I know we don't talk as much as we used to. I mean, there's that whole me not attending a church thing and questioning organized groups who follow you.
But I really could use your help right now. I am really struggling. My whole family is really struggling. My little guy's emotions are all over the map and my 60:40 rate in favor of successful outings has taken a drastic nosedive to 70:30 NOT in my favor. The rage I feel over his rage is growing to match; a thing I feel enormous guilt over and realize is the absolute worst thing a Mom can offer her sweet child in his time of needing me most. But how does one stop reacting when each and every day...about five or more times a day...she is pinched to the point of bruising; hit, kicked, and addressed with a clenched jaw and a sound like she is about to be attacked? He may only be six, and he may have low muscle tone, but he is strong and he can hurt. And the worst part? When I reread what I have written here, I feel as though I am describing to you someone other than my child. Someone other than the old soul of a boy I know has the capability of being the most endearing, most beautifully enchanting child...the child who you may not understand, but who haunts you and makes you want to understand.
God, I am scared. I feel desperate to fix this, and yet I am not able. I want to blame it on how very unhappy I know he is in his school placement, and yet I am also scared at the possibility that it is bigger than that. That this is his new normal. Have we entered the point of no return? Is he choosing to more autistic and in his world because it is easier than being a part of ours?
And what is worse, God, is that I--the woman who bore this beautiful, confusing boy--am also the one who instills fear in him. I am the one who has started to not tolerate the 20-minute hysterical meltdown when it is not the movie he wants. The one who will put him in his room immediately because I have no more patience for him reaching for his little brother's neck...even when his little brother sometimes quite knowingly provokes him.
I am the one who yells and cries at him, and then lays next to him because he needs me to make him feel safe as he tries to quiet his body long enough to fall asleep.
If your own mother cannot accept your faults, then who can? Oh, the guilt is almost too much for me to bear.
Please, please, God. If you are out there and you are listening, can you help us? It is bad and I need help.
I cannot do this alone.