Today my oldest son became violent towards me. He became explosive during homework time and threw a glue stick at my head. I ran up the stairs and told the other kids to run into their room and I followed them in. We slammed the door and I held it shut with my body. Moments later, my oldest son used a large metal box (a money box) and began slamming it into the door. It felt like a scene from a scary movie, the victims barricaded inside a room with danger trying to break the door down. I was angry and scared at the same time. I didn’t want him to break through another door, we still have a hole in his bedroom door from years ago and I was scared about how far he was going to take this.
As my anxiety increased, my other kids cried in fear as the metal box bashed into the door, my youngest cried out, “I’m scared Mommy!”
I tried to calm them and make them feel like I had it all under control. It was silly, because obviously I didn’t. But I wanted to minimize the trauma they were expereincing.
I called my husband on my cell phone from the room telling him to come home immediately, but he was 40 minutes away.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
I couldn’t take the slamming anymore and decided to open the door to take the box out of his hands, telling my other kids to lock themselves in to stay safe.
As I opened the door he started swinging the box at me. He still had some control because he could have hit me in the head if he wanted and he didn’t. But he did hit my hand pretty hard as I tried to grab it. At that moment, I broke apart and started sobbing, begging him to stop. He looked at me blankly and smiled and said it was fun to him. Through tears I told him I loved him and that I knew he loved me and begged him to stop since he was hurting me. I told him that he was a good person and didn’t want to do this, he said he that he wasn’t and continued on. He said he couldn’t take the stress of school anymore.
I yelled back to my younger kids to call my husband’s best friend over. I knew that I was in over my head and I didn’t feel safe.
From there I tackled him to the ground and took the metal box away, pinning him to the floor while he scratched skin off my hands and called me a b!tch. I held him until our friend arrived, there he found me sobbing as I sat holding my son to the ground.
Thankfully, my son withdrew all aggression as soon as he arrived and remained on the floor without a sound or movement for about 15 minutes before he started to sit up. Our friend talked calmly to him until my husband arrived home.
Later tonight my son made a sign and hung it on his bedroom door that said:
“God’s mistake’s room. I need more Lithium. Not me anymore”
Unfortunately, I got the call from his psychiatrist an hour prior telling us that his Lithium levels were therapeutic.
So where do we go from here?
* * *
Things can be really good when they’re good. But they can be really bad, when they’re bad. Today was one of those days.
Tonight I’m feeling short on hope. I feel traumatized over the intensity of his rage. I can’t help but think about what it may be like when he’s 16 years old, especially after today.
I’m sad over this entire event. I’m sad my son hurt me and didn’t stop when he saw me crying and begging him to stop. I’m sad for my younger kids who will now live with this memory and the anxiety it produced. I’m sad for my husband who wasn’t able to be there quick enough to rescue his family the way he would’ve liked to and I feel sad for my oldest son because I know he doesn’t mean to do this. I know he’s suffering inside and I don’t know how to help him.
Tonight I’m in tears feeling completely helpless.