So much has happened in the last couple of days and I'm reeling, needing space and time and quiet to let it all settle in and do its work, but alas, life moves on despite my most fervent wishes that it would give me a break already.
Kyd is at court this morning for an old case, and he's facing possible consequences for not having secured a job yet. I wanted to go with him, but he went with his girlfriend. I wrote a letter to the court confirming and backing up Kyd's job search efforts and I have no idea if it will help or not. Last night Kyd was in a very dark place emotionally, and as he slipped into black and white thinking I couldn't help wondering, once again, what diagnosis he might get if he would only step into a psychiatrist's office.
Which reminds me of the statistics that more women are diagnosed with disorders such as depression or borderline personality disorder, but more men than women are in jail, and it seems kind of obvious what's wrong with that picture. Each group stigmatized in their own way, and what the hell are we doing people?
I did my best to stay with him last night as he ranted. I made mistakes a few times, trying to make him see reason. What worked was to just tell him I loved him, he didn't deserve to feel this way, and I loved him.
Lexie thought she smelled alcohol on him, and if he was drinking, that would explain things too. We've never been able to sort out how much of his problems are from drinking, and how much of his drinking might be self-medicating an underlying disorder. I can't force him to see someone unless he threatens himself or someone else, so I sit on my hands, try to drop suggestive seeds into his psyche in between angry outbursts, try to walk that ever so narrow line between enabling and supporting. Try not to be consumed with worry because I'm fragile too, barely able myself to ride the waves of emotions with some faith that "this too shall pass". Try not to beat myself up for being fragile. Wonder if that damn therapist is going to call me back today because my wellness can't come fast enough when I have two people who very badly need me to be grown-up and healthy.
Before all that, a moment of peace with Roi, and it was a relief. This morning, back to the anger. As I was wrestling with a printer that wasn't working, trying to get this letter for Kyd and feeling the weight of worry pressing down, I asked Roi for help and that was a mistake. For Roi, "help" means to control with a demanding, heavy hand. For Roi, asking help with something simple in that moment means extending the opportunity into as many other areas as he can reach before the door is slammed in his face, and when it is he walks away muttering about the problems other people have.
It's not just that he tries to control, it's that he's insulting about it. When I suggested that one of his suggestions for Kyd seemed heavy-handed and probably not realistic he sarcastically shot at me that "if something that easy is ridiculously hard than there's no hope".
Funny, because I don't think it's ridiculously hard to tell the truth, to tell members of the opposite sex that I'm in a relationship if they're making moves, to not be a sex addict, to not hide alcohol in 10 different places throughout the house, etc. My bad.
He couldn't see the maddening hypocrisy of his statement, and I couldn't let it go. Nothing like starting the day with your son in court and a fight with the boyfriend. Next stop, Jerry Springer. I have GOT to get the three C's tattooed on my forearm.