Brutal honesty about the harder times

I was reading through blogs like mine, finding some peace in the stories of other people.  I came across this blog called “Why I Hate my Bipolar Child”; the author goes by Hells Bells.  To be honest, my eyes nearly popped out of my face, how on earth could someone say this?  But of course I was intrigued and had to spend the next half hour or so, checking out this mom’s story.  After reading her posts, I realized she was not a mean person or a bad mom; she was just honest, brutally honest. Because yes, there are those times you are so overcome with the stress, anger, fear, and confusion, being the subject of abuse and rage that you do deep down inside somewhere want to just give up.  I remember when my son’s symptoms started to show up, I fantasized about getting in my car and just driving away, I was afraid I was somehow ruining him and maybe running away would be better for both of us…  It’s hard to admit, but that’s what this blog is about right, making people feel less alone. So for those out there dealing with the guilt of sometimes wanting to jump ship, NO YOU ARE NOT ALONE!

Surely, if a man treated me the way my son has, I would have kicked him out, or left, with no forwarding address.  It is comparable to living with the cycle of violence.  My son will have a major meltdown, he will call names, push me, be forceful (though he refrains from punching, kicking, and biting now).  He will say some of the meanest things I’ve ever heard, leaving me to wonder where on earth he heard such things…  Then maybe twenty minutes later, maybe two hours, maybe two second, depending on the day and his stability, the clouds part.  And whatever was just happening, seems like a far distant memory, and the son who just called me the dumbest person he’s ever met, is not understanding why I don’t want to sit and cuddle.  Seriously.  Inside I feel like I’ve been attacked with a cheese grater.  My stomach in knots, my heart is in pieces, and he looks at me with those puppy dog eyes, like a dog who has just been kicked when I say “No way, I need a few minutes to myself…”  And that’s when I realize something is off.

That’s when the questions in my mind start; what did he eat? Is he tired? Did something over stimulate him? Was he having anxiety over something I asked him to do?  Did I put fuel on the fire somehow?  Uh oh, is it time to adjust meds again?  Mind you, there’s no one here other than him (or my five year old), so I have a lot of conversations with myself. 

The best thing I’ve learned to do, if humanly possible is retreat, retreat, retreat. I will go to my room (quickly, okay I run, before he realizes what I’m doing and tries to block me)… I lock the door.  I sit there and when he tries to follow I tell him that I am not coming out until he calms down. Usually within 2 minutes he is calmed down.  He gets so fixated with wanting me out of that room, that he actually is listening to what I tell him he needs to do to achieve that.  He hates being away from me, ironically, since I’m the person who is often that the receiving end of his anger. If I can calm things down though, before they get too heated, then we can carry on with our day.  Once he calms down, I sit and ask him “What happened? I need to understand” and often I have to give him a multiple choice of emotions, to help him explain to me, in his own words.  He has a hard time expressing himself, which can often lead to a meltdown to begin with.  So I will say "were you scared, angry, disappointed, overwhelmed, sad?" (you get the idea)... and then "What made you feel that way?"

The difference between a meltdown and a rage?  A meltdown is loud, doors slam, names are called, those are typical things around here, he may even push the couch across the room.  A rage well, sheesh, I wish I could extract a video from my mind to show you what it looks like-  often it doesn’t seem real.  Furniture will fly, doors get broken, something the likes of a seizure will consume his body, and he will be on the floor screaming, kicking, pupils huge, heart beating, face red. His whole body is under attack.  It reminds me of something from the original Exorcist movie, really it does. I can understand how people in the past have blamed possession!

It’s not like that every day, thank goodness.  Stability determines whether or not it graduates from a meltdown to a rage.  This might also help people understand why we are so tolerant of “unacceptable behavior, at least what most parents would label it.  Here's the best analogie I can think of, once you’ve lived through a flood, some rain makes you think of it (how bad things could get), but is also nothing in comparison. Meaning, you are always going to remember that flood, the fear, the desperation, and the rain falling brings back those memories. On the other hand you can look and think “ah, it’s just a little rain, I’m not going to worry about it.”

This is the blog post I was referring to, I encourage you to read it, and maybe even check out her blog. 

“It's like having this beautiful puppy. And sometimes it's great being with the puppy. It climbs up  into your lap, and you stroke its soft fur. It looks at you, and you can see it loves you. It even says, "I love you." And you love it back, and it feels like everything is going to be all right. 

But sometimes when you put the puppy's dish down, it growls, "I despise you. Get away from my dish." And you try to explain, you don't need to growl at me, I'm just trying to feed you, but the puppy has a certain look in its eyes that makes you feel afraid, so you back out of the room, slowly, and leave it alone to eat.

If you're honest, you'll admit that the puppy has actually bitten you, and drawn blood. Sometimes you get out the bandages and bind up the wound yourself, without telling anyone. You feel ashamed. Sometimes you wish you had never gotten the puppy to begin with. Sometimes you think it would be best to knock the puppy into next week, and then you can't believe what a horrible person you are to think such things, because you still feel love for this puppy. You know that no one else will understand it or take care of it the way you do, and there are still times when it's good, and you want so much for the puppy to be happy and to have a good life.

So today, the puppy comes running up to you and wants to play. The puppy is all "Throw me the stick! Throw me the stick!" and wagging its tail. So you put aside your doubts and take it to the park, and you throw the stick.  The puppy--really a young dog now--runs full out, and it is truly lovely to see it so free. It catches the stick in its mouth, effortlessly, and brings it back to you.

Its eyes bright, it drops the stick at your feet and says, "Here's your fucking stick, bitch."

There is much more to this story, which I hope to tell.”   (Hells Bells, 2009)  Check out her blog here http://open.salon.com/blog/hells_bells/2009/03/14/why_i_hate_my_bipolar_child