The rages are the hardest to deal with.  It’s like living with the Incredible Hulk.  It happens so fast and usually for the stupidest reasons, like he missed a move in a game, or there isn’t anything to drink except water or milk and he’d rather die of thirst than drink either of those.  When it happens he loses his mind and any semblance of control.  He grabs the closest thing that will do damage and starts hitting.  He has broken so many storage tubs I could support Sterlite or Rubbermaid single handedly.  It doesn’t matter the cost.  I have to admit he has improved and it doesn’t happen as often as it used to.  The first week we lived in our apartment he put his fist through my bedroom door.  Why he picked my bedroom instead of his I don’t know.  If he’s smashed anything handy and hasn’t worked out the anger he turns on himself, hitting his arms and legs and torso as hard as he can.  If that still doesn’t do it he cuts his arms or scratches deep scratches into his face, arms, and chest.  He says only the pain outside can make the inside pain stop.  And he screams at me.  It’s horrible.  I feel like I’m being beaten myself though he never touches me.  There’s no where I can go to escape.  I have to watch it, then clean up the broken mess when he is finished.  I’ve had his clothes scattered and piled all over the floor because he has pounded his storage to sharp bits.  The pressure I feel causes horrific headaches.  His dad keeps telling me he would love to have him come live with him, but I know he couldn’t live with this.  I’d give it a month before there’s a murder/suicide.