Tuesday, March 17, 2015

It's 1.30 on Saint Patrick's Day. No one is interested, in our house. I was hoping maybe for a walk together, to make use of the National Holiday somehow. Olivia woke me up this morning at 10 to ask if I could fix her duvet - it had got bunched up in the cover, so she froze all night, as every time she considered waking me to ask if I could fix it, she envisioned me shouting at her, so she didn't. I suppose this is the way life works, that you only remember the bad times, instead of all the times I got up and did things for her in the middle of the night, for the last 12 years. She made sure to tell me all about it though, as she does at every opportunity, all through every day. I try to listen, but in the end her unpleasantness always wears through my ability to hear what she's saying and improve, and try to mend. Why is this so hard for me? Why can't I grow up? I was shouted at all through my childhood and it's ruined me. And here I am... shouting at my children. And resenting them for it.

Axl was down with the idea of going for a walk yesterday, but he leaves for work in 2 hours and he's not up yet.

Olivia's locked in her room, where she stays, because when she comes downstairs, people are mean to her. For some reason.

Bodhi just wants to hang out and play, he doesn't want to go out - even though he enjoys himself every time he does. A small mercy is that Olivia is not complaining about the noise he's making.

I am cleaning. No, clearing. Clutter begone. I'm starting in my room, as I suspect that will affect my head the most and make it easier to do the rest of the house. Slowly. Bit by bit. It's not fair to live like this with a child with sensory issues. So. Bit by Bit.

I feel like I'm standing on a battlefield where the battle I'm meant to be fighting was lost long, long ago.


Ms. Moon said...

I am so sorry. This is all too hard.

Mwa said...

I hope the day got better. x