And I hate myself. I hate myself because I let my husband and my son get to me the way they do. I scream at them and I throw fits. This is not the woman I wanted to be. But I find myself in a rage and I cannot stop myself. Yesterday I packed up a bunch of my son’s clothes and his Nintendo and his winter jacket – I stuffed it all into a black garbage bag, and I threw the bag out the front door. I heard myself screaming, “you and your father need to leave together! You deserve each other!”
I don’t want to yell at him like that; I don’t want to be so angry. I don’t want to hate him the way I do. He is just an eight year old boy. He just really gets to me. And his father – ugh, I hate that man! And I also love him.
Today my son’s little friend was over, his little girlfriend. She is a sweet girl, so well-behaved. It made me feel even worse to fly into a rage in her face. Eventually he mom picked her up but I still wasn’t calm for a couple of hours after that. I didn’t know what I was going to do – I was so angry. So I called the girl’s mother and she stayed on the phone with me while she made dinner for her family, chicken cutlets and canned peas. She stayed on the phone while I raged and screamed at my son, while I threw more of his stuff out of the house. My husband came home while I was on the phone with her and I started screaming at him too. The girl’s mother told me to go talk to my husband and she got off the phone with me.
It didn’t help me to “talk” with my husband; there is no talking with him. But he did take me into his arms. Not in a loving caring way, not affectionately; but to restrain me. He is stronger than me – I’m only 5’3’ and I weigh 125. He is strong, he works with his hands. He held my arms to my body and I was trying to punch at him, and I kicked and I screamed but I couldn’t get a good shot in. After a while I was so exhausted, I couldn’t fight anymore. I fell into a heap on the floor, crying. Just crying and crying and sobbing. My son went outside and brought the garbage bag inside. He walked past me in the new sneakers I bought him, back and forth from his room with the TV and the Nintendo and the posters and the comforter; back and forth until he got all of his stuff back. He didn’t stop and talk with me, I was just laying alone sobbing on the living room floor. My husband was home somewhere, I don’t know what he was doing, he was out of sight; he didn’t talk to me or help me while I was on the floor.
I don’t know what to do. These rages, it’s like a devil gets into me. But it’s also not only my fault. I hate them both so much, as much as I love them, and it tears me up that they could make me hate them so much. It makes me feel sick, like I can’t breathe and also like I am going to throw up; I think that’s why I scream so much, to get that feeling out, to get it out of my throat. Now my son is playing video games in his room. I need to get up and get myself cleaned up. No one is going to help me tonight.