The Monster Within

"It wasn't me it was a monster," Elias says, and I'd laugh if I wasn't so angry at my boy who just finished chasing Olive and me around the house grabbing, hitting and screaming: "I want to hurt you!"

"I didn't just do that, Olive did."

And sure, maybe Olive's actions originally triggered his frustration, but blaming his tantrums on her, as if she controlled his swinging arms and voice change, makes me want to disown him. Walk out that back door with Olive and not come back till the monster within him disappears for good.

At one point during his tirade I stand between Elias and Olive but he reaches around me with his long arms and gets ahold of her dress in his death grip. "Stop, " I say.

She's screaming and he's crying in his guttural voice: "No you stop!"

"Let go." I say, trying to keep my voice calm but firm, knowing if I yell it only sets him off more.

"No you let go!" With his free arm Elias swings back and whacks me in the chest with an open hand.

I push him away, he loses his balance and falls back. "Mom! You don't push me! Never! You never push me!"

And I think how did I become the mother who pushes her eleven-year-old son to the ground? How did I end up with a kid hell-bent to hurt whoever stands in his way? A child who later, when he emerges from his brainstem and his voice returns to the softer octave I love, shows no remorse for his actions.

"I didn't just do that."

"Elias, you hit me and grabbed your sister."

"No, I didn't."

And so I walk outside with Olive, not to runaway but to put space between my feelings and his, my anger and sadness, a grief stew that boils over now and again, and his denial and inability to make amends.

Elias puts his shoes on and follows us out the back door. "Mom, should we open the greenhouse?"

Done. Just like that. Episodic amnesia.

Elias walks up to me and holds onto my arm and I pull it away as if touched by a thorn bush, not ready to let go of the madness from moments before, to move on as if nothing happened. I take Olive's hand and walk away from my son. Again.

"Mom, I didn't like it when Elias grabbed my dress. It hurt my back."

"I know Babe, I dont like it when he acts like that either."

"But he's better now."

"Yeah, he's better," I say, more for her that from a place that views Elias in a positive light.

She looks back at her big brother who stands by the greenhouse, eyes down, "Elias, do you want to climb with me?"

"Yeah!"

And just like that they are off to the Mountain Ash tree and the roof of the playhouse, as if the day has just begun, and I am left standing on the ground with my anchors of anger, my eyes ready to unload rivers of regret for this life that is now mine.

A few years ago, a mother of an older child with autism asked me: "Does he try to beat you up a lot?"

"No," I easily answered, surprised by the image of a child attacking his Mom.

"Oh, you're lucky, my son use to leave bruises on me all the time."

And now I cling to those two words-- use to-- in the hope that this is a phase that will pass, because if I've learned anything from Elias's rage it's that it unearths an equal fire within me. One I never knew existed in my previous life of pacifism and violence prevention work, when I never imagined the fleeting feeling of wanting to deck your own child.

And I know there is a very fine line between anger and a parent who loses control and hurts their children, a line I never want to cross but can no longer so easily judge the parents that do, who in a moment of weakness respond to their kids actions with violence of their own.

We are all fallible humans struggling to make our way in this complex world of beauty and pain. And sometimes, we really just have to move on, to walk to the side yard with our children and engage in pleasant conversation with a neighbor walking by, to discuss the change in the weather, the prospect of sun after a cold wet spell, to pull grass from the garden as we chat over the rose bushes, to connect, even briefly, even on the surface, with someone else.

"I hope I'm not bothering you," she says as Olive and her four-year-old daughter look for worms.

"No, you're saving me," I smile, and when Elias grabs my arm this time, I don't pull it away.

Comments

[Noel Dennehy]

Is there medicine that can help him? I took care of an asperger boy for 8 years and his parents never wanted to put him on medicine until finally at age 12 when his anger made him so dangerous to all of us they did- it was like night and day. Just like Elias- he had a sweet side but when his anger erupted- he was so big and strong that it was scary. He put his fist through a glass window one time in his anger and another time I barely saved his computer when he tried to throw it in his frustration because it had frozen. I feel for you so much- you have so much on your plate and God Bless Olive for being the super sister she is!!! xox

[Tabatha]

You make such a good point about not being able to imagine the feelings you've had when you didn't have any reason to have them. I find that I get less judge-y as time goes by because I realize how much I don't know and how normal and human many of our negative behaviors are.

[Kate J]

Legal CBD oil is something I'm researching at this point for my 12 yr old with some behavioral challenges. When I consider the benzos and antipsychotics that other kids with her particular syndrome have been on (and the stories never ended well), a natural plant substance appeals. At least I would feel better about trying it.

[Christy]

Kate, I was just talking about this with some friends and will also be looking into it for Elias. Noel, thank you for sharing your story it always helps to hear that Elias is not alone in his behaviors and agression. We will continue to look into ways to help. Thank you Tabatha, yes i "knew" so much more when I was younger:)