Outbursts in an Asperger’s world can be so exhausting. I see things moving down a bad path and try to change our direction. Most of the time I am not successful. Then I watch him sink into a world in which I have no power. I start to analyze everything that’s happening. Sometimes I think I’m constantly analyzing our days.
Asperger’s outbursts steal my breath. My inquisitive, fun, intellectual child turns into a ball of rage and contradiction and inconsistency and despair. I watch and listen to a child I don’t know. I cry out silently with my whole body. My heart pounds, my gut aches, my eyes weep for the child caught in this tangle of emotions and sensations.
We usually step through our days logically, methodically. But once the path has been interrupted, the resulting explosion pushes all rational actions aside. I love my son. But frustration creeps in and fills my head with anger. I’m angry at whatever (typically inanimate) object set off this senseless chain of events. I’m angry at the clock ticking away time that I desperately want to be spent in some other – ANY other way. I’m angry at the noise or sights or sounds that perpetuate the downward spiral. I’m angry at myself for not seeing the signs sooner or not knowing how to intervene better. I’m angry at my son for not listening when I try to help.
I’m angry at my son. I hate those words – I detest that feeling.
It’s not his fault. It’s not within his control. By the time I’m angry, he’s way past hearing anything that’s said to him – I know that. But as his body and mind succumb to the assault of irrational thoughts and feelings, so does mine. Sometimes I feel so ill-equipped to be his mother.
When the trials are over, he clings tight to me and I know – I could be no other person than his mother.
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