So something has been on my mind for a while so I think I will write about it.
So I am currently living with some friends from work. It is pretty nice. I joke all the time with my buddies that the best part about living with lesbians is with two moms in the house, it is always clean and smelling great (lol) We are all in our mid twenties. Like mentioned, they have kids. One is three and she is the definition of perfection, at least in my eyes. I told her father it will be interesting who ends up whooping her future boyfriends ass first, me or him. I mean she is a breeze. Says please and thank you. Is perfectly content with playing in her room by herself. I mean never a problem with her.
Then there is the six year old....
Could not be the exact opposite. He has been “diagnosed” with ADHD, ODD, anger issues, and maybe more, I do not know everything about him.
Tell him no, and here comes the pterodactyl screams.
Before the age of seven, he has been kicked out of two pre-schools, suspended from KINDERGARTEN over twenty times. He bullies other kids as well as his teacher. Hell, he got suspended for a week because he punched his teacher in the face, threw a phone at her, and when she said she was calling his mom to pick him up, he responded, ” I don’t care, my mom is fucking stupid”....
Six years old.
Standing in the corner all night? nope does not work.
Throw away ALL of his toys? HA that’s cute.
Bring out the belt and whoop his ass? Literally just makes him more angry. I mean he will clinch his fists after a whooping and just scream like a fucking gladiator.
To say he is out of control is an understatement.
So the question that entered my mind the first week of living here and being around him was this: What caused you to act the way you are?
So his therapist at school says it is his ADHD and his ODD and all the other acronyms he has been labeled with in his life. If this was the case, though, why is it that his medication not helping him? I mean sure the adderall does not work, because well it is fucking speed. Of course anger problems will not go away when you are constantly high on medical grade amphetamines. Why do the anti-psychotic’s fail to produce any beam of positive change? Why does he still hit kids and adults? Why does he scream at us like we are sawing off a limb when we say “no, you can not have candy for dinner”?
Well here is a thought. Maybe this kid does not have all of these mental problems. Maybe it has nothing at all to do with his physiology or body chemistry. Maybe the problem is simple. Maybe, this kid does not have any love to give because he has never been given love in his life?
So if it was not obvious until this point, let me clarify things. He was an accident. This was not a planned life by any means. (side note, nothing wrong with that. You can be loved and be happy and all that and have been an accident.) So here is the problem with that: He was not wanted. This then continued to manifest its self as he grew up. His mother constantly brings up the fact that she did not want him and how much of a burden he is to her and her wife. She does not want him at all.
So here is how it happened. When he does something he is not suppose to do, T ( we are going to call his mom) blows up. She will go zero to one hundred at the drop of a pin. Immediatly will start screaming commands at him. I mean screaming too, not raising your voice, this is “help I am being beaten by a large man” type screaming.
She will verbally abuse him, basically daily. Calls him a bully, a baby, makes fun of him, and quite honestly is just a jerk to him. A recent punishment of his was she refused to give him a hug and kiss before bed time, which as expected, devastates him. I mean, what mother can be content in the thought of refusing to hug their own damn child?
I have witnessed her multiple times give him a hand to the face after he back talks. A studded belt is the preferred tool of corporal punishment in the house. The rear end is not an exclusive area either. She has swung to the back on bare skin a few times as well as his upper arms. This is not a light swing either. I can hear the fucking thing swing through the air before she hits him, that is how hard she is swinging.
It absolutely disgusts me knowing what all she does to this little kid. I have robbed people at gun point before. I have done some very sick things in my previous drug dealer life. I have seen alot of fucked up things. I mean hell, my job literally use to be cleaning up murder/suicide scenes. I say all this to say this: Of all the things I have done and seen, this situation brings me to tears. I mean literally, the first week I was here, I cried for this kid more in a week than I had the past combined like five years.
So what if T loved this kid? What if he did not have to grow up in constant fear of his own mother? What if he felt true love that only a mom can give? Fuck writing that last line just about made me break down.
Do not get me wrong, I have put my mother through hell and back a few times. A mother should never have to hear about how many times she should have lost her son. I have torn out her heart and ripped it into pieces right in front of her. And yet, I do not know what I would do without my mom. Like, she’s my mom. It does not matter what I have done or what mess I am in, I always know I will have her. I do not know how I could make it another day without her.
That is what kills me the most, is knowing her will never have that in his life. He will never have that sort of affection and love just a call or text away. I hate to see how this will mold him the rest of his life. I can only hope that he is able to escape out of this life and make one of his own that is free. Free from the abuse, free from the neglect. Just fucking free.
Part of me feels trapped here because of this. I want to get my own place again. I make enough after all. I mean, especially with my recent promotion at work, I would be alright. The reason I am here now is because they charge me $100 a week in rent and I commute literally four minutes to work. It has been a financial blessing being able to pay off my stupid tax. The feeling of being trapped is not financial: its emotional. I am the only person in this house that shows this kid genuine love. I do not want to strip that from him because I would like to sleep during the day instead of hear him cry and fight.
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