Tonight, I broke.
I’ve held in something for the last ten days out of… I don’t even know. Shame? Not really. Denial? Possibly. Guilt? Most definitely NOT.
Probably for the simple fact that I have been too busy to really address all the horrible feelings I’ve been having since that day.
Wednesday, September 23rd, 2015.
I hate that day.
I wish it had never happened, that the world would have just skipped past it in some kind of space and time deleting phenomenon.
But it did happen. And tonight, I’m done. I’m broken. I’m fucking MAD. And hurt.
Maybe it’s the fact that October is Domestic Violence Awareness month that did this to me – brought all these feelings to the surface. Or maybe it was the dream I had the other day in which my oldest son was dying and I wasn’t allowed to see him. Or maybe because I took a day off and had less to occupy my mind with. Or the fact that all this CRAP that I’ve been dealing with has just now gone from a slow boil to a full, roaring explosion of a geyser of tears and pain.
You can only stuff feelings away for so long before you have to deal with them.
I guess now is the time.
I miss my son. My first boy. The child I had prayed for. (I had always wanted a son) The kid I would sing ‘You Are My Sunshine’ to repeatedly when he was a baby because he loved the song so much. The baby whose first word was ‘Meow’ because we were bottle feeding a litter of kittens and I used to ‘cat talk’ to them all the time. The kid who JUST TWO DAYS BEFORE THAT DAY had stopped me in the hallway and pulled me into his 17 year old arms and hugged me and told me that he loved me.
I miss him. And he’s gone.
And I’m lucky to be alive.
No, there was no accident. No drunk driver, no freak act of nature, no hidden health issue. In fact, my son is still very much alive. Not more than 30 minutes away. And yet, to me, he is gone.
That day… that day I hate… Wednesday, September 23rd, 2015… my son tried to kill me.
Over a fucking phone.
And if my oldest daughter, my Bethany, my HERO had not stopped him, he would have succeeded.
I’m not sure if you have ever been choked to the point at which you pass out, but it happens pretty quickly. When done correctly, your air supply is immediately halted. There is no last deep breathe so that you can hold it in preparation. Not when someone attacks you as fast as Beau did to me.
You can’t hear.
You can’t breathe.
And you can’t escape.
Not when the person who is choking you is behind you and stronger than you.
Actually, when you can’t breathe, you aren’t very strong at all. You lose your strength.
And then you start blacking out.
And if you are lucky, they let go.
I wasn’t lucky. He didn’t let go. He just kept going.
Over a fucking phone.
Thank God, Beth was there. And she finally was able to break his grip.
So I could finally breathe again.
If not, I would be dead. no doubt about it.
And so I called the police. Who made a shocking observation…..
I had less marks than he did. *facepalm*
I’m sorry, officer… what? They had obviously never been assaulted in this way..
Headlocked, choking in the crook of someone’s arm… it doesn’t leave immediate marks.
But, trying to claw someone’s arms off your throat does. Yes, indeed. So sorry. I was not exactly worried about the length of my nails when fighting for air.
Dumb, I know. How inconsiderate of me.
I got a great lecture, too. About how this is the kind of thing that happens when there is no discipline in the home.
Again.. excuse me?? What the FUCK do you think I was trying to do? I was trying to discipline my son for skipping school three days in a row by taking away his phone and his tablet.
In fact, my son only got arrested after he smart-mouthed the cops. Up until that point, they were undecided about how to ‘handle the situation’.
And then comes the aftermath…
I am supposed to pick him up from the police station in 5 hours. Again… WHAT? Is he not getting arrested for trying to kill me??
Nope, it’s his first offense. A misdemeanor domestic violence charge. And I am still legally responsible for him.
I refuse. There has to be another option. Oh, yes there is… the charges for them are either $5 a day for a secured facility or $1 for an unsecured facility. Which would I prefer to pay for?
Fuck it, put him in the secured facility.
No, sorry, Ma’am.. we aren’t going to do that, we’ll put him in the unsecured facility.
Fine. Let me just call this Victim’s Advocate and see how I can go about getting a restraining order, a protection from abuse order, SOMETHING…
Answering machine. 1 hour later: Answering machine. 2 hours later: Answering machine. 1 day later: answering machine. 2 days later: Answering machine.
No return phone calls yet, to this day, 10 days later.
But, I sure get other calls…
The second day he was in the unsecured facility:
“Get down here and sign me out.”
“No, Beau, you need to be there. There are consequences for doing what you did. I will not sign you out.”
“I should have kept choking you.” Click.
And then from the facility itself:
“Ma’am, you HAVE to come down here and sign papers for Beau.”
“Ma’am, you HAVE to come down here and bring Beau his belongings.”
“Ma’am, you HAVE to set up these appointments for BEAU and make sure you are at them.”
Oh, and visits. The child protective services visits. Let’s not forget those.
Because the CHILDREN are in danger. Ok.
“Ma’am, you are legally and financially responsible for Beau, it is up to YOU to get him a placement somewhere.”
“Ma’am, make sure you report that you are doing everything you can to help Beau so we can document it.”
Oh, and let’s not forget the Psychiatrist appointment. That was Friday. Oh, just wait until you hear this. It’s wonderful.
It was the first time I had seen Beau since that day. And he wouldn’t look at me, speak to me or sit near me.
Like I was the one who had tried to kill HIM! No remorse, no shame, no nothing.
And the Dr… and I use that term LOOSELY.
Simply validated his hatred towards me. “Sometimes we just hate someone and that’s ok. Poor Beau, he is having a hard time because he HATES you so much and you’re his mother. In his head he believes he is supposed to love you, but he doesn’t. He hates you. And he has to learn that it is OK to hate you. He didn’t get to choose you to be his mother and you didn’t get to choose him to be your son. It just happened. And your personalities don’t click. He just hates you. Everything about you. And I told him it’s OKAY. That he doesn’t need to worry about you or anyone else, as long as he is taking care of himself and he feels better.”
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME???
THIS is the psychological help that you give a 17 year old boy who tries to kill his own mother over a PHONE????
Oh wait, the actual INCIDENT was never addressed at all. In fact, it hasn’t been addressed in this entire 10 days.
There HAS been a lot of blaming ME for Beau’s behavior. There HAS been a lot of coddling and validating my son’s irrational feelings towards me. There HAS been a LOT of simply forgetting about what he did and to whom.
There have been a lot of demands that I rearrange my entire life, lose working hours and income, jump through a gazillion hoops in order to accommodate the ‘system’.
There have been NO repercussions, no attempt to teach him that you can’t DO that. No consequences at all.
And like so many other women who have gone through an assault – no help or support for me.
And you know what? FINE. That’s GREAT. I will get through this by the grace of God because I AM strong enough to do it. Or, maybe weak enough to allow Him to get me through it.
But, what about all the other women? The ones who really NEED the support and help that SHOULD be available to them? What about THEM?
For a parent who is abused by their own child, there is NO available help or support to keep them safe. In fact, if you do a google search you will find that we are offered two choices: modify our behavior and our homes and our lives so that we are less likely to be abused while we attempt to get counseling for our abuser *and pay for it* or…
BUY a course to tell us how to deal with it.
Oh wait, we can also sign over our parental rights.
Something has to change here.
Domestic Violence does not ONLY come in the form of two people in a ‘romantic’ relationship. It also comes in the form of a child abusing their parent. And it happens more than you think. In households where the children have been taught to respect and act with love towards other people.
It is not the parent’s fault. Our children are influenced by more than just US. In my son’s case, it was a girl who influenced his behavior, his mindset and his beliefs. And he, himself, was a victim of emotional and psychological abuse at her hands.
Unfortunately, it revealed itself in his actions towards me. But, HE made the decision to do what he did. No one else. There should be repercussions.
He is responsible for his own actions. And yet, legally and financially, I am responsible for paying for it.
It makes no sense. I was abused by my own son, abandoned by the legal system and betrayed by those who were supposed to HELP!
More people need to teach others that abuse is not acceptable. Our doctors and therapists should not be validating hate. Integrity and respect should be demanded from our children for their parents from every authority figure.
And because it is not, this is the kind of thing that happens.
I have said before that I would be lucky if I made it through these years of raising teens alive.
I guess I was right.
P.S. – If you have been a victim of domestic violence, you are NOT alone. Reach out to me. I don’t care what time it is, what day it is, what year it is… I will be there for you the way NO ONE was there for me. Email me at firstname.lastname@example.org, find me on facebook at wwww.facebook.com/soshotout, comment here on the blog. ANYTHING. And I will give you my phone number.
You are NOT alone.