You fucked up.
We’re talking epic, shattering, whoops!.
Let’s be real damn honest: In a very literal sense, I should not have kids. Everything about my health history should have added up to my being infertile, or, at the bare minimum, someone who really had to struggle to get a baby.
And days like today, I look at my oldest child and wonder why on earth the Universe gave him to someone like me.
I feel helpless and angry and tired and bewildered.
I broke down in front of the kids tonight. Full on sobbing, blubbering, snotty nosed wailing. Twice so far.
I never do that.
My oldest brings me to my knees.
I would do anything to make him happy. To make him “normal”. To quiet his mind, lighten his heart. I would go to the moon, slay dragons, walk through fire for him (for all of my children).
But I can’t.
I fail him daily.
I don’t need to hear that I’m a good mom. That I’m doing my best. That it will be okay. Because, you know what? I’m not a good mom. I yelled and cursed and threatened…and for what? It didn’t do a damn bit of fucking good and it’s not like the kid chooses to struggle. Or maybe he does? I don’t know.
This evening I wasn’t a good mom. I wasn’t. I’m owning it- let me own it. I’m not doing my best because if I were, outbursts like tonight’s would not happen. And everything is going to be okay? Really? Where’s your proof? Because I’m terrified. Of the far future, the immediate future, the past. I’m scared because there’s no good answer, no fix, no…no hope within my reach for me to give to my son.
Every time something like tonight happens, I look at my JP and I wonder why on earth the Universe chose to give a child like him to someone like me because I’m lost. I’m breaking him. And every time I try to set things back, he breaks a little more. Why him? Why didn’t he get someone who was better than me? Because I’m not. I’m so not. And he needs more than I can give him because…because if I were enough, it would be easier and he wouldn’t struggle so much. If I were enough, he wouldn’t struggle like he does. If didn’t fail him, it would be different. Right? Or not?
Where’s the silver lining? When does he get a break? When does he get to be a regular 9-year old? When will his mind let him have peace? How the hell do I give that to him? How much more does he have to be put through (meds, therapy, etc.) before it all clicks? Before my kid gets his AHA! moment? GODDAMMIT. He deserves it. He is enough. He is wonderful. He is smart and beautiful and funny and kind. He is mine and I just want for everything and everyone (including me) to be enough.
I’m so tired. I’m just so damn tired.