Broken Glasses

Such a small thing, and yet there's nothing small about it at all.

It's been at least a month since I wrote the first post. So much for using this as a cathartic outlet for day-to-day life. The last four weeks have included the husband deploying, the new kitten he got days before leaving infecting the entire house with ringworm, the salon being the slowest I have ever seen it, a demanding four-year-old claiming all the attention every day, and three football teams' practices starting. If you have never had children dealing with ringworm, let me just tell you: its utter hell. The amount of band aids I have blown through sealing in the ointment twice a day, is insane.

I have been screaming mad. Literally, screaming mad. As I am typing this, it makes me realize, maybe I am the reason today went to absolute shit. It's no secret that kids feed off our energy. And mine has been horrible lately. The feeling of being alone while tackling what feels like more than anyone is supposed to tackle is crushing. I don't have family here. The jealously I feel watching others have help with the simplest daily things is overwhelming sometimes. Plus, it doesn't help that I am PMSing.

Today was good. We cleaned, we got groceries, I stopped at the salon to help the girls. The kids played nicely. Remington came out into the living room so playful. The desire to have your child interact "normally" is one I cannot describe. I would give anything on earth to have "normal" days. The playful turned weird quickly. So many of the questionnaires that a parent of an autistic child fills out ask about inappropriate behaviors. And when they're young, you wonder why it's even a question. Until they are almost 11 years old and pulling down their pants, flipping you off and calling you a bitch for no reason. His laughing was contagious. But when mixed with the anxious pacing, the cussing me out, and throwing things, it is hard to enjoy his happiness. The silly antics quickly spiraled into one of his aggressive episodes that we have not endured for the last month or so.

There's no need to go into full detail. But I will say, the toll it takes on a mother after one of these behavioral episodes is not small. I have endured more than my fair share of trauma in this life. Which is a whole different woe is me post. Why do some people have such an easy go at things, while others seem to be forced to endure anything and everything that can go wrong in a lifetime? There are destroyed plushies, broken headphones, yoghurt thrown everywhere, water poured on the floor in multiple spots. Two pictures are shattered on the floor from a helmet hitting the other side of the wall repeatedly. A broken pot and soil everywhere. I took the first picture of my face after being hit. That kind of guilt for feeling the need to document is one I would not wish on anyone. I have been saving screen recordings of the security camera footage for months because I fear my ex-husband will tell the court I am over dramatizing things just to medicate my child. I have taken pictures of the bite marks and bruises on my arms. But I have never had a visible mark from him hitting me. Broken glasses, yes. A broken heart, most definitely. He will be bigger than me soon. What happens then?

My sweet baby, whose brain operates entirely differently than everyone else. His love and joy are so pure. So big. And then the chemistry is just off.

I am "functionally frozen" again for the night. Aside from being in pain and just not wanting to finish the chores around here.. I am heartbroken. I do not use the word trauma lightly. But I can guarantee you raising a child of this caliber inflicts exactly that. And feeling utterly alone through it all makes the toll even heavier.