The Dark Side of Diabetes

Apparently, last night's tirade was completely unbeknownst to MetalliDad.

This isn't the first time that's happened... where later, upon being confronted by things he has said or done... ALWAYS mean, hateful things... he has given me this *look*, and been totally clueless at to what happened, what was said, and especially WHY.

I've had it.  While part of me says, "Hey, at least it wasn't a CONCIOUS attempt to be the biggest asshole on the planet!" - another part thinks it's even scarier.  And a little worse, maybe.

So, a little history here.  Shortly after I was in the hospital in July 2007, I wound up taking MetalliDad into the ER because of *nasty* sores on his feet that, with me having worked in surgery at a podiatrist's office... had me almost gagging.  There was an obvious infection going, and it had started making his right leg swell.

He was diagnosed with diabetes... and his blood sugar was a whopping 380mg/l.  Whereas the diagnosis wasn't really a surprise to me (both his parents were diabetic), how he wasn't in a coma from the sugar levels being so high, I STILL don't understand.  He felt *fine* other than the foot pain.  Eek.

Anyhow... this past May was the first time that he had been made aware of MANY just plain *ugly* things he had said or done.  And he had no idea.  Pending the insurance fiasco getting itself worked out... he agreed (and actually suggested *himself*) that he would look into if a doctor felt he needed medication for this apparent "mood disorder."  Especially since, according to him, his father became extremely mean for the last few years before he died.

June, he woke up, and essentially laid into me without provokation.  It was UGLY, and I felt like I had been slapped by every word that had come out of his mouth.

Last night, it was the same... except that this time, it had a shadow of violence beyond just the words he used.  He wound up yanking my arm in an attempt to snatch the tv remote from my hand, and then proceeded to fastball it at me as I tried to leave the room.  I'm amazed that it is still in one piece after the impact it made with the dresser as it whizzed past my side.

This morning when he got up for work, everything was normal.  He leaned over to give me a kiss goodbye, asked if we were still planning on going to the optometrist after he got home, and went on his merry way.  He called on his way home from work, and was pleasant, had no problem with the fact that I honestly was in a bit too much pain to feel like dealing with the eye doctor, and ended the call with an "I love you."

So, after dinner, when the subject hadn't yet been breached (and I was doubly depressed from what *should* have been a fantastic dinner gone-wrong), I brought up the fact that, after last night, I was done.  He needed to make an appointment with his doctor for the sole purpose of figuring out WHAT THE HELL HIS PROBLEM WAS.

His response?  "Why?  Last night again??"

I was... dumbfounded.  How could this man become Mr. Hyde without his being aware of the fact?  What the hell was wrong?  Could it even be fixed?  SHIT.

So, off I went to the internet before soaking all my pains away in a hot bath (or at least trying to).  And, lo and behold, I find this:

Apparently, there is strong research that shows that blood sugars of 70mg/l and lower can result in anger, violence, etc... and a high probability if being unaware of the behavior.

Nice.

Now, we may be on to something.  But what to DO about it?  Do I make sure he eats a little something before going to bed, in order to elevate his sugars throughout the night?  Do we suggest to the doctor that his evening dose of medications be lowered in order to correct this problem?  Do we *still* bring up and advocate for a mood stabilizer?!

While I am slightly relieved at this information, I am also just as frustrated.  It's great if I can pinpoint what is causing the problem... but in the end, it still doesn't take away the fact that I have been driven into the ground by his words while he spit insults and attacks on my grave.  *sigh*

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To top it all off, Greyson had another night from HELL.  And this time, it was worse than last night.

While trying to get him to even *lay down* - he told me to "leave him the fuck alone."

Obviously, he was well aware of what was being screamed at me the previous night and chose to use this phrase to punctuate his OWN speech.  Fabulous.

He got his very first - and hopefully, his very last - pop on the cheek.  I know.  I feel horrible about it... but ya know, when you have your *2 year old* flinging such a horrible statement at you... Well, hell.  I regret that it happened, but it could have been worse.  I don't think I have been angrier at him than at that point in time.

He didn't fall asleep until almost 1am.  I'm exhausted... from every possible angle, and in every definition of the term.  I feel like I've been torn from the line, and left lying in the mud.  Something *has* to change... and I don't know where to start.

Well, I know where, but even from that point... I have the feeling I am on a long, winding road.

I love my husband.  I have forgiven a BIG mistake, and am not about to throw away the second chance that I have given him without benefit of the doubt - and intervention.

I adore my son.  But honestly?  He has just had too much fun pushing every. last. button. the last few days.

I have already been diagnosed with depression, panic disorder, and anxiety disorder.  I have chronic pain.  My migraines are returning from the vacation they took back when I was pregnant (which, while I admit was a NICE long trip, I was really hoping that they would *love* it so much, they wouldn't come back!).

How much more can I take?  I haven't been feeling like I have any support (besides from some of you LOVELY ladies that read and post comments here!  THANK YOU - more than you will ever know!), and my well is running dry.

It seems that with every up, I am shoved down further than before.  I am *really* trying to look for that silver lining, but lately... it's been a pretty torrential storm.

Rainbows *are* real, right?  Anyone care to send a little sunshine my way?

What to do...

I have had one of the *worst* days in a LONG time. 

I woke up this morning with my back simply screaming at me, and I wasn't able to turn my head to the left AT ALL or shrug my left shoulder...

Greyson woke complaining of a headache, and barely touched his breakfast OR lunch... he didn't want to do much other than lie in bed and watch cartoons...

We got in a decent nap, but he was just kinda "off" all evening - still not too hungry, clingy, and a tad on the whiny side.  Which isn't normal "him" stuff... plus, he felt a little warm - so I chose the safe route and gave him some Tylenol.

Now, for when things get *really* ugly.

Bedtime rolls around, the hubby's already hanging out in bed watching WWE when Grey & I come downstairs.  No biggie.  Greyson starts up his usual "nightowl craziness" (so at least SOMETHING helped him feel a LITTLE better - LOL).  But then Ralph started to fall asleep, so I got Greyson into his bed, etc etc.

He was *squirrel central*.  The child would NOT lie still, would NOT stop talking, just plain was antsy and goofy.  So finally?  I told him I was going to lie down, because honestly, it was bringing me almost to tears sitting there with him because of the pain all day.

And he SWORE at me, under his breath.  This has been going on for the last week or so, where he'll mutter "Damnit" in response to something that just apparently PISSES. HIM. OFF.

And I had had it.  I told him that the next time I heard that come out of his mouth, that there was going to be some soap in there to replace it.  End of story.  You may NOT say words like that.

Then, in an expansion of my frustration... I changed the channel.  GOD FORBID.

Cue the MAN:  What are you doing?!
Me:  I didn't feel like staring at wrestling while you slept.
Him:  I wasn't sleeping.  How the hell can I sleep when you're YELLING AT GREYSON EVERY TWO SECONDS?!

Umm... yeah.  Okay.  At this point, he had been asleep, off and on, for about 30 minutes.  But denied it.  Like usual.  No surprise there.

However, he then proceeded to GRAB the remote out of my LEFT hand (yes, the one connected to the f'ed up shoulder) and grabbed my hand with it.  OUCH.

More words flew, and it ended in him THROWING THE REMOTE *AT* ME and demanding that I "go the fuck upstairs *before* I pissed him off."  Ummm... does anyone see a problem with this statement?

Yes, I admit - that came after I called him an asshole.  But?  I call it like I see it.  There have been a lot of shithole situations in the recent past, and one BIG thing that's standing out in my head (especially now) is that HE made a promise that HE has yet to fulfill... and there is no longer anything preventing him from doing so.  And honestly?  It pisses me off... but more so, IT HURTS.

I feel downright UGLY right now.  I just came back up from getting Greyson to sleep... because when I went back down to check on him... ONE was snoring, and the other?  Well, let's just say he was hanging out watching Adult Swim.  At 11 pm.  Nice.

So, I was told to GET OUT, but then also apparently the responsibility of getting the little man to sleep?  STILL MY JOB.  FROM UPSTAIRS?  Hmm.  I don't get it.

It took me 45 minutes of finding new batteries for his "moon light," getting him some milk, curling up with him IN THE TODDLER BED, and back rubbing before he finally decided to call it a night.

Now, here I am.  Angry, saddened, depressed, confused, in physical, mental, and emotional pain... wondering where the HELL it all came from.  Well, knowing where it came from... but what started it.

It's one of those times where if Grey weren't around... I think I'd run away.  Really.  He keeps me here a LOT...  and I've expressed that before.  I just don't know if it's really sunk in.

Here's to wishing me SOME sleep... though right now, I don't know if I can handle climbing into my own bed.  *sigh*  I might be looking at a 4am bedtime after DH leaves for work... ugh.