Why, exactly, did I have children?

I hate to post in this frame of mind, but I don't have all that many moments not in this frame these days. I am beyond tired, beyond hopeless, into mindless rage and chest crushing futility. Last night was by far the worst. I don't think I slept more than half an hour at a time until after 6:30 this morning. And don't think I handled it well, because I certainly didn't. I woke my poor husband up at 3:30 by sobbing into his back.

I am, as I type this, engaged in a screaming battle with my five year old from the first floor to the second. He has been in his room for 2.5 hours. His first day back at school is tomorrow. He started the evening by sobbing that he doesn't ever want to go back to school, that he wishes he'd never been born, and that he wants someone to kill him. It was so disturbing that it wrenched me out of my own Dantean Inferno of rapidly deteriorating mental health temporarily, but I'm well past concern now and back into rage and exhaustion, and if he does not go to sleep very. fucking. soon. I am seriously going to lose my shit. I swear to god, the palms of my hands are hot with the urge to slap him and my head aches from not screaming abuse. I do not have enough left of me to handle this right now. Thank goodness the house is big enough that I can just separate myself from him physically and thereby keep him safe.

5 year old just said to his brother (who he just woke up with all the screaming), "Mommy doesn't even like me." Truer words were never spoken, my small psychic friend. I love him, as evidenced by him still living and breathing, but like? Not right now. Right now, there is very little that I like.