This probably annoys me even more than the wanton destruction. Why does one self-sabotage? Why blatantly trip yourself up? Why put up your own obstacles to success?
Failure is comfortable.
Losing is what one knows and, all too often, recreating this familiar sense is comforting.
It goes against everything I know.
Jonathan has completed the first nine weeks of school with perfect attendance. Getting him up is a battle each and every morning, as that's one of his control issues. Knowing that I have company this weekend, especially someone I'm looking forward to seeing, gives him ammunition to use against me.
He wanted to fight with Scotty over a shirt which wasn't the issue at all, so he stomped to his room, slammed the door, banged on the wall, and then completely shut down. Honestly, a look of abject stubbornness falls over his face, it slams shut, and a rage visibly creeps over his countenance. Then comes the destruction.
I got the kids to school, blessed to have Carolina, Grandma, Pa and Monica available to babysit a ten year old rager who, I knew, would save it for me.
I returned home only to hear him say, "I'm leaving!" Translation: Please stop me.
Usually I ignore these attempts, knowing he'll eventually calm down, but this time, after 20 years of constant assaults on my soul, knowing if I physically tried to stop him, he'd injure me. He's big enough to do so and unless you've personally tried to restrain a severely emotionally disturbed child, you've not encountered such unbelievable strength.
I burst into tears of frustration. I just started mopping the kitchen floor and sobbing. The physical activity calmed me.
Jonathan self-soothed by petting the dogs.
Conversely, Paloma pranced off to school without incident.
I'm still too irked at the moment to write much.