Awake From My Dream About My Son

It's been 2 or more days without any Xanax. I went to bed without it last night and then have been tossing and turning the last little bit. I had a dream about my son.

In my dream, I took out an Elmo puppet and talked to him with it. He perked up when I did it, although others tried to amuse him, he was happiest when I did it. He looked tired and worn out. He leaned into me for a hug and when I held him, I could feel the bones in his back. He has become frail.

In my care, he was never below the 90th percentile for height and weight. That was for a year and a half, consistently. He has never been at this percentile again, since his removal from me. Usually, he was closer to the 100th or higher for height, and over 95th for weight, or at least 80th.

In my dream, he relaxed and then sighed, tired and his eyes became droopy. He hadn't been able to sleep well without me. He was just worn out and traumatized still. Still afraid everyone was going to leave him. Still excitable and worried. Still having speech problems. But he rested into my arms, and I was able to comfort him.

I told him it was okay to go to sleep and that I would still be there. He would see me when he woke up.

Then I woke up.

I feel sick.

What has happened to my son is so wrong, I don't even have words for it. I know I will never be the same, and he will never be the same, ever again. I feel ashamed about my entire biological family, that they were so influenced by their money interests, to allow the state to persuade them a public defender was going to be fine, and that they actually cared about my son or even about me and my son together. Even as they refused visitation, and stalled, and then cut off phone visits, what did my family do? Nothing.

It's the biggest disappointment and shame of my entire life, to see this. And it's not the first time, because I've seen money take precedence before, over lives.

I woke up, with cramps and a stomach ache, and I feel like I should be miscarrying soon. I have back ache and my belly isn't right. But nothing still.

I don't know what to do. Every time I wake, I think about what country I need to go to, to get help. To make money. To have people actually come forward to help me so I can sue and help my son.

My son was illegally taken from me. It doesn't matter how many times I say this, and it doesn't matter what I know, or what kind of hopeful poem I write, that someone will come forward to clear this all up, I have no hope.

I have been forced to accept this. At this point, unless something happens in the next month, I have to get out of this country.

No one is going to help me here. I've already tried. I've sent out complaints again, and I will likely wait around only to see them be rejected or cast aside, even though I have a serious case.

I was, and am, an excellent mother, and my son lacked for nothing in my care. I had him set up for medical help in Canada, within a week, while in Wenatchee, no one would do anything.

Wenatchee said there was "nothing" wrong with his speech until they found out I'd gone to Canada and Canada disagreed and was going to help my son when they WEREN'T. All of a sudden, the excuse was twisted and Wenatchee claimed my son DID have speech problems, and they were MY FAULT.

I was the one fighting for my son. I am still the only one fighting for my son.