New Years Eve? I don't get holidays

As I see it, the average nt creates and enjoys holidays to a) get a day off work and get paid b) excuses to get together with other nts c) any reason to party, get naked and drunk
I'm not an nt.  What exactly are we celebrating? I don't get this new years eve thingy, anymore than I understand Christmas, Easter or Columbus day. They make no logical sense to me. Maybe it's because I don't work and am a recluse. Or maybe it's just my Aspie sensibility whereby in order to do anything it must have a predictable outcome and damn good.
I don't care for the redneck obligatory gunfire and firecrackers neither, mind you. Geez, it sounded like Sam Christmas was out on my front porch shooting off the shotgun,
I am not nt fun. I don't believe anything should be celebrated but birth, marriage and death.
Anyway, that's my opinion.
AspieAmy signing out.

Silence is my preference

I'm a reluctant talker, mostly. Speaking has always proven to require effort, whether it be a little or a whole lot, or anywhere in between. Speech, to this autistic, is akin to a muscle. I use it or lose it, meaning that the longer I go without engaging in conversations, the harder it is to start talking. It's like I lose the ability to converse. I forget what needs saying or mentioning. I kinda get comfortably lost within myself.
Even my thoughts have grown hushed, barely whispers. I have little use for outside noise either. I'm at peace in the silence.
I've actually been feeling very healthy and been pleasantly busy.
I'm just not feeling like sharing.
Be well

I didn't deserve it

I didn't deserve to have my parents screw me up so. It would have been nice to have been able to grow up with my mind and emotions intact. It would have been appropriate to have had an adult that protected, loved and cared for me.
I did nothing, not a damn thing to deserve this miserable, fucked up state of being.
It would be nice to be even semi-normal where by every day wasn't such a goddamn struggle. I would have loved to have the ability to work, make money of my own, to sleep without nightmares, and to have some innate sense of self-worth.
I was innocent, completely, irrevocably, innocent and I was given to parents as a plaything.
I wish I could just get over it, let the past be the past and just forget about it. The scars were too deep and numerous to do just that.
Why am I the one that has to pay? God, they stripped me bare and took everything. I soo did not deserve it.


Now, I spend the rest of my life trying to bandage and heal the wounds. Some days I am absolutely fucking sick of it! My life is spent trying to get through each day with minimal damage. I've been in therapy over fifteen years of my life and I will probably be in therapy every week for the remainder of my life. Does this seem fucking fair? It wasn't my fault, yet I am the one who as got to pay. This seems so warped and twisted. God, I'm fucking tired of being miserable and in need of mending and fixing. I'm tired of needing other people to try and understand the fucked up hell that I come from and live. I'm tired of constantly holding out my hand. I'm tired of people seeing my sadness or not knowing its there.


I cannot believe the price I am paying for someone else's crime!
This is the hand I was dealt...I don't believe it's fair....I don't like it...and it Sucks

Living without a cheerleader

There are some drawbacks to being a recluse without extended family or close friends you talk with every week....there are no cheerleaders, no compliments, no high fives. It's not anything new. I can only think of two relationships in which there was appropriate and warranted verbal and physical cheerleading.
That one paragraph....says a ton more than I had anticipated.
No wonder I'm flabbergasted when I receive a compliment. Off the top of my head, I'd say, honestly, I might hear three or four a month.
Why does this fact seem so veryvery wrong?....and extremely sad? Wow, something's got to give.
Pondering

What Is Real?

As I was sitting here painting...a thought came to me.
If I can't see it, it doesn't exist. If I can't touch it, it isn't real.
I can attribute large parts of this to my two main factors, autism and multiplicity, but there is one other factor that came to mind.
This week, I received a Christmas card from my mother. The same mother who showed zero grief at dads visitation and the same woman who told me to keep my mouth shut. Her card was an empty holiday greeting hinting not that any altercation or animosity had transpired so recently between the two of us.
See, my mother has always been like this, denying "reality", so as a child I was enormously confused.
Mother never thought we were poor or needed assistance. Her husband never beat or raped her children. Her children were rarely sick enough to ever go to a doctor. Our clothes were just fine. They really. Didn't smell or need washing or mending. A washer and dryer weren't necessities for everyday life. And neither was heat or hot water. Apparently, this was all normal and everyone lived like this.
I was trapped in her very assbackward reality where things appeared and disappeared without notice, rhyme or reason.
To this day, she swears to be the best, most loving and caring mother. Hmmm. I guess I was the only one that saw things a little differently.
Seriously, she sent me a card....from her reality.

Varying Levels of Pain

I'm discovering..that pain has many exquisite layers..and I am meticulously examining each one. As I hesitantly and with great reserve...evolve and coalesce...passing through one barbed layer, a next one arises, engulfs and consumes me. Like the multi-headed Hydra, no sooner do I slay and overcome one malicious head/ beastly affliction, than another one..or two is born.
I feel like such an ill-equipped champion.
At this point in time, for the past couple of days...I am in a painful, struggling place. The only possible, maybe place of assistance is therapy...which is an incredibly long 10 days away.  My only chance of relief....Laying out in the wet, freezing snow till death mercifully takes me Is another option.
If I broke both my arms...it would Truly feel better than this.
If only I drank or did drugs....pitiful.
Believe it or don't...this may be progress. Having numbed myself through disassociation for years, maybe this is just another arduous, profane and horrid step to humanness. Yuck, I shudder as I say that word.
Integration is so Not all its cracked up to be. It's an incredibly abysmal, lonely and defenseless place. Every day a new venture through candyland and hell. Virginal ground, dilemmas and fresh challenges await each step. Integration is a master clusterfuck...I'm just sayin.
Every facet of my inner life has changed...even my nighttime dreams. Each dream is...full, overflowing with objects, peoples, events. It's like each one dream is a compilation of two or three. Say, one person dreams and there are two main characters and twelve objects in one room...now double it. There is sooo much going on, taking place and cluttering space.
I continue to startle awake once or twice throughout the night. Not sure why...too many possibilities.
And that is when I manage to actually fall asleep.
I spend wayway too much time daydreaming, hoping, wishing I was at therapists office. Since I can't find respite within anymore, I fantasize about a safe hiding place with out.
It's like my security and stability of dissociation was ripped away and I'm just a walking, stumbling wound....silently praying for help.
My current painly aches...I cannot fix alone. It's just physically impossible.
I continue to search for solutions. I continue to think about the prospect of a slow frozen death....
I don't know. I think...my only hope is to busy and distract my self enough...to try not to feel so deeply or think too much.
Just trying to escape this unknown hell of sensation, feeling...
God, sometimes I hate my life
Pass me the magic wand

Sometimes it feels....

Like I am alone...standing within four empty walls. Outside the walls, everything and everyone is gone.



There is nothing beyond me. What was once there...has left..disappeared, no longer exists.
My hands cry and weep.
Hmm, once again, anger was running around my house slamming doors and pounding floors in disgust.
And I just wanted to leave.
I didn't want to be the scared frightened child anymore, that was always to blame. I wanted to run, but my legs don't work right now.
I severely miss the people, the parts of me that integrateted last month. They were kinda like freedom. Now, as an adult, I feel pretty damn trapped. I can't get what those integrated parts need. And it's frustrating, as I beat my head against the rubber room wall.

I continue my shutdown. My mind is back up and running and wants to accomplish about a dozen projects and task...then I stand up and realize that physically, I ain't going nowhere fast.  The usual frustration, of the uncertainty of when shutdown will end. I don't do feeling helpless with any degree of comfort. And, even though Therapist Sowise, reinforced my dire need to do nothing but rest and that things can wait...proved excellent advice, in the real world, a sink full of dishes is call for angry temper tantrums. Once again, it's all my fault even though I was completely helpless to change it. Really, dirty dishes in a cluttered kitchen is more cause for alarm than a person who barely can move enough to feed herself? Priorities, priorities.
God, I grow tired I'd this aloneness. I can't remember the last time someone just wanted to sit next to e or hold my hand or cuddle. Jesus, I ask so much.


I put my hands in my pocket and stare at the darkness.

I grow weary of reliving my childhood whereby "love" and self-worth was tied to how well I could clean the living room and cook dinner. I failed and felt like a failure, no good, worthless. I tried my best as I didn't like the punishment, but I could never get it done "good enough".

When I was sick, it was always my fault. No one comforted or cared for me. I was ostracized and sent to stay in my room so as not to contaminate the others with my germs. Being sick meant being punished as well.

So I am helpless in my autistic shutdown. No one gives a shit. I am resented for not being able to do my chores. WTF. History repeats itself.

Really?

Aspergers and Learning to Play

I never learned how to play. As an autistic child, play was a foreign concept. I'd sit in stunned confusion as I'd watch the other kids amuse themselves. At the tender age of 49, this Aspie is learning the rules of play.
Webster defines Play as: 1 to move lightly, rapidly, or erratically; flutter [note to self, they are not talking about hand flapping, arm and finger tics or rapid, erratic pacing]
2 to amuse oneself, as by taking part in a game or sport; engage in recreation [note to self, counting floor tiles, cracks in the ceiling, watching clouds float and imagining walls and barriers all around oneself, do not count here]


My definition of play is to engage in a form of entertainment that is not distressful, in which there are no rules and the outcome is arbitrary.
As an Aspie, my every waking moment is defined by very strict rules and guidelines for conduct and daily activities. From the moment I get out of bed, the routine must strictly be adhered to. My food is identical every morning. The timing in which I get dressed and get my little guy ready for school must be close to exact.
Getting washed and dressed, like everything else, is a well thought out and honed procedure.
Play is very odd. It's hard to drop the formalities, the need for rules and order with a number of possible projected outcomes. Play is delving into the great unknown. It's living in the present moment. It's deciphering what feels right, at the time and trusting that it will be okay....even with an uncertain outcome. It's being willing to bend...to lay down the sword and scepter and allowing flow past the walls of rigid routine.


To build, to create an original craft or art project means being willing to be okay with imperfection.....trusting and listening to that very subdued and hidden little voice .
Uncertainty, within parameters, Can be an okay thing. I didn't say it was comfortable, but it's an interesting new place to explore. Releasing the need to project and know all possible outcomes....takes the fun out of things.
We need our lives to be predictable and safe. Our patterns and routines allow us the greatest feelings of safety and security. Never feel negative about our rituals. They are who we are. There is no shame in feeling safe and comfortable.


Play, it's a new thingy I'm learning about.

Aspergers way of thinking

I'm still in shutdown. My body is heavily exhausted but my mind is restless, thus I lay here and write.
I've learned and observed a number of things, this past week, that I don't want to forget. I hope to expound more on these at a near future point.
My mind is constantly turned on, hence my difficulty in sleeping and being fully present. It's like standing on the shore and constantly pulling on a thick rope...attached to that ship you just know is on the end of the line, just beyond the horizon. You never stop pulling, tugging, struggling to reach ....something. If I were to put the rope down...I would be lost, confused and aimless.
Aspies spend large amounts of time trying to put words to feelings, sensations and experiences that most people don't have and have never been written or spoken aloud except in muted, obscure terms amongst Aspies themselves.
We talk and ask questions as if we were foreigners. We are simpletons here, appear brilliant and resplendent, intelligent and wise, yet....we don't understand what a salad fork is for, or why are there holidays, or social customs, that can hurt us like handshakes and chitchat.
We make up our own language to describe the intensity of how we feel. Dark means standard nighttime. Darkdark means scarey double dark. Veryvery means twice as intense as very. Realreal means real without a doubt. Your words are simply too lame, tame and obtuse.....so we make our own, not in vanity but in our truth.
Confusion makes up the better part of our day and contributes to ongoing frustration within, with the outside. The problem isn't when we are alone..,it's mostly when we interact outside of ourselves. It's quite a hefty barrier between the nt and my autistic self. What works best is if both parties willingly and with Great effort attempt to work together and try and understand the other.
We are hopelessly naive and trusting, at times. We mistakenly believe that others, nts, share the same intense honest we have within our Aspie selves. But it is far from true. Aspies frequently imply a strict...higher standard, if you will of morals and ethics.

Aspies can be "rescuers", altruistic ambassadors of the highest order. If I see someone without a coat, I immediately give them mine. I see a person without shoes...I give them mine. I see a person in ripped, dirty shirt...well...you get the picture. Pretty soon, I'm standing there naked.
It's a strong compulsion, a deeply felt desire to save the world from the pain of hunger, poverty, addiction, homelessness and even there own stupidity. And it's hard to...turn away..stop trying to help everyone.

It can feel hopeless....when you have known the pangs of hunger...and you want no one else to ever feel a hint of the intensity of That despair.
I've been hungry. I've been physically beaten. I've been molested. I've been very poor. I've had days where I wasn't sure where I'd be living or sleeping the next night. I've felt the aloneness so deep and dark...of being an orphan, a vagabond in a strange city of strangers. I've had nowhere to turn...nowhere to go...no one who gave a shit...days where I was sure no one knew or cared I was alive. I've been locked and trapped in the screaming silence of incest and in the mute confusion of autism.
Look at me now!

Problem is....I can see others pain..the pains I have personally exerienced..I can see in others. I see the children who are starving for love and food. I see the ones who are hit...and the ones where daddy does bad shit. I see the adults.....who carry their grief and pain like dragging bloody bandages trailing behind them. And I turn away. And I can not help them....the pain of knowing another's pain....
People wonder why I avoid eye contact. It hurts to see pain, silly.
I live within my unique world of autism.
Just felt like sharing some shit.
Be well.
Be nice to yourself.
Why can't people see that they are beautiful?

Shutdown

I can barely walk...talk...think
I survived three very unpleasant, painful "incidents" of outsiders invading my personal space, verbal "assaults". On the three consecutive days last week.
I accomplished visiting my imprisoned son, eight hours away.
I am exhausted during the day.
I cannot sleep well. I wake up every single hour from horrid, scarey nightmares involving my dad, brothers, being helpless, trapped, trying to escape.


I am, basically, tormented night and day. Fearing attacks, not physically, from outsiders. Feeling vulnerable and unable to protect and defend myself in my weakened, exhausted condition.
I function minimally at best.
I cannot, I ferociously avoid the news, newspapers, radio news...cannot process, cannot run fast enough away of horror that hurts me so fiercely.
Cannot process...cannot fathom...shutdownshutdownshutdown
Trying to make the pain stop.


Dark rooms, closed drapes my greatest friends.
Maxed out, overstimulated, shutitdownyall

Asking for help, special treatment or guilt

It's hard to ask for help. My overly high expectations of myself cause me to want to just suck up and deal with whatever comes my way. As it is difficult for me to measure/ evaluate my level of physical pain, it is equally hard to determine what is uncomfortable and to what degree.
Do I shut up, man up and deal with an upcoming social situation? Or do I...somehow figure that the stress lode may be too great and ask someone to help me get out of or change the upcoming event?
See, I don't like being special like that. I'm uncomfortable acknowledge that I need help. I don't know which mandatory situations I Have to attend to or which ones I have a say in changing, postponing, altering or eliminating.
I am highly intelligent...why do I need help? Why can't I handle every situation completely on my own? What if I ask and no one can help?
I have no barometer, no way to measure how much discomfort and stress is "normal". Do others have this much anxiety? What is too much anxiety?
Nobody can tell me what a "normal" person feels like and experiences. I can not comprehend.
Case in point, until I went on anti anxiety meds, about five years ago, I did not know or feel that I was stressed and anxious. Once I started the medication, I realized that I was running at about 8 on the 1-10 anxiety scale, with 10 being unrelenting and pure chaos. I did not know I needed meds because my normal was feeling agitated and nervous everyday. What I know and experience is All I know. I cannot compare.


The Aspie runs on her own engine, on her own track, never seeing the other trains.  In my case, all the other engines were going muchmuch slower.
I don't know when it's appropriate and proper to ask for assistance, so I just suck it up and deal. I cannot comprehend and measure my own pain, emotional and physical, and my wn discomfort.
I'm not difficult, just perpetually confused.
It's so weird...I feel like I'm manipulating people when I ask for help. After all I'm an adult and intelligent, can't I handle everything?
I can't predict any events or situations, in the future. I am completely clueless as to how I will react or feel in the Actual Moment. When I cross the bg Mackinaw Bridge, I never know if it will produce a panic attack until I'm actually on the bridge. I can be totally nervous the entire drive to the bridge, and then nonchalant, with absolutely no fear, cross it. Other times, I have been perfectly calm the way to the bridge, only to totally freak out once I actually saw it.
The uncertainty of being me.


I never knw what tomorrow brings...much less the next moment.

So Long, Farewell, good Riddance

I said goodbye to my dad, a couple months ago. I said good riddance to most of my family at dads funeral.
When my mother said the unthinkable...when she told me to keep quiet, I walked away from her, forever. The chains fell from my wrists, at her feet, as I turned, head held high and walked away. In the next twenty steps, I realized I was saying goodbye to many more than just her. I relinquished seven of my siblings, their spouses, my nieces and nephews and all my maternal aunts, uncles and cousins.

I took the high road. The road of morality, dignity and self-respect, and I left them all. I never turned back. I'll never attend another family function with that dysfunctional brood.
For years now, I'd held onto the whimsical, fantasy driven notion that someday we would all be a family again. So this event was quite the final straw.

I cast the rose into the swiftly flowing stream. I wash the dirt and filth from my hands.
I know I'm alone. And I'd rather be alone than a prisoner.
I've grown up and dropped the fairy tale life and happy endings.
It's okay to let them all go. It matters not what any of them think of me. I've stopped thinking of them. There's a lot more room in my brain, these days. My heart no longer wishes for that which was never real.
I can finally say Goodbye and Good Riddance. It just was not meant to be.
I move on fatherless, motherless and healthy.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Finding the Right Food...Eating and Aspergers, My Hunger Games

Suffering takes on many forms. Eating, like other mundane daily tasks, is a complex process.
Hmmm...putting words to the weird, unusual and....unique...
I struggled greatly, the past two days, to find something to eat. It's not through lack of money or food...it just wasn't the right kind of food. My body wants..craves...something and I could not figure out what it was.
I have a healthy, stable breakfast everyday of the same thing. It's this lunch and dinner that was the dilemma.
(I hate it when my posts sound simplistic and moronic when I struggle to articulate. I hate sounding petty....cause it is no small matter)
I tend to make one type of food, say, spaghetti, and eat it lunch and dinner for two to three weeks. It works for me to have the spaghetti prepared every couple of days and sitting in the fridge so I can grab it on a moments notice without having to worry about cooking, just reheating.
I have trouble recognizing my own hunger. I don't know if most have a "lag time", minutes before their hunger gets out-of-control or overpowering. Most of the time, especially when I am engaged in a project or enjoyable task, I don't realize that I am "getting hungry" until I am voracious. And then I race to the fridge, plate the food and microwave. I can't get it cooked and ready fast enough.
One other issue, I don't like dinner. I cook family meals and eat them, but they are usually unsatisfying. The only reason I continue to go through this dinner ordeal is to sit at the table with my family And because I bribe myself with Nestlé Crunch bars for dessert. Seriously, all the while I'm eating my chicken and broccoli I'm thinking about dessert. I don't know why this is. I can't make any sense of it.

The other strange issue that I was plagued with the past couple days...I couldn't find what I craved. I'd try this or that for lunch and it just didn't work. If I eat and it's not what my body ants or craves, I feel like I haven't even eaten, so I try some other food. I snack and search and snack and search, constantly feeling unfulfilled. The feeling never went away. I finally went to the grocery store, bought burger, spinach, mushrooms and cheese, made a pizza, ate the whole damn thing and Finally got some hunger relief. I had been hungry and most uncomfortable for two entire days! I just could nt find what I needed.
It's damn frustrating being Aspie...damn frustrating at times.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Being honest...really

Overall, it's been a pretty good week. I'm getting more in touch with my emotions. I'm getting honest with myself about who I am and what I want to be doing. If someone asks me a question, I am honest and frequently say more than they bargained for. I can be pretty intense. I get that. I'm not everyone's cup of tea. I figure if people can't handle my intensity and honest, they are free to walk away, defriend and avoid. I respect everyone right to choose their friends.
The downs of this week have mostly involved my 9 year old, Younglink. His anger got out of control and he punched a couple of kids at school, mhc to my sadness and dismay. I am seriously taken aback by physical violence in all it's painful forms. I've had a series of tals with YL. I, personally, apologized to one of the little guys he punched and to his mom. I told the little guy that YL had no right to punch him and that he did not deserve to be hit. The little guys face lit right up. Unfortunately, this kid has been teased or bullied more than once. He doesn't deserve it and I will not tolerate teasing from my son.
In lieu of YLs increasing anger issues, I decided to overcome my personal reservations and negative history with the school social worker. I asked him to see if he could start working with Younglink to get this anger under control now, as opposed to later. I'm a big girl now. I put my personal feelings aside and will Always do what is in the best interst of my boys. Priorities, priorities, they are becoming clearer and more vivid.
I'm still pretty damn upset about two different blockbuster movies that portray the evil bad guy as having only one hand and wanting to "get" another. Before my language takes a man and rash tone, let me just say that I am preparing myself for the inevitable days when Younglink will come home from school crying because someone told him he looks like the bad guy from spiderman r men in black. Seriously, I can't believe that two films would freely offer such a portrayal, such a slam against the limb different community. Well, we can't make fun of other disabilities anymore...no ones speaking up for limb d. so let's slam them. Fucking idiots.
It was quite a busy week, to be sure.
I also met with YLs school psycologist, in regards to his being assessed. I had a long questionnaire to fill out. Since I know I am Aspie and have a helluva time time answering subjective, weirdy questions, I asked her if she could meet in my house, mi familiar, so that I could speak freely and ask her to explain, to help me understand what the question was really asking. Questions like: Does it seem like your child has a motor? Or "Is your child an angel?" with four possible responses, really stymied me. It was very helpful that I knew the psycologist and trusted her judgement...even going so far as to be perfectly comfortable with her in my living room. I used to have an embarrassing time admitting that I did not understand questions....a terribly embarrassing time, really, but I'm finding people I'm comfortable with and being...more comfortable in my autism, my disability. I'm seeing where I need help and not being afraid to ask:) (I go girl)


I'm getting along easier, better with other people...and my self.
I decided to drive a couple hours and spend the day with my Aunt. She just lost her husband, three weeks ago, and her brother, my dad, last week. Auntie is just delightful. She likes, supports and believes me. Okay, okay, she loves me...I don't know why that's so hard for me to say...no, to accept:)
I just loved sitting with her, talking, getting to know her better. She and I are a ton alike. We are both oldest girls, very creative, outside-the-box thinkers, brutally honest, very private, very caring and quite compassionate. I had a fabulous time.
At one point, she asked me about the physical abuse I had, growing up. When I told her...maybe too much honest info, she had such a look of horror...and shook her head, having a hard time earring what type of father her brother was. A few minutes, maybe not even that long, she got up to go do something and changed the subject. I watched, more than just at this juncture, my Aunts facial expressions and body language for clues as to when to move to different subjects. Perfectly acceptable and understandable for her to need an escape from the painful intensity. Lord knows, Auntie as ad a very emotional month. I get it. I respect it. I'm just saying that I was actually looking for and watching....figuring out more about this whole social interaction, conversation thingy. I had the utmost concern and care for my Aunts well being and maybe I studied her even more closely so as motto cause her anymore grief....and because she is a safe person to be around and study:)


Yeah,I did have a great time. But I was....overwhelmed when I returned home. Four hours total travel time and about six hours of intense social interaction....makes sense. I will plan on visiting her again. We need and love each other...I see...I feel that.
Experiencing my Aunts creativity, beautifully displayed all over her house, very much inspired me. I forgot how infectious art, beauty and the creative spirit can be. I have a handful of projects in mind that I will be much more actively pursuing. I enjoyed sharing photos and some of my art with my Aunt. I have someone new to share my handmade gifts with:)


I had a blast, a damn good time, putting together my biggest, most detailed and fantastic Lego architecture set! OMG! It had a spiral bound booklet of instructions for all 800+ pieces. Each page, once complete, was an ego boast and sense of accomplishment. To see all these Lego pieces strewn on the table...haphazard and looking insurmountable...and then the constant reassuring satisfaction of being able to follow complex instructions....the creation, the building, the putting together...and then, the final magnificent product....pure joy and fascination!!!!!!!! I Love it!
Wow, there is even more I could say, but nough for now:)
Be well. Thanks for reading

The Amazing Spider Man...a Colossal Slap in the Face to Limb Differences

I was able to watch about 40 minutes of the movie, "The Amazing Spiderman", before I became insulted, nauseaous and thoroughly disgusted.
The plot centers around a scientist with one arm, who desperately wants the chemical formula to regrow his absent am. He looks longingly in the mirror, shows grief at being one-limbed and gazes lovingly at the reflection f his arm so it appears he has two.


I am beyond infuriated that a movie character is being portrayed as not whole just because he has a missing limb. For all those who are born differently limbed, my nine year-old son included, ths movie does a great disservice and further stigmatizes the differently abled.
Then, of course, the scientist discovers the formula to regrow limbs, injects himself, regrows his arm and becomes a nemesis, the bad guy, a monster.
What a bunch of crap!


There are so few public references to the differently limbed and this one was a box office bonanza that slanders and categorizes the limb different as not fully whole and willing to do whatever it takes to get that missing limb.
Hogwash and boulder dash. What a load of garbage!

I've Changed...Emotions and Feelings

So much has transpired and transformed. I have integrated much of my past. Today, I noticed that I feel emotions much, much differently. It's new sensations, so I'll attempt to put words to that which has never been transcribed.
Emotion used to be these raw, extremely intense, full body, overtaking, uncontrollable thingys. Nowadays, emotions are muchmuch more subtle, like furry little balls, that I am aware of under the surface and in my vicinity. When I felt anxious yesterday, it was more of a knowing than a physical sensation.
Anxiety used to physically feel like nervousness in my stomach....a visceral feel. Now, it is a veryvery slight physical sensation.
New too, is the absence of "lag time" between, say, an experience that saddens me and the actual outward expression of sadness.
When my mother (and I use that term loosely to imply the maternal organism not your average caring, feeling, mother) told me that I could only attend my fathers funeral on the condition that I "watch what I say".... Keep my mouth shut and on safe subjects...it felt like a metaphoric slap in the face, not a real physical one. The hurt and anguish showed on my face and in my tears Instantaneously...there was no delay...no time lapse in thinking about what she meant or how I should feel about such a statement. I was, my emotions and reactions were in real time.
And my mother, true to form, did not give one single solitary shit that I was hurt, that her words injured me. She did not console me, comfort me, nay, take them back. She, as she always has, did not care about me.
Apparently, she thought she could continue to manipulate me into silence, wrongly thinking that I was the same Ol doormat and daughter she could throw under the bus. Nay, I said nay, no fucking way.
As I turned away from her to walk out, it took less than two seconds for me to mentally tell her "no" and to go fuck herself. I chose not to abide by her I'll wishes. I would not go to my fathers funeral and be coerced into silence and continue swimming alongside my former family members down the pirrahna filled, alligator encrusted river of denial. Fuck her.
I did not hide or deny exactly how I felt. I most certainly did not keep my mouth shut and confided in my friend and two favored aunts...not even knowing or prethinking how they would feel about my verbal and emotional outpourings.  I was supported and well received. Very, very cool. I had an outlet in which to pour forth every single feeling I had. I held nothing back, tear nor word.
I am finally free.
I no longer live in my mothers house.
This change in how I handle, perceive and process emotion is spectacular. I think I like it. Still pretty new, must wear it and keep trying it out.
I am nt who I was ten years ago, last year, last month or the week before. I am true transformation in progress. I move forward.