What goes up must come down

You know what they say… What goes up, must come down! This is exactly what happen when Christmas Day suddenly finished. All that built up excitement and in someways anticipation experienced by the little man was suddenly gone… And boy, didn’t we know it!

No Christmas is Christmas without an Aspergers style meltdown and although little man sailed through the actual day itself in a somewhat relaxed and merry way… Boxing Day was somewhat different all together.

Waking him up was the hardest part, if I’d let him, I’m pretty sure he’d had slept the day away. His facial expression said it all… That evil deadly stare that says “Back off bitch or I’m gonna blow! Not to be defeated I persisted on my mission to get the little man up from his bed before the daylight had fully disappeared.

Crashing around, screaming and shouting, declaring me to be the most evil mother to ever walk the earth. Little man was now up… but happy about he he was not!

Literally throwing his whole body through the living room door, crying for reasons he himself didn’t know, he shouted in no uncertain terms “Stop trying to control me, this is my life, my time!” Somehow I felt as if I was sat watching the film ‘Kevin and Perry Go Large” but this wasn’t some stroppy 17 year old. It was my 12 year old who had gone to bed smiling and woken a raging beast.

I knew things could easily spiral into a more explosive episode, so with that I did my best to ignore the rude names and hurtful statements, fore I’ve learnt that engaging in an argument with your 12 year old only feeds his fuel. His sister, sat on sofa was next inline as he so angrily asked her what she was looking at. My daughter had a choice choose to ignore it like me or feed the fuel and if course she went for the latter.

Screaming over one another the hurtful comments flew about the air as the toddler sat watching Thomas drowning out the noise like he had done so many times before. To think it was not even midday and I was already reaching for the Paracetamol, was a clear indication of the day ahead.

Finally… some two hours later, a sore head and with this inner feeling of drain washing through me. I sat on the sofa next to the little man who was now much calmer meaning I could try to unearth the meltdown trigger I’d regretfully missed.

One would expectedly assume that the trigger for this meltdown was tiredness. His need to catch up on sleep if I’d had allow him too. I guess in some respects this is true. However this was in no way the main trigger it was just the one that sparked the rage. Whether I’d woken him or not, I was about to discover that today’s antics would have been unavoidable all the same! Why…
Well… Because the tigger was Christmas!

It had been on the agenda for so long. The build up, christmas crafts, school plays, parties and more! Suddenly it was over… No more Christmas for another 365 days and counting. Talking to him, I realise that for months his head has been consumed with nothing other than festivities. If it wasn’t the rehearsals in his bedroom for the school play it was searching the Internet for the latest WWE merchandise to add to his growing Christmas list.

Little man looked at me and with a tear in his eye he declared “I think I’m actually really sad its over!”

Well, there are many things a mother can try to fix but this is something I cannot. This is life… something that little man will face year and year again. But just being aware of this will help me prepare for the events that could likely follow as Christmas comes and goes in the years ahead.

a happy little man on Christmas day

The Kleenex man

I sit staring at the large white clock to the point some may think I’m fixated. It reminds me of the type of clock I used to have at school. I would stare at that clock for hours longing for time to lapse around me.

“Miss Parkinson… Miss Parkinson, can you hear me”

Shut up I thought, of course I can hear you, it doesn’t mean I want to!

But it was I who had came here, no one had asked me to, I wasn’t forced, dragged kicking and screaming.

It was I who had picked up the phone, dialled the number, made an appointment.

Now I didn’t know what to say…I didn’t… well no, I did know why I had come. But now I was confused so fucking confused.

“Miss Parkinson, have you got to be somewhere”

Bloody hell, now I felt as if I was in school! Seriously is he joking?

Sarcasm within therapy whatever next!

“No” I said

“Ok let’s get started, but at your own pace…OK?”

I nodded, I wanted to speak, really I did. I had a lot to say but now I was here my head it was all muddled like a jigsaw with pieces missing.

I had been here before, I trusted him, the man who wore the nonjudgemental face, the man who always had a box of Kleenex at the ready.

That’s why I chose here you see, I needed to see the Kleenex man!

I’m still staring at the clock, its tick and its tock can be heard through the bitter silence.

He coughs…. I look round

He smiles as he passes me those tissues.

Taking one I hold it tightly in the palm of my hand, if I don’t I know I’ll fiddle with it… likely pick it to tiny little pieces.

I take a deep breath in closing my eyes I excel opening them once more.

“Nobody believes me” I said.

I can feel it, the warm water leaving the corner of my eye. Please don’t ask me, I think. But then he speaks

“Who… Who doesn’t believe you, and what is he they don’t believe” he asks inquisitively.

Once more the room is filled with silence and I can hear the ticking and the tocking of the clock. I look down and there scattered around my feet are tiny pieces of tissue.

“Who…?” he asks once more.

As I go to open my mouth I taste the salt form my tears, like a child I catch my breath…

“The school… The school” I whimper.

Silence once more… Tick… Tock… Tick… Tock…

Then before he can ask…

“My son’s school, they don’t believe what is happening, they think it’s me… They think it’s all my fault!”

“They won’t help me… No one will, why, why won’t they help” I plead.

You see, I was close to the edge of crazy, so fucking close. The situation was costing me my health, what kind of mother would that make me? On That very day and at that very time I wasn’t aware of what I’m aware of now! The very beginning of a Journey one I never planned on taking, I don’t have a choice, no one asked me if it was okay, god didn’t ask me. I hate it when people say that god does everything for a reason, he chose me because I’m strong. Sat here writing this I remember that day with my therapist so clearly, and on that particular day I felt anything but strong! I felt desperate, I felt as if I was standing on a mountain screaming and nobody looked up… Nobody! Your little boy is hitting you, his so angry and he charges at you like some crazed bull, but his not a bull his a 6 year old child who tells you “mummy I hate you” as he rages with sheer frustration! But why is he frustrated? It’s just that, my lack of knowing… He wants me to, he needs my to understand what his feeling! I miss the trigger I then spend a lifetime discovering it. No one can teach me, I need to learn myself! But this doesn’t mean we don’t need answers… Everybody needs answers!

Ashamed I said nothing, for a while anyway. But i’m no super mum and soon I broke… Started crumbling into a heap of madness, but when I reached out, there was no one there to catch me. I didn’t say I needed parenting tips, I didn’t need some false caring stranger visiting my home and judging my parenting… Especially when I had asked my sons school for help. I felt judged, bullied… I felt disregarded! They failed to notice the bigger picture, they almost cost my child his diagnosis of Aspergers syndrome, they almost cost me my sanity!

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