Games

I spent much of my time around those who did not push me away just to learn from them. Older cousins, siblings, aunts, uncles, teachers were pretty accommodating….perhaps they never realized the differences in me. Honestly I preferred their companionship and couldn’t understand why I had to interact with those my age outside of the structure of the classroom. Some were friendly, encouraging, some thought of me as a project.

Those who did not push me away become my objects of observation. I had heroes and villains in my life, although I did not always know the difference until it was too late.

One such person was Hillary. Hillary was so very interesting. She was funny, outgoing, and had no problem making friends. However when she grew bored with her life she decided it was time to wreak havoc on others. I was probably third in line subject to her malice, but for some reason no one ever really talked about what she was done or what she was capable of, so she came to me without warning.

I was 11 years old when she convinced me to run away from home. I don’t even remember what she said to convince me to go with her, but looking back it was just another game she played to keep herself occupied. Autistics are in a peculiar position, not really being able to lie themselves, they cannot easily see another’s lies. This can make us very gullible. Furthermore, we can seem so mature with our adult-like language and analytical skills that parents tend to not worry about any possibility of irresponsibility. The lies she told and the manipulation she had over me had me wandering our small town at 3 in the morning on numerous occasions before this last incident…against all my better judgment because at that age you really don’t have any.

Closure brings itself to your door very rarely, but when that happens I think it's more for their benefit then yours and can be entirely selfish. Reiterating how much you've changed doesn't change the fact that what's done is done and it cannot be changed no matter who you are now. Thinking you can leave a mess in the wake of your tornado-like existence, ruining everything you touch and then saying sorry is not going to pick up the pieces. 15 years is a long, LONG time to contemplate all of what has happened and you cannot undo it at your will.

My Rock My God.

I miss a lot of things in my life due to this invisible condition I have, that most people like to pretend doesn’t exist. I missed my son’s kindergarten graduation today…and as I sat completely torn apart, unable to move to the door, I was growing more angry with myself by the minute. Writhing in pain of my inability to shake off fear and illness, I felt worthless. I cried a mountain of tears in frustration and mental anguish. How can I let myself freeze like this when I am so obviously needed? Do I not have an instinct that overrides all other conditions?

But I know how it is when I push myself too far. I would rather not let myself be consumed and turn into something I cannot control. I have worked so hard to cast off all that sensory irritation by preventative measures no one could even begin to imagine. I only want to be a good mother where I can use that soft voice and not feel the need to push them away when they become affectionate. When I quit listening to that optimistic voice in my head saying “You can do this!” my life got so much better. Their lives got so much better. It is better to recognize when I can’t do this. It is better on a myriad of levels.

Desperate, not wanting to let my son down twice in one day, I tried to push myself and find some sort of rock to hold onto so that I could do what was needed to be done. For autistics, we need for ourselves a support system. Mine is heavily dependent on my husband who can be the constant thing when everything else is changing and overwhelming. Luckily, I am no longer too proud to admit when I need help and my help arrived so that I could be the mother I wanted to be today. Proud and happy with tears in my eyes as my son danced across that stage like he was the only one there. And I was the only one watching. It was a moment I am so thankful for God to have given me the chance to make new friends that can help me be the mother I want to be and accept myself for who I am...even if I cannot sit alone in that audience.

(V for) Vendetta

I was 19 when I found the love of my life…and also when I had found for myself a mortal enemy bent on destroying me. It came from the most unlikely of places…

Six years later, an image burned in my brain as my to-be husband and I were at our rehearsal dinner, at the altar practicing our vows and I looked out to see her back to me. Her face turned to the side, fidgeting in the pew and looking anywhere but at the front of the church with a look of annoyance blatant and obvious. Even up to the day before, she didn’t want this to happen.

Fast forward to now. Why don’t I ever get invited to anything? Why are there plans for parties and showers and things that never reach my ears? Why is it I have never met his family other than the immediate grandmother, aunt or uncle? Apparently I sat right next to members of his family to the one thing I did get invited to and never had a clue. Are people too ashamed to acknowledge me?

I’ll admit I’m a loose cannon. You never know what to expect from me…neither do I really. Due to events beyond my control, I have been permanently placed on the defense…my way of trying to prevent the repetition of pain. The source of this pain is constant, throughout my entire life I have been ostracized and belittled, and until recently everyone claimed to be blind to it. My defensive nature I think made others assume I was partially to blame. I don’t know and I really don’t care anymore: there’s no reason to point fingers back in time. Can you blame Dr. Jekyll for Mr. Hyde?

I hit the reset button when I accepted the diagnosis…but so many others are slow to reset it themselves and get to know who I really am. That is, who I am when I’m not on the defense. I have found forgiveness from many people I never dreamed possible, many things for which I have found atonement. Yet there are so many others out there that do not care to atone and forgive. How hard this is to let go.

Making Friends

It's kinda like dating. A few folks I've met in my kids' school I've found on facebook and added as a means to speed up the "friending process". It seems like a sheepish, and easy way to find out if you have anything in common, or as a way of warning a potential friend about my social shortcomings so that they might be more patient with me. I give verbal warnings as well, but I feel like I'm constantly clutching my disability as an excuse and it might get on people's nerves. But it's all new to me too, especially the part of me claiming the label, thus adding even more to the awkwardness of it all.

Unfortunately, I feel for many the window of opportunity has passed for moving things to another level, like there is an expiration to escalating such friendships. If I don't move things to a new level after a few months, then I've lost the opportunity I think. I've lost a few opportunities this way because I get intimidated...unfortunately knowing me, it can take a year or more (usually more) to get to any kind of comfort zone to socialize outside of structured settings.

And then there's the disclaimers. Being friends will mean limited eye contact and conversation because of the inability to do both at the same time or process sensory stimuli properly...limited social abilities and seemingly rude and empathetic responses...quirks that will embarrass you....

It's too bad when I say off the wall stuff without having these disclaimers available for others. Nobody's perfect, right?

Hello my name is Aileen and I have Autism

It's true, I was poor growing up. It's true, if I had access to insurance of any kind I probably would have been diagnosed a lot sooner. Do I regret not being diagnosed? Sometimes. Am I angry about it? Not anymore. I think that's part of the denial phase of diagnosis. Sometimes I blame the lack of diagnosis for all the mistakes I've made and the people I've hurt, but mostly for pushing God away. I realize it would be selfish of me not to forgive myself when God easily forgives me and that makes things so much easier on me. I don't think He wants me to dwell on the negative, but look at the positive and make my lemonade.

There You Are

My father was 41 when I was born, exactly. He was older than most of the dads of the neighbor kids and the kids at school; I always attributed that to why we got along so well. Growing up, my father did construction work therefore I did not see him a lot in the warmer summer months when the work was abundant. I would monopolize his time on the rare occasions he was not working, running errands with him and just simply following him around like a puppy most days. I’m sure if he let me I would have went to work with him as well. He didn’t mind my constant presence. When I would hop in the truck beside him, I could see him smile off to the side, looking out the windshield of the rusty old ford as he waited for me to buckle. He never really looked directly at me even when talking (which was rare because he was a quiet man), and I enjoyed that. Eye contact is so intrusive. We would run his errands in perpetual silence, in our own worlds. Sometimes he would strain to make some inane conversation, but the little he did say to me I appreciated and gratefully reciprocated. How few words we would use to make a conversation was astounding. I knew how hard it was for him to communicate, because I knew how hard it was for me. Rainy days when there was no inside work for him were my favorite days. Sometimes he would be home on sunny days as well. I still did not have friends and I didn’t need them if I had him because it was far more fun to follow him than to follow the neighbor kids or my older sister (who was hardly around and almost always irritable). On the weekends, probably every other weekend or every third weekend when the grass was grown far too high to easily mow, he would get out in the hot son in his white hanes undershirt, jean shorts and his big straw hat that had a green sunvisor panel embedded in the front. He would also wear his gigantic sunglasses that fit over his normal glasses. He looked rather stupid. I followed him as he mowed too. I liked the deafening sound of the motor. I liked the routine in making a square as you mowed to the center. I would get rather annoyed when he would back up a few steps to bend the grass the other way (I did say it was way too long) and recut it. He would almost always step on my feet because I was moving behind him as if propelled by some unseen force.

On Sundays, rain or shine, summer or winter, we went to church. I really didn’t care what was going on there, I simply followed my father. My mother always stayed home and watched church on TV. She was perpetually sick and was content to stay home just the same as on the weekdays. I loved the routine, we would go to church, sometimes get donuts and always buy a Sunday paper from Dunkin Donuts, and then go home. I would go with my father to church every Sunday until the Sunday I heard the priest chastise alternative sexualities. I immediately quitted the Catholic church and never went back. I had never heard such hatred toward a group like that and I didn’t feel church was the appropriate place for hatred to breed or manifest. I didn’t care what anyone’s views were on the subject really and I attributed the same intolerance I witnessed there to every religion and eventually most everyone. So I pushed God away. This was not the God that I had learned to know and love. These organized religions are full of hate, and I felt they were listening to the wrong God. I needed to develop my own belief system instead of blindly following. Thus began my journey to class rebel Garber High school, class of 1998.

It took me a long time to find irrefutable evidence that I could not ignore or question. Even when I had my first son, this was the undeniable proof I needed but I was still too stubborn to listen. My second son felt different to me because this time I was married and having children was expected and encouraged. I was blending into society. Now I am 29 and realizing how much I have missed. How much love is there for me and how many things I can learn to let go of with His strength. You don’t want to accept my facebook friend request? That’s fine. I have other friends and I have Jesus. As my son says, Jesus is my best friend. My son, my six-year old son, taught me who Jesus is and taught me His love. All these years I was not listening, but I could hear. All these years I was not watching, but I could see. I just ignored it all.

Article

Well, it's out. You can read portions of it here. I can't believe it's on the front page.