an honest picture of my day

While I was making his lunch, attempt #2, this afternoon (Declan refused to eat the tuna salad sandwich I made so I decided to try fried rice since that would include a little bit of ketchup), he started hitting the stove with his drum sticks. I told him to stop. He yelled, "No!" and hit the stove some more and harder. I told him to stop one more time. He repeated the above process.

I just got too sick of his shit. I understand he's only two, but I'm tired of him acting like a spoiled brat each and every day and I am the only one that has to take it every single day, some days every hour, by myself.

So I took his drum sticks away. And he HOWLED, and I really wanted to yell at him to shut up and smack him, so instead I shut myself out in the balcony. Somehow he got the balcony door opened, and came howling at me again. I went to the kitchen and separated us with the door. This time he couldn't open the door, but instead spent the next half an hour screaming, throwing himself at the door, and screaming so more.

I sat at the kitchen table, listening to his yelling and pounding, and I thought about how easy it would be for me to just cut my wrists with the kitchen knife. Or throat. Maybe I could leave a note for Daniel to shut off the stove when he gets home as I remembered the chicken soup with vegetables that I had just started simmering. I decided this idea is not the best as my husband would probably get too distracted by my corpse on the kitchen floor and waste an entire pot of good soup.

So I waited...and wondered how I got here as Declan continued to pound and scream. There was never a question of whether or not Declan has stamina. A small part of me worried about all the stress hormones that might be coursing through him at the moment, but mostly I just felt numb.

At one point, I heard him run away, down the hall. So I opened the door to follow him. He heard the door and came running back. This time, he silently lifted his arms up and appealed with his eyes for me to lift him up and hold him. So I did. Now he's eating the lunch attempt #2 after I refused on four occasions not to add any more ketchup or to feed him cookies or ice cream instead.

I don't think I'm in a good place right now. I am afraid it's getting worse. I seriously thought about ending my life today or not caring if Declan fell off the balcony. I don't know how to stop or reverse this descent.