Wednesday, February 17, 2016

Being held hostage

It's like being held hostage. When he wakes up and he's in a bad mood.

He's hungry. Because he hardly ate the food that I made for dinner the night before. And it's a meal he's eaten countless times throughout his life.

He asked for applesauce this morning. But then refused to eat it.

The whole family suffers. Including the dog.

Because he didn't wake up on his own sleep cycle. For whatever reason. Most likely someone unintentionally made a noise and it disturbed him. He's normally a very deep sleeper.

He's angry because his brother goes to school but he doesn't. The whole morning is a transition. Autism and transitions don't work well together. 

We tell him he can go back to school, but he doesn't want to. I can't say I blame him, the classroom was not healthy  environment for him. 

But home is starting to have its own hazards. 

This morning he lost at the game of Sorry that he played with his brother. Instead of saying "good game bro" and shaking hands, which is what they usually do, he verbally and physically attacked his little brother.

Then me.

Then his father.

I've had enough, so I retaliated. Not my best move.

We go to Seattle on Thursday March 3 for an appointment at 8:45 am on March 4. We'll be seeing his pediatric neurologist. Managing medications. Planning. Do we need to adjust meds? Why won't he eat? He's not sick.

A dear friend said that Gandhi would conduct 7-day hunger strikes. And he lived. I mean he's dead now, but he survived the hunger strikes.

So....we'll see how long this goes.

I mean, as long as he's taking his anti-seizure meds, which are mixed into ice cream, twice a day (can't swallow pills).

And as long as he's drinking water.


Teaching independence and self-care and being responsible for yourself is hard stuff.

Growing pains are necessary.

So I can try to free myself and the rest of the hostages.

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