Sunday, 16 August 2009

My son

Noise. Shouting. A tornado bangs open the door disguised as a banshee.
Unable to stir myself fast enough from the depths of sleep I endure the screaming overtones from under the duvet.
The irrepressible need to expend a night time of stored energy sends him ricocheting around the house.
More screams.
The timer starts..... half an hour until it's over.
Shouting, cursing, it's everyone's fault. Apparently.

Vainly I try to channel the irrepressible energy within socially acceptable limits
Keeping everyone safe.
Fifteen minutes.
Breakfast would be a good idea - but he won't until the medication kicks in, can't when it does.
The distress is palpable, on all sides!
Nothing broken yet, no one hurt so far.

It's almost amusing at times. Well, almost. And sad - really sad.
I watch the person inside emerge from the noisy, aggressive strait jacket which alienates everyone as the minutes tick by.
A rare glimpse of my special son, a chink of light through the exoskeleton I hate-

Before the curtain comes down, he calms down and retreats into himself once more.

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