Saturday, September 26, 2015

PTSD and Moving: The Stress - AKA Stop Telling Me to Get a Fucking Grip

All moved in, and let me tell you, moving day was not fun.  Then again, when is it ever?  I was fine until the drive to the new place.  Wolfman was in my mom's truck.  Suddenly, before I knew it, he was hanging out the window of the fast moving vehicle!  I flipped out, as you can imagine!

When we parked, I very angrily went to the passenger side and saw that he wasn't in the age appropriate car seat!  He's 2 and needs a harness!  Clearly he doesn't understand that when he loses a toy--a truck out the window--that he can't just go and get it!  He needs a harness!  What the fuck?  AND why was his window even down????  Much less all of the way?????  I was so angry!  And freaked out.  All I could think the rest of the time was the worst thing happening to him.  I just kept seeing him falling out of that window, over and over.  I cried.  I fretted.  I obsessed.

Thank the Ancestors and Hecate, nothing serious happened!  At least someone's paying attention and doing their job!

We don't have a driveway anymore.  What if he's hit by a car flying around the curb?

We live by the river.  What if he goes down there and falls in?

We have a lot of strange neighbors.  What if he's abducted?

I tried watching him, not being able to trust him with my mom, or anyone else.  I got really stressed and flipped out, and started crying.  They kept telling me to calm down.  Be thankful nothing serious happened.  He was okay.  Get a grip!

I tried laying him down for a nap because he needed it and I wanted him in a secured location while we moved stuff into the house.  I tried calming him down.  My mom took over and instead of calming him down, she let him out.  He ended up getting hurt in the moving truck because those who said that they would watch him, didn't.  I'm not the kind of person who expects others to watch my kids.  They're my children, they're my responsibility.  If you say you're going to help me or watch my kids (and for me to chill out) I expect you to keep your word.  You're asking me to trust you.  I expect you to be responsible.

I insisted that his hand be held at all times.  I was ignored.  They kept telling me to calm down, that I was being paranoid.  "Go eat something, you're not the only one who's tired.  You're pissing everyone off.  You're being ungrateful!  Stop being a bitch!"

Excuse me?  No, yall had your chance to watch my son, and you abused it.  Don't tell me to calm down.  Yall don't apparently realize how quickly a life can be ended, especially when no one is being responsible.  Don't fucking lie to me and stop telling me to calm down.

I had a hard time sleeping that night, because all I could think about was Wolfman falling out of the truck and me hitting him with my car.  All I could think about was just how could she be so careless?  1) You put him in the age appropriate carseat.  HARNESSES!  2) You don't let him have control of the fucking window!

Moving day sucked.  Now I have to make sure she has the right carseat and remind her of the child locks for the doors and the windows every time.  The one person who I thought I could trust with the safety of my children, dashed.

I just can't trust other people with the safety of my children.  I tried.  I really did try to give others a chance.  They tell me to chill out, that they have it, and clearly, they don't.  Then I'm the bad guy, the hovering helicopter parent who needs to get a grip.  Fuck off.  Step inside my mind and understand why I am the way I am.

Sigh.

Then came a new stressor.  Stairs.  But I've got a system and a couple baby gates.  Although, of course, I still think of the very worst.  Them climbing over and falling down the stairs.  The gates malfunctioning.  Going back to the PICU.  Going back to seeing my babies hooked up to all of those wires and tubes and machines.  Being on life support.  Not knowing if he's going to survive....  Healthy and happy one moment...almost gone the next.

That is my reality.  The constant fear and worry.  The stress.  The worst scenarios.  I try to not let them control me, affect me, affect my kids.  But it's not easy.  We go outside to the car, Wolfman disappears on the other side of the car, with his dad, to be put in his carseat.  For that brief moment, I freak out.  Where did he go?  What if he gets hit by a car?  What if someone snatches him?  The need to call out for him, hear his voice!  The need to see him at all times!  Heart pounding.  Emotions rising.  Then I see his little mohawk and those thoughts go away in the instant they came.  I exhale.  I breathe again.  Everything's fine.

I had a dream a couple of days ago, about how I was visiting Wolfman's grave.  He was there, playing, happy to see me.  Then I had to leave and he threw a fit because he couldn't come with me.  I woke up crying.  Held my babies extra tight that day, furious with my fucking subconscious for that shitty dream.

At least stairs are stairs.  They can't lie to you or be irresponsible.  They can only be stairs.  It's solely up to you to be careful and safe.

I teach my boys: feet first, on your butt, and hold onto the hand rail.  The stairs aren't toys or a playground.  You can get hurt if you're not careful.  Only take a couple toys up/down at a time.  Take it slow.  Be careful.  Pay attention.  No climbing the gate.  Don't touch the gate.  Don't throw toys over the gate.


ER worries out of the way, Wolfman, who isn't worried about changes and has moved before without issue, has issues with change and moving now.  He also had a tough week and day.  What with his stuff being packed away.  Him losing a toy out the window.  And mommy being super stressed out.  I tried to not be stressed around my kids.  I didn't want to worry or scare them.  Warrior was fine through it all.  He slept most of the time or was fine in his high chair.  Wolfman was already exhausted from a sleepless night and wanted to playing in and around the moving truck.

For three days, all he said was how he either wanted to go to grandma's or home.  Tried telling him we were home.  I made space and unpacked some of his toys.  He calmed down, but then started hoarding his toys.  And he's having a really difficult time sharing.  I hope this is just a phase.  Hoarding toys drives me nuts.  Like, you're not a dragon.  Stop that.  And share with your brother.  He carries as many toys as he can, then flips out if one is dropped.  Heck, he won't even share with me!  The baby wants me to play and Wolfman snatches them away, saying that mommy's going to trap his toys.  Aka pack them up.  Me telling and showing him that we're all move in.  I'm not going to pack up his toys.  We're home.

I'm just taking it one day at a time and really trying to get the condo settled and homely.  I'm trying to normalize the environment, and not stress about the stairs or the parking lot.  At least we have an enclosed patio with a locked gate.  He loves it, I love it.  It's helping.  One week down.  Getting used to the change.  Give em time.  Give us all time to settle and find a routine.

No comments:

Post a Comment