*Image description - lightly tanned woman's arm that has scars and a tattoo that reads 'I'm still here'.
Well, I did it. Yesterday was my birthday and I turned 44. Most people see 30, 40, or 50 as the big milestone birthdays but, for me, 44 is it.
I jokingly told my husband yesterday morning,"Okay, I made it. I can die now."
No, I don't plan on dying soon but I have now officially outlived my mother. She was 43 when she committed suicide and that's been looming over me (with the help of several craptastic 'professionals' over the years) for a long time.
She's been gone for almost 28 years now and I still don't know if she was consciously trying to kill me. I knew she didn't want me and she came right out and said she would have wanted to abort me if she'd known she was carrying a girl but did she really want to see me die? The only time she ever showed concern for my depression and suicide attempts was when there was someone, usually a therapist or caseworker, whom she wanted to play the 'good mother' for. One thing is for sure, she loved the attention it got her. Poor Barbara With The Crazy Daughter. How haaaaard it was for her. I was 13 before someone had the balls to call her out on her part in it all.
Her last words to me on the day she died was to call me a 'slut', repeatedly. She just found out that I had been raped the week before (or 'seduced that poor man', as the oh-so-fucking-predictable narrative goes) and had to come right over to see if she could break me the way she always used to be able to. But I wasn't nine years old anymore. Or twelve. I was 16 and had learned that when people enjoy hurting you the best defense was to not give them what they want. I kept my cool and calmly headed out the door for my therapy appointment. By the time I arrived he said she had already called him and told him what she had done. He wouldn't tell me what he said to her but he warned me that she was going to 'pull something dramatic' to try to win over everyone's sympathy because she knew she had gone too far.
Take a bottle of pills, drive straight to the hospital, and everyone will feel so sorry for her that they'll forget what a shit human being she is. That game probably would have worked on most of the family, too, except for a medical condition that caused the drug to hit her system faster than expected. There are some that believe that she killed herself because she was 'depressed' but I saw her that day. She was just an evil woman trying to hurt people and couldn't handle getting called out on it. I think she started out that day believing I would be the one to try and kill myself.
But she's gone and I'm still here. I made it.
*image description - Pink background with the words 'Don't compare your life to others. You have no idea what they have been through. - Sam Cawthorn'
I've been giving a lot of thought to authenticity online lately and my eldest daughter said something today that really struck me. She told me about an article she had read that talked about social media making people feel depressed because their lives didn't resemble the shiny, happy stories they were seeing their friends post. This made me think about my propensity for keeping my posts/tweets on the light side and how that doesn't give the full impression of my life. The thought that someone could compare their life to mine and feel that theirs falls short somehow kinda makes me giggle a little.
The thing is, my life is not just all about me. I will happily discuss my anxiety, sensory issues, and problems with social situations but they are my story. I have a husband and 3 kids who do not necessarily want or need me to share with the world what may be going on inside our walls.
This is especially the case with Evie. There are a gazillion blogs out there where parents complain about how hard their lives are because their kids are autistic. This has created the ableist impression that disabled children are burdens and the parents must magically be saints for loving them. I do not ever want to contribute to that nonsense because that's what it is. I much prefer to post cute or amusing anecdotes that illustrate what an incredible kid she is. We do go through rough patches but I don't talk about them publicly. Not because I want to give people the impression that our life is some 60's sitcom kind of perfect but because she deserves to not have her difficulties broadcast to the world.
The other piece of it is just basic therapy for me. Sometimes the only way I can make it through the day is by finding some grain of positive in the middle of a whole bunch of yuck and focusing on it with all my might. I'm really not a Pollyanna (although I recognize that I may come across that way at times) but I just can't see the point in wallowing when I know that counting my blessings will help elevate my mood. I can't do it all of the time, and sometimes it's much easier than at other times, but I try.
While I'm sure that some people are putting on a false front for the sake of misleading people into thinking their lives are better than they really are, I know that many of us are being genuine. We're just not posting everything that happens in our lives.
I mean, seriously. Do any of you really need to know that for some reason the big toe on my right foot is suddenly sprouting a full head of hair? WTF is up with that even?
*Image description - green and black background with the words 'I cannot build a life worth living by pretending to be someone I'm not'. Image credit - Landon Bryce
Like many (if not most) autistics, I suck at the superficial. Small talk is difficult and I much prefer meaningful conversation. For perhaps the 542,370 time I have had a friend point out that sharing too much online can bring on badness. I know this intellectually but it doesn't seem to have an effect on my approach to online socialization.
I am Heart-on-my-sleeve This-is-what-I'm-thinking Gal and no matter how many times it comes back to bite me in the ass I just can't manage to be any other way. Oh, I'm sure I could with some discipline. I could start posting nothing but quick snapshots of popular interests but that's just not me. If I am going to interact with other people it strikes me as pointless if there's no actual connection.
I don't expect the world to care about what I'm thinking or feeling at that moment or what amusing thing my kid just said or what my favorite song is that day but it's all me. Not everyone will like me and that's totally cool. I don't like everyone and would expect no different. So while I may be doling out ammunition for the less pleasant types to use against me, it allows everyone to see who I am and decide whether I'm someone they want to get to know. I have made some amazing friends online (plus landed me a wonderful husband in the process) so the good has far outweighed the bad.
For me offering up a sanitized image of myself to avoid potential badness from others online would be like never wearing anything considered 'too revealing' to avoid possibly being raped. I'm doing nothing wrong by being myself and it shouldn't be my responsibility to prevent the bad behavior of others. If they want to behave badly they will do so regardless of what I choose to post.
So I will keep on keeping on. Those who like people like me can find me and stick around and those who don't can know to pass me by.
This morning, as I sputtered about one of my conditions making things difficult for me, my husband implied for perhaps the millionth time that he believed my disabilities were actually a blessing.
"Without them I think you would be arrogant and have less tolerance for people."
This cracks me up every time because I have been called a 'snob' enough in my life to believe that others see me as arrogant anyway, and tolerant? Ugh. Most of the time I feel like I'm The Most Intolerant Person On the Planet and it feels squicky.
This is because I have been told that my expectations of people are too high, too many times. To be fair, it's usually come from folks who behaved badly and were trying to deflect from their own nonsense but it makes me second guess myself nonetheless.
Don't be mean.
Do be genuine.
Don't be manipulative or play games.
Do be respectful of other people.
Are these expectations really 'too high'?
People, especially online, violate these expectations pretty regularly. Depending on the situation I may give a few chances but I inevitably end up walking away. Partly because those negative behaviors bother me so much and partly because I believe in the 'birds of a feather' bit. I don't want to associate with folks who exhibit traits that I wouldn't want others believing I possess. I am acutely aware of my propensity for black and white thinking but I also believe that we reinforce bad behavior by letting it slide.
So I distance myself and then I'm The Bad Guy. This creates a kind of perpetual inner conflict because I do try so hard to be good. I hurt for those who are suffering and I try daily to do things that will lift people up, even if it's only for a moment or two. I try to be kind and helpful and make people laugh. Is it wrong that I can't do these things for people who behave badly?
I know I'm not a saint but I try to make the space I take up in this world not suck for those I interact with.
But it can feel pretty crappy with this inner voice constantly whispering,"You're not good enough. If you were a really good person you would tolerate those character flaws"
Would I feel differently if I wasn't disabled? Would I just think I was better than everyone else and not care about being a good person? I dunno. I can't even imagine what it would be like but maybe that's just because I'm autistic. Ha.
One problem with being an autistic woman is that it can be very difficult to tell when something occurs because you're autistic or because you're a woman or if it's because of both.
'A woman's intuition' is a thing that most, if not all of us have heard of and, yet, we're often written off as 'hysterical' or 'dramatic' when we utilize it. Most of us have an internal alarm system to warn us when we're in danger but a lifetime of hearing that we're just being drama queens can cause us to ignore those alarms which can lead to finding ourselves in bad situations that should have been avoided.
I can't speak for any other woman out there but I know that almost every abusive situation I have found myself in had plenty of red flags pop up that I either ignored or excused away because I second guessed myself and doubted my internal alarm system. I believe on some level abusers know this and count on it. The abuse --> abuser's expressed remorse --> victim's forgiveness cycle just perpetuates it.
"See? I was wrong. They're a good person. I know because they feel really bad about it."
As an autistic, it is very easy for me to miss malicious intent because I simply can't comprehend it. Oh, I've had it explained to me a million times and I could list off the reasons I've heard given for it but my brain still can't wrap around it. I end up dismissing my inner voice when it tries to speak up on the matter because of this. "Whoa. That was really mean but why would they be mean to me? I must be misunderstanding."
Some people get off on hurting others. Some people get off on control. It's a thing. We know it's a thing and yet we let badness slide because we second guess ourselves. Why do we do this? Especially those of us who have had the unfortunate experience of finding ourselves in these situations more than once? Nothing makes me annoyed with myself faster than the realization that I have made the same mistake more than once. Fortunately most of the people in recent years that I have formed relationships with, whether romantic or platonic in nature, have been with good people. I don't think there are as many bad apples as it can appear sometimes but they sure do a lot of damage when they turn up.
As an autistic I am pretty good at spotting patterns of behavior but I think I need to streamline my approach to assessing potentially abusive relationships. I don't need to be kicked in the face multiple times to determine that someone is a facekicker. We all have the right to protect ourselves and I'm adopting a 'one strike and you're out' system from this point forward. I am very open and this gives abusers a lot of ammunition. Instead of hiding to protect myself I have decided to continue to be open and simply observe how people respond to my openness. If I mention I'm bi and they respond by telling me what shits bi people are? I know they're unsafe. If I mention I'm autistic and they respond by being condescending or gaslighting me? I know they're not safe. Instead of saying,"Why would they be mean to me? I must be misunderstanding." I will say,"Unfriend. Unfollow. Block."
My gut feeling has been right, time and time again, and I need to stop gaslighting myself and start listening to it when it's warning me.
Okay, so those of us in the autistic community see that phrase, 'not like my child', on a near daily basis. Not only is it dismissive of any opinions we may express over our experiences with being autistic but it's mind blowingly absurd anyway. I'm a 43 year old woman. I'm 'not like' anyone's child, autistic or neurotypical.
But that's not what this little rant is about anyway. It's the assumption that my 5 year old child must not be 'like their child' simply because I talk about 'acceptance' instead of pissing and moaning about hating my life.
Parenting is hard - full stop. Don't tell me I don't understand and then list off all the areas where your child struggles or needs supports in an attempt to make them sound as 'bad' as possible. Newsflash - I could say all the same things about my child but I don't. I don't because she is a human being who doesn't deserve to have her difficulties spread all over the internet so her parents can get sympathy and attention from strangers. I don't because she is all kinds of adorable and funny and awesome and that's what we embrace and wish to share. I don't because so many of the things listed as being so horrible don't strike me as being a big deal anyway. It amazes me that the supports we offer young children in the toileting or safety departments suddenly become something to cry to strangers on the internet about when it's an older autistic child/adult involved.
If people put the energy into appreciating their child's strengths that they do into lamenting their child's weaknesses we wouldn't need to keep having this awareness/acceptance debate. We are human beings. We deserve acceptance and not the negative 'awareness' that is constantly being spread about us. When you are demonizing your autistic child for internet sympathy you are demonizing ALL of us and, yes, we take that personally.
*image description: caption with red background reads - 'I need your acceptance much more than I need autism awareness' alongside a photo of a smiling blond haired 3 year old girl who happens to be my incredibly adorable daughter.
I am going to preface this post by saying I am not going to kill myself. I'll even say it twice. I am not going to kill myself. Now that that is out of the way...
The disability community has been abuzz recently due to articles like this - People on the autism spectrum live an average of 18 fewer years than everyone else, study finds and I have hesitated to share them on Facebook because I don't want people, my children specifically, to worry. Turns out I have too many thoughts on the subject to keep my mouth shut, though.
I have an odd mixture of horror and relief reading about the suicide stats. Nine times more likely to commit suicide? 14% of autistic children think about suicide? I'm horrified for my tribe but relieved to know on some level that it's not just me being 'crazy' again. This sense of doom that I have lived with my whole life has a reason to exist.
I'm a bi, Autistic whose mother committed suicide. That's, what? Like the Trifecta of Doom? The other day I thought,"I probably have something like a 1 in 10 chance of not killing myself", but it actually made me giggle. Partly because I'm kind of twisted like that but mainly because I have this little voice in my head that gets really scrappy when people try telling me what I'm supposed to do. Oh, wait...you're saying I'm expected to kill myself? Pffft. Bite me. Just for that I won't even if I really, really wanted to.
And there are some moments when I do want to. Life can be really hard and the thought of a nice long dirt nap has its appeal but I would never do that to my family. I don't want my kids to ever know that feeling of doom. Right now I'm at that magical age (43) that my mother was when she died. I had professionals tell me for decades that this would be a hard year for me but, again, don't tell me what I'm supposed to feel or do. Scrappy kicks in. And while the subject has been on my mind lately it has had much more to do with the Swedish study and less to do with any feeling of connection to her.
The sense of doom is just something there to live with, like the tremor or the feeling of being a freak. It breaks my heart to think that so many of my tribe feel the same but at least we're not alone in this. This world is not autism friendly so it's not 'crazy' to have thoughts of escaping it. We just need to try and focus on the things in it that are worth staying here for.
