Finding Life

I’ve had a rough 24 hours.

The depression has been growing, filling up the empty spaces in the house like a slow creeping cloud of black.

It takes every bit of my physical strength and mental resolve to drag myself out of bed each morning. It requires equal effort to keep my eyes open for 12 hours. Until the clock strikes 8 and I can bury myself under the down comforter.

Yesterday, after a full day of appointments, Einstein decided to test my limits and bring me to the brink of madness and rage. These episodes with him are becoming more and more frequent. He speaks to me with the most direspectful tone. He sounds like a 13 year old, rather than an 8 year old. He rolls his eyes and looks at me with such a smartass expression that it makes me want to grab his cheeks and squeeze until his lips go numb and his eyes go wide with fear. When the priveleges get taken away for inappropriate behavior, the shit hits the fan. He literally screams his head off, full force, sometimes for an hour or more, only stopping to take a quick breath. He throws things, pounds on the doors and walls. He thrashes, destroying everything in his wake. It’s alarming and out-of-character and invokes anger from me like you wouldn’t believe. My buttons get pushed. I lose myself, I become my rage. I float above my body watching the scene play out, escalating with each word spoken too loud, too harshly. Verbal exchanges are ugly, spiteful…words that should never be spoken between mother and child.

The child is halfway responsible for ruining our family life. He demands so much energy, so much time. I have two other children who are suffering, who sit alone quietly trying to block out the screaming. Children who are missing their parents as their older brother sucks us all dry. I am not exaggerating when I say that B and I have had in-depth conversations about giving custody over to Einstein’s biological father.

I say Einstein is half responsible, because the other half certainly rests of the shoulders of my husband. When I called him last night, hysterical about Einstein’s animalistic behavior, he sucked down two drinks at the ferry and drove home. He walked in the door, tipsy and slurring and angry. He threatened Einstein with his belt. He sat him down and he droned on and on, speaking in circles, glaring and riling himself up and spitting out angry nonsense words. When he was finished, he warmed up the dinner he had missed and went straight to bed. I sat at the dining room table amongst caked on spaghetti plates and homework papers and piles of laundry and I felt myself hit rock bottom.

I can’t take it anymore. I can’t handle the ups and downs, the one step forward, two steps back. There is nothing I own, nothing I care about that means more to me right now than just getting OUT. I need a job and a room and my little boys. I need to find them again, find me again. Find Life.