I'm sorry for taking up so much bandwidth with my melodrama when you all have enough in your lives. Yesterday between school and leaving the house, difficult child scribbled with a sharpie on our new wood floors. Today after work, I researched how to clean it off, and took some nail polish to test it. I'm sitting on the floor and bent down and see under the bed and there's a carefully folded piece of paper there. It reads in difficult child's handwriting: I did it because I didn't do it. if i did do it then I am skitsafrenia. i am scycolocaly ill. i am worse than my mother. i am by pollar. i am mentaly retarded. i am mentally challaigned i have personality disorder. I am cyco. And then he writes I am cyco about 200 time. I dread showing husband. He'll be home in 20 minutes.