I woke in a funk. Yesterday still heavily on my mind. We were making brownies when it went down. Teale’s OCD had kicked in and she needed the spoon clean to mix the melted chocolate & butter. She had already cleaned it, in between stirs, several times. I had ignored the behavior but, she was splattering butter & baking chocolate all over as she cleaned the spoon. I knew this was something she needed to do, but it was irrational. Teale has had issues in the past, when we’ve cooked together, if the spoon has food stuck to it. I knew this was a trigger, something that bugged her deep in her core. So, I was careful how I said it, I tiptoed through my mind to find gentle words and my voice was kind. I used humor and the example of how I cook. “You don’t need to wash the spoon...” was how it began. The rest is a blur, she was immediately attacking me. We went down as I tried to protect myself & her from herself. She threw the bag of flour in the shuffle. Suddenly I was on her, trying to stop her from hitting me, biting me & pulling my hair. What had happened? Why was my simple comment the trigger to this? Her rage was powerful & I needed help. Luckily Mark is still working from home most of the time. He’s hidden away in our downstairs, so Teale doesn’t bug him all day long. I was screaming for him, but he wasn’t coming. Gwenn was home, but her PTSD from all the rages she witnessed as a child, probably was the reason she stayed hidden in her room. Screams for Mark finally working, he barrels up the stairs. Teale has pounded me several times, my shirt is ripped, and honestly I was in shock. It was so quick, like a switch went off. We were having a good time, making brownies for friends who were coming over in a couple hours. As Mark walked into the chaos, he immediately took over. Sending me out of the room to recover. I was a mess, my shirt ruined and my heart broken. Why had this happened??? I couldn’t catch my breath and was sobbing, but this was far from over. She was still out of control, now after Mark. Somehow in COVID, we had finally started to trust, Teale had been so much more stable. We had started to believe the worst was behind us and the sparsely decorated rooms we had for so many years, had become a home again. I had plants, picture frames, favorite things sitting out again. Our living room a beautiful example of my tastes... Mark has always given me freewill to decorate however I wanted. For years the living room was Teale’s safe place. Not much was out, the couches were always solid and could support her in a rage. If we could get her to a couch, often she could soothe herself back to normal. Unfortunately, the new furniture and set up, did not support her in this way. We couldn’t let her into the living room or probably plants would be thrown & my favorite things would be broken. Mark guided Teale to the garage, his thought was to get her outside. Again, stopped by her rage, she was kicking and fighting him. Down she went again, him just trying to keep her safe from herself and protect us and our home. The rage continued in the garage, at least a half hour. Teale trying to break anything she could reach. Screams that could wake the dead, her biting herself repeatedly. It was brutal to witness. My thinking going back to the moment I said ~ “You don’t need to wash the spoon off...” In these moments I cannot explain the heartache I feel. Witnessing my daughter in a full psychotic break over absolutely nothing, is totally an unexplained feeling of deep pain. Mark and I stand at different areas, to protect and quickly move what we can, that she is going after. Her screams bloodcurdling, neither of us touching her, yet she’s screaming ~ “You hurt me! You hurt my foot! I want my hand get better!” She continues to bite her hand repeatedly, us unable to stop it. Witnessing her doing this to herself, breaks me, I look at Mark, wondering if he blames me for this. I know that is irrational, it’s mental illness and brain damage. I usually pray through these rages, yesterday I don’t recall doing that. I was fried, sad and hurt. I just couldn’t believe it all started over washing a spoon... The screams continue and I feel myself start to cry, I’m wondering what neighbors are thinking and honestly I was surprised no one showed up or called the police. The fear I felt, the realization that, if Mark had been at the office, what would have transpired? Teale is bigger than me, stronger than me & in a rage she is completely ruthless. The strength that she has to overtake me is overwhelming. PTSD has kicked in and I’m teary. Fear that this could happen without the support of Mark, I walk from my “post” in the garage, to him, he opens his arms and holds me as I quietly sob. Teale still screaming, but calming. We decide to cancel our friend’s coming over & I go inside to call them. I can’t deny, I’m still shaken. I still don’t understand how I could have done “it better,” differently, so this wouldn’t have happened. Mark soon brings in a calmer Teale & I put her to work cleaning up the bag of flour she threw... it would take us hours to completely clean up the mess.
That evening Mark would put Teale to bed and then come find me. I was outside, still struggling with my feelings. He obviously was too... As he sat down with me, he expressed that he’d been thinking about couple’s who deal with similar issues. He wondered what the statistics would be of divorces &/or putting the person into a group home. He and I both agree that we need Teale to stay in our care. We are fearful of how someone who doesn’t love her as deeply as we do, would react in a similar situation.
I guess that’s the bright side of it all. Mark and I are a strong partnership. Teale has never “come between“ us. We both just hurt, for her pain...
