He’s in a terrible mood: insomnia, bone pain in his feet, kidney pain and prednisolone rages are all combining this morning to make it, well, tricky is the least awful word I can think of to describe it. But if it’s tricky for me today, it’s an ongoing battle for him.
As we drop off Ben at preschool it is just me, him and the baby. He is quiet, tired, clearly in pain. He walks beside me down the hill to the car and whispers, ‘I wish the world wasn’t here any more‘, and I am floored by the sum of everything he is experiencing and feeling, expressed in those eight words.
He has your love. There’s nothing else I can say. You are in my thoughts.
I was going to say the same as anglefeet. At least he has you and everything you are able to give him. Thinking of you all.
Counseling // Feb 14, 2010 at 1:37 pm
[...] William was equally forthcoming but given he has speech difficulties it was often up to me to interpret for the consellor. But he explained how he always picked the sad and angry faces when trying to tell his teachers how he was feeling. He told her how he had no friends and when he did make a friend, the friend was Someone Else’s Friend when he returned from another period off sick. He told her how he was too tired to play in the playground and often had to sit on the friendship bench. Then when someone offered to play with him, he said no thanks and that friend wondered why the hell he was sitting on the friendship bench (it doesn’t occur to him to tell them that he is tired). He told her about the pain and the medicines and the worries about having to go to hospital. He told her about the times he wished he was dead. [...]