According to facebook they are in a relationship. This will most likely change a hundred times over the course of the next few days.
But right now, at this very moment, they are boyfriend/girlfriend. They love each other, but they have ISSUES!
Internet, meet Heather.
They met years ago in Asheville. She is here visiting for the week.
We love you Heather. Welcome to our dysfunctional family!
Bronson-
It's been a hell of a year! You have most certainly aged me. Here I thought that I just had to get you all to eighteen and I was home free….
Clearly, I was an idiot.
Honestly, I am so grateful for the things that have transpired this year. While it's been hell for sure, blessings have come from it. I have seen amazing growth and important life skills learned….. in myself. I think you have wised up a bit too.
I am so proud of you and the things you are doing. You have taken charge of your life and your future and are doing things that YOU want to do… for that I am THRILLED! Please follow your heart. Find your "thing" and do it!
I am blessed to have had you around this year. I have missed you so much. You bring such a fun spirit to our family. There is nothing more fun than watching Arrested Development with you and hearing your comparisons between our family and theirs. We truly are a sitcom. I love seeing you play with the kids and being such a good brother. You make me happy!
Everyone that meets you tells me how fabulous you are. Nothing makes a mom happier than hearing how NICE their kids are. I don't care if you are nineteen or two, moms like sweet children. I remember in 2nd grade when you let little Kathryn Wiscome beat you in 'around the world'. Mrs. Robbins sent a note home to tell me how sweet you were and I was overjoyed. That is one of the best feelings. I love being a mom to nice kids. Thanks for being that kid.
.
There are NO words to adequately describe how grateful I am for you. You are my heart and soul. I love you more than you will ever know.
Have a BLAST in Asheville. Be GOOD!
Love, mom
PS- Here is your song.
Bronson is the oldest child in the family. 19 YEARS OLD!
He loves plain T-shirts from American Apparel, nice jeans, and SHOES! He owns more shoes than I do.
He is so smart. CRAZY smart. But still dumb enough to kick doors down in the house and other naughty shit.
He loves living away from home. He spent the past four years in Asheville NC at a college-prep boarding school. He is hoping to return for another run in Asheville… Maybe UNCA? Maybe no school at all…. Who knows?
He is currently living here at home. He attempted a run in college and decided New Orleans/Tulane wasn't the place for him. Smoking weed, drinking and an occasional class isn't all that it's cracked up to be. He tired of that after one semester and hit rock bottom. A little intervention and a lot of therapy later, he is on the road to LIFE!
He has no idea what he wants to be when he grows up. He knows he wants to live in Asheville NC, possibly in a tent. He is the most comfortable in that environment. Things like real life and money terrify him.
He loves food, but only food that I DON'T currently have in my home. He spends most of his time here whining about the shit I eat and feed my kids. He wants stuff that I have never heard of before. Like Arugula. What the hell is that? For some reason, this past summer he REALLY wanted it! Fortunately for him, Brandon loves to cook and makes him whatever the hell he wants.
Bronson is a love and a fabulous big brother. When we learned a new baby was coming, Bronson offered to adopt as many as we needed him to on our behalf, just in case there was a cap on the number of kids California allowed. I loved him even more at that moment. What a sweet son and awesome brother.
They grow up too fast.
Bronson is ten in this picture.
Ty is six.
It seems like yesterday,
but it was a lifetime ago…..
Can you all believe it? I guess nobody googled his name. Lucky little SHIT!
He leaves the house at six AM and rolls in the door about seven PM.
I sent him a text yesterday telling him how proud I was of him, but confessed how much I missed him. This was his response.
"waaah waah waaah. Get a job. waaah waah waaah I miss you. there's just no pleasing you mom. :p"
Smart Ass!
A huge thank you to all of you for answering my questions yesterday. The post served it's purpose and has now been removed from my blog. There is nothing else to say.
Deep cleansing breath-
Moving on!
*****************************************************************************************
Bronson is doing fabulous. He graduated yesterday from his intensive therapy program. That means he is doing well enough for therapy in the private sector. He has an awesome therapist that will see him twice a week for as long as needed. I am so proud of him. He is on the road to finding happiness. Hip Hip Hooray for Bronson!!
Being done with therapy also means I have two less hours in the car. Hip Hip Hooray for the mom!! I have spent the last three weeks living in the car. Being a "stay at home mom" doesn't mean I actually stay at home. For me, I am a "stay in the Armada mom."
On school days, I leave the house in the morning at 6:50 with Hunter and Parker. (Parker comes with me everywhere I go, because he is obsessed with trash trucks. The longer he stays in the car, the more trash trucks he sees.) I return home at 7:45 in time to honk the horn and gather Bronson, Hadley, Jace, Jazzi, and Kate. I drop the little ones off at 7:55. I drop Hadley off at 8:00. I drive Bronson to Laguna Beach and get him there at 8:35. I return home at 9:10. Parker has now seen 27 (cha-cha) trash trucks, 34 (Bah)busses. and 3 (cha cha dir) tractors digging dirt. Parker is HAPPY. I am tired of driving!
I have four hours at home until I have to gather everyone that I JUST BARELY dropped off. Pick up happens the exact same way, Hunter first, then Jace, Jazzi, and Kate. I have a fifteen minute break at home and then it's time for Hadley and Bronson. I get home at 4:00. My swimmers are at the pool thanks to Brandon or Cece. I pick up them up at 5:00 when I drop off the second group of swimmers. My driving day ends at 6:00. Bedtime is at 7:00. That's about the time Brandon asks if I want to go out?
My answer-
HELL NO! I have been out all day!!
Wow, that turned into quite the rant.
Let's just say, that I am VERY happy I get to be home for two extra hours in the day now that Bronson is discharged.
YAY BRONSON!
In the meantime, I am going to spend all weekend sucking up these little people because, before you know it, I will be driving them all over Hell and back!
Happy weekend friends!
Hello everyone. It’s Bronson. I’m guest blogging here today to set the record straight. It seems as though everyone has their own opinions as to how I am doing, what my future holds, whether or not I’m stable, and whether or not my family is doing what’s best for me.
But before I get too far into any of that, I would like to thank everyone who has been supportive of me. My family, my friends, and my girlfriend mean everything to me. They have been loving, kind, caring, and they have ALWAYS been there for me. To all those who love me out there, I’m sorry that I scared the shit out of you a few weeks ago. I love you all and I never meant to traumatize any of you. I wouldn’t trade any of you crazy people for all the riches in the world. You’re the best support group I could ask for. Ever. I love you all.
Now it seems as though many of you people out there in the universe are overly concerned that I am a sad weepy mess, teetering on the verge of another suicide attempt. That’s not true at all. Now I can understand why many of you would believe this. Suicide and sadness usually go hand-in-hand. And yes, it’s true that I struggle with depression, but nothing that any of you commenters say, nor anything that my mother types about me on her blog is going to send me over the edge into another suicidal frenzy. Not now. Not twenty years from now. Not ever. Seriously. All you worriers need to take a chill pill and get off my mother’s back and mine. Thanks.
“But, Bronson,” I’m sure many of you are asking, “Why did you try to commit suicide if you’re not a sad and weepy mess?” Well, dearest readers, I tried to kill myself because I’m a selfish asshole who found life too hard, too repetitive, too predictable, and too stupid to go on. To me, life is like the board game Monopoly. It takes too long, it’s never fair, you go in mindless circles, and you scramble over paper money that only has value because you believe it does.
Imagine me, sitting there, playing this Monopoly game of life. I’m getting a bunch of shitty rolls, I can’t buy anything I want because I’m low on fake money, everything is unfair, and I’ve spent eighteen years playing this stupid game. I try looking for meaning in this board game, but I’ve come to recognize that it’s nothing more than a big shitty circle in which all the players fight over shit that doesn’t matter.
Talk about lame!
My suicide attempt was that board game equivalent of throwing my money down, shouting “Fuck this game,” and making a big scene about quitting to let everyone know how pissed I was. Unfortunately, in this world, when you threaten to stop playing Monopoly, you get locked in the psych ward for a few days.
I didn’t try to end my life because I was miserable. I tried to end my life because I was pissed and impulsive. Maybe, on some subconscious level, my suicide attempt was nothing more than a cry for help. But regardless of whether or not I was trying to get help, I got it. After attempting suicide, I got new meds, a therapist, a few days in the psych ward, a few weeks of outpatient programs, and lots of support from my family and friends across the globe.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve looked back at my Monopoly board of life. The game is still stupid and unfair, long and repetitive, predictable and obnoxious, but I’ve realized that my Monopoly metaphor doesn’t work as well as I’d like. If you quit a board game, you have an opportunity to read a book, or watch TV, or build a skyscraper for all I care. But if you quit on life, you lose all those opportunities. No more good times, no more fun, no more happiness, no more life, no more nothing.
I still think life sucks, but NOT living sucks even more. If I throw a bitch-fit and give up on life, I’m going to hurt everyone I’ve ever cared about and leave them behind in this shitty Monopoly world. That’s some selfish bullshit!
I’m going to keep living this game of life, thankfully playing with everyone I love. I’ll always have my family and friends by my side to help me along. And I am SO SO SO thankful for that. I love these people, and I’m not going to ruin their lives by being a selfish dick. I plan on staying in this world. Besides, Monopoly isn’t that bad when you’re playing with people you love.
Sidenote: Whoever suggested “Darkness Visible” to my mother has my ultimate respect. Best book about depression ever. If anyone wants any other good reads, check out “The Stranger” or “The Myth of Sisyphus” by Albert Camus.
I’m sorry that I put you all through that obnoxious Monopoly analogy. Thank you all for your support and constructive criticism. I love you all. Except for the haters. They can go fuck themselves.
I’m too lazy to go back and edit this. Deal with it. <3
I was in ninth grade when I had had enough of this life. It was about a boy, and I thought, I was in love with him…. He had told me he just wanted to be friends. That was after I had given him my virginity. He told me I was too tall, too skinny, and had too many zits. There wasn't enough benzoyl peroxide on the planet to make me what he was looking for. Tall, skinny, and without a clear complexion, I felt I had nothing and would never be valuable enough to be loved by anyone else. All I ever wanted was to get married and have babies. If the first boy I had ever been with felt that way about me, surely all boys would. My dreams went up in smoke that day.
I took handfuls of dramamine, iron tablets, tylenol, and anything else that was floating around in my parents medicine cupboard. Was it a means for attention? At the time, I sure didn't think so. At that moment, with tears streaming down my face, and my Maverick mug full of water, I started swallowing pill after pill. When I had emptied the bottles, I laid down on my bed with my stuffed animal in my arms and hoped to just fall asleep. As soon as I felt the world begin to spin, I started to panic. I ran down the hall and told my brother what I had done and he woke up my mom. The rest is a blur. I honestly don't remember much, other than vomiting for what felt like days. I know I was in the hospital, and I know that is what began years and years of therapy and counseling.
I recovered. I will always have the "clinical depression" status. I have never attempted or contemplated suicide since that night twenty four years ago. BUT I have dealt with depression. The darkest years of my life were from age 17-26. I was on Prozac for most of those years, stopping only to get through pregnancies. But with Hadley, the doctors and I both felt that Prozac throughout her pregnancy was one of those "the benefits outweigh the risks" type of things, so I carried Hadley with Prozac coursing through my veins. I nursed her for 12 months with Prozac laced milk. (surprisingly enough she is the most mentally stable of all) and after her first birthday, weeks before Jayden joined our family, I stopped taking my meds. I have been med free ever since…. well, almost ever since. I had a 45 day run on Celexa after my brother-in-law committed suicide. But that was short lived and more for anxiety.
All of that is being said because……
None of that qualifies me to "know" how Bronson feels. Nor does it qualify anyone else. I can be sympathetic. I can even be empathetic, but that doesn't mean I know exactly how he is feeling or why he is feeling that way. So many of you shared your concerns about what a fragile place he was in, and what an 'unstable, unable to make rational decisions' place he was in. While I appreciate how many friends, supporters and nay-sayers, left comments and shared stories, none of you "know" how Bronson is feeling. Since the child is my son and he lives with me, in my home, 24/7, I would guess that I have a better handle on him than most of you.
What offended some of you in the post of suicide was that I was writing about me, not him. Since I only know how I feel, I think that is a good place to start.
Bronson called home yesterday and wanted to know if I had blogged yet. I told him that I had and that there were 77 comments left wishing him well. He asked if I would read the post to him because he didn't want to wait to read it himself. So I did. I read him every word and cried of course. He stood in the hallway of the psyche ward with his head against the wall and listened and when I choked through every word he said, "awww, thanks mommy."
I told him there were plenty of people that thought I had done the wrong thing by blogging about such a personal thing and putting it out there for the world to see.
And he said, "Fuck 'em. I told you to write it and I am glad you did. You love to write and I love to read what you write and nobody else matters."
Bronson was discharged shortly after that phone call. He is doing well. He is in an outpatient program where he goes for seven hours a day. He is on a new med and his attitude is so much better than it was on Saturday. He has found a new love, and that is for wounded spirits. He has fallen in love with the people in the unit. I am just happy to see him have a reason to wake up in the morning.
We were at Borders last night when I got another comment on the blog telling me what a sick person I was to share my child's issues with the world and Bronson got pissed. He said, "I am going home and guest blogging."
I said, "I think that's a great idea. Writing is theraputic. I am so excited!! I have been asking you for years to do a post for me."
Bronson said, "All I am going to write is FUCK OFF!"
"Okay baby, I don't think so. All my readers will say, 'see that child is still so unstable.' maybe another time when you have something eloquent and articulate to say."
…and that's where we are right now. I am mothering away. I am blogging away. It's just another day in the life. But things seem a little brighter and stuff that I thought was important last week just doesn't feel as important today. I am hugging all my babies a little tighter and holding them a little longer.
Thanks for letting me get that off my chest.
Sitting in the emergency room on Saturday night, watching my oldest baby be poked, prodded, questioned, and watched, he says to me,
"Life is like a movie. You are born into the theater and expected to stay there your whole life. The movie is "The Love Guru." Some people find it greatly entertaining and even hysterical and others find it stupid, pointless and a waste of time. I tried walking out of the theater because I am in the latter group. LIFE IS POINTLESS."
Bronson took 2,000 mg of Zoloft on Saturday afternoon in an attempt to get out if his pointless life. An outsider may think that this kid has it all. A family who loves and adores him, an upper middle class life, a paid for college education, the world at his feet. But in fact, he is a broken one. Clinical depression doesn't care if he has everything or nothing. It can and does affect everyone. Even if you are not the one with the diagnosis, I would bet that you have been affected by someone that does.
I have never felt more helpless than I did sitting in the ER. There is nothing I can do to fix him. There is nothing I can do to make him happy. Nothing I can do to make him want to live another day. He is selfish and stubborn and done with life. All I feel is guilt for bringing him into this world. Sick to my stomach guilt. He didn't ask to be born. He didn't ask to live this life.
*sigh*
When I adopted all these kids with special needs, I spent a lot of time coming to terms with life, death, and the fairness of it all. With so many of these babies, who were so medically fragile as infants, I thought many times that death may be the easier way for them. Surgery after surgery, fighting for life with every breath… It was painful to watch. It was horrible to go through. But each and every one pulled through. Whether it was life threatening RSV, or congenital heart failure, or an allergic reaction to anesthesia I have taken each and every child home with me from that hospital alive and happy. It's the happy part that I keep thinking about. Ty, Coco, Dalin and Pickle are the happiest people in this household.
ignorance is bliss.
I will take a medically fragile, fighting for life, happy child over a sad, depressed, can't live in this world one more minute child any day of the week.
From a parenting stand point,
Dealing with suicidal children SUCKS!
I have joined Bronson on his emotional roller coaster. NOT BY CHOICE. But because of his actions. I go back and forth between, "Thank God you are okay." to "If you want to die just tell me and I will happily kill you." I am hurt and angry about his stupidity. I am frustrated by his lack of judgement. I am pissed off at his poor choices. I love him more than anything. I want nothing but the best for him. But more than anything, I want him to be happy. That is all I have ever wanted for my children, just their happiness. But it's been brought to my attention that I want them to be happy as long as they live up to societies standards. If living in a tent, smoking weed and living off the land brings Bronson happiness, why won't I let him do it? I am not stopping him from doing it, but I am not going to finance his habit, purchase his tent or drive him to the wilderness. Does that mean I truly don't want his happiness? According to him it does.
Sometimes life is HARD!
Bronson is in a fantastic facility here in Orange County. He isn't happy about it. He wants out. But moments after uttering those words, he says he wants to stay. Because at least in there he doesn't have to make any decisions about life or get a job. He isn't the most stable person on the planet, and for my sake and the sake of the rest of the family, I hope they keep him for awhile.
He spent seven hours at our ER. Once he was medically stable, they hauled him away to another facility. I couldn't go with him. He is an adult. He calls the shots. He signs the papers. Legally he does NOT need his mother. I like to think that emotionally he still does. Most of what I hear coming from him doesn't paint that picture. I am just a deterrent to his happily ever after. It will be me that will be pained to play the tough love card and watch him flounder. Coddling him didn't work. Tough love is the only other choice on the menu. It's terrifying to be the bad cop now that I know how fragile he is. If he hates life now, I don't know why he'll like it when I take away his phone and computer. Why will life be worth living if he is given an ultimatum? I am scared to death to push him, but I feel like I have no choice.
I find myself questioning everything. I want to right the wrongs and fix the issues that have played a part in his emotional breakdown. I want to fix him. I want to make him happy. I want him to find his inner peace. I want to fast forward time, and know that he is still here, and happy, twenty years from now. I want my baby back. My happy baby.
For all of you that are concerned that I am writing about my adult child…. He told me today to write whatever I wanted to about this and said, "I don't want you to think you have to ask my permission, so I am just telling you right now to blog whatever you need to."
