*This was a journal excerpt after I went through a bout of paranoia last week.
My heart immediately plummeted to the pit of my stomach when I lifted his shirt and saw the scratch.
“I dunno” he said when I questioned how he got it.
I could he not know.
What if they ask how he got it?
They will blame me for sure.
Because I cut myself.
Because to them I’m “crazy”.
They think that I’m a bad Mom.
I know that they think that.
I slid off the rest of his clothes and inspected the rest of him before carefully ushering him into the shower.
“Tell Momma how you got that boo-boo” I cracked through anxious overtones.
He shrugged his shoulders and carried on filling his dump trucks with water.
He was mentally unscathed by the massive scratch on his belly.
Mentally, I was drowning in panic.
Then the dog barked.
Oh God they’re here.
They’re going to take him away.
I’m a good Mom I swear.
I pleaded to a bewildered soapy Chunky to take my hand.
He reached out to me and in slow motion I watched as he slid back.
His skin marked quickly from the sharp edges of the shower door.
I scooped him into my arms and held him tightly.
I shushed him.
Because they would hear us.
I quickly blanket his tiny body in a towel and kissed him a million times over.
They’re going to think I’m a terrible Mom when they see these wounds.
I have to confront them.
They’re not taking my son away.
These were accidents.
I pleaded for Chunky to stay in the basement.
I have to see if they were really here.
He’s not phased that there is someone in the house trying to take him away.
I reach the stairs.
I could see that the door was still shut and locked tightly.
I get to the kitchen and see that the patio door was shut and locked tightly.
But there is something different.
I could smell them.
They’ve been here waiting for me to mess up.
They were wearing peppermint lotion or cologne or perfume.
I could smell them in my house.
I took off running as fast as I could to Chunky.
I haphazardly threw on his clothes.
I checked the time.
Shawn would be home soon.
He’d save us.
A block of time escapes me…
We were now in Dr. B’s office. He sat in front of us leaned relaxed in his swivel chair.
I was shaking.
I couldn’t remember how we even got there.
Anxiety drowned out their voices.
“Hospital” Dr. B says.
They’re both in on this together.
“Who is going to keep our son safe? Who? Why aren’t you both listening to me? I’m a good Mom God damn it. I’m a good Mom. Please don’t take my son away”
I am a good Mom.
They‘re plotting this whole thing.
Discussions carried on between the both of them.
Bipolar 2, Dr. B explained.
Then I remember Dr. B giving me medications.
“This will calm you down in no time” he says.
Soon my breath slows.
My heart slows.
My eyes got too heavy to keep open.
I see my son again.
I squeeze him with all that I had left in me.
I write in my journal.
Then I sleep.
*We’re working on medication changes. I no longer have that intense paranoia that someone is going to take Chunky. I’m very confident in Dr. B. My husband and him are working together for me. Thank you all for your well wishes. You all amaze me.