or nothing for me. Sometimes even when we know something is true, we refuse to see it for what it is. It hurts too much. The problem with ignoring certain aspects of our partners is that it can come back to bite us in the ass, when we least expect it.
Sure there’s some things I ignore in my partner. Like farting in bed and his sometimes so smart he’s almost arrogant (know it all) manner.

Those for me, are worth overlooking because of the bigger picture. He loves me. He is a great father. He is so smart. He’s funny and kind. He’s trustworthy.  He’s honest. He can be sweet when least expected and he’s great in bed (when he’s not farting). He also takes amazing care of his family.

To me those are the things that matter most. Without trust though, non of those other things matter at all. At least for me. I couldn’t continue in a relationship unless I knew without a shadow of a doubt my partner is completely devoted to me, and me alone.

Doubts in a relationship are poison.  You can ignore them but they keep coming back. Seeping in to your thoughts poisoning them all. This kind of stress ruins people. I couldn’t live like that, let alone build a relationship on that.

I put my all into all that I do. I expect the same in return. Loyalty in all things. There is no relationship on earth worth holding onto without it.
I hate to see anyone of my friends suffer in a relationship like that.

The fact is they chose to overlook it, and by default chose the consequences that come with overlooking something of that magnitude.

I guess sometimes it takes witnessing other people’s relationship issues to realize just how special your own relationship is. Not to mention how good it makes my husband look. I’m not going to tell him though, it might add to his sometimes arrogant manner.

Light Up The Darkness

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“Sometimes god removes people from your life. Don’t run after them.”

~ Unknown

I read that quote the other day. For me at that moment it rang true. I don’t get why some of us hold on so tight to the people, places, and things that are so unhealthy for us?

Why are we so fundamentally flawed as human beings? Why can’t we see what’s right in front of our face? Why do we get so defensive when others try to point it out for us?

Recently I witnessed the harsh realities of addiction, and the effects it has on the children caught in the crossfire.

It was a Saturday afternoon when my husband got the text. A friend of ours was expressing suicidal thoughts via text message to a mutual friend. She had also mentioned ending the life of her four year old child who was by her side.

When you hear a thing like that, you know something needs to be done immediately. She was staying at a motel in town, but wouldn’t tell anyone where.

It took me 25 minutes to talk her into telling us where she was. She finally caved when I told her my husband and I where in the area, and just wanted to stop by to bring her, and her son some food.

When we got there the room was in disarray and she was acting like nothing had happened. There where trash bags of clothes everywhere. Her four year old was sitting in his own urine. The room stunk like cigarettes, and her face was a mess of scars from picking at it.

As I looked around the room in utter dismay, I thought about how lucky I was she had actually told me where they were.

She didn’t need to tell me what was wrong. We both knew. Only drug addiction can ruin someone this fast.

This women who less then a year ago had kept one of the cleanest houses I had ever seen, (before she lost it, and everything else) was now living in a pig sty, drug infested motel that was only paid up until the following day. She couldn’t even look me in the eye she was so high.

I asked if she minded me taking her four year old to the pumpkin patch and  later to my house. I told her I would bring him back the next day.

I lied right to her face.

She  packed me a bag full of clothes as if she expected me not to bring him back.  At the time I had no idea what I was going to do with a four year old little boy, but I knew I couldn’t leave him there, in that place.

The irony of the entire situation was that I had stayed directly below that room with my own family as a kid for a few months. Growing up my father was never around, and my mother suffered from mental illness. We struggled throughout my entire childhood. In some instances we were homeless and stayed wherever we could. Including that motel which is used by the county to house homeless families. It is a wretched, awful, disgusting place no child should ever call home.

Before we left, my husband and I tried to convince my old friend to get help. This wasn’t the first time she threatened suicide, and honestly I dont think it will be the last unless she gets the help she needs.

You might be wondering why I didn’t call the police on her once I got there. The truth is my only concern was getting the child out of that place and away to safety. As it was all of our pleading and warnings fell on deaf ears, but it reminded me just how blind we can be to our own tragedys.

On the way home we stopped, and bought the little guy an outfit to change into that didn’t smell of cigarette butts. We asked if he wanted to come home with us to stay for awhile, and he said yes so fast it broke my heart.

Once there I cleaned him up, and let him play with my girls. Eventually I got ahold of a relative, and explained the situation. Later that night, he left my house in the arms of a very loving and safe family member.

I’m not sure how his life will be going forward, I only hope it gets better for him, and stays that way.

The phone call to his mother, was not pleasent. At the same time as angry as she is, I hope she understands one day why I did what I did. In her right mind my friend would have never said those things, let alone kept her child in a place like that. I did not know this person, and I refuse to turn a blind eye to the suffering of a child.

Part of being a good friend, is not cosigning their bullshit. I hope she gets the help she needs. This life is very short, and is a gift when lived right. I prey she doesn’t waste it any longer.

As for me, I realized that day that I could no longer continue to chase after anyone on that path. You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.  No matter how hard you try. All you can hope is that your own light is bright enough to show them the way back home when their ready.