Strange kind of normal

I knew before X started to run exactly where X was headed.  For two days X had been brewing repeating at least 50% of the words I’d said back to me to provoke me. With a mocking tone, provoking and prodding looking for a bite, delighting in seeing me lose the battle of words. Watching me get frustrated taking glee in the fight. Words turned to slaps and kicks when I wouldn’t comply with the shouted demands. So when I stopped X pulling a 4ft x 3ft mirror off the wall X crossed over, no more control, totally unravelled.

I knew exactly where X was running, into the kitchen to the knives. Before I could get there   X had a four inch blade of a pointed cutting knife at his heart. ‘I’ll kill myself’ X screamed. Without skipping a beat I grabbed X’s hand and though my memory says it was a long struggle I quickly took the knife from X. If it was a quarter of a second then it was too long, one slip and one of us would have been on their way to hospital. I threw X to the floor and lay on top without consideration. Two days, or was it two weeks, of tension reaching a head. Perhaps a 10 year old’s life time of tension. In no uncertain terms I told X that all bets are off once knives are pulled. No negotiation, no bribery, zero tolerance. The day went on with an awkward stutter but today the tension’s gone and for a while X is on speaking terms again.

But, when I recall that moments struggle seems longer and longer every time I recall the event. I’ve been upset, what version of normal is this.

I emailed a Social Worker in the Post Adoption Support Team, I don’t want to ask  for hep I know that they’v got to offer is sympathy.I just want them to log it so the day someone slips they can look back and see the story. I’ve not had an acknowledgement yet. Good job this was not an emergency.

Strange kind of normal.

Strange kind of normal

Eyes wide open

With X I’ve come to accept life on a different level, to walk a different path.

I knew this from the outset, fostered then adopted. No surprises or hidden information.

Eyes wide open. For 10 years my eyes wide open.

This week, toilet trouble. Again. If only it was in the toilet.

Through the night and through the day. Little ‘packages’ left here and there.

Stripping beds, scrubbing pants and floors is just work, impersonal an necessary.

Then fights about  showers (not wanting them) cleaning (not wanting me to do it) going to the toilet (not willing to). Wet pants every day.

It’s the fights that make me sad.

Eyes wide open

Drugs

Everyone has an opinion but they don’t live our life.

I tell them all the therapy has come and gone but the challenges remain.

They talk about weight gain, the fuzziness, the slowing down, the drooling.

Everyone has an opinion but they don’t live our life.

The violence of word and hand, day after day, night after.

They know a kid who’s life has left their eyes.

Everyone has an opinion but they don’t live our life.

Damned if I do damned if I don’t.

Drugs