Sorry for the long hiatus. I’m now going longer between MD visits. I got a second opinion that pretty much confirmed my first. The differences are minor. MD No. 2 wasn’t quite sure some of my adolescent and early-adult episodes were full-blown mania, although he did take note of the fact that I ended my mid-20s episode fairly deeply in debt. He reviewed my meds and said he wouldn’t take issue with the cocktail. And, finally, he said that it was unlikely I’d slap my son in the head again.
Oh, yeah, about that.
I won’t lie: I’ve always had a temper. Frequently a pretty bad one. Even someone as emotionally unintelligent as I can figure out that that temper derives from unmet needs and wants. More lately, I’ve been wondering if a lot of the frustration with my kids doesn’t stem from Mrs. Prufrock’s being so physically and emotionally unavailable. There’s always something at work that she needs to stay late for, and none of them sound anywhere near implausible. (Beyond the tasks, she has had to mend a considerable number of fences on a personal level because her ability as an agent of change and improvement has made a lot of people feel threatened.) Add to that the fact that she has been making me take the kids in to school, often on very short notice, because she has trouble waking up, although I’ve been starting to wake her up close to an hour and a half before she has to leave to take the kids.
So: lots of drivers of resentment. And on Monday night, when my son wouldn’t do something I asked him to do and then mouthed off about it, I slapped him.
It didn’t really hurt him, although I did catch a bit of his ear. But that doesn’t really matter, now, does it? I slapped my kid in the head. I felt awful immediately, of course, and followed him upstairs to apologize to him. But what kind of monster slaps his kid in the head? When Mrs. Prufrock found out, she was, of course, furious. She barely spoke to me for two days, and then it was to point out that I was a lot harsher in my speech to him than to my daughter.
I brought this up today with second-opinion shrink. He seems to feel confident it’ll never happen again. I’m going to test that hypothesis tomorrow with my talk therapist. I desperately hope it doesn’t happen again. And I wish I were more sure that it won’t.
