I'm not sure what will happen if anything else gets piled on. I feel like I can't possibly take any more. My chest has never hurt like this. I feel like someone is stitting on me. What are my options? Send them back? Run away? No. I'll keep breathing, keep loving them, and keep my promises to them. It's just really hard not to feel sorry for myself, to fantasize of a life without mental illness ruling my every move.
Last week when I spoke to the school principal about the SW investigating she tried to pretend she wasn't aware of what was going on. I knew better. I knew something changed with her, too. She had been so understanding and helpful over the Summer, remembered me at Open House, and had been cheerful when we met in the office. This last conversation she was cold, almost rude. She brought a witness.
One of our AT's sent me a message this afternoon informing me he had been contacted by the principal. She feels I am too direct with the children about their issues. I guess the kids are not aware they have them and I am ruining their lives? He came to my defense and told her he has nothing but admiration for me and he refused to play "he said, she said". He will be sitting down with the school and I soon.
I'm hurt. I'm angry. I look like the crazy mother that has Maunchausen by Proxy. It doesn't make me feel better that my other children know the truth or that my husband knows the truth. I want the people who see the other side of the kids to know. Really know, witness it. I feel almost desperate about it sometimes. The more they don't see, the more I need them to. It is a crazy cycle. If you ask him what he does to me, he will tell you. Of course, it is in a sweet, almost pitiful voice. How do I let it go? How do I decide that it doesn't matter what others think about us, me? I guess I should just keep my mouth shut and let them think our life is wonderful. Take the compliments and let them think they are all normal. I have tried giving them all the information I can find to explain. It only makes me look like I am trying to explain too much.
My son threw sand at me at the park. He called me names and refused to stay near me. He sat in a time out but it was as far away as he could manage and still feel safe. He hid behind bushes and threw rocks at me. I ignored him so the other kids could play. He basically told me that was my punishment for making him got to the park. Make sense to you? Me either. When we got home, he seemed a bit better. Still on the edge, for sure. He refused to wipe off the table. He refused to take his meds. He shoved all his clean clothes between his mattress and box spring and then crawled in with them laying the mattress on him. I tried to lure him out. I tried to reason. I left him and told him the consequence for his behavior is that he did not do his homework again and he did not shower, he had nearly run out of time and it would be his problem, not mine. Eventually, he did come out. I spoke about school and that they might notice these things were not done. He bawled. He told me he is being picked on by a peer. He doesn't know how to respond w/o attacking so he takes it. The fear they will know how he really is and take him away is always there. Let me be clear, I always reassure him that his behaviors are not WHO he is, only WHAT he does. He crawled up in the lap of the lady he had just been calling "a stupid, fat mother *@#&er" just moments before. He begged me to home school him. He may hold it together for them but it's hard. It takes everything he has. I finally got him calm enough to do his chore, take his meds, shower, and do his homework. It took him less than 30 minutes. He loved me again. He needed me. I received hugs and kisses with promises to try harder tomorrow. I promised to love him whether he did or not and he laughed.