...it's very bittersweet.
For those who don't know the story of our daughter, she (and Gary and I) got a lot of support from TCS throughout much of... the journey, because that's really what it was.
(Here's the original thread. OK. Here goes. We're adopting a daughter and she needs prayers. It's quite a long read
).
We opened our hearts and we opened our home, and it was all worth it, because we saved a beautiful soul from destruction. We are glad to say that King Heroin did not win in the end.... but Naomi wasn't born with normal brain chemical balance and wiring. She's bipolar, manic depressive, and paranoid schizophrenic. It was juvenile onset schizophrenia, and she is now in a caring community for adult schizophrenics. It's not a hospital, but kind of like a commune with Doctors and nurses running it, and they produce and market a product, with the "community members" participating in all aspects of the business, rotating roles....
It's sad, because Gary's health issues have prevented us from seeing her for quite a long time now. We talk on the phone pretty regularly, and send notes and cards and e-mail and such. Sometimes she still thinks she's taking college classes LOL. Sometimes she's like a little child - other times she's so very grown up. She is an amazing writer though, and certainly has a lot of life experiences to feed it.
I've never shared any of it here. Here's a sample - one of the few that doesn't contain words inappropriate on TCS.
*************************************
Last night I bled for the future. Incapacitated by love is a tragic irony. It is so sad when love has no language except survival.
sleepless nights became sleepless days.
I watched new york sunrises from broken glass windows
immersed in a cultural underworld where I once made my bed.
Spanish is everywhere and the men whisper from the broken streets "Muy bonita".
And the latina women with deep curves, hold fatherless children on their hips and walk to the market.
I watched the world awaken below me, sunrise after sunrise.
Insomnia bred a certain form of delusional love.
I was alice falling down the rabbit hole
living in a place where women paint their faces to cover up their soulless boredom.
Don't you know it is the flaws that keep me alive, that the imperfection is my muse?
In separate states of mania I created a collage of tragedy
bizarre newspaper articles and a bunch of obituaries.
hallucinations made me feel stuck halfway between the dream world and my own, or is life but a dream?
the visions got stronger, like wind gathering air and picking up speed, leaving me flustered.
I fought off my reactionary impulses to make a home on the highway again.
I am, after all, branded a gypsy, floating like smoke on the breeze.
Finally the gift became a curse.
I just wanted it all to stop, the hallucinations I adored at first. The voices that made me feel strong and chosen like Joan of Arc.
Please angel, bring me back down.
drifting off into unconsciousness, finally, sleep, my old friend.
The world becomes what we make of it. I stand in my own shattered glass trying to pick up the pieces. I live in a place where the stardust never sleeps.
**********************************************
Happy 24th year, Naomi.
For those who don't know the story of our daughter, she (and Gary and I) got a lot of support from TCS throughout much of... the journey, because that's really what it was.
We opened our hearts and we opened our home, and it was all worth it, because we saved a beautiful soul from destruction. We are glad to say that King Heroin did not win in the end.... but Naomi wasn't born with normal brain chemical balance and wiring. She's bipolar, manic depressive, and paranoid schizophrenic. It was juvenile onset schizophrenia, and she is now in a caring community for adult schizophrenics. It's not a hospital, but kind of like a commune with Doctors and nurses running it, and they produce and market a product, with the "community members" participating in all aspects of the business, rotating roles....
It's sad, because Gary's health issues have prevented us from seeing her for quite a long time now. We talk on the phone pretty regularly, and send notes and cards and e-mail and such. Sometimes she still thinks she's taking college classes LOL. Sometimes she's like a little child - other times she's so very grown up. She is an amazing writer though, and certainly has a lot of life experiences to feed it.
I've never shared any of it here. Here's a sample - one of the few that doesn't contain words inappropriate on TCS.
*************************************
Last night I bled for the future. Incapacitated by love is a tragic irony. It is so sad when love has no language except survival.
sleepless nights became sleepless days.
I watched new york sunrises from broken glass windows
immersed in a cultural underworld where I once made my bed.
Spanish is everywhere and the men whisper from the broken streets "Muy bonita".
And the latina women with deep curves, hold fatherless children on their hips and walk to the market.
I watched the world awaken below me, sunrise after sunrise.
Insomnia bred a certain form of delusional love.
I was alice falling down the rabbit hole
living in a place where women paint their faces to cover up their soulless boredom.
Don't you know it is the flaws that keep me alive, that the imperfection is my muse?
In separate states of mania I created a collage of tragedy
bizarre newspaper articles and a bunch of obituaries.
hallucinations made me feel stuck halfway between the dream world and my own, or is life but a dream?
the visions got stronger, like wind gathering air and picking up speed, leaving me flustered.
I fought off my reactionary impulses to make a home on the highway again.
I am, after all, branded a gypsy, floating like smoke on the breeze.
Finally the gift became a curse.
I just wanted it all to stop, the hallucinations I adored at first. The voices that made me feel strong and chosen like Joan of Arc.
Please angel, bring me back down.
drifting off into unconsciousness, finally, sleep, my old friend.
The world becomes what we make of it. I stand in my own shattered glass trying to pick up the pieces. I live in a place where the stardust never sleeps.
**********************************************
Happy 24th year, Naomi.
