When I wake each morning, I silently hope that today will be a “good” day; that he won’t be angry. That he won’t hurt me. Sometimes I’m lucky, and I get my person back. Other times, it feels like I’m living in a battle ground.
The physical abuse is hard. I shield my body as best I can to protect myself from the continuous stream of violence. When he’s angry, I try to stay away. If I’m lucky, I can curl into a ball and tuck myself away in a corner of our picture-perfect suburban home as I wait for the rage to subside. If only others knew what went on behind these walls. Sometimes I’m not as fortunate, and I find myself directly in the line of fire.
“You’ve got a big mess to clean up here” he’ll sneer as he pushes the last of the counter contents onto the floor. They crash onto the tile with a loud bang. I have to quickly scan the area for belongings like my laptop and camera, whisking them away to stash when his back is turned. Otherwise he might attempt to pry them from my hands, too. I have to tuck away fragile belongings and keep all potential weapons out of eyesight.
When he’s okay he sounds wonderful ❤️ but you have more than one child, there are safe places he can go where you can be 100% involved in his life and his care. Your other babies deserve a home of peace and love.
There is hope, help and commiseration out here. Our violent kiddos are a handful, but we can't help but love them. Our family has found some solace in lots of therapy and meds. Best of luck sis.
And you stay 😳😳
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