Can bad thoughts make bad things happen?

Today, something terrible happened.  Well, I’m exaggerating.  But my son did get hurt, and to any mom, that’s terrible.  He runs around all the time because he’s a toddler or a boy or both.  I tell him to stop, I’ve tried time outs.  Aside from keeping him in one of those stuffed animal leashes all day, I don’t see much of a way from preventing it.  If I’m right on top of him sometimes I can grab him and hold him for a second, but usually as soon as he’s back down, he’s running again.  Anyway, he falls a good bit, as you might imagine.  I always think that if he falls enough times he’ll stop running because hurting isn’t fun, but he just keeps on running. Today he fell hard.  He busted the inside of his lip.  At first, I didn’t know what he did.  I thought he cracked his jaw or something because there was a lot of blood and he was screaming.  Luckily my husband was there, and having once been a boy, knows what a busted lip looks like.  Regardless, I went on about if we should bring him to the hospital or the dentist for such a thing and generally freaked out.  When my husband assured me that the blood and screaming were giving the appearance of a far more severe injury, I calmed down a bit.  My son had a panic attack, because when he’s in really bad pain that’s what he does.  I’ve never seen anyone have these before.  I’ve only had them.  I see why people don’t like being around me when they happen.  They’re kinda scary.  The doctors won’t diagnose two year olds (which I’m glad of because he might grow out of it and I’d prefer it not be on his record) but they told me that’s what it looked like.  On the plus side, I’ve found if I hold him to my chest and breathe real slow like I would if I was trying to stop my own panic attack it calms him down and also kinda keeps me calm.

After everyone was okay, I started thinking.  I sure wish my brain would shut up because it’s not helpful most of the time.  If I wouldn’t have been thinking so much about bad thing happening to him yesterday, would he still have gotten hurt today?  In real world logic, the two have nothing to do with each other.  In my head…maybe…possibly…probably?  I dunno.  I’m really trying not to think about it because I’ll work myself into a guilt trip.  Well, I already feel guilty about it, but I don’t want to obsess about it.

Another fun thing happened in all this mess.  He was in pain, so my husband was holding him while I was trying to get Tylenol ready.  Let’s recap.  I grabbed the Tylenol bottle.  I looked in the drawer where the little spoon measure things usually are.  None to be found.  I looked in the drawer next to it, because maybe they got misplaced.  Still none.  I glanced at the dirty dishes, where I assumed there were some, but they would need to go in the dishwasher and that would take at least thirty minutes, so that’s useless.  I looked in the first drawer again, because maybe I missed one or maybe one had magically appeared because my son was in pain and we needed one.  Nope.  I looked in the second drawer again.  I got frustrated because spoons were not appearing.  Stupid lack of magic.  I started trying to calculate in my head how many actual spoons would make a dose and if I thought he’d go for this even if I could measure it right.  At this point, my husband grabs one of the dirty ones, thrusts it in my face with a pissed look and says “here.”  I’m confused and say “it’s dirty.”  He says “wash it” and I am confused because the dishwasher takes a long time and he needs the meds now.  I tell him so.  I don’t recall exactly what my husband said, but it was something mean about why couldn’t I just figure out to hand wash it or something.  I don’t know.  That doesn’t seem clean to me.  Like whatever medicine was in it before might interact badly or something.  I say so while I try to clean it by hand pretty awkwardly because it’s oddly shaped and I didn’t have anything to put in it.  He yelled that I needed to put something in it to clean it, which is why I thought it wouldn’t be clean.  I put my finger, which doesn’t fit.  He says use a smaller finger like I’m an idiot.  I threw the spoon and cried.  I said if I was too stupid to find and wash things then he should do it.  That I was sorry I couldn’t do simple things but that I could do more complex things and I didn’t make him feel bad that he couldn’t do that stuff.  And he apologized.  Which is odd, because…well, we both just usually get past a certain point and past that point can’t stop.  He said he didn’t mean to make me feel bad and that he just thinks things and they come out and he couldn’t help it.  Which I get.  So I didn’t feel bad anymore.  And we moved on.  That has literally never happened before.

It’s a common argument.  He thinks in terms of the most straight forward, direct way to do something.  A to B.  I go A to Z to…okay I was gonna do the alphabet backwards to get to B but my mind just couldn’t do it.  I’m blaming the Topamax, but backward alphabets are tricky.  Anyway, I take simple things and make them difficult.  Not on purpose.  I literally cannot figure out the simple answer.  Someone has to tell me, and usually I’m confused by it.  Yes, I’m just as confused by normal people as normal people are by me.  My husband is forever frustrated by this.  I can’t blame him.  I’m frustrated by it.  It’s frustrating.  It just is.  But today be apologized for being frustrated even though I am very, very frustrating.  Even though sometimes the way he acts when he’s frustrated isn’t so nice, he is crazy too so things have domino effects around here.

So in the end, things worked out okay.  My son is feeling better.  I’m (trying) not to obsess about (possibly) having had some weird part in the injury.  My husband apologized.

Downside?  My brain is still running at 100000 mph and it feels like it’s going to explode at some point soon.  I feel the need to shake it and scream “SHUT UP IN THERE” but experience says that doesn’t make it stop, causes headaches, and makes people stare.  My husband says (I asked) that he sometimes goes as long as thirty minutes with not one single thought.  I told him I wanted to transplant our brains because it would be like a vacation.  I can’t even imagine not having a thought.  My brain has speeds of fast, super fast, or sofastyoucan’tdistinguishwords.  Thirty minutes of silence right now would be heaven.

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About Kira

How do you say "I hate the about me section" without sounding cliche? I haven't found a way yet, so instead you'll now be subjected to random bits of info so you at least know what the blog is about. I'm a 26 year old wife and fairly new mom trying to make a life for myself and my family. These things should be run of the mill, but alas, I have Bipolar (amongst other diagnoses that I have long since lost track of). So here I am, trying to juggle a professional career, marriage, motherhood...and my own general crazy. All the rest of the "about me" sordid details will have to come in time, but the bottom line is that I need somewhere to vent that makes me feel like I'm being heard (even if no one ever reads this) and if along the way I can help another person or two then all the better. **Full Disclaimer** For the record, Kira is not my real name. Pretty much everyone I know is aware of all of my issues, but I do have a career and such and need to keep some level of privacy due to that. And, well, I'm paranoid. View all posts by Kira

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