Play Nice

We are in the phase of life with Mitch that defies positive outlooks.  He doesn't want to be positive and under no circumstances does he want you to be positive either.  He's currently working on making sure that anything good  that happens now or in the immediate future will be ruined or at the very least forever tainted in our memories.  I'm not sure what's going on in his little head and heart, it's gut wrenching to see him so miserable, but I'm going to hand him his butt soon and make his life even worse.  He's been driving me nuts this last week and other than killing him, I'm not sure what will help.  He's hitting anyone who gets close enough to reach, wether they are trying to hug him or hurt him doesn't seem to matter much.  No one is safe.  We've been working diligently trying to teach him how to be soft, so now he hits you and immediately strokes your face while whispering "soft", then hits you again and runs away.  Not what I was going for, but it's a step.  I'm not sure what direction, though.

Today he's a shrieker.  For the last 2 hours there is a cat being stepped on sound that happens with no warning over things that only he sees as transgressions.  Small things that I just don't see coming set him off and his little body goes rigid, his head snaps back and his face contorts while this ungodly high pitched noise comes out of his mouth.  I'm unable to circumvent problems, because even he doesn't know what the problem is.  An offer of an activity that is usually a favorite makes him run in place with tears streaming down his agonized face, and if I don't let him do something that is known for being forbidden he acts surprised and throws himself to the floor in despair.  I told him to stop hitting Jack and to play nice.  The level of anguish that my saying that caused was unbelievable, I just stood there with my mouth hanging open, watching him unravel.  He's an emotional wreck and it's hasn't let up.  He wanted to draw on my grocery list and I was still trying to write = he shrieks.  I finally give him his own pen and try to write around him = he shrieks and throws the pen because he wants it all to himself.  I give him his own notebook = he shrieks and rolls around on the floor because he wants my list.  When I told him not to draw on himself and only on the paper = wow.  I'm surprised I didn't spontaneously combust.  He looked at me like I was the most disgusting thing he's ever seen and ran away screaming.  That hurt coming from a kid who plays with dog poop at the park.
The boys are playing like boys, which means there are a lot of heavy thuds and random crashes coming from their room, and usually that's fine.  But today, every few minutes Mitch comes running out to throw himself on my lap and wail like nothing will ever be right again and Jack follows him as far as the doorway to watch with a look of scared confusion.  He looks at me like he's asking "What is WRONG with him?"  I don't know, honey.  I don't know.
I keep telling myself that if I can stay sane and keep him alive until nap time it will all be okay.  He can scream in his bed and I can lay on the couch and scream into a pillow and somehow everything will work out.  Maybe after he wakes up he will be back to being my sweet little boy that gives kisses and hugs, who laughs at everything and is kind to others.  That thought is the only thing keeping me together right now, so don't burst my bubble, okay?