Tuesday, November 4, 2014

How much is too much

I often struggle with how much to share about our lives. I want to be honest and open with you because it is that openness that really helps when you're buried in the trenches of your own battle. Yet I worry that the words aren't enough, the the weight of them isn't fully conveyed. In the end, I think that more is better than less. It is our truth after all.
I was just saying the other day how we have enjoyed a nice stretch of peace. No screaming or hurting. Bedtime has been quiet and uneventful. But these periods never last. We have a good month followed by a bad stretch. I never know how long they will last or what behaviors we will see, but it always comes. It's a reality that is hard to face. Rex's struggles are there all the time. Sometimes they are just hidden.
The time change was this weekend and it has caused chaos in our home again. It's not so much that he's not sleeping or waking up earlier, it's something else entirely. It's like the change in light and time has effected him on a deeper level. His brain does not seem to be able to cope with it. It is after all, a change in routine. The sun is not setting when it should and it's not rising when it should. We are now on the hyper end of things. He's running and bouncing and crawling and yelling and singing and moving nonstop. I can hear you now, saying, "So what's wrong with that? Sounds like a typical kid to me". 
And you'd be right, except he takes it to the extreme and then he can't stop. He can't reel it back in when he's had enough. So the only option is raging. All that energy with no place to properly store it, makes for a bad night. 
Even after all this time, there is nothing we can do,but ride out the storm once it starts. No matter how long of a peaceful stretch we may have had, one look from Rex is all it takes to put me right back into the adrenaline soaked fear. I know what's coming and I know I am powerless to stop it. 
I have a routine I go to in these moments. I pull my hair back out of my face, I take off all my jewelry: necklaces, earrings, rings. I change into clothes that allow for better movement and don't have cords or ties. I eliminate all things that can be pulled on or ripped out. I am gearing up for battle. I am gearing up for battle with my son, with an eight year old boy. In those moments he is not my son. He does not sound or look,like my little boy. But I know he is my little boy all the same. We ride out the rage together. We talk about it calmly the next day. And we both hope it doesn't happen again tonight.