I feel hemmed in.
Hemmed in by the complexity of every contorted situation that presents itself. In some strange pincer move, every option for solution to each of the problems she experiences is cut off.
Food/Hunger: she angers at my every suggestion of meals. She angers when I ask her to suggest what she wants to eat. She angers that there is no food in the house that she likes, and yet angers if I ask for recommendations for the shopping lists. She angers and refuses to say when she will be back so dinner can be ready, and then angers again when dinner is not ready the moment she decides she wants it. She angers if I pre cook food that she or I can reheat, and she angers if there is no food prepared for her to eat.
Money/spending: she spends the money I give her for bus fare, and then calls me angry because she cannot get home. She decides to stay for a second session at the skate park, then calls me angered because she has spent the money I gave her to pay for it and demands more. She angers when I can’t give her the money I promised to buy new jeans because she has already stolen it and has it hidden in her pocket.
Help/support: she angers because she can’t do something, calls me to help, and then angers because I try and help as asked. She angers because she has missed the bus, calls me and demands angrily that I drive 25 miles to come get her, and then angers at me when I arrive. She angers because she can’t find her new crop top in her tip of a room, and then angers at me when I tidy up to try and find it for her. She angers if i speak, and angers if i stay quiet. She angers if i help, and yet angers if i hold back. She angers if i try to spend time with her, and angers when i give her the space she asks for.
In every situation a cul de sac is created with no exit, no solution, and no end. No end save for anger directed outwards in a stream of amygdala fueled consciousness towards me. A torrent of blame. To be repeated again and again.
Sometimes the therapeutic parenting is just something to hide behind. Something to do and occupy myself with while the hurt on the receiving end smarts and stings. I understand. I understand it all; her pain, the trauma, the workings of her brain. But it still hurts. And confuses. And fills me with sorrow.
Hemmed in; I have nowhere to go.