I Gave Birth to a Demon

I finished reading “Oppositional Defiant Disorder: A mother’s survival” By Zenia Marsden. Wasn’t impressed.  My son is a lunatic. He has locked me in the bathroom, punched holes in the wall, broken doors, ruined a specially cooked dish that was for a pot luck, phoned me at work every 15 minutes to ask for money (Ya, that went over well with my employers!)  called me names even hardcore criminals and gangsters don’t call each other’s mothers. I’ve heard it all by way of advice: ignore him, take things away, positive reinforcement, make him “earn” things back, take his door off the hinges and give him only the legal necessities, medicate him, press charges against him…  Ya, ya, ya…you all are just such experts on dealing with a kid who has no qualms about pinning you to a wall and threatening you, especially one who used to be super sweet and want to sit on “the big chair” and read with you…

There’s something extraordinarily hearbreaking when a once tender, kind, funny, loving and thoughtful child turns into something out of a B-rated horror flick. It’s hard to explain that his behavior isn’t the ordinary rebellion. And it’s even harder to explain why I will still defend him with my last breath. He’s my son. Period. I love him beyond measure. Even when he is wrong. Even when he is holding my arms over my head and calling me names that make drill sergeants cringe. Maybe it’s because I have “Stockholm syndrome.” Maybe it’s because I’m a codependent enabler. Maybe it’s because I’m weak and stupid. Or maybe it’s because I am his mother, and I have hope that the boy who picked me dandelions for Mother’s Day is still in there somewhere…

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Image by bANANA-jam on deviantart.com

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