If there is one thing I have learned above all else when it comes to a Bipolar rant (or rage), it’s that it affects my entire family in dramatic ways. I don’t feel the degree of my mood swing matters; I think it is the act itself of losing control that has the most devastating consequences.
Shortly after my diagnoses, once I got on medication and started seeing things clearly, I noticed how my children lacked the ability to handle situations appropriately. They were not Bipolar, but I noticed that they were acting like me.
I was terribly ashamed.
By losing control, I was teaching my kids that losing control and yelling like a lunatic was acceptable, perhaps even normal. I started to realize that I was teaching them through my actions that screaming, yelling and losing it was the only way to handle stressful situations. One by one I noticed more yelling, more frustration and more arguing.
I made a decision that would change everyone’s life.
So my 15-year-old son passed Driver’s Ed, passed his written exam and now holds his learner’s permit. With that little piece of paper this kid holds the key to my sanity in his wallet! How completely unfair is that?
I was excited for him to get his learner’s permit. I remember the day I got mine; it was the beginning of an exciting new chapter in my life. I do not, however, remember driving so horribly! Then again, I do remember my mom grabbing onto the handles for dear life, pounding on the floorboard, and hollering “BRAKE!” many, many times.
Oh how I pity her now. I remember when I came to a complete stop after nearly running a stop sign, my mother glared at me and said “one day your son will do this to you, and I cannot WAIT!” Oh my, I had no idea how much weight those words held at the time.
I was certain prior to his most recent evaluation that he had grown by leaps and bounds. A small part of me hoped he had “outgrown” Autism, and the news would be wonderful. I see so much progress in him every day - doing new things and saying new words. So when the evaluation concluded I was devastated to find he hadn’t grown as much as I had anticipated. Shame on me.
At 18 months old he was only developed to about 5 months in all areas except gross motor skills. Hearing the word “Autism” broke my heart and sent me in a tailspin. I cried for days. My husband did a great job at defining how “different” he is, and how that makes him special. I tried to accept it and worked with him very hard over the past year to teach him and help him grow. It did pay off; he has surpassed his age in two areas. His visual testing soared up to where a four year old should be. Oh I was so proud!
However, his social and language are still severely delayed, at the bottom of the scoring scale. If the score could have been lower, it would have.
I finally snapped.
I pretty much told him everything that was bothering me and I am not so sure I was very nice about it. I let out a lot of built-up emotions and resentment, and pretty much tore him to pieces.
It is not a moment I am proud of.
The biggest issue with my husband is after something painful happens, he likes to move on and pretend as if nothing has happened and everything is perfectly okay. The problem is it’s not okay, I am not okay. So rather than walk around with all this crap weighing me down, I just let him have it.
He argued like always with his comments of “oh, I am such a bad husband,” which set me off even more. I frequently tell him that this isn’t about “him” as a “husband,” it’s about us and about our issues, and about me and the things that are happening with me. He still continues with his defense: “you just make me feel like a horrible person.” It infuriates me.
Well, our vacation started off a little crappy, but we did our best to make it better. Everything was going pretty smooth once we got over the $80 lost and all other crankiness previously griped about.
My husband was having a very hard time with the stress. I was a little taken back knowing I was the one who was being calm and collected, keeping things in order the best I could. When I finally explained to him that there was nothing we could do to change the things that had already happened he started to settle down some.
We bought tickets on Craigslist for Medieval Times and planned to go Sunday night. We were all very excited, we had gotten a great deal on the tickets. We took the kids to the little strip with shops and such and they got little henna tattoos, and then my husband bought me a cute dress and we went out for a date night later that night. It was nice, I really enjoyed it.
The most fun was watching how many people were totally drunk beyond drunk. I was laughing more at that than anything else! Then leaving, I got a chuckle out of the “cab lines” set up for those drunk people to safely get home. It was a pretty cool system, clearly showing they have a problem with people getting completely wasted there!
Lately I have not really had much focus, and my goals seem foggy. I am sort of distant from many things around me, and feel kind of aloof. I’m not sure why and it’s pretty irritating, but overall I’m not doing badly.
My relationship with my husband has been excellent. In fact it has been beyond excellent, and I have been enjoying my time with him tremendously. We aren’t missing anything at all between the two of us and it has been truly fantastic!
I have been working diligently the last couple of weeks to get my littlest one, now 20 months, into a program to help him. He has some developmental delays that need to be addressed. They have discussed the possibility of him having characteristics falling into the autism spectrum and that has been very hard for me. I work with him much harder now at home to try to get him caught up and it’s as though my efforts are fruitless. He has no ability to communicate with us. It’s heartbreaking and emotionally exhausting for me, but I refuse to give up.
When my baby boy survived such a traumatic delivery, I felt blessed to have him. He was an amazing and curious little guy. He loved everyone, he’s always been the most affectionate of all my children.
At just 18 months old, he had gotten into some dangerous medication that my brother (who was staying with us) was taking. He was fine after a short stay in the PICU at our local hospital, but only three days after taking him home, I picked him up in the hallway and noticed a familiar orange powder on his lips.
I immediately realized somehow he had gotten into the medication…again. Terrified, I threw him in the car and drove to the hospital. I didn’t know how long it had been and was scared to wait for an ambulance, the hospital was only 15 minutes away. When we got there, he was unconscious, only this time, he was barely breathing.
Being away from my children for any length of time is becoming extremely difficult. I am always scared something will happen to them if I am not with them. I think I may know why.
I remember the first time I almost lost my son, now six. He wasn’t even born yet, I hadn’t even held him in my arms or heard him cry. During his delivery, the heart rate monitor was rapidly dropping, and I was trying to push in a panic.
The nurse climbed up on my lap, stared me dead in the eye and said “you’re little boy is going to die if you don’t push him out right now.” She grabbed the top of my pregnant belly and pushed down as she was staring at me telling me to push along with her. At that moment the fear gripped my soul and I felt as though my heart was slowly stopping along with his.
Well, I am feeling better now. I have had a couple of very unproductive days which in it’s own way was some sort of therapy. I spent the last few days doing a lot of nothing which has been very nice.
I have cleaned a little but not too much, and have managed to stay on top of my responsibilities fairly well. The irritability has gotten a lot better and my fuse has grown slightly longer. The dogs though, have been really irritating me. I love my dogs like my kids, but for some reason, I can’t stand them being on me! That’s a little weird.
Wednesday night my husband and I went to the bar for his pool league, our “once a week” outing. My son called during a pretty bad storm and told me he thought someone was trying to get into the house. It was so hard to hear that level of fear coming from my strong and brave 14 year old son.
So my oldest son is 14 now. Being 30 myself, that age feels as though it was just a few short years ago and I remember it vividly. Okay, so maybe it really was only a few short years ago. Anyway, I find it very easy to relate to any teenage girl in the world but a teenage boy? Oye! Someone save me!
A teenage boy = a furry ball of emotions and hormones that revolve around a girl.
That’s basically it in a nutshell. Mom, who’s Mom? Yeah, it sucks.
He was such an amazing little boy, he was a real pain but he was a great kid. Full of energy and love, spunky like his mother but very loving and caring as well. Watching him grow from a boy to a man is so heartbreaking. My youngest boy is 17 months old and I wish I could just bottle this age up so that when I am looking at my little boy towering over me with a deep voice and lip hair, I can curl into a corner and remember my baby.