When I started this blog my intention was not to share it with people I knew. I wanted a place to vent and explore without worrying about offending family or friends. But then I realized that those people might or might not be interested in what I had to say. Plus, it was a good medium for communicating with people that I don't see regularly.

But today I find myself pissed off that I have no anonymity. I could just as easily start another blog somewhere else, but what would the point of that be? I would just start off in the same direction. So here I sit, frustrated that I've censored myself because I don't want to say something that might either offend someone or divulge information about them that they didn't want in the open.

I'm constantly worried about how I might upset people I care about. How me being honest might just be too much. My guilt outweighs my ability to be honest most of the time with certain people. And now I've gotten myself so worked into a froth over everything that I am starting to not give a rats ass about what anyone thinks about my choices or opinions. The kicker is that now I'm terrified that I'm just feeling mean out of pent up anger.

So what do I do? I can't find a freaking therapist at 11 pm at night on a friday. And I can't cry and yell about it to my husband anymore - it's stopped being effective and will start to get in the way of our relationship. And the people that I would normally go to I can't, because they're part of the yelling. Not all of it, but definetely part of it. What really sucks, is that they're going to see this. But it's more important to me to say what I have to say than to care what they're going to do about it.

Very few people can understand what my family is going through, but if they do understand, then I feel very sad for them. Every emotion is caught up in this horrid mess. I was scared at firstbut those feleings have morphed into something much more intense. It's invading my family relationships. IT, not someone, is taking what I used for daily stability and turning it into balls of fire. Firey balls of change. But not pleasant change. Not controlled change. This was started by a dumb mistake that two kids, who are too stupid to do much of anything, did. They were the catalyst. Now I'm sitting here taking care of their mistake. He's a beautiful mistake, but he's not mine and you can't know what that's like. You can't know what it's like to have to take care of someone else's child because they're stupid. THEN to have people assume that you have hidden intentions or motives feels like a someone squeezing the breath out of my heart.

My emotions are explosive and fragile and to express them concisely is incredibly difficult right now because I'm not sure what's real and what's just anger. So I don't express them. I thought I was doing the right thing. I was stepping lightly and carefully. I have not hidden anything from anyone except explosive misguided emotions.

I'm going to say this so that everyone knows how we feel. We love Layne. If his parents can't get their shit together and we (or someone else) have to adopt him, my heart will break for my brother, but I will rejoice for Layne's future (and my own). If it goes the other way and they are able to jump through the hoops set up for them and get back their son then my heart will break when I hand him back, but I will rejoice for my future (and Laynes). And as much as I love him, I have put my plans and dreams on hold indefinetely to take on the care of him: Someone else's son.

Every time he smiles, or laughs, or does anything new I want to get excited. I start to feel that maternal pride and then stop myself because I think about Ashley and how she's missing this. Every little twinge of attachment is the scariest most awful feeling because of the guilt that I'm not his mother and hopefully won't become his mother. So tell me how this can't be the hardest thing? Tell me how I can do more. Tell me how not to resent the parents for being stupid. I have compassion but I have no sympathy. Stupid is no excuse.

Turning Point

Last night - cuddled on the couch

What happens when you escape

Time away is an amazing thing. Although I find I’m not very good at it most of the time. As a woman (which encompasses mother, wife, sister, daughter and friend) I find that I guilt myself into believing I have to be accomplishing something when I am supposed to be relaxing – including relaxing. I take a bath, but during the bath I make sure I’m reading a book or closing my eyes or anything else that sounds like it might MAKE me relax.

Yesterday Joe told me that I could go somewhere when he got home to take a break. I normally don’t take those opportunities, for whatever reason. All I thought about yesterday was what I was going to do with my time away by myself. I was so excited. So I went to Barnes and Noble. I picked up a couple of books worth flipping through and some really pretty note cards to write some thank you’s on. Then I sat in the café and took my sweet time looking at a hairstyle magazine and a book on how to teach your infant to swim. I didn’t learn much about hair, but I’m aching to get Ali to the pool now!

Anyway, by not thinking about relaxing, I did. Which, helped me to release some grief on the way home about Zac. (Mom, this is the point where you pretend you didn’t read this. Dad – you too!)

I was having some random thought about when I was younger and in college and a fun memory of Zac came to mind. I took him neon bowling when he was about eleven. We went with my boyfriend at the time and a couple of his friends, who were all very nice, decent guys. One of which really seemed to take to Zac. Jim was a tall, lanky guy who was almost a hick. He spent the whole night picking on Zac like any good uncle/brotherly type would. When we left he picked Zac up by his feet and rattled all of the change out of his pockets. Zac was totally enamored with this guy. They had a great time. All he talked about the rest of the weekend was how much fun he had. This memory, of course, sent me into sobville. Loud, steering-wheel-banging, pissed off sobbing.

Because of course, from that memory came other memories of me talking about partying with my friends and telling Zac things that he didn’t need to know about college. I never talked about drugs or sex, and I never ever exposed him physically to it, but there is a part of me that feels incredibly guilty for the path he’s taken. How can I not? He was young and impressionable and looked up to his older sister. My parents often got upset with me and I, of course, being SO much smarter than them at 19 told them he was fine. My thought always was that since I could have been in his shoes and still turned out a good kid, then he would too. Of course! He’s a Moody! Moody’s can make dumb choices, but they always know how to find their way out of it and through stubborn perseverance can overcome any obstacle. How stupid and naïve I was.

In order for me to protect my heart I have to begin grieving now. I cannot imagine what my parents are going through. But I know that it has to be easier for me and it’s still awful. I know that if I hold hope for him then I am letting him tear apart my heart and I can’t. I already have a child who has the ability to do that to me one day. I can’t waste it on him. So my grieving has already started. But just when I think I’ve gotten a grip on it I remember the charismatic, adorable, hilarious kid that was my little brother.
I adored him. I used to seek out boys to date that were like him. I imagined he would turn out like them and be such a catch. He had so much personality. And slowly he turned in the opposite direction and I never allowed myself to believe that he wouldn’t return from that path. That CHOICE.

I know that it’s not my fault. I know that he would have made the same choices eventually. Maybe sooner, maybe later. I can’t let guilt for not substantiated reason run my life and my heart. I think we all feel some responsibility for what we’ve done to lead Zac into his current life. So I’m going to take my own advice and realize that I am not responsible. He is his own person and will always be. If I’ve done something wrong he may one day tell me, but until then I can’t speculate and let it run my heart. He’s on his own.

After that good cry and a mocha I feel much better about life and may just be able to look Zac in the eye next time I see him. We’ll see if I get that far. I may need another night away (hint hint honey).