I have been journaling as of late, mostly because what i am writing, I dont want others to read, and also because the physical act of penning something is satisfying.
However today I thought I would update those who till stop by and check things out.
Things are bad.
Spenser is to the point now, where he is going to have to have a day program, or partial hospitalization in the immediate future. Things with him are completely unglued. No rationality to any of his actions, or thoughts, or words. Or maybe there is, which makes it all the more frightening. Suffice it to say that if a day program does not work, there will have to be residential treatment.
As in a home.
As in he is no longer in my home, until he can learn the coping skills he so desperately needs.
I am heart broken. This is not what one thinks of when you are on the cusp of a new life coming into being. This is so far from fairy tale, that it seems like a horror story.
The truth is I cant fix my baby. I can't make him better, give him what he needs, and that harsh truth is crushing my soul.
I am not safe with him anymore.
Not because I am a threat to him, but because at 9 years old, and 5 foot tall, and 115 pounds, he is for all intents and purposes as big as me. He is strong. And when he kicks, hits, or punches, it hurt and leaves marks.
I know this because i am frequently the target of his physical outbursts. My right leg is the witness of this week's tantrums and outbursts. What will it be next week?
I have been advised to call the police. On my 9 year old.
It is too much to bear.
I am raw, and wounded and fragile, and have no safe place to rest and compose myself. I'm under attack from a creature that came from me. And it is unfair.
This is my normal.