Terror or terrible

My child is amazing.  Let me make that clear from the start.  He is who he is and I love him for that little boy.  He is my wish... the one I wished years for... he is that little boy.  Beyond a doubt, I adore and love him. 

I do not however like or even enjoy the wicked wild behaviors.  Those behaviors irritate and infuriate me.  I won't lie.  It is incredibly hard.  The horrible moments happen fast and are often extreme.  He can be laughing happy child one moment and evil beast screaming and crashing the next.  It is exhausting and hard to keep track of.  The earlier or later we get in the day, the more active we have been throughout the day, the amount of sleep we may have had, his food / water consumption all play giant roles in the swings.  And sadly, from all I have asked, all I have read they are "NORMAL" behaviors for a child like mine.

I am talking about the moods that are farthest from the medication.  Either before he takes it or as they wear out of him.  For us, at this moment in time, the medication helps him to be a fairly even tempered little boy and as long as the boundaries and expectations are very clear, the day is structured and his calorie consumption is monitored he does fantastic.  The wicked behaviors are outside of that.  They are what we would have on any given non-medicated day. 

For me, his mom, it is draining, frustrating and horrible.  I feel confusion and sadness when I just can not seem to do anything that will make it right.  I don't try to fix him or the situation but I do have to manage, monitor, correct and redirect.  There are moments in our day when I find myself yelling at him just so he can hear me.  Yelling to get his attention, to make a point, to simply be heard in the chaos of our life.  Yelling makes me feel like an incredibly horrible mom. 

While in that moment of yelling I absolutely hate the issue and fiercely love my child.  And it absolutely sucks.  This is the part of being a parent in a special needs house that no one wants to hear about. 

There are moments when it is horrible.  There is yelling and screaming and tantrums are thrown.  There are times when the behavior, the issue, the exhaustion are all overwhelming to everyone.  There are moments when we yell and scream and crash because in that instant, it is all we can do.  These are not the moods or tantrums of a spoiled little boy trying to get his way... this is something more.  This is violent and assaulting and harsh and ugly.  This is the stuff no one wants to hear about but the stuff that happens. 

There are times when we cry together after I have run after him, caught him thrashing his little body around, tackled him to stillness and let him kick his little legs into mine.  There are moments when I walk away from the yelling only to be drawn back to it and end up yelling myself.  There are times I have managed to get him into his room to hear anything not nailed down crashing down.  There are times I sit next to him with silent tears sliding down my face as he cries and tells me is not good enough. 

These are the things no one talks about.  The hard, miserable moments.  The moments of gut wrenching terror that so often accompanies our day.  The anxiety of knowing it can strike any afternoon and like a tornado, I never know where it is coming from or where it is going to go.  The fear of waking and stumbling quickly into this kind of mood. 

These are the moments I dread and that we have not found a resolution to.  Maybe there is not one.  Maybe we just manage it the best we can each and every single time.  Maybe I just ride out these horrible moments because history shows me that he can be charming, amazing, orderly, obedient, curious, incredible the next... we just have to roll.  But the moments are hard and like stepping into dark depths of hell. 

Make no mistake... I love my little boy with every ounce I have.