All I can do is try. And keep trying.

Did you know that the maximum volume of a 2023 Kia Carnival is only 45?

And did you know, that in the throws of pretty extreme emotional distress, 45 is not nearly loud enough?

Now, I’ve had some tough drives home from therapy. Drives when the music just HAS to be louder than the thoughts in my head, when drowning out my feelings with blasting music is the only thing that matters. Therapy typically consists of hard conversations. So, these types of drives home happen more frequently than not.

However, never has there been a drive louder than, say…35. Maybe 38 on a real tough day.

Last night? 45 wasn’t even CLOSE to loud enough.

My life imploded in more ways than one last night, and the only damn thing I could do about it was sing (scream?) songs with the most appropriate lyrics to match how I’m feeling.

The song on replay from my 18ish minute drive home, appropriately, was Calm Down. Followed by Fake as Hell. Both my All Time Low (obviously). They actually rereleased the song Calm down 2 other times, in both a slower, calmer version…and another one that they hella amped up. I call that one the ADHD version.

I’ll link the original, because…well, it’s a masterpiece of complicated emotion. And the more times I can scream a song lyric into the universe that actually says “what the fuck is happeninggggg”….the better.

So, now, the part that you’re really here for.

What the fuck actually happened last night.

Fine. I’ll talk about it.

So, I get to therapy, and we’re just talking for a few minutes. Then we start talking about the stupid text to my birth son’s parents, and how I don’t know what to say.

We talked about the different options, and I mentioned how all of the opinions (which I asked for and am so thankful for everyone who offered up an opinion) were that I should just send a basic follow up text and keep everything else out of it for now.

And it conflicted me. It really did. It was the easier choice with the least vulnerability. It definitely had some pros associated with it.

But, the issue that we (me and my therapist) kept coming back to…was that I’ve already done that. Twice. TWICE now, I’ve sent the “follow up” text.

She’s read my entire text conversation with them over the past few years, and she’s seen first hand how the relationship has changed, in multiple ways.

So, because of all those reasons, we decided the more right thing to do would be to send the “confrontation” text instead.

We spent quite a long time coming up with the best way to word it…and she absolutely wouldn’t let me assign any blame to myself, or provide them with an out.

This is what we came up with:

Hey, I noticed that you’ve been less responsive lately. I’m wondering what, if anything, has changed regarding my role on your/his life. As always, I am more than willing to do whatever you need from me.

I didn’t hit send until 7:43pm, even though therapy started at 6, because it just took that long.

I agreed with the choice to send that text, as opposed to just sending a third, emotionless “follow up”.

What did NOT in any way, shape or fucking form help, was that at 6:33pm last night, I got a call from the kids physical therapist, who we’ve been working with every single day for the past 6 years.

With one phone call, lasting 8 minutes and 33 seconds, my entire fucking life has come undone. But hey, will give that its very own post, and just leave that right there.

For as chaotic and stressful as it was…it certainly provided a distraction from the deadly anxiety that was running through my body.

They did answer the text. When I was driving home, at 8:13pm.

It was generic, unhelpful, blamed the lack of communication on busyness.

Sent a picture. (That I honestly think I forgot to look at.)

Told me what I could get my birth son and his brother for Christmas.

Asked what “my kids” would like.

And ended it with a “we love you”.

For reasons that I can’t explain…I’m very unsatisfied and hurt by it. If you saw it, you’d understand.

But it’s like they just don’t realize the weight of their words. Or their significance/importance in my life.

It would’ve hurt less if they used more words to tell me all the ways in which I suck and they hate me. At least it would’ve been honest communication.

I messaged my therapist once I got home about their response, and she understood my feelings about it.

She did say one thing that made me feel better…to which I obviously responded with sarcasm…but still. It…helped.

Understandable. But please give yourself credit for doing the hard thing.When “everyone’s” opinion was take the easy way, you still did the hard thing and attempted to find an answer.

My response?

I’d be far too bored to do ANYTHING the easy way. I prefer to make things as hard as possible. Obviously. But thanks, I appreciate it. That does mean a lot.