"I Can't Believe it's Not Better"

In a world where improvement is often counted in minutes and a hectic day or a minor expectation can set of a maelstrom of violent reaction, better has turned to worse in a matter of an afternoon.

Leaving the older kids downstairs while Ana was out and I was laid up with painkillers and ice on account of a bursitis-y elbow (which I do not recommend....yowzer) was the impetus for Squeaker to careen out of control into smart-mouthy non-compliance.

I brought her in to do her chores and she flew off the handle because Ana had already vacuumed her room and she couldn't use the new vacuum (yes, it is that cool). Unfortunately for her she also called me a nasty name on her way up the stairs earning her a "benching" tomorrow and thus no youth group.

Door slamming, throwing heavy ojects, profanity, name-calling, kicking, ensued resulting in three holes in the walls and two in the closet door as she built up to more than three weeks worth of lost privileges (one day for every profanity, one day for every minute out of the room, and two days for each damage to property).

She also kicked me when I encouraged her to sit with a firm hand on her shoulder. Not sure what we'll do about that yet except call the cops if she attacks anybody else.

Possibly time to rethink meds.

Day Two is a Bust

If Squeaker had managed (or bothered) to treat members of the household with even a speck of respect she would already be back to full privileges. As it is, she keeps resetting the clock by her snarky attitude and mean comments.

She started off reasonably well yesterday with only one small correction about her tone but by late afternoon she was off to the races again. She started in on the Boss again, repeatedly calling him a stupid baby until Ana asked Lucky to take him outside. That made her mad enough that she just would not shut up or stop rattling abusive names and chanting trashy rap songs.

I left Shorty cooking dinner and took her upstairs. I tried to talk to her but that was a complete waste of time resulting only in F-words and "I hate yous" (from her, not me). She also told me that she is going to become anorexic just to show me that she can, angry that I consider her threats to be attention seeking. She told me not to set a place at the table because she's never going to eat with us. Thirty minutes later she was at the table eating and dishing up seconds.

When I left her up in her room to cool down and be away from the others, she shouted names out the window at the Boss and a neighbor boy.

That window now has a lock on it so she cannot open it.

Another opportunity to take a fresh shot at it starts at 4 o'clock when she gets off the bus.

Do Over

Got a call today from Squeaker's teacher letting me know that she has Saturday school due to some poor behavior choices. As often happens when she is upset, she had a hard time maintaining control and the situation escalated to increasing defiance and disrespect. Her teacher called back to say she was dangerously near a suspension but that I could pick her up early so she could calm down and avoid going too far in the wrong direction.

She came home around lunchtime, made herself a sandwich, and then I told her she should help me with the chores I was doing today. She worked alongside uncomplainingly from 1pm-6pm and then cleaned the rabbit's cage after dinner. Wednesdays are usually her "day off" from regular chores so she could have gone the other way and been angry about it.

This evening I thanked her for her help and she said you're welcome and thanked me for picking her up from school.

Have we ever come a long way from several years ago when a day like today would have resulted in raging, throwing stuff, and running away. Mercy from her teacher, an opportunity to settle down and try again, a day redeemed, and a fresh start tomorrow.

I like it.

Day 2 on a Hostile Planet

Monica and the Boss are visiting Grandma and Grandpa in Washington, D.C. for a little R&R leaving me here where the natives aren't always friendly.

Yesterday, Squeaker got mad because she couldn't put a movie on so she stomped up the stairs and slammed her door. I am so done with door slamming around here.

The room she just moved out of has a cracked door, patch on the wall, scraped door jam and loose door knob from several angry door slammers. I really don't want that to happen again, so I followed her upstairs and offered to escort her around the house since she will soon lose the privilege of opening and closing doors for herself. Then I reminded her that she already lost the privilege of being upstairs without permission. Snort. Eyeroll. (That was her, not me.)

She spent the next half hour stalking around the kitchen shooting me dirty looks and muttering under her breath. I didn't even bother to ask. The following half hour was full of nonsense babble at extremely high volume which also included bizarre threats to one of the rats. Don't ask.

I have yet to find out if Squeaker's mood has improved. Both she and Lucky overslept this morning and I only saw them for a minute while I was giving meds with one hand and pushing them out the front door with the other.

Ixnay on the Esttay

This week the kid's start the state standards testing in school. Squeaker has been obsessing for weeks about it to the point of being extremely irritating. The teachers are really building it up and putting the pressure on and she has been freaking out about it which for her takes the form of tears, temper, non-stop talking, and a full blown rage last night as we tried to get her and Lucky settled into their new room.

Possibly brought on by the stress, she has been increasingly mouthy and mean to the Boss, a favorite target. Although her treatment of him had improved somewhat she's on the downward skids again. He's afraid to walk past her or go into a room with her unless someone comes with him. She says unkind things to him and calls him names when she thinks no one can hear. And lately even in front of us as she herself pointed out last night.

In the horrifying early days of her diagnosis and botch job by the psychiatrist prescribing totally wrong meds, she was especially mean to him and would punch him, block his path, and steal his toys when I wasn't looking. He was two and she was eleven. Is it any wonder he is permanantly glued to my hip? I had to keep him constantly with me so he would be safe from her and other emotionally traumatized kids. Now he freaks out if he is not with me all the time. That plus his minor developmental delays gives her lots of ammo for hatefulness towards him.

Very frustrating as much of my time is still spent making sure that the two of them are never alone together even though he is now five and has quite a little mouth of his own.

High Crimes

We had plans today to go down to our church's Good Friday service at noon, meet with Lucky's social worker, and then go to the beach for the afternoon. Our plans were blown when Ana called the court recording to find out that she had to report for jury duty this morning. I told the kids we had to nix our activities for the day (we're down to one car) but we might still go to the 6pm service because we had to pick up Shorty this evening.

Squeaker slammed her door in a snit angry about having to go to "stupid church" when she wanted to go to the pier. I should have just left it at that. She might have escalated on her own anyway but I should have walked away. Why didn't I just walk away and let her throw things at the walls. Why must I always say something about door slams? Stupid, stupid. {smacking forehead against table}.

Things happen, I explained. Yeah, because some stupid criminal has to ruin my life by getting caught so that Auntie has to have jury duty, she says. (Huh?) Why are you making it about you? It's not really about you. Stuff happens and you deal with it. That's it. Why don't you stay up here and calm down and come down in a bit?

Whoa, duck and cover! Slamming, head banging, throwing stuff. Inevitable personal attacks. Trotting out oft repeated arguements about being blamed for everything. Angry exclamations: "I'm sick and tired of being punished because of other people!" Again, huh? Apparently some idiot criminal did actually go out and commit a crime and get himself caught so that he would have his day in court so that Squeaker's auntie would get jury duty on this day. Why? Just so that Squeaker could NOT go to the beach when she wanted to. Who knew?

When I texted the day's update to Ana at the courthouse she replied that she was reading an old Newsweek article on pediatric bipolar (magazines in the jury room a year behind, I guess). In children with bipolar disorder there is too much activity in the amygdala (regulates emotions)and not enough in the frontal cortex (rational thought). Sounds about right to me.

Geek High Five

So much going on with all the kids that I haven't been able to get my head straight to blog any of it. I feel like thoughts and ideas and worries are flying around in my brain but none of them connecting. When I described the feeling to Ana, complete with a demonstration of my index fingers shooting past each other but not meeting, she said, "Like a geek high five."

Two challenging kids back to line-of-sight supervision to protect property and the neighbors, daily lies and misdirection, irrational fears and unexplainable fits from the five year old (how will he go to kindergarten in the fall when he cries for 45 minutes because he has to go to the bathroom by himself?), keeping the littles safe from the meanness of the middles, navigating the complexities of older teens stuck somewhere in the crack between adult freedom and childish irresponsibility...all the while being constantly reminded that we don't communicate or do things like everybody's "real family". No wonder my head is rattled. These days I have no idea what I'm doing or what I've gotten myself into.

Squeaker is still acting a bit off even for her. She's cussing me out one minute and then acting super sweet and trying to engage me in coversation the next. She may be able to switch moods in 10 seconds flat but me, not so much. I don't even get how she can be so hateful and then come out and ask me sweetly for a privilege or favor while I'm still feeling freshly overhauled by her latest rage.

A renewed outburst of mean-and-nasty in which she pulled out every cruel insult and ugly word in her arsenal and shoved her bed in front of the door, resulted in her losing her activity for the evening and all privileges the next day.

I thought Saturday would be a toughy because that was the day that she was supposed to go either to Disneyland with her sister or to her cheer competition but her chronic temper had lost all privileges for the weekend. However, she did fine and was reasonably cheerful all day. I gave her a short hair cut as a fix for her hacking off big chunks from one side. She's been cutting/shaving/pulling snatches of her hair for years and I'm constantly taking her in to get it fixed so this time I did it myself.

Another cell phone went missing last week and, although I knew she and Lucky must have it, they kept it hidden for three days. I keep my bedroom door locked any time I am out of the room but this stealing thing has really gotten out of hand. shorty had set the phone down outside while he was on the trampoline and one of the girls just picked it up and slunk off unnoticed. Squeaker asked this week to go to the neighbor's house for the afternoon. Not hardly, little klepto.

Now the girls must ask permission to leave their room in the morning, go upstairs, outside or anywhere we can't see them. We must know where they are at all times even in the house. What a silly way to live. I don't want to be a jailor. Squeaker also frequently says mean things to The Boss when she thinks no one is around. But he's the biggest tattler in the house and then she hates him even more when he brings reinforcements.

As it turns out, keeping them close to home doesn't necessarily mean keeping the neighborhood safe from their obnoxiously inappropriate behavior. Monday night we got a knock on the door from one of our back-fence neighbors. Seems our sweet young ladies have been spending their time on the trampoline yelling naughty words, making fun of the neighbors in a racially disparaging way, and throwing bark and debris into their pool.

You know, I'm proud of my kids and I'm usually happy to claim them as mine but sometimes I want to say to people, "I didn't raise them that way! They didn't get that from me!"

Just sometimes.

Happy Birthday Squeaker

Squeaker turns fourteen today. She had a very rough week but, after a confrontation on Wednesday, really pulled it up yesterday. She is off the hook from doing my chores, although still grounded next week. We've had some rough times for the past four years but I think she's actually going to be the one who comes out of her teen years with some wisdom and maturity. We work on her issues a lot and she is often forced to face her behavior and accept responsibility. After some major drama and rage, she usually rises to the occasion and attempts to make positive changes.

Her younger birth sister is coming to stay the weekend with us. She hasn't seen her in four years and is very excited about it. I'm glad her sister's dad is letting her come. She is back in contact with her older birth sister who is now married with a daughter of her own. Yesterday she found out that ther birth mother desires to have contact with her again. I am apprehensive about it because of how horribly her mom treated her at their last phone call, but I am going to allow it with supervision because Squeaker misses her and has been wanting to talk to her for some time.

I am so proud to be this girl's mom. I keep trying to tell her that she is so much more than her diagnosis and her rotten past, so much better than the negative self-talk and victim status that she spends so much time thinking about. Some day she's going to believe it and she's going to be great.

Many Moods

It's my house after all.

Squeaker left the house cheerful and called me from school cheerful. Then we picked her up from an after school math class and Lucky was sitting in the front seat and I didn't make her move to the back so Squeaker could have the front. She got in glaring and snarling and then slammed both feet into the back of Lucky's seat. When I told her to put her feet down she bellowed about how it's not fair and Lucky isn't even old enough to sit in front (she is) and finally shut up when I told her she could sit in the back from now on if she continues to act like that.

She was cheerful by the time we got to the house and invited Lucky to jump on the trampoline with her and then they went for a run.

When she got back the eye rolling began when I told her to get her book to do reading but first change out of her school P.E. shorts. When one of the other kids mentioned to me that she was kind of stinky I remembered that she was supposed to take a shower directly after a run so went to remind her to do that.

That didn't go over too big and the stomping, slamming, fit-pitching began. I guess I confused her with too many different requests. So I outlined it for her: 1. Take a shower. 2. Clean up your room. 3. Get your book and read. 4. Stay in your room until I call you to help in the kitchen.

She decided she did not have the kitchen chore that day (she did) and said over and over "I'm not going to do something that's not my chore." I walked away to the tune of two more door slams (bedroom and bathroom).

She came down later so I called her over to set the table. Cabinet door slam. Plates on the table slam. So I told her forget it, just go on back up stairs until I call you for dinner. That's when the "Oh MY GAWWWWWWWD!" began and my favorite response when I tell her not to talk like that to me, "I just did." Sweet. Go. Up. Stairs. Now.

She made sure to call be a nasty name on her way out of the room so I called her back to tell her again not to talk to me like that which brought my second favorite response, "Whatever."

Later while I was making dinner she brought me a tiny scrap of paper torn from her report card so she could give me my grade as a parent: F

I actually think I've pulled it up a bit since last time she graded me. Yea me.

She left the room screaming about how I'm so busy ruining her life that she can't tell me the truth about her birth mom.

By dinner, she was cheerful again and asked if she could talk to me about her mom after dinner.

When she told me what was going on with her birth mom and then we prayed about the situtation, she cried on me and hugged me.

She then went cheerfully off to bed even after I told her she needed to uninvite her friend this weekend since any week in which she calls me a b***ch does not end in her having a friend spend the night.

So many moods, so little time.


P.S. And a big ol' thanks to Shorty for stepping in to set the table.

Mean Girls

It's distressing to me how mean Squeaker can be.

I understand rages and lack of self-control in kids who have been deeply hurt but the spite and meanness is very hard for me to take. It's interesting to me to observe my own reactions to Squeaker. I love her very much all of the time despite the fact that she acts unloveable most of the time. I find myself with feelings of affection for her more when she is not with me and then it's a rude shock when she comes back and the attitude and defiance kicks in again. It's sad but true that I like her better when I am not with her because she is so darn mean. And lately she has become petulant and demanding too not getting it that when she cusses me out in the morning and then turns on the charm asking for something later in the day that I'm not really going to be feeling it. I'm not talking about taking care of her needs and making sure she is loved, warm, fed, educated, and secure. Of course, these things are given freely no matter how she behaves. But all those "extras" she's taken to begging for and hinting at are not likely to fall into her greedy little paws while she is treating everybody so badly (not to mention owing me two months worth of allowance for stealing, refusing to do chores, and her trash-talking potty mouth).

Lucky and The Boss keep coming to us saying that she is being mean to them and she can be truly vicious especially to the two of them. Peaches won't let her sit next to Seamonkey in the car. Her attitude and behavior are becoming real barriers in her relationship with me. Then she screams at me that the other two kids are my favorites and they never get into trouble. Well, check it out, they don't cuss me out on a regular basis. Her profanity and disrespect directed at me and Ana are truly astounding.

It's so frustrating because I don't want to live like this and don't want her to have to live filled with so much hatefulness and meanness but we just can't seem to break through with any long-term change. I'm sorry to say that I don't have much hope for things to change any time soon. I want to be able to expect and hope for a positive future for my kids and not hold her back by my low expectations but I also realize that if my expectations are too high she will be frustrated at never being able to live up to them.

Mental illness is so mean and unfair. Child abuse is so mean and unfair. Losing one's family is so mean and unfair. Feeling unloved and unwanted is so mean and unfair.

No wonder.

Rocky At Best

Squeaker's behavior continues to be somewhat erratic. She flies off the handle for no apparent reason, wallows around in anger and defiance, then recovers and is fine for a little while.

The frequency of the episodes is beginning to cause me some concern as we had these angry outbursts down to about once a week but now they are almost daily again. We went through this a few years back when we were in the process of getting a correct diagnosis and getting her meds figured out. Maybe it's time to increase them? I'm not sure. Obviously I expect some ups and downs but I haven't been able to get a straight answer from someone who knows about bipolar to know when it's "as good as it gets".

Meanwhile, since we charge a fine for use of the F-word, she has already cussed away a week and half worth of allowance. She also loses a month's worth of allowance paying me back for the shirt I bought for choir (which she dropped after three weeks in a dramatic fit of temper) and the school lunches charged to her account (because she refuses to take lunch).

She has apologized for her behavior yesterday and seems in earnest about doing extra chores to knock down her debt more quickly. However, every time someone rubs her the wrong way or she gets an answer she doesn't like, I get slammed by her disrespectful attitude and her foul mouth.

I'm beginning to dread the next four years.

Another Day, Another Door Slam

"The only help I truly need is for mental illness to have a cure." This line swiped from Cindy's blog and ain't it the truth.

Squeaker's over the top, make-no-sense tantrums continued last night. She was reasonably well-behaved while we were out yesterday. She tried for some snide comments a couple times but quickly hushed and put on the innocent face at my "don't even think about it" looks in her direction.

She stomped and stormed a bit in the afternoon, called a few of the kids names. At dinner, she asked if she could get changed for cheer practice. I guess she thought my "NO privileges" restriction might have some weakness she could exploit. Um...Nope. That launched rage number one. I only counted three door slams for that one. She later apologized ever so insincerely.

Kitchen chores set off rage number two. She did part of the chore but when I sent her back to finish, she refused. No problem. Shower and bed then even though it was only 6:30. She refused that too but did go up to her room, shouted insults trailing in her wake.

Ana took Lucky to cheer practice along with The Boss. Squeaker shouted at me again when I told her to get out of Drama Boy's doorway and take a shower. To her snotty reply of "What if I don't?" I answered, "Then you'll stink tomorrow because you need to take it now or not at all."

Later Drama Boy and I were goofing around and teasing in the hallway over DB's funny attempts at making his own costume (hang(er)man). Squeaker kept coming out of her room to say "Mo-THER! You told me to go to bed so why don't you all SHUT IT so I can!" SLAM! Open. SLAM! Wait for it. Open. SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! That same scenario repeated at least three times.

That poor door. It used to be Sparky's room so it has been slammed to the point of cracking.

She hadn't showered or changed for bed. She has gone to bed angry the past two nights and Lucky has had to sleep on the couch for two nights to avoid her malicious spite.

Finally she came downstairs and said in an angry voice "I need meds". Usually she refuses meds when she is in a mood. She was wearing pajama pants but her nice shirt from court that morning. I sent her up to change and she actually came back down to get the meds.

A few more rude comments later, she took herself upstairs again and we didn't see her for the rest of the night. Some days that's the best we can hope for.

Oh. My. Goodness.

When Squeaker was just 11 years old and frequently throwing all of her belongings out the window of her room, throwing rocks at my car, standing on top of the furniture shouting obscenities, running away, threatening to jump off buildings or into traffic, calling me all sorts of nasty names to my face or to my toddler son, and bullying the little kids, I really had to think long and hard before I adopted her about whether or not I would be able to handle her behaviors.

A near move to residential treatment, lots of stalling by social workers and attornies, a great deal of trial and error with meds and treatment teams and she finally stabilized to the point that her social worker, attorney, and I felt it was okay to move ahead. And during that time mostly what I thought to myself (and said to Ana) was, "What if she acts this way or worse when she is a teenager?"

Fast forward two years later, Squeaker's adoption was finalized this summer at the age of 13 1/2. We've had a bumpy road but it has evened out considerably from where we started.

Until the past few weeks. The good news is that so far my car has been safe and she hasn't trashed the house or her room. She has said she doesn't want to be here but has not run away. She hasn't threatened herself. So that is a great deal of progress that we've been able to hold onto.

But she has yelled at me every day this week, actually almost any time we've had a conversation. Several days she has violently screamed at me and at Ana. Although she is often sweet with the little boys, their interaction must be supervised because her mood changes so abruptly and she can take a mean turn at the slightest offense.

I have talked to her psychiatrist about the recent increase in reactivity and irritability but the doctor thinks her meds are fine for now. Living with so much unpredictability is difficult and sometimes the other kids have a hard time being friendly back when she is suddenly in a more social mood. It's hard for me and Ana too but we can do it more easily knowing some of the reason behind her erratic emotions.

Our program social worker once told us that we are able to see and appreciate the kid behind the behavior in a way that some people can't. It was a nice complement. We do love and see value in kids despite their behaviors but even more than that we can see the potential in them that is so trapped by the fear, hurt, and anger because of what has been done to them. I only hope we are as good at helping them break through all that so they can become whole and free and healthy the way they should have always been allowed to be.

*TGIAM

More emotional outbursts today. Squeaker seems to be reverting back to some of her old behaviors in many ways. She blames it on me saying she was doing good but I still treat her like a child so she's going to act like one. Yeah, well...not much I can say to that.

Her initial snarky outburst snowballed for much of the afternoon picking up a pretty nasty collection of sticks and stones along the way. By the time she really got going she was shouting at me "I'm going to kill your stupid sister." and "You're the worst mom in the world."and "I hate you!" to the both of us, throwing in plenty of profanities for good measure punctuated by door slams.

When I went upstairs to see if she was calm enough to come to dinner she acted like everything was fine, being silly and trying to chat with me at dinner. I wasn't feeling especially friendly yet.

She can be so unpredictable and volatile, feeling completely justified in her anger, and then calms down and expects everyone else to move on without comment or consequence while they are still pulling out barbs and licking their wounds. She cries to me frequently that her friends turn on her no reason, not seeing the connection at all, blaming others for situations she herself creates.

It's been an exhausting weekend with more sure to come this week, but at least there's school to give us all some space.
*Thank God it's almost Monday.

Find a Happy Place, Find a Happy Place

Mega-emotion day around here. I had to have several conversations with Squeaker about how she has been treating the other kids. Talks like these always bring up a flood of emotions. Today it was tears, anger, frustration, major attitude, hatefulness, anger, fear, and yet again more tears.

For the record, I am not all that comfortable with over-the-top displays of emotion. Which is funny as they are a major occupational hazard for foster/adoptive parents of traumatized kids. Also kind of funny considering I felt like a bit of an emotional freak when I was a kid. I told Squeaker tonight that I was a lot like her when I was around her age. I cried a lot...when I was sad, scared, embarrassed, or angry. I was depressed a lot. I had (well, have) a hard time focusing. I was agonizingly shy. I hated meeting new people. I was afraid of new situations and afraid of going to school because I might do something stupid, which I did pretty much daily...and actually still do. I should probably point out that I had a very good childhood. I have wonderful, loving, Godly parents and terrific siblings. I just have one of those quirky little brains that doesn't want to balance it's chemicals right or something. With a great deal of painful effort I have gotten over most of these things. But my comfort zone is pretty small and I'm outside of it almost all of the time.

So ,despite my discomfort, I really do understand a lot of the emotions that Squeaker is going through. I know her mixed-up emotions are coming not only from mental illness but also from her very abusive history. The physical abuse was bad enough but the reports on the emotional and verbal abuse she suffered made me cringe when I first read them.

Needless to say, we spend a lot of time in messy, chaotic emotional overload when working through past and present issues. In some respects my instinctive desire to distance myself can be helpful because my feelings are not easily hurt by hateful comments that seem inevitible from traumatized kids. There is much I could just let slide in order not to deal with the constant barrage of emotions. But for her sake, I must jump in with both feet and muck around in it with her. It stretches me too because I must get over myself and my reactions in order to help her. I'm not all that good at it but I empathize and hug and correct distorted thinking when I can. She reveals more of who she really is each time and each time I tell her I love her no matter what. And we reclaim lost ground and sometimes take a few tottering steps towards healing.

And I feel uncomfortable and stupid but I psych myself up to do it all over again the next time, because inch by precious inch we're somehow moving forward.

Cold Feet

Tomorrow I will go to court to finalize Squeaker's adoption. She has lived with me for just over three years and we've been slowly working our way towards adoption for the last two.

Always dramatically emotional, whether real or put on, she was rude and snarky on Monday when assigned a chore. I finally had to get right in her face and tell her to choose between self-control and bedtime because I'd had enough. She chose wisely.

She attributed her moodiness to being "confused" over whether she really wanted to be adopted. This is a recurring theme and felt a little put on to me this time. Instead of getting into a big drawn out ordeal, I told her that sometimes before weddings or other major, life-chainging events people get "cold feet". Of course, it almost turned into a big drawn out ordeal since I had to explain what that meant and she had to keep interrupting with more rehashing to which I kept repeating "It's normal". I don't mean to minimize how life-altering adoption is for older kids, but she just loves the drama and will keep at it or manufacture it when none is to be found.

When she was placed with me it was to be for six months (after living one year in a group home since she first entered foster care) and at that point she was to be reunified with her birth mom. When six months rolled around she finally got up the nerve to tell her social worker that she was afraid to live with her birth mom. After farming her out for trial visits to several relatives who freaked out at her bizarre behavior, lying, stealing, temper outbursts, poor hygiene and a myriad of other concerns, I asked to be considered as an adoptive placement for her.

It has been a wild rollercoaster since then. I slowed down the process several times as we attempted to stabilize her behavior and get a correct diagnosis and appropriate meds. We considered placing her somewhere else temporarily in order to keep her and the other kids in the home safe from her impulsive, destructive, angry behavior.

After several disastrous misses on diagnosis and medications, someone figured it out (bipolar disorder) got her on the right meds. Things have been much better since.

She's certainly one of a kind and, drama and all, tomorrow she'll be mine for keeps.