Calm your tits

If I hear "calm your tits" one more time - I will lose the tiny remnant of my mind which holds that  last fragment of sanity. That fragment she's a fighter but as gallant and resistant a wall she puts up - I feel her impending surrender.

Each day the ticking grows louder and I wonder which day will send me to face the admission that I cannot handle my son any longer. The rapid cycles are impossible to gauge. One moment, I'm dodging swings, being cursed at with every vile unimaginable vulgarity possible, ducking projectiles that are set on a course to my head, and the next I'm being hugged, told I'm loved and that he doesn't understand why he is like that and his remorse fills the space around us. He will be 14 in a few months, he is 5' 5" inches tall, he is strong and muscular and the rage that fuels his cycles makes him a force that cannot be contained.

This all wreaks havoc with my own issues. That fragment she wants to be better, she wants to believe that things will change, and a miracle will occur. She says that over and over to anyone that will listen - but she's a liar.