While I am typing this, there is a small tornado raging its way around my living room. His name is Skeletor, and woe be to the objects/people that have the misfortune of landing in his path. Normally when he gets into a "Skeletor SMAAAASH" mode, I kind of hover on the edge of the kill zone. You know, to ensure that none of my valuables or other children get broken. Tonight it's different, though. This week has been a lot harder than usual. Instead of a few meltdowns here and there, we have been at full-blown Chernobyl level all freaking week. I'm sure it's because of the change in schedule with being off a week for spring break. But, whatevers, point being is that he is straight up leveling the house, and I just don't think I can do it.
My heart hurts. My head hurts. I'm so angry and sad and frustrated and confused and just...impotent. Completely useless. Nothing that I do is going to comfort my child until he has run out of energy enough to fall on the ground. At least once a day, bare minimum, I feel like the shittiest parent who ever had the audacity to breed. I feel like his condition is my fault. I shouldn't have gone to Iraq when he was so young. I should have noticed something was wrong sooner when I got home. I shouldn't have the family history of autism and psychosis and all that fun stuff (because I totally have control over that, right?) And all of these thoughts are just the ones that I have when I actually allow myself to admit that parenting this small child is hard. But, when I think about the future it feels like my entire body is shutting down from the fear.
I try not to think about what Skeletor's life will be like as he gets older. I just do the best I can by him on each particular day. That's all I can do. But, as his first appointment with the developmental disorders clinic approaches, I'm thinking about it more and more. And it's terrifying. What if he can't function in society? What if he can't have a job or a girlfriend? What if he never has a friend? What if his meltdowns become more violent as he gets older...and bigger? What if, what if, what if? It's enough to make you vomit from anxiety.
But, that's enough feeling sorry for myself, I reckon. I guess I'm going to suck it up, and go be with my son until this has passed. If it ever does.