Tales From the Middle of the Road

Neither up nor down, right or left, here or there...just in the middle of the road

Like an apathetic flag blowing in a slight breeze

My shoes have been stolen, so each step feels funny

The windows are foggy and stained with fingerprints, and I don't care

(blanket flowers from my garden:)
I plod amongst flowers and bees

Sometimes the voices in my head are so loud, I can't think
Other times....they amuse and enlighten me

Lots of chatter these days. They say it's a good sign, more co-consciousness.

It can be downright deafening, at times.

I'm overly sensitive, skin and otherwise....like a small child

Sometimes I think it's best to speak less, then others will not become aware of my distance and dunce

I'm not apathetic, just not really interested...not really out There, too much. My inner world demands my attentions:)

For this autistic...wearing shorts is a whole new world of odd sensations.
Going barefoot, same thing. It's massive. But don't tell anyone...they'll just make fun of you cause they don't understand.

There is an underlying layer of sadness, always present these days. Keeping it under control as much as possible.

I think the concept of one almighty being is too much for most to handle, so they break it down to three more manageable entities. Throughout history, if you look. Everyone has had...multiple gods. Think it's just too much for most brains to handle...but I get the one thingy.

A neighbors relative died unexpectedly. I frought and brought a sympathy card and stopped to talk. Why don't we get how fragile, futile and fleeting every life is?

We do not cherish enough

Why don't we value ourselves more?

I may be nearsighted, but I treat everyone I know and run into, even briefly, with respect...unless they are evil.
I know someone with so much anger, she is evil. Mean, snide, disrespectful. She's sad and doesn't know it.

I see peoples that like to put on a good show, all glitter that blows with the slightest breeze. They don't know who they are.

I'm often alone and rarely lonely. Loneliness is the middle of the road, in a deep dark valley full of briars and swamp.

(near my house, twas the other day)
Loneliness is having no open arms. Having nowhere to go. Spinning on your heels in futility. Getting lost in the sky. Closing up and not caring where you bounce...hoping for someplace soft.
In my mind, soft and comfort and even warm, are synonymous. And I can't get enough. Can't get enough, sad.

I've been dreaming of living with gypsies. Twice now in the past week. Interesting and oddish.

My neck pain has gotten better. I can use my arms more. Guess a certain amount of pain is always gonna be there. Getting used to it. No big whoop.

Wish the past pains didn't live in my body and resurface. Well, if they didn't resurface, guess I'd get sicker and sicker. But I hear most people don't have that. Nice.

I don't travel back to the past, I just pay attention to what aches and whats within. Observe and listen. Hard to explain, but true.

Had to fill out more forms in my attempt to get disability payments. Shit, wish the determiner could live a day in my shoes. It's a no brainer.
Still hurts to admit. Try not to touch that too much.

Form asked hard questions...brought up stuff dont want to acknowledge. Whatever.

There are always flaming hoops I have to jump thru.


Need to carry a bigger squirt gun.

Not enough therapy time. I try not to think about it.

I haven't made art in like, forever. My spirit is so sad.

Went to the big grocery store that's out of town. Crowded, angry, hurried people from elsewhere.
I was remarkably calm and unmustered. Been finding a little more inner peace and sense of self lately. The outside didn't bother me so much.

I've been oscillating, sometimes quite rapidly, between big and little, past and present. Hmmm, She calls it progress. I call it frustrating confusion, but it's the same thing. Bitch
One minute I'm confident in what I'm doing. The next I'm completely unsure.

Exceedingly fun to be me, at times. You wish.

Just kidding

One side of my family was remarkably humorous.
Thank God because the other side was fantastically cruel..


Just realized my gluten free diet has been sabotaged for weeks now. Found gluten hiding in vitamin supplements and hair shampoo.

No, I don't ingest my shampoo, but like anything applied to the skin, it gets absorbed. That explains my sluggish and bloated nature. Back to checking Everything, All labels for gluten.

Can't seem to handle crude, backhanded, ouch, remarks. Think it relates to that Oversensitivity thingy.

Been dealing with both the emotional and somatic/ physical levels in therapy and out. When I talk and remember its not just cerebral anymore. Damn:) more progress. Bitch bitch.

My hypersensitivity to sound, which was overwhelming last week, has calmed down. Whew, nice.

There is so much that I deal with on a daily basis...that people don't want to hear or talk about, acknowledge or can help with.

I live within the twisted barbed wire of nasty, distasteful painful stuff. It's not talk share fodder. I live it alone....cause I have to.

It's ok. It's just what it is.


(took this, down the street a bit, with the new panoramic feature on my cam:)

Mostly, I guess, I'm just wandering, slowly, down the middle of the road.
Just wanted to share.
Cherish
Be Well:)

Sometimes it's just too long between therapy appointments....sigh...I'm just sayin'

Beaten, physical abuse...please don't hit me

*as with most of my blog posts, this one comes with a Trigger Warning....to the uninitiated, it means that what I write may cause flashbacks and unpleasant memories in those of us who were horridly abused and traumatized as children. "Trigger Warning" is a kindness, a respect we show to others that suffer. They may not want to read this....and that is okay.*


 "Don't hit me", was something I could never say out loud. It simply didn't matter to my mom or dad. It meant nothing. Hollow, empty words that only served to incite whatever wrath and anger was currently possessing them.
  It's been "busy" at therapy. Seems my painful dental experiences, of last week, brought to surface many...unkind memories and flashbacks of being beaten.
 If I may clarify.... "Beaten" does not mean a spanking or little swat. Beating means enraged parents using hands, spatulas, brushes, spoons, curtain rods, belts and whatever else they could grab, to wail on me or my siblings, when we were little, under ten years of age.
 And yes, it is extremely hard for me to write this post. I've put it off as long as I could...because it hurts soooo much....to remember, recall and write. But it's been really bothering me; all bottled up and ready to explode.
  It's been....difficult to acknowledge how very much, deeply and with great passion...admit...how much I vehemently hated my parents. Their neglect, pure cruelty and aggressive violence was truly monumental. They were psychopaths, malicious and obviously full of anger and hatred which they freely and copiously inflicted....Without Any Regret or Remorse, upon their own children. Sick, twisted bastards.
Hitting a child wounds...deeply. It leaves scars that break open and ooze, at times. It quashes self-esteem, among other things. It causes great pain and....sometimes, a lifetime of suffering.


I was not a bad child....if anything I was on the side of being a very good, conscientious, polite and quiet child, who tried everything within her own tiny power, to do right, help others and be good. But my efforts were in total vain.
I either said the wrong thing, didn't answer correctly when spoken to, failed to do a household chore with enough gusto or perfection, or some such similar, grievous, childhood imperfection to cause these parental attacks.
I was just a kid, an autistic kid behaving in childish autistic ways. I did nothing to deserve Any of their "discipline".
I felt they hated me, who I was, how I felt, the way I acted. I really did. I could do nothing right, in their eyes, and I was made to pay a hefty price.
See, the dentist, my good, compassionate, caring dentist....kept apologizing for causing me the littlest of necessary distress. He was apologizing for causing pain. Confusion...great confusion. You see, in my childhood world, no one ever apologized for causing me pain. They freely administered it....my parents wanted...wanted strongly to cause me physical pain. My parents wanted me to hurt.


Even when there was an accident...if I feel off my bike and skinned my knee...they didn't care. There was no compassion or empathy. I would be blamed and ridiculed. I must have fallen because I was going too fast, didn't see the bump on the sidewalk or I was too stupid to stop so fast. Childhood injuries were cause for ridicule and blame, not comfort. No one put on a bandaid or ever, ever said "I'm sorry you get hurt." No, it was always my fault for getting hurt. There were no accidents, just mistakes made by the stupid.
Comfort....what a foreign, warm word...growing up.
After the dentist, I became veryvery sad....and not about the procedure itself. It hit me...on such an emotional level.
All the countless times, my body endured hit after hit, after hit.
The helplessness.
It was like, I was always stuck in a giant compactor, and I knew I was going to get ground up, beaten down.....and then it would stop for a bit, then the motor would start whirling again, and here comes another whipping. I was always stuck in this contraption of evil. I could never get out, just try and recover enough to handle the next one.


Don't hurt me. Ahhh, another phrase that hopelessly reverberated, in my little mind often. Don't hurt me no more, please. But I could never say it. Didn't matter. Strange, starry dreams of small children....
I remember times....where my dad was so actively enraged and lost in the pounding of me that mom would yell and scream for him to stop...he had gone too far, lost too much control. Now That was painful...being beaten with fists by a madman three times your size. Yup, that was my dad.
Mom was no better. She did enough hitting, slapping and ordering my dad to "discipline." She always whined about poor her, how she kept hurting her and or wrist from "spanking" unless she used an object. Seriously, she would try and make the kids feel bad that she hurt herself because she "had" to hit us. What kind of warped fuck says shit like that....and believes it.
For all the times she told dad, "don't hit her in the face" (for fear the neighbors would see evidence if the abuse) she sure did her fair share of face slapping.
And that kinda gets me too.....Mom knew the physical abuse was wrong and should be hidden, but she did it and promoted it, anyway. We were taught to routinely lie about it and hide it. She knew she was doing something shameful and she kept on doing it.
No, I don't love my mother. I hate her. No mother beats or allows the beatings of their own small children.
Yeah, a couple months ago, I wrote and told her she was dead to me and that she is never again to contact me or my children.....go figure. One of the smartest moves I'd ever made. I don't want anything that evil near me or my kids.


Anyway, so yeah, I'm still dealing...remembering, processing, releasing the pain of being beaten. I may be sad for awhile. At least I've finally been able to get it out, written down. And, yeah, my therapist and I will continue to spend as much more time as needed, working it all out. Yup, it's a big issue. I'm working on it. Wish me luck.


Oh, and for all the times I wanted to say, but couldn't:
Please don't hit me
Please don't hit me
Don't hit me
Don't hit me no more
Don't hurt me
Don't hurt me
Don't hurt me
Don't hit me
Don't hit me
Don't hit me
Stop hitting me
Stop hitting me
Stop hitting me. Stop hitting me. Stop hitting me
You are hurting. Stop
No more hit
No more hit
Don't hit me no more...I don't deserve this....I don't deserve any of this. Stop

Ups and Downs

Let's start with the positive. I've been having fun garage saling and making money on eBay. My Partner and sons are healthy and have been very supportive. Therapy is going reallyreally well....we are getting down to the nitty gritty, the deep seated issues. We work very well together.


  The down side...I ended up having an emergency tooth extraction because of overwhelming pain and a cracked tooth. I had it done a couple days ago. Still feels like I've been hit in the face with a baseball bat. Spend most of my days and nights resting and taking enough drugs to escape the pain. Yup, mostly in a drug induced slumber.
 Mostly, I just feel very sad. And I mean sadsad, like insulted, hurt and grieving. I get real emotional when I lose body parts, even something as small as a tooth. I was very attached to it...no pun intended. My entire mouth feels weird, odd and different. Hard to tolerate. I try not to feel the empty spot. I don't want people to see me with my toothless grin. I'm embarrassed.
 I can't stand the thought of even looking at it, so I haven't. Not sure if/ when I can. It reminds me of being poor, poverty stricken and broken. Will people think less of me?


 Just sad. Sad at all the pain, too. It was a difficult extract that took over an hour. The physical sensations continue to overwhelm me and I just want to sit, wrapped up in my favorite blankie,in a warm, dark corner.
 On the upside, I had the best dentist and dental tech. The tech even let me grasp onto her hand when she wasn't using it. My dentist is the kindest, most caring and competent one I have ever met. They made it easier....if that makes any sense at all.
 So, I continue to recover. Just taking it easy. My body is darn good at healing and I'll be back on my feet soon.
 Take Care:)

Why Friends Leave me

 I've been running into a number of those "ex-friends" lately. You know, the ones that either ignore you, duck out a back way to avoid running into you, or just pretend there never was a friendship and walk right past. I have to chuckle at how much work and effort some of these xfriends have to go to just to avoid me. I've seen it quite a bit the past couple weeks. Xfriends are everywhere. There must be a gowpen, two handfuls, of people that routinely try and stay away from me.
 It's not a bad thing, not a good thing....it's just the way it is and I was analyzing this last night.

  One xfriend I hurt with my unintended, naive over worrying state of mind. Shoot, I pretty much insulted her and her family. I overreacted and panicked in a situation where none was needed. That was, as they say, my bad. I made a mistake. Take responsibility. I think I even apologized directly to her...but this might be an "unpardonable sin", a mistake that hurt too deep. I get that....No, I don't. I think any relationship can tolerate honest mistakes....no, it's okay. I see her point. It's her choice. I miss her friendship but I respect her decision. I'm not scum, just a human who messed up. I can forgive myself, even if she can't forgive me.
  A couple friendships, I am completely clueless on, I can only guess they came to a place in there lives where I was not needed, pivotal or important, ok.


 Another few friends....how to say.....they didn't want to be around me anymore because I reminded them of things they wanted to forget. I've lost friends who were dissociative because they weren't ready to face their own abuse issues. I am so outspoken about the physical and sexual abuse that some people ....it was too much for them. I get that. It was like they were looking in a mirror and unable to deal with the reflection. I understand.
  A couple "rescuers" have left, because I didn't need them anymore. They didn't want real friendship, just someone to help. It was very one-sided and not really a relationship, anyway. They filled a void, then left. Ok
  Then there is.....the people that liked me, at first, but as they got to know me better, left....didn't like.
Hmmm, not sure if these are real people or if this is one of the myths I carry with me from childhood. "The more someone knows about me....the more they see who I really am....the less they will like me...and leave."
Maybe it's just hard for me to realize some people just don't "click". Some are not meant to be friends or even acquaintances. Sounds so simple. Hmmm, easier to blame my self...or used to be, anyway. I see the err of that old thinking:)
There are people that I have chosen not to hang with. I don't avoid them...I just limit my conversation and keep moving.
There are those I found too abrasive, too full of old angers and vengeance and some who were simply not nice enough to hang with. Personality conflicts, different viewpoints, unpleasantly outspoken, etc. I guess...it's not really such a big deal....recognizing that all people are unequal and different.
Seems like I should cherish more, those who enlighten me and make me smile by their presence in my life.
Yeah, I need to let what doesn't matter go.


I'm not about to start avoiding people. I will not alter my path because of someone else. That's important.
I need to harbor no grudges, not feel bad about mistakes that I have made and bear no ill will to those not with me.
I respect people's right to form and keep their own inner circle, fill it with whom they please.
This really isn't such a big deal. Looks like I've been choosing to make it such.
There is freedom in letting go of things that truly don't matter. This issue is one of them.
Nough said.

What is Real? Why do we crave the artificial?

 On my walk today, I wondered about lawns, specifically, why is it important that they look manicured, somewhat identical and not at all natural? I saw peoples mow, fertilizing, watering, trimming, etc....to what end?

 Why is there such resistance...or fighting of nature and the natural way things simply are? Why does the dark green, evenly trimmed, lush lawn look desirable? Whilst a lawn left to its own devices, long, scraggly, uneven with weeds....or dare I say, wildflowers interspersed, is frowned upon?
 And what is the difference between a "weed" and a "flower"?

They are all truly flowers, and beautiful in their own right. Methinks we call flowers "weeds" when they are wild, uninvited and unintended. Just look at the beauty of a single dandelion....the rich, bright yellow, the edible leaves, the root, once roasted that tastes like coffee. We have an almighty war against these flowers. I don't get it.

 Maybe it's that peoples like to control things, wild things, like lawns, grass, animals, other people, own property and alter it to their suiting. Maybe there is this age old mob mentality to conquer and control, especially against nature and the wild. It strikes me as odd. I see the time and money people put in to their lawns...I have episodically done so myself. Now, I take a step back and away from conventional wisdom, hahahahahaha, and just wonder.


 Peoples really like being mainstream, also. Have ya noticed? They have to have what everyone else has and do things like everyone else. Mainstream is a great, visual word.....all water molecules following the exact same path. Is that real? Is it good? Is it purposeful?


 Not to me.  I was born far outside the box. I was punished, cajoled and berated for not following the beat of the mainstream drum. I don't question my autistic reality so much, as I question that of the non-autistic. I don't see my self as the one out of line, or removed from reality. I see me as seeing things and people for what they are.


 Nature is honest, true, ever changing and completely in charge. I think everyone is here, in this life, to discover and nurture and accept their own individual nature. See, there is no mainstreaming the autistic. We write our own rule books...sigh....and oft pay dearly for being unable to or refusing to conform to something we are not.


 Non-autistics are free to continue to conform, follow in their predicessors foot prints and continue to fight against the power of Nature and hide who they truly are inside.
I will never color inside the lines.


Everyone has the right to decide how they live their life.
I'm just sayin'

I Am Happy to be 50!!!!!!!

49 was a wonderful year. My Eldest returned. My Youngest had the best teacher and school year ever. My 18 year relationship grew even stronger.



I experienced the passing of my dear grandma and my father. Both very healing in their own way.
I lost a special, very special friend that I didn't get enough time with. I miss him.
My personal healing has been profound on the physical, mental and spiritual levels. Much gratitude to my therapist, Mary Faigrieve; my nurse practitioner, Stephanie Smart and my acupuncturist, Meg Batzer. These people have truly cared and helped me in extraordinary ways:)
I've figured out who is with me and who is not. I've let the knots/ nots go.
I have found inner strength I never knew I had. I recognize my capabilities. I am at peace with my autism.
I can actually say, I love who I am and I love my life. Not bad for a person who was sure she'd never live to see 10 years old.
I am truly blessed.
50 promises to be a continuation of my healing journey.
Thanks all my friends.
My arms are wide open, as now, so are my eyes.


Yep, I turned 50 earlier today. It's like a milestone I never thought I'd reach. My younger years were quite rough. 9 was particularly difficult and I was morbidly depressed. In my teens and twenties, I struggled with undiagnosed autism, sexual abuse and multiple personality disorder, now DID. I was truly miserable to my core.
Life started to smile upon me, at 29 with the birth of Eldest. Things were up and down after that. Finally, just in the past handful of years, I've recognized my autism, found a therapist to work with my abuse and DID issues, work with an acupuncturist who helps me to heal on all levels and my home life as calmed and grown less chaotic and more caring.
It's really the first time I can say, I love who I am. Yes, I have to take credit, but I couldn't have gotten this far without the compassion of others.
Life is getting better. I love who I am and where I am on this journey.
Thanks for following along:)
Be well!

My Son was born one-handed

It isn't easy for me to think or write about hands, with an s. my Younglink was born completely minus a left hand. And, get this, he is actually, naturally left handed. That seems unfair and like adding insult to injury, if you ask me.

I don't talk about little guys acheiria (born minus a hand) much. To be honest, I rarely think about it anymore. I do have feelings, though, and certain memories that evoke emotion at times. Some of it ties into my Aspergers.
I remember when the ultrasound technician left the room to go get the doctor. I don't remember the exact words, but at twenty weeks I was told, "we can't find his left hand." Even today, the memory hits me like an emotional thunderbolt. My Aspie brain took a few minutes to try and process this very new and completely unheard of information. (Yes, in my experiences, I had never heard of children being born without limbs, strange as that may sound. I had never personally seen a child with a limb difference.)
I was unable to visualize what his arm might possible look like.....and that was the issue that bothered me the most. I am a veryvery visual person. If I can't see it and/or touch it, I am anxiously confused and cannot grasp the concept. The ultrasound techs would continuously try and get me a visual during my frequent tests....but I just had no picture to go with.
I was distraught and grief-stricken. I couldn't comprehend a one handed child....it was hard to think my son would not...look anywhere near normal.
I felt bad. I was fairly certain that having a differently abled child was far beyond what I could handle.
I don't think I ever blamed myself for his difference. My hours, days and weeks of research told me that there was no known cause.
See.....let's bare soul here.....I had always been....scared...nervous, uncomfortable around children with disabilities. I could work in nursing homes with the elderly, but my one shift stint in the children's ward was more than I could handle. I guess I could accept older people with health and disability issues, but I couldn't handle the thought of a child being handicapped. It hurt me so....I couldn't bear it.
Now I was going to have a baby with a birth defect.
I remember when he was born...first seeing him....I wasn't really looking at his left, I just wanted to know if he was heathy. Holding him, after everyone else left the room, I opened the blanket to see. I saw an arm, a rather skinny, stick-like arm, without a hand. I was scared. I pulled his arm to my face and kissed the fleshy ball-like end. Anytime I get nervous, scared or uncomfortable about the end of his arm, we affectionately call "Palm" (he has a Hand and a Palm:) I caress or kiss Palm. It's just who he is.
The first time I washed up, after he was born, I remember standing at the sink, soaping, rubbing my two hands together, thinking....how fair is this? That I can wash both my hands when my son will never be able to do this?
My son has grown into a very confident young man. He doesn't hide palm. He loves and accepts exactly who he is.
Sometimes...it still hurts me. Once in awhile he gets teased or stared at a little too long. He usually handles it better than I. It's gotten easier, over the years. You learn not to watch for the stares and how to deflect too many inquiries and yes, mostly, I rarely think about it.
I think I cried every night, for a month or so, after I brought him home. Maybe I felt I was being punished or tested, in reality, I was just being made stronger, muchmuch stronger.
Honestly, I still have moments where I am sad for him and sad for me.
My therapist thinks I have a hard time seeing children hurt or injured because I was so abused. I don't know if I believe it or not. It's just hard...it hurts to see children injured or with birth defects.
I just needed to vent and be honest with myself. Sometimes I still hurt. Sometimes it breaks my heart.
I love him exactly as he is. He is wonder, amazement, and beauty all rolled into one. I wouldn't change him. If he had been born with two hands, he would have been someone completely different. I love him for who he is. He is perfect:)

I Cannot Tell My Right From My Left

Having Aspergers, there are little things that throw me for a loop. Even a second grader can usually tell their right hand from their left. Even nearing fifty, I must think for a second or two, to figure out right from left.

I think I read where autistics right hemisphere and left brain hemisphere have difficulty communication. Maybe this is where it comes from. I'm just not sure.

I first became aware of this, once again, through observing my 20 year old Aspergers son having this problem. It's not a big thing, just another minor issue I wonder if other autistics share.
LOL, seriously, I remember teachers writing R and L on my hands. Even I would write the letters on my feet, because I can't tell them apart either without thinking.
Just some random thinking:)