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Friday, March 2, 2012

Letter to my son...

I hate your trauma
And the people that caused you
To be so damaged
But I don’t hate you.

I hate your demons
And your rages
And your threats
And your violence
But I don’t hate you.

I hate the pure venom that pours out of you at times,
A hot river of pain that rises up,
Washing over all of us,
Threatening to drown us all…
But I don’t hate you.

I hate that nothing seems to ease your pain
And that I can’t seem to find a way to help you
I hate feeling like I’m failing you, my son,
But I don’t hate you.

I hate what adolescence has done to you,
Puberty is hard for anyone…
But for you, I think it’s worse.
Did I mention I hate your demons?

I hate that your PTSD rips at your soul,
Shaking your world at its foundation,
Making you believe that we will throw you away
“…like trash”…that’s what you said.
I hate that you believe we could ever do that
But I don’t hate you.

You’re not the first teen to be sure he hates his parents
You’re not the first teen to be sure his parents are unfair
You’re not the first teen to think Mom and Dad like the other kids best
You’re not even the first teen to be depressed or angry or violent
You’re surely not the first teen to try to push his family away

But for you, it’s not that simple, is it?
For you, teenage angst is much more complicated…
Because you’ve already suffered a long line of abandonment in your young life.
Why wouldn’t we bail on you now that you’re an unruly teenager?
Why wouldn’t we bail on you when it’s now your job to grow away from us?

Your questions and hormones and memories and inner conflicts are all at war.
You’ve felt insecure and powerless and depressed…and very angry.
I know you tried to build a wall around you to contain the pain and rage inside you.
It was scary to see the crack in your defenses, to see your frustration growing.
I hated that I couldn’t find a way to help you
But I’ve never hated you.

I hate that this week, the dam burst and you lost control.
I hate that none of us were safe for a while.
I hate that in the end, the only help I could give you was found in a hospital
But I don’t hate you.

I hate that you’re not sleeping in your own bed.
A piece of my heart is missing
And will be until you’re home again.
I hate that there are only 6 plates at the dinner table
And no one is eating up the leftovers in the fridge.

I hate that we needed to take this step to get you the help you need
But I’d do it again and stand by your side through it all.
There won’t be any deal breakers here…
Not even for your teenage self
Because I love you, my son…

6 comments:

Anne Kimball said...

Oh wow. Beautiful. Pain-ful.

I need to print this, or at least great big chunks of this.

Call if you want/need to talk....

Elisa LaSota said...

Dee,

I'm so so sorry....

Elisa

alphamama said...

Thanks for your support, my friends. It helps...

Anne, I know you've got the t-shirt on this sentiment. Feel free to print away if it helps in your tough times. I love you for offering your shoulder!

Elisa, remember the boy in your class years ago who spurred your mitten drive? It means a lot that you're keeping him (and all of us)in your thoughts...we feel hugged!

Karon and John said...

As a parent of an adopted child with PTSD, I wish I could come over and make you dinner, and provide you all the extra support so that you have more reserves to help your son. I am so sorry that y'all are going through this. Continue to be strong. You are a wonderful mother.

the brother found sister(Аlexei Mitrofanov) said...

I'm so so sorry....

Denise said...

While I don't love the pain that caused you to write this I love your words. I understand, but wish I didn't.

You inspire me. I'll be praying for you!