At 6 he started saying he wanted to die. When he was 7 he ran through the park screaming “Let me die!” and attempted to electrocute himself on some loose wires hanging off a pole. That day he didn’t want to go with his abuser for the weekend. She took him anyway. He wakes up with nightmares and keeps me up all night wanting to be held and comforted.
Two years of counseling and he won’t tell anyone what is happening but the abuse is obvious. CPS has investigated her. The police are still investigating her. They’ve all said it’s obvious what is happening but they don’t have enough proof. His word can’t be trusted because he lies about everything. I want to protect him. I have tried doctors, courts, every legal avenue available yet every other weekend he comes home more broken.
He is mean. I’m the one he takes all the anger out on. The things he says seem much too cruel to come from the mouth of a child. They are constant. He says the most hurtful things while at the same time refusing to leave my side. I can’t use the restroom without him sitting outside the door demanding my attention and hurling insults. He hits me, screams at me steals from me and lies to me and about me. I still love him. But, it is hard not to feel resentment. I’ve fought for him and done all the things she should be doing for him and all I get is insults and hate. My mind is starting to break.
After he hasn’t seen her for a week he starts to even out. I usually get a day or two of smiles, hugs and laughter mixed in with the rage. The rage and insults are still there but there is also some relief. Just when it seems like there is light at the end of the tunnel it is her weekend again. I spend those two days filled with anxiety. I wonder if he is alright. I worry about what is happening. I want to get him away from her but I dread picking him up.
I pull up to get him. He is standing in her car with his head sticking out of the sunroof. He smiles and waves at his dad. He glares at me with a look of pure hatred and gets in the car. “I don’t want to go home with you. She is fun and lets me do what I want.” It cuts like a knife and something in me breaks. I don’t speak to him for the rest of the night. I’m afraid if I do I will match his cruelty. I lock myself in the bedroom. He sits outside the door trying to talk to me. He says he is sorry. Maybe he is, but tonight that one sentence that wasn’t nearly as mean as the ones in the past is the one that broke me.
In a month she will start canceling her visits. After years of documenting his behavior and hers I know what is next. Her behavior shifts wildly with the seasons. Fall is almost here. I can’t prove it but I think depression hits and the guilt of what she has done to her son kicks in. She starts making excuses for why she can’t see him and quits showing up for her parenting time. She starts sending messages saying she can’t handle it. She says she is bad for him. She says he is so lucky to have us because she can’t do it.
He spirals. He rages and blames us. When she does call she tells him that she wants to see him but we won’t let her. I tell him it isn’t true. I show him her text saying she doesn’t have enough gas money to come get him. I show him the one from two weeks before saying she doesn’t feel well enough to see him this weekend. He blames us anyway. What child wants to accept that his mother doesn’t care about him. His counselor doubles up his weekly sessions.
After a couple of months of less and less contact I begin to see glimpses of happiness. He begins to act like a child. He gets excited about things again. He laughs a real laugh. The rage is less frequent. He stops trying to make everyone around him hurt. The nightmares have stopped. He isn’t wetting the bed anymore. He wears one pair of underwear instead of four or five at a time. He quits asking his dad to guard the bathroom door. He doesn’t try to hurt the dog when I am not looking. Life is almost normal. We seem like a normal family.
The police close their investigation. They say that they know it is happening but they can’t find a way to prove it. CPS says she doesn’t see him enough now for them to be involved. Everyone that tried to help goes away as life seems to go back to normal. I almost believe it myself. I start to enjoy the good and the horror of the past summer almost doesn’t seem real.
Then the snow melts. She calls him. He ignores it. She shows up for her weekend. We have no choice but to let her take him. He hugs me and says he doesn’t want to leave. I ask him why. He won’t tell me even now. He gets in her car and calls me as he drives away to tell me he loves me. Two days later I show up to pick him up. My stomach is in knots. He glares at me as I wave. He gets in the car. I ask how it went. “I don’t have to tell you! You’re not my real mom!”
Spring is here. The sun is shining. Flowers are blooming and life is hell.