Please Don’t Wake Me When It’s Over

I’m down the rabbit hole once again. Our summer drought has ended and turned in to day after day of gloomy Autumn rainstorms, most of which don’t last long, just enoygh to create a muddy mess. Today’s has been a torrential downpour and I’m debating whether to pick my kid up at the us stop or let her walk home with her new kitty/doggy umbrella I got her. I am walking on shards of glass with her these days.

Yesterday I told her that her skirt was too short, she needed pants or shorts. She ordered me to help her find some, which translated, means do it for her and I refused. She balled up her fist and punched me in the stomach 4 times, then whacked me with a hairbrush. I crumbled into tears after sending her to her room and telling her she’s grounded 2 weeks. I was…astonished…

It’s not the first time she’s hit me. It is certainly the first time she has hit me with her fist repeatedly and it was damned scary. Here she is the one the teacher is worried about cos of self esteem issues, but I’m the one living in terror of my own child. She’s already latched onto the social worker thing and every time I so much as say no to having pudding, she threatens to tell the social worker, the teacher, and she tacks on stuff that happened years ago (like when she knocked my glasses off my face hitting me during a tantrum, and hell yeah, I have her a swat on the butt).

And after a 20 minute woe is me tantrum in her bedroom, she came out with an apology letter and acted like a totally different person. And that was when the true terror hit me. I’ve seen that behavior before. In myself. Prior to proper bipolar diagnosis, I would go off on tirades and scream and cry and blame everyone for everything and I would sometimes hit or throw stuff…And then once it passed,…I would be apologetic, filled with shame, desperate to make amends. Not quite sure what had come over me or why it was so hard for people to forgive me.

There is no way they will diagnose her bipolar before her teen years. Which means for at least 5 years I am living with the very source of my torment and anxiety, locked in an endless cycle where it’s all my fault when all they need to do is realize…kids can be bipolar. It’s not a disorder that cares how old you are.

There is no woe is me. She is my daughter and has so many great qualities and I love her and will never give up on her.

At the same time, I am battling my own demons, and I mean, the seasonal depression, which already has me going to bed at 8 p.m. just to escape my own distorted hopeless thoughts as well as recover from whatever screaming calamity she’s had for the day. (Just had 4 straight days of it, I am beyond exhausted.) But going to bed early means not sleeping through which means at 2 a.m. I am awake and wishing I wasn’t and painfully aware my kittens are probably gonna die cos their ass trash cat mom won’t feed them and they won’t eat solids and then I gotta face the shop and R’s demands, the housework that never ends, the anxiety that devours me, and guessing if my child is going to love me or physically attack me and tell the authorities what a monster I am so they take her away.

Society has the right idea to protect children but in doing so they have given they way too much power and taken away a parent’s right to discipline. And I’m not talking spankings, I am talking good old fashioned grounded in your room no fun activities grounding. And even that is considered too harsh.

I guess I have good reason to be depressed, anxious, hopeless, and terrified.

Society paints it as one direction only, only children are abused.

I wish someone cared that some parents get abused by the children. And thanks to well meaning laws…we are powerless to defend ourselvesm protect ourselves, or even choose what discipline to use. It’s humiliating to be a grown up yet have an 8 year old beating on me with her fists. I feel helpless. And no one else ever sees it, so it’s just…me.

It’s to the point I want to put video cameras in every room running 24-7 because I am NOT making this up. I am NOT the crazy person here. I am a concerned mother with legit fears who doesn’t want her child taken away yet also, I don’ think my life should feel like a fear inducing prison where the word ‘no’ results in a physical attack.

I know bipolar when I see it. I live it. And 8 years old or not, my daughter has the beginnings of it which might explain why they don’t think she is ADD. That’s often a secondary from the bipolar and if they refuse to entertain a child so young could have such an imbalance…

Let’s hope love and devotion are enough to keep her from harming someone before the establishment will smarten up.


3 Responses to “Please Don’t Wake Me When It’s Over”

  1. I am sorry. I know someone who had to finally let child protection services take the child (and she called them to complain that she was being abused no less) because she was dangerous to them all and attacked them with scizzors. She hasn’t gotten better as an adult and the family now pretty much shuns her because they can’t take her nonsense anymore and she is no longer a little child and certainly much stronger. Her kids were taken away from her finally as she is unfit, but as a child she was downright dangerous to her own family and they were afraid of her.

    I hope you can get some help before she turns into more lethal ways of showing her displeasure at discipline. You have my prayers.

  2. Love and prayers to you Morgue. I can’t begin to imagine what you are going through. ❤

  3. Holy shit. I’m sorry. Not sure you can read this to her, but here I go anyway. Because. Someone needs to tell her.

    Dear Spook,

    I know what’s wrong because I am personally experiencing it, for probaby life since I was 5. I’m sorry sometimes things are frustrating, and sometimes they are sad, but we all have to have boundaries, ground rules and fucking coping mechanisms. Come on, Spook! Don’t be a snot-nosed, shitty little bitch. Your mom loves you and wants what is best for you and you need to figure out something to do with your anger just like the rest of the bipolar part of the human race.

    There is NO fucking room for abusing your mom. There is no fucking room for destroying your home. And, I’m sorry to say it, but if you’re bipolar like us, grown up or not, your temper has to go somewhere else and not into your mom or your home, unless you are fixing something, cleaning something, creating something, or painting something. You can’t cut yourself either, because it doesn’t change anything except to leave you with pain and scars and blood to clean up.

    I learned to take my anger out on bread dough, and then I baked it and either ate it or sold it. It’s awesome; you get to beat the shit out of something and then watch it grow into something delicious. Painting is also awesome. You get to create something dark and hideous and angry and painful and beautiful. Or, you pajnt whatever you feel, when it’s not, and that’s beautiful too. If you want some paint (it goes on canvas, not on the walls) I’ll fucking buy you some and send it. Let me know. If you want a recipe for bread, or bread pans, or whatever, let me know and I will send you what you need. I have baked for 40+ years and I’m really good at it, and it’s delicious. And afterward, I’m too tired, too satisfied, and my stomach is too full, to vent any more frustrations out on anyone.

    And read everything you can and learn how to think, and then study your ass off. It’s how you can become a better person. It’s how you can keep your mind in control of your actions instead of losing your shit any time something doesn’t go your way, and then ending up in a puddle of regret, which also sucks.

    Damm it, Spook. DAMN IT!! I love you and I want what is best, but it has to be what’s best for your mum, too, which means it’s best for her AND for you. And that is for both of you to develop some fucking boundaries, and then RESPECT them. DO NOT hit your mother EVER again. She deserves your respect; she does NOT have to earn it. Do not grow up to be a worthless sack of shit. Hearing that you hit your mom pisses me the fuck off.

    Get that shit under control, somehow, any way you can, and keep it that way.

    Please remember I love you, but I also love your mom. You need her, and she needs you too. Pretty much, we’re all we’ve got, to help each other get through the shit-storm, when life is impossible.


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