Scent of Cedar *
Well-Known Member
difficult child son is 39.
There was an incident yesterday that shot me right back into that hellish, deer in the headlights place.
I spent the night there.
Jerked awake around 1:30, I found myself defenseless. With everything I think I know about how to ride these feelings out useless to me, I collapsed into that guilty, ashamed place where I literally could not think for myself.
I was back in that shocky place where everything is all echoey, and I kept hearing what he said, kept hearing everything he said, over and over again.
It was one of the roughest nights I've had in in a long time. And as I noted, none of my tools made a dent in it. By this morning (I went back to bed around 4:30), I had half convinced myself that what he wanted was the right thing.
He wants us to sell him this house.
The house isn't for sale.
Even if it were, difficult child could not afford the taxes I don't think, let alone the upkeep.
So what he wanted is what he always wants. But the vehemence and the personal nature of the attack left me spinning.
I mean, I feel like a sissy in some ways...but really, I mostly feel deeply broken by the things my own son said to me.
I'm posting to keep myself honest, of course (thank Heaven for this site, and for all of you), but also to comment on the virulence of these kinds of emotions and of the victim / martyrdom / perfectionism thing.
So, this is what I realized.
Perfectionism. Like we all do, I feel so badly for the way things are. While I know I did my best, the outcome is not good. That is the place of vulnerability. That there must have been something I could have done.
That his life path was determined by what happened to his sister. That is where he attacks, justifying what he wants.
Other things too that I know may be true except that he made the choice to use drugs to the extent that he did.
And we did try to stop him.
And raising one child who turns out to have been mentally, er...you know.
Ill.
Mentally ill.
And one who used drugs to the point that his life and whatever was left of ours were destroyed pretty much wiped us out emotionally or pride wise or successful parent or person-wise.
But
There is that part of me that condemns myself. And all it takes is an unguarded or unsupported instance like this one to have that part of me running roughshod over every survival skill I have worked so hard to learn.
So, I thought I would post about that aspect of vulnerability, for me and for you, too.
MWM post this morning was so helpful. I had managed to pull myself back together by this morning, but only through isolating that victim part.
Cedar
There was an incident yesterday that shot me right back into that hellish, deer in the headlights place.
I spent the night there.
Jerked awake around 1:30, I found myself defenseless. With everything I think I know about how to ride these feelings out useless to me, I collapsed into that guilty, ashamed place where I literally could not think for myself.
I was back in that shocky place where everything is all echoey, and I kept hearing what he said, kept hearing everything he said, over and over again.
It was one of the roughest nights I've had in in a long time. And as I noted, none of my tools made a dent in it. By this morning (I went back to bed around 4:30), I had half convinced myself that what he wanted was the right thing.
He wants us to sell him this house.
The house isn't for sale.
Even if it were, difficult child could not afford the taxes I don't think, let alone the upkeep.
So what he wanted is what he always wants. But the vehemence and the personal nature of the attack left me spinning.
I mean, I feel like a sissy in some ways...but really, I mostly feel deeply broken by the things my own son said to me.
I'm posting to keep myself honest, of course (thank Heaven for this site, and for all of you), but also to comment on the virulence of these kinds of emotions and of the victim / martyrdom / perfectionism thing.
So, this is what I realized.
Perfectionism. Like we all do, I feel so badly for the way things are. While I know I did my best, the outcome is not good. That is the place of vulnerability. That there must have been something I could have done.
That his life path was determined by what happened to his sister. That is where he attacks, justifying what he wants.
Other things too that I know may be true except that he made the choice to use drugs to the extent that he did.
And we did try to stop him.
And raising one child who turns out to have been mentally, er...you know.
Ill.
Mentally ill.
And one who used drugs to the point that his life and whatever was left of ours were destroyed pretty much wiped us out emotionally or pride wise or successful parent or person-wise.
But
There is that part of me that condemns myself. And all it takes is an unguarded or unsupported instance like this one to have that part of me running roughshod over every survival skill I have worked so hard to learn.
So, I thought I would post about that aspect of vulnerability, for me and for you, too.
MWM post this morning was so helpful. I had managed to pull myself back together by this morning, but only through isolating that victim part.
Cedar