I often say writing is my therapy. God I hope this blog post does the trick.
Three times yesterday, I found tears running down my face while at my desk. Once, I started hyperventilating. I’m sure my colleagues saw. I pretended they didn’t.
I’m overwhelmed. The weight of the world sits on my shoulders. Usually I’m a master juggler, a mother warrior. This week, not so much.
My little girl’s not at her best. Something’s been bothering her the past couple of weeks, she’s not as cheery as she usually is. Her outbursts and meltdowns have become more frequent. She cries herself to sleep. She stands in the kitchen, jumping up and down and screaming. Or she runs across the house yelling and lands on the living room carpet, so hard and so many times that her legs are black and blue.
And the one that makes me cry the most. She comes right up in front of me, holds me still by my arms, stares in my eyes and touches her lips to mine, making very quiet sounds. Over and over. And over. And when I finally break her hold and move away, she screams at me.
She’s trying to tell me something. And it breaks my heart that I can’t figure it out. And I feel the pressure because I know that if I can’t understand her, no one can. When she’s not happy, I’m miserable. When she’s depending on me, and I let her down, I’m beyond miserable.
I am not naïve. When you have a child with autism, there will always be ups and downs. I have seen my share. And things have been way worse before. But we’ve been having such a good run lately I almost convinced myself the days of big meltdowns and violent, screaming outbursts were behind us.
Because she’s non-verbal, figuring out what is wrong with her can often be like solving a mystery. I wrote a few months ago about how, finally, at 14 1/2 years old, she was able to show me what was hurting her, by pointing at her mouth or belly. This time around, she’s not giving me many clues.
Still, I have a pretty good feeling what’s bothering her. We’ve got some tests and doctor visits scheduled in the next week, and I hope to soon have some answers.
In the meantime, I’m a cranky bitch. And I’m mad at the world.
I’m mad at work for not doing its usual job of distracting me from my reality. I’m mad at the colleague with no kids and no clue. I’m mad at the receptionist at the doctor’s office who couldn’t immediately answer my question. I’m mad at my husband for not reading my mind and knowing how to make me feel better. I’m mad at my friends who don’t know or understand my pain, even if I’m to blame for that. I’m mad at that woman in the mall with her cute normal toddler who’s talking up a storm.
I’m mad at myself for just eating a whole bag of chocolate covered almonds.
I’m probably mad at you too.
I don’t have a “but look at the bright side” ending for this story. I’m not there yet. I’m sure I will figure it out. I always do.
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