It Took an Hour to Type This
2004-08-14 at 6:06 a.m.
Warning! LOOOOOONG ENTRY! More pissing and moaning ahead. I figured if you're tired of reading about it, you could opt out now.
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With me? Okay. It's E. Big shock, right? Things are going from bad to worse with this child. Yesterday was another miserable day. He was high as a kite when he came downstairs in the morning. I could tell he'd been up most of the night, simply because of how crazy he was acting. It's a no-win situation. He is such a candy ass about sleeping with no lights and no TV, that if I take the TV away, he'll rage and become violent. So I let him have his damn TV, he stays up all night watching it, then the next day he rages and becomes violent. I think once school starts next week either K or I will have to stay in his room with him all night to assure he A) keeps the lights and TV off and B) gets a decent night's sleep.
So E comes downstairs and immediately starts mixing it up with his brothers. The phone rings. It's my mother for her customary Friday call. Something about that white rectangular electronic piece to my ear turns my children into psychopaths. This time was no exception.
They all three start running around, chasing each other, screaming and just acting like basic idiots. I elected to take the call on the front porch to enjoy the cool weather and to get away from the booby hatch known as my home.
From the porch, I can hear thumping, bumping, stomping, crashing, screaming and maniacal laughter inside. I peek through the window every once in awhile to make sure I don't see flames or blood. What I did see was G buck naked and toys scattered from one end of the house to the next. When I tapped on the window to tell E to stop hitting a naked G upside the head with a pillow, he mooned me. E did, that is.
Charming, huh?
I have to interject a mom-complaint here, if I may. I love my mother dearly. She's a wonderful person and one of my best friends. We have alot in common and share alot of interests. One thing on which we don't see eye to eye, is politics. We agreed long ago not to discuss politics with one another. Lately though, mom has been making snide remarks about George W. Bush and republicans in general. Why is she doing this? Is she trying to provoke me? She knows how I feel about him and she knows my disdain for John "I'm on every side of every issue" Kerry, and how I shudder at the thought of him possibly becoming our next president. Does she think her comments are amusing or that I might veer to the left if she continues them?
I don't force my political opinions on anyone. I don't even express them often in my diaries because so few people feel the way I do about things. I don't appreciate her opinions being forced on me, especially in a manner which demeans the candidates I like and feel are far and away the best for the job. Mom and I have managed to go all my 37+ years without a political war between us. Why can't we continue in that fashion?
But I digress...
I was talking about E, wasn't I? So I conclude my phone call with mom and come in the house. It looked like a tornado went through. Toys were thrown down the basement stairs, couch cushions strewn about the room, pictures knocked off of walls, furniture turned on its end, my own personal shit (CDs, paperwork, bills... ) taken out and spread all over the kitchen floor and three boys, ages won't-live-to-see-9, won't-live-to-see-6 and won't-live-to-see-4, all running around laughing like Beavis, Butthead and Butthead.
I ordered E to the kitchen for a dose of meds, then to his room. Naturally, he refused and thus begins Rage #1.
He was behaving so badly and was so out of control, I had to physically escort him to his room so he could do no further damage to the house and to get his influence away from his brothers, who calm down the very second he's removed.
E stayed in his room for several hours, sleeping. This confirms my theory that he was up all fucking night. He came downstairs in time for his 2:00pm meds and to eat a late lunch. As soon as the food reached his stomach, he was on the gas again.
He provoked his brothers into playing more "pee poop piss fart - let's throw toys all over" type of games. I put up with a couple of minutes of it before I started issuing the warnings. As usual, it ended up the same way - with me marching him up to his room, away from the other kids until he could conduct himself in a tolerable manner.
I hate having to banish him to his room. I really do. I don't want him to feel like he isn't a part of the family, but he has no idea how to interract with his brothers unless he's encouraging them to behave like animals. This "play" in which they engage isn't really play at all. It's nothing short of destruction. I can't take anymore of toys being broken and drywall being nicked. I can't tolerate having children under the age of nine using profanity you'd hear in a truck stop. It isn't acceptable.
Once E was in his room, he began raging again. He slammed the door over and over, he threw toys against the wall and he threw his (my) clock radio to the floor. The final blow came when he threw the remote control to the satellite dish. Not only did he put a hole in the wall, but the remote smashed into pieces.
He realized what he had done and stopped. I went into the room and saw what had happened. I calmly picked up the pieces, then informed him that I now had a great idea what he could do with the $50 he had earned... use it to buy a new remote.
So begins Rage #3.
E had earned $50! FIFTY! He worked hard for it and deserved it. He was planning to buy a DVD player and some DVDs. Now, he gets to spend it on a replacement remote.
NOTE: I have no earthly idea what the remote will cost, but I figure whatever, if any, is left over will be mine to repair drywall, drink heavily, etc...
E said some horrible things to me during RageFest '04. I think of all the things that upset me, it's the disrespect the bothers me most. When I think back to when K and I were TTC... how I took impeccible care of myself to assure E would be perfectly healthy, how I stood over him for his first eight months, watching him sleep, because I was so afraid he would die of SIDS, how no child was ever more planned for, wanted or loved... only to have him do this to me on a daily basis.
I know, I know... it's not him, it's the illness. No matter what it is making E say and do the things he does, it hurts. Does he have a right? Is it his right to make me curl up on the floor and cry until I puke everyday? Does he have a right to destroy the home for which we struggle to pay every month?
E calmed himself down last evening. He watched his brother leave with dad to go swimming - a privledge that had previously been promised to him, but was lost due to his horrendous behavior.
I gave him the cold shoulder all night. I hated doing it. I saw the hurt look in his eyes when I did. But I just couldn't bring myself to forgive him. Not yet. I wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold him and smell his warm, wonderful skin. But I couldn't. All I could do was stare coldly away and pretend he wasn't there. It hurts too much to be close to him. He hurts me continually.
I sometimes think how life would be if I ended it all. I won't, mind you. I just wonder, that's all. What would K do raising these boys by himself? How would it affect them knowing that Mommy killed herself because she just couldn't cope anymore?
I even went so far as to say to E last night that I was so distraught over his treatment of me, that I just didn't want to go on. That if things don't change, I couldn't guarantee what I might do. I know that's a horrible thing to heap upon a child, especially a troubled one, but I wanted him to comprehend the despair I feel. I guess I wanted to shock him into seeing what he's doing to me - that he's slowly killing me.
I cried all night. After the kids were asleep, as K and I sat on the couch watching TV, I just cried. K didn't know what to do, other than to tell me everything would be okay. He doesn't understand. No one does. It's not just E. It's all of it, life in general. It's E and K and money problems and other issues I can't even discuss with anyone.
It's my extreme love for my kids that keeps me going - that keeps me from jumping off a bridge. But it's the kids who help drive me to the edge of that bridge. And it's E who stands there with his hand pushing on my back.