Me and My Shadows

There is a certain presumption that you want to read the random collection of thoughts and words that jumble and bump around in my head.  By my own account I am an awkward blogger.  WP is kind enough to proffer suggestions about what to write but that seems to coy for me.  TODAY I shall blog heavy and tell you a bit about living with a child with mental issues.

I love my children.  I have two.  They are bright, beautiful boys.  My oldest son has issues.  As a result, I have issues I never expected I would have to deal with in my life.  None of the medical professionals that my son has seen have labeled him with any particular disease.  They have batted about ADD, ADHD,  Asperger’s, Tourettes, but no concrete determination, no helpful real life applications for how I should help my child fit into a normal world.

I often call the police to help me intervene with my son.  He does not respect me.  I am not abusive or unreasonable in my parenting.  I have expectations, but when your own child refuses to listen to you because they have deemed you mentally inferior to themselves it is nigh next to impossible gain cooperation.  He attributes my stupidity to remaining within an abusive relationship.  He does not see his own behavior as repeating those same abuses that I left.  I cannot draw those connections for him.  I want to.  I desperately want to sit down with something so simple a thing as a piece of paper and say here is A and here is B and see how these two connect.  Perhaps it is my desperation that makes me fail.

He watches television shows I wish I could eradicate from the face of the earth because this is how he believes other people truly interact and behave and treat one another.  It is not so much about censorship.  For a normal, mostly well adjusted person to sit down and giggle at the stupidity of these shows or the foul humor is different then for a child who is a visual learner to cue in and repeat.

Where do I draw the line between the help I can give and his wanting me to do everything for him, as if he were a tiny child and not a fifteen year old?  He will demand the right to drive and yet he refuses to write assignments claiming that his dysgraphia prevents him from using even a computer keyboard.  I cry bullshit.  He tells me I am abusive and uncaring.  His intelligence is undisputed.  He is a genius, but sadly one who chooses not to perform.  My ex and his parents call him lazy.  I do not think that is entirely the case although, no doubt there is a bit of that in him.  I cannot force work ethics upon him.  His behaviours were shaped by the parent who raised him from birth to age three, my ex husband.   You cannot tell either of them this fact, they both turn tables and blame me.

Hmm I need a break.  I will explore this more later.

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