Today's one of those days I cannot be eloquent. Today's one of those days I think I may lose my mind. Ava's raging and irritability are off the charts. There is no school today and so today at home is hell. She refuses to help me to help her. Refuses to use calming techniques. She's screaming and yelling and like a rabid dog. She has her little 1 year old brother in hiccuping sobs with her screaming and swinging. She's following me around the house, for 30 minutes or more, telling me she hates me, how mean I am, how stupid I am. She's swinging at me, batting at me, grabbing my shirt, my jeans. She's sticking her tongue out. She's laughing as I try continously to walk away from her. I lock myself and Jack in my bedroom. She beats the door. Screams horrible things into the door pain. She kicks the door and swears to me she'll never stop. I snap. I sob with her little brother begging her to leave me alone. Leave us alone. I swing open the bedroom door, sobbing. I scream to her to LEAVE US ALONE.
I hate her.
I hate her with every fiber of my being.
I hate this child I see in front of me.
I have no idea who she is.
I feel betrayed and tricked and abused and hopeless.
I want to snap her in half. Take her by the shoulders and shake sense into her. I feel rage rise in me and have a difficult time controling myself. I want to scream "SHUT THE FUCK UP" at the top of my lungs and throw her in her room. I hate her. I hate my life, hate the mother I am, hate the hypocrite I become during these episodes of hell. I want to combust, jump out of my skin, scream until I am hoarse.
But somehow I don't do these things. What will stop me from doing them the next time? How can I continue to hold it together? In turn, I break down and cry and cry and cry. I ask her to please leave me be and please go to her room. She sobs too. She realizes it went too far now that she sees me crying. She begs for my forgiveness. She cries out how sorry she is for her behavior. She covers her brother's sweaty head with kisses.
A half hour later her brother is still teary. As am I. She's done, she's ready to just move right along. But I cannot.
How do we live like this? How will I survive the years ahead of us? How will SHE?
No one will ever understand what happens in our home behind closed doors. You could never possibly understand that the beautiful young girl in front of you is crazy. Completely crazy. She attacks me, she hates me, she wants to hurt me. Me. I'm her mother. Everything in my being is dedicated to helping her, loving her, protecting her. And she beats me down, everyday, slowly. Until I'm worn thin. And why bother explaining to others? It's impossible to put it all into words, let along complete thoughts. And how would they understand? "You're her MOTHER", they would say. "You should love her no matter what!" And I do but it's far from that simple. I've become a beaten dog. I go back for more love from the little girl who is kind and sweet only to be kicked in the face by the beast that hides inside her. Over and over and over and . . .
What the fuck did I do wrong to deserve this? What the fuck did she do wrong to deserve this?
It's horrible. It's hell. Every day with my bipolar daughter is a trip to hell and back. One trip daily, if we're lucky.