I am an angry little mama bear tonight. My little boy…My little boy, who I have been to the mill with on a number of occasions…. This is the kid with juvenile arthritis, Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, a sleep disorder and maybe, possibly a growth disorder. Anyway, my little zebra(if you hear hooves, look for horses, unless the kid came out of me) had a rough night last night, didn’t sleep well and seems to be coming down with something. Added to that, he really wanted to play outside last night, which I could not make happen for love or money. So, admittedly a parenting fail, I let him bring a soda and some candy to have with his lunch. Anyway, his teacher had a problem with that and he had a total, crying melt down to the point that I needed to pick him up mid-day.
When I got there, they had staged an intervention, complete with a psychologist who thought it perfectly OK to discuss nitty gritty details in front of my ten year old and the principal. This is a small town and I’m sure it’s good water cooler gossip that one of my kids suffers from mental illness. Fuck you, btw, it’s not catching. Also, more people would receive the help they need if people like you shut your pie holes. Several years ago, I had a similar fight with a different teacher, who felt she knew better about one of my sons than I… My answer to her was that in twenty years, if that little boy is sitting in prison, I will be devastated. My life will revolve around it, and I will question every single choice I ever made. You will say, “Aww, he was such a cute little boy.”
Here in the fishbowl, tonight, I say to you… I am this kid’s parent. You are another brick in the wall. I’m entirely sure you mean well… but fuck you. Please stick to your education and training, and let me parent my child. I am the world’s leading expert on Tugga James. It was me, and only me, that said bullshit to local doctors and drove him three hours to Shriners to get a correct diagnosis. It was me who kept up a brave face until the cardiologist said, it’s not the heart condition EDS, at which point I broke down and sobbed…. It’s me who says, no. sweet boy, you can’t play football because a blow to the knee will cripple you. Like my second son, if this one actually ends up with a mental illness, it will be me who deals with the fallout. You, teacher, will go home to your husband, 2.5 kids and housebroken dog.
Fuck you and the horse you rode in on. Life isn’t as bad with a mental illness as you want to believe. No, I didn’t cause it, so again, fuck you.. Genetics suck sometimes. If you came from my loins, you are predisposed to suffer from anxiety and depression. I am deeply and sincerely sorry to the small humans I created that this is a true story… but never for a second will I apologize that these people exist. Who the fuck do you possibly think you are that you even consider that I owe you this? Climb up on your high horse and hold on tight, it’s a pretty sharp drop between the place you think you are and the rest of humanity.