No, I am not calling my husband or my child a beastie. I am calling the illness a beastie.
Today we are supposed to go to a cookout with my in laws.
I do not know these people who are holding the cook out, but the mom wants to meet me and talk to me because I am surrounded by the bat shit crazy boys, or to be politically correct, the mentally ill.
She is sure her husband has it, he is medicated but will not admit that he is in fact mentally ill, which of course makes me wonder how the hell he managed to get medicated then, since admitting you have an illness is usually the first step in getting treatment. (Holy run-on sentence batman, )
And she thinks her daughter might be bipolar as well. So I have spent the morning, when not dealing with my raging child, printing out a butt load of info on bipolar in adults and children.
Spenser was a raging whirlwind of terror this morning. All because, wait for it, wait for it, I wouldn't let him have a coke at 9 in the morning. Yep. That turned my child into the sailor mouthed hellion from beyond. There is not rhyme or reason to what makes him rage. No getting through to him. No helping him. Just have to let him have it out, and hope to god he doesn't go for the cutlery.
That has to be one of the most frustrating things ever. Because it is not as simple as sticking him in his room until he is done. No no, he will follow you.
He will push your buttons on purpose in order to get a rise from you.
He will threaten.
He will try to manipulate.
He will cry.
He will sneer.
He will laugh at your attempts to reprimand his awful behavior.
Then there are the physical attacks. Yep, my 7 year old hits me, and my husband. And it pisses me off. It makes me want to hit him back. I spank him instead, although I hate doing it and I try not, or smack his hand the way you do to a toddler who has reached for something dangerous.
Today however he was head butting. So I head butted him back, not hard, hell it didn't even hurt. He was shocked that I would do it, and he stopped. I hate having to do something drastic like that to get his attention. Shortly after that, the storm cleared and partly sunny skies came back. He was a different child.
That is one of the weirdest things ever. One minute I have a child who for all intents and purposes hates me, and wishes me dead, and then two minutes later is telling me he loves me, and hugging me. Talk about your mixed messages.
Currently they are both sleeping. So I have some peace and quiet. Time to reflect on how I can be a better mom, a better person when dealing with this. Everyday I resolve to have more patience. I resolve to have more understanding and kindness. I resolve to not fall for the bait that the wily boy dangles in front of me.
Everyday I feel as though I fail.
I love my child. I really love him, which is why it hurts me so much that I can seemingly do nothing to help him understand this terrible beast that is always lurking below the surface.
I never expected my life to be this way. I never expected to be so frustrated on a daily-no hourly basis. I never expected to feel like a failure daily. I just never expected I would have a child with a serious illness. Life is funny sometimes. Not haha funny, but dark humor funny. I still laugh.