"He's going to cost me everything," I sob as I drive home from dropping him off at summer school. I pull over into a parking lot and let the tears flow, unable to hold back the tide of emotions enough to drive. I have 5 minutes I tell myself, knowing that I have to be home before the housekeeper arrives so I can let her in. I make a mental note to get her that key I keep forgetting to give her. I sob uncontrollably for a minutes more, then open the door to vomit from the coughing and the tears. I know I'm tired. I was up half the night throwing up. I try to tell myself it was food poisoning, not the overwhelming pain of a life I cannot live.
I yelled at my daughters last night. I'm not proud of it. It hurts that I became the mom I never wanted to be. I was exhausted. I had just thrown up again. I'd been in bed for almost 3 hours, desperately trying to sleep through the pain, the illness, and the despair. The girls were watching TV, talking loudly. I could hear them over the sounds of my husband's video gaming with his friends. It was finally too much. I just wanted some quiet. And they were running up and down the hall to the bathroom stomping and slamming the door. Afterwards, they went to bed quietly, and so did I. Alone.
I don't stay up late playing video games anymore. I had to give it up. I couldn't keep up with the demands of being a part of a team, logging on at raid times, running keys, and chatting with the guild. Every time my kids needed me, I felt torn. For a while I chose the game, spending time with my husband, nourishing my soul with relationships where I was just a friend (not a mom). They only knew me online, as a gamer, a player, someone good enough to earn a spot on the team. I was one of them. But I had to walk away . . .
The game was a crutch. I leaned on it when I had no one to turn to in person. I used to be on the PTA at the kids' school. I volunteered, went to coffee, and chatted with my friends. But that changed when he started school. I became the parent of 'that kid.' The principle told me that they called to ask to be moved out of my son's class. Suddenly they didn't need any volunteers. When I brought cupcakes for the class, I learned that another mom had been assigned to bring extra cupcakes also. Mine were sent home uneaten. After a while I stopped trying. Maybe it was when I walked in on them talking about my son in the PTA room . . ..
I used to go out with my family. My mom and sisters still invite me sometimes, and sometimes I go. But they talk about things like traveling and family activities and I wistfully imagine us trying to do that. But I know how it would go - everyone else is having fun, and I'm secretly panicking the whole time, spending every second trying to avert disaster and put on a good face. Adjusting his bedtime, his food intake, his screen time, what demands we place on him, trying desperately to avoid a meltdown at a crucial time. I relax the rules, offer extra treats, and bow out early knowing that I will later pay for all my choices. All while everyone else is having fun around me. My husband and daughters laugh with my parents and siblings playing games and eating between mealtimes without a care. Sometimes the oldest one helps me out, and I feel worse seeing her turning into me. But I don't want to ruin family times and memories, so we make it work. But all the while I'm empty inside, knowing that my joy is an act.
As I wipe my face and dry my tears I accept that fact that my child changes everything. The other moms will never look at me as one of them or let my son play alongside their kids. I can't spend hours immersed in a video game world where I can be just another gamer friend. My family will never understand the lengths I go to to try and preserve our relationships or how much it hurts to spend time with them. I've lost my connections to the world, my sense of self-worth, my happiness, and my dreams for the future. My health is declining, I can no longer keep up at my job, and my marriage is struggling as well. Each time it gets to be too much, I have to cut another piece from my life to have enough of me to give to do what needs to be done for him. Little by little, it's going to cost me everything, and that's okay, because for my wonderful little boy, it's a price I'm more than willing to pay.
