The Year Was 2013

     The was 2013, and I had been working on losing the weight I gained from pregnancy and post-partum depression. I was living in my own apartment in Wilmington, NC, as I was enrolled at UNCW. Caleb was in daycare at the time. I had successfully lost at least 50 lbs. I worked out in the apartment complex gym at least 4 days out of the week for at least an hour. I was super proud of myself. I had gone from the largest I had ever been, to the smallest I had ever been.
     That summer, I took a trip to visit my family in New Jersey. Caleb and I drove all day to get there. I blasted the music and sang almost the whole way. He didn't complain once! We spent about a week with my grandparents on my dad's side, and my Aunt Lisa's family. It was their first time meeting Caleb. Things were going well for me... until they weren't.
      Not long after I returned home, I was taken to the Emergency Room for psychiatric reasons by the police. My brother, Mathew, had noticed my "weird" posts on Facebook, and had cause for concern. He called to have a welfare check by the local police. The police came to check on me at my apartment, and determined I needed to go to the hospital immediately. I was forced to leave Caleb with the police officer in my apartment. When I did not return, he called social services for emergency foster care placement. I spent the longest 13 days at The Oaks in Wilmington. I was worried about becoming homeless. I was worried about my son, who I had never been away from that long before. I slept so much. Without my diet pills, I couldn't stay awake. I was so depressed all over again, that is, once I could think clearly.
      It would be what felt like a lifetime of misery before I would gain custody of my son again, almost a year. Within that time, I had to drop out of school for a semester. I could not think. Immediately after I left the hospital, I went to get tattoos of crosses all over my body. I have flesh toned crosses on my temples, across my neck, on my forehead, and across the front and back of my torso. I had a bubble gum pink cross on my tongue. I have violet crosses on the inside of my upper and lower lips, and the inside of my wrists. I even shaved my head bald to have it tattooed with crosses. I have a head of violet crosses and pink stars. Seriously, I believed Satanists were after me, and this seemed like a good alternative to writing on my body everyday with sharpies.
     As a side note, I was one day away from seeing the mental health clinic at the VA before they committed me. I made follow up appointments with the mental health clinic at the VA after I was released. I started therapy and seeing a psychiatrist. I was on some heavy doses of strong medication. When I was awake, I was eating or crying. I slept a lot. I was so badly depressed. They had taken away my son, and I had no idea I would not be getting him back when I came home from the hospital. I missed my baby every second of the day. He was only 4 years old at the time. I was treated badly by the workers at social services. Apparently they thought falsehoods of me. I was not a criminal. I tested clean of all drugs. I was doing my best as a young single mother and college student. Obviously I was suffering from some sort of mental illness... maybe they had something against that? Who knows.
     I would have routine check ups from social services at home. They wanted a family member to supervise me in my home while I recovered, and show that I could take care of my son appropriately. My dad had gotten in touch with me while I was at the hospital. We planned on him and his partner to move in to settle this custody business. That Fall, they moved from Florida, where they had been staying with a friend of their's.
     It took me years to recover from the trauma of everything that occurred. I carried guilt that I should have never owned. It wasn't my fault that I had a mental breakdown. It wasn't my fault I had no friends or family close by. I was only one day away from seeing mental health at the VA. 1 DAY! I didn't have the mental clarity to just say that, and avoid the entire situation. I had to go to court dates. I had to pay child support. I had to file for a VA disability increase and unemployability. I had to file for Social Security Disability. I was totally dependent on my GI Bill at the time, and a small amount came from my initial VA disability claim. Without going to school, I was on the road to homelessness. I was stressed out to the max! My dad and his partner were supposed to help me pay the rent while they stayed with me. They never helped. Ever. So now, it was my responsibility to keep all of us housed, while I was losing income everyday.
     They slept all day and stayed awake all night. I hated it. I wanted to find peace of mind, and they were not helping. I couldn't trust anybody. I was paranoid about people and how they would respond to the news that I had been involuntarily committed to a mental hospital. I was scared of just about everything involving my future and my son's future. In the beginning, I was only allowed 30 minutes a week of supervised visitation at the department of social services. It was horrible. I missed Caleb so much. My heart was broken. My only baby.
     I totally fell out of my routine after the hospital stay. I no longer went to the gym. I had no motivation to leave my bedroom. I gained weight quickly. I thought I could snap back after I was released, and go to school right away, as the Fall semester had already started. I couldn't manage it. My head was somewhere else completely.
     Shortly after all the court dates, supervised visits, social services check ups, and mental health appointments, and gaining custody of Caleb, I ran into a problem with my "parents". Caleb was in intensive in-home therapy about 4 times a week. One day I sat with one of the therapists outside of the apartment and told them how bad things really were with them... how they treated my son. We  agreed that I wanted them to move out, and we had to find a safe way to tell them. We had an intervention with 2 of the therapists as witnesses. I knew my dad would get violent, and he did. He was asked to leave immediately because of his rage.
     The next day or so, I came out of the shower, after getting dressed, and the police had been called. I had terminated the use of wiFi because they had not helped pay ANY bills. I was more than pissed off at how I was taken advantage of during my breakdown. They tried to proclaim that I was mentally unstable. I showed no signs of that. The police officer got angry and said something to the effect that if he got called out "here" again, everybody was going to jail.
    I got angry, and took the bed they had been sleeping on down to the dumpster. Sure did. I reconnected the wiFi so they could find somewhere else to go. I took Caleb to a hotel for a few days and waited for them to leave. I wanted nothing more to do with them. They had taken Caleb to the room they shared to sleep in (my "parents" broke the damn air mattress I bought for them) and they were trying to beat him! He was 5 years old at the time! What the fuck?! (Excuse my language) They were BOTH in there behind a closed door trying to hurt him as discipline. That's not how I choose to parent. My dad hit me when I was growing up, I was determined to not hurt my kids. They had to go, and they had to go now. Their anger problems were too much, and violent.
      This, after all the work that had been done to get Caleb back home. It made no sense. I thought they loved him at least, if not me too. That's not love. That's pure hatred. Thinking about these things now, I can't believe I let them move in to my house. I'm far from being perfect. It was not an easy decision to make.
      Also, while my "parents" were living with me, my dad had gotten violent towards his partner and threw one of my ceramic bowls that had been filled with chili. He totally broke the thing. I ran out and yelled at him. He went outside. I went to my room with Caleb and locked the bedroom door. I was a nervous wreck. My dad stands taller than I am, and I'm sure he was at that point stronger than I was.
     He blamed my "lack" of mental health for my reactive behavior in having them removed. I had the support of my mental health team at the VA, and Caleb's therapy team. I had checked in with them plenty of times to be able to trust that I was doing the right thing. My whole world had been rocked by the hospitalization and everything that followed. I no longer trusted my own thoughts. It took a long time to feel ok again.
     I thought happiness would return to me once I got Caleb back home. It didn't last. I was severely depressed for the whole time he was gone, and I was not snapping back as I had hoped. I grieved the lose of my "parents", even though they are the lowest of the low. They were all I had at the time, and I had to kick them out. Now, I really was all alone, again, and that was scary.
     Eventually I did return to school. My finances required that I go back in the Spring of 2014. I worked my butt off on a dual degree in Business Administration with Concentrations in Operations Management and also Management of Information Systems. I ended up graduating in May 2015. It was more anxiety than I could take, so I watched the graduation ceremony on my iPhone from home. I was unable to complete the dual degree due to difficulties in the capstone class for the Management of Information Systems concentration, but I did graduate with a Bachelor's of Science in Business Administration with concentration in Operations Management! Oh I was so close! Just one class away from a dual degree! But I graduated! After all that hard work, all by myself, it was complete!