I am in such a grumpity grump mood it isn't even funny.
I am thinking it has to do with the stress of arguing with my child, and worrying about when Rob is going to crash.
Sigh, I know it is coming soon. Too many indications that he is going to crash, and crash hard. It is the little things that tell me it is going to happen in the near future.
The unexplained chill. Yes seriously. This is a huge tell that things are not going well in his chemistry.
The increased sleep. It just isn't how he normally is.
The markedly decreased sleep. He has both. He doesn't sleep a lot, but when he sleeps even less, it is indicative of change.
Short tempered. Everything and everyone annoys him, more so then normal.
Retreating into himself.
Wanting to spend copious amounts of money we don't have.
And the list can go on. And on. And on.
It pains me to see the both of them cycling like mad, no pun intended, and not being able to do a damn thing at all. Most of the time I feel like I make everything worse. Just awful, and not at all helpful.
I can see the sadness in Spenser's eyes, when he isn't either manic and therefore just completely scattered, or raging and therefore filled with nothing but hate and contempt for me. There is no normal anymore, just wild extremes that are maddening and scarey.
I can see in Rob's eyes the weariness of this illness, of fighting for every day, and fighting our child for good days, when all it feels like is another day in hell. Literally. He struggles to understand the way our son behaves, and yet just below the surface there is contempt, because he gets pushed closer and closer to the edge every day.
No one ever thinks that when they have children, it will be this hard. No one knows how hard it is to on one hand love your child so much, that your heart hurts because he is not normal, and never will be, and that you dislike that child intensely because he keeps picking and pushing you to your breaking point.
Most mothers will never admit that they do not like their child at times. Somehow admitting that is like admitting you are a horrid excuse for a mother. Apparently to admit that is, I guess, like saying you don't love your child, which is not even half the truth. I love my child, but there are days when he has pushed me so far that I wonder if it wouldn't be better if he had different parents, or at least a different mother who knew how to handle him better.
I am so very stressed and over the edge that I cannot seem to remember a time when life was peaceful. Sad.