So, we have started into week two of the medication experiment with our son. So far, my parents have been the ones to notice the change(s) if in fact there are any. They say he seems happier.
Gee, that makes me feel great. My son is happier, because of meds, not because of me. It really hurts, to know that no matter how I try, I will never be able to make my son feel happy, better, not rageful, and not depressed. You would think that after being with someone who is bipolar for 12 years, I would be used to it, and all the baggage it carries. I am not. I don't think anyone can ever get used to it. My life is so different then how I ever pictured it to be.
Not bad different. Just different. I always wanted children. Plural. I have one, who does not seem to want me as his mother. It really cuts me to the quick to realize that he basically sees me as someone who is always in his way. I am always *always* the bad guy. Then I start to wonder if it is me with the problem, I mean, my god he is only 6, should he be feeling this way about his mother?
I have been told repeatedly that I am not a failure as a parent. That it is not my fault, nor something I can control. I think that I am in fact, a failure. I mean how could I not? How many kids do you know who regularly tell their mother just how much they hate them? Sure teenagers do, but 6 yearolds? No, not many in fact. See even just saying that makes me feel ill. I feel like a total asshat when it comes to this.
Then there are the children that I watch. They love me. I know this because, they tell me, over and over again. They never want to leave my house. They give me hugs, kisses, and all that great kid stuff. They are not saints by any stretch, but they make me feel the way I thought I would feel with my own child.
Strange how these things work. Sad mostly.
I am whining, and well I guess some would think that makes me weak. I would agree. I am weak. I have always been weak. I will always be weak.
Sigh,
:(
No comments:
Post a Comment