Monday Mania

So troubled daughter has a new boyfriend--and she's really smitten with him. She's phyically, emotionally, and mentally attracted to him and what he represents. They're moving fast and have even changed their Facebook statuses (I guess that's a huge deal for young people).

It would normally be just fine, young love, an "awwww" moment, but they're moving really fast. She's been on cloud nine and tells me how special he makes her feel and how he goes out of his way to be a dreamboat.

Now, with all this gushing, she's turned on me. She's suddenly the old daughter again, talking back to me, telling me she doesn't care what I think, she doesn't want to be anything like me, and so on. I thought we had made so many strides in our relationship, but I was mistaken.  Apparently, she's been lying just as much as always and smoking weed as much as always and being secretive as much as always.

She's also taken to destroying her beautiful hair. She trusted someone who has a storefront (I would hardly call it a beauty shop) to change her haircolor to some light, bright red color. But instead of getting that, she's been to the place twice and the girl has systematically ruined her hair. The process has been a nightmare and my beautiful daughter looks horrible. I was upset on Monday morning (two mornings ago) that she has spent so much time on this hair thing and with her boyfriend that I scolded her for screwing with her priorities. She's not doing her school work, she's not keeping up her room, she's not taking her medication...Then I told her she had ruined her hair, and we had a big argument. When I dropped her at work, she screamed at me and then slammed my door shut.

When she got into work, she texted me something that started with, "Screw you. I got five compliments on my hair, so get off your high horse..." and it went on from there. Later on, she apologized and said she felt terrible for what she said, but still argued with me about wearing a too short skirt to walk to the bus.

So I thought we were a little better, and I dropped the issue of her hair for the time being, and she agreed that the girl had made a mess of things and that she was going back the next day (Tuesday) to have it fixed. The girl didn't follow through on their agreed appointment (shows how non-legit this was), so my daughter decided to take hair bleach to her head. She turned her hair bright orange in some places, white in others, and pink in others still--and it now looks and feels like rubber. With her eyebrows colored in and the erradically colored hair, she looks like white trash, almost like a prostitute. (contintued in next post)

Again and Again and Again….

Our story always gets better! So I was having some company the other day and naturally decided to do some housecleaning. The worst room in the house? My 17-year-old’s, of course. She was at work, so I did the usual stuff—picked up the dirty clothes and put them in the hamper, threw away the abundant trash, made the bed…then I needed to vacuum, so I picked up the random junk off the floor, including a nice small box by the side of her bed.

I opened it and it STUNK from marijuana. The box was her stash—a glass pipe with sticky residue, a few boxes that sift out the leaves, a little baggie of pot, and general paraphernalia. I’m sure they all have names; I just don’t know what they are. After pacing a good bit and cursing out loud, I texted her to call me ASAP.

She did what you’d think, the typical bullsh*t—pretended that she forgot about it, said she hadn’t even smoked in soooo long, claimed it wasn’t hers…etc. I told her I was throwing it out and she angrily said that was fine, but I should save the boxes so she could give them to someone. I screamed and carried on and told her how disappointed I am. She, on the other hand, was cold and didn’t apologize or react the way I’d hoped. She was entirely stoic, which is the wrong response in my opinion.

I’m ridiculous, possibly weak—I actually washed them in the dishwasher, scrubbed out the box, and let her dispose of them as she saw fit. They’re not in my house or her car, but I still should’ve thrown them out anyway. I know it, but I didn’t do it. You don’t have to beat me up; I already have.

I feel like it’s all hopeless. I try so hard to trust my child, try to give her the benefit of the doubt because she can be loving, lovely, and lucid—but sometimes I think she has a borderline personality and cannot empathize  and have normal emotions that don’t involve herself.