Jeremy is my son, and I love him, but I'll have to confess: I'm tired of having to walk on eggshells around him! We have to be so careful not to step on his invisible toes. So we can't ask about his homework, whether he needs the textbooks he was relying on us to pay for but hasn't been able to go out and get because of the surgery.
We can't ask about setting up doctor and dental appointments because he wants to be independent, but has no means of doing this himself since he doesn't know which doctors or dentists are covered under our plan or where they are or how to contact them.
We can't even ask how he's feeling, since that, apparently, is none of our business either. He's tired of being cosseted, protected, parented, in short, and cleared out of here, according to him, because he can't live like us, in a mess. Every once in a while, he did help me clean up. So I have to be grateful for that, and I thoroughly admit to being a slob. But am I so much worse than the smelly adolescent males he lives with? I doubt it.
Every time I talk to him on the phone, I'm cruisin' for a bruisin'. I know from speaking with therapists and psychiatrists about him that I have to aim not to react, but that has led to a pattern that makes him just as mad, where he'll say something provocative, and I won't react, and that, of course, makes him crazy. So it seems I can't win. I'm sure some of it is my fault, maybe even a lot of it. I just give up.