Dear You

*Trigger warning for talk of sexual abuse

Dear all of You,

I hate You. I don't hate easily, but I hate You.

I hate You for being the monsters that stole my innocence at the age of two, and again at three, then four, then five, and so on until I just expected to be threatened and abused by men at any age.

I hate You for implanting the most godawful things into my memories, things I cannot get rid of, things that wake me in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, and screaming "STOP!" to someone who isn't there.

I hate the pain that stabs my heart when I think of the adults who were hurting me when they should have been protecting me as I grew up.

Maybe my autism was the reason I literally believed time and again that You would kill me if I told. Did you sense that? My naivete? Is that why some of You laughed?

You played so many roles in my life.

You were my babysitter, my best friend's dad, my family members, and nearly a stranger. You wore so many masks to cover your personality. You forced me to wear to wear mine, too.

I grew so used to those masks, I still wear them today out of habit.

Did it come naturally to You, I wonder? The ability to destroy someone's psyche at a very young age? Did you learn this somewhere? I assume it was pure Id that made you act upon your impulses, because no decent human being would molest or rape a child. But You did. You gave no thought to the outcome.

People made excuses for one of You, they called you "ill." People knew your dark truths and covered up years of secrets. I was your secret keeper until I wasn't. Then I opened Pandora's box and was called a liar by some.

I wish the things in my head were all made up, but they aren't. I would have a happier mind if flashbacks didn't occur.

One of your sons reached out to me for contact. You probably don't know that. I see he has little girls. He calls you his hero, the best guy he's ever known. I melted down and panicked when I read that. Are You ever going to tell him that his girls aren't safe around you?

I know one of You has granddaughters. I hope their mother is less trusting of you than my own was, even though she was leaving her children in the care of their father.

There are chips in my armor and sometimes I must put forth a facade of strength that I do not have. But I survived. I don't know why any of You picked me. I'll never know why.

I've stopped asking myself that question and accepted that you're less than human. I have so much in my life You don't and You can never take that away.


I have love.

I have stability.

I have a voice.

I have dignity.

I survived all of You.

The State of You

Hey you. Yes, you.

The person who doesn't know where to put that line between yourself and the in-laws or parents. Or the extended family, maybe old friends. The you who is so damned busy discovering yourself that you are baffling and probably irritating the crap out of all of these people that they feel compelled to say something awful (they're jack wagons, fyi)

The you who is in my groups, writing me messages, posting to forums, wondering how in the hell you're going to make it without turning into an axe murderer of assholes everywhere.

You? You. Are. Fanfreakintastic.

You just need something...

You need a contract saying that the state of you isn't up for debate, sale, or negotiation. Just no. You're finding your comfy spot in the world, just as everyone else is supposed to be able to do, no matter the neurology, and people must back the hell off. 

There is no "good time" to confront you about your parenting skills if you are a parent doing the best you can. Are they parenting your child? No. Paying your bills? Living your life? Listening to your thoughts on loop? No. So they, the all-encompassing "they," don't matter.

Put that in the contract.

Stay away from the online jack wagons who want to tear into you, whether they are family or flat out foe. You don't need that, unless you want your blood pressure to skyrocket and you like throwing random crap at your wall (I might do this). Anytime you see that crap, hide it. Delete them. Unfollow. Problem solved.

This is part of the poison which seeps into your life and defecates on your thoughts, makes you question your life skills thus far, and stirs envy at times. It also calls into question your parenting, your diagnosis if you have one, and so much else. Squash it like the vermin it is.

Put it in your contract for you that you won't allow this crap to eat away at your happy moments. Call bullshit when you see it or read it, at least in your head, and move on. This just drains you.

The stares? The whispers? The people in public who would rather treat you and/or your child as a sideshow? Also don't matter. They take up precious space in your peripheral vision, in your thoughts as you recall a moment, and in ten minutes, two years, however long- they won't matter.

The contract shall state that the peripheral assholes don't matter. Period.

The naysayers to your diagnosis or your child's diagnosis also don't matter. They don't live your life. They don't live in your brain as you loop your thoughts around the same thing over and over like a horse on a carousel. Or search endlessly for the correct "weight" of a shirt. They aren't there as your child perservates on something that happened two years ago. Or as you do. So, they can also go away.

In you contract for you, boundaries must be clear. Boundaries that read: "Hi, I'm/we're/my child is autistic. Respect me/us/him/him." That's all. That's all you should have to say. Stick to that and you'd be surprised by how many people might back up.


Above all, make your contract read: "I am me. I am glad to be me. I am proud of myself or working towards that. I will not allow anyone to control my or my family's happiness. I am a good human being." And mean it.


What does the contract for the state of you say?

We Need to Stop

Anytime a tragedy like the recent murder of autistic Robert Robinson by his mother Angie happens, our entire community blows the hell up.  

Stop. Just stop. 

Arguments are quickly thrown out in articles on blogs and forums. God help you if you get it wrong. Or, even worse, if you get it right. Of course, no admits to the correct party from the wrong party if the correct party is correct. See how batcrap that is?

Just a quick observation list:

Words that average blog/article readers probably have to Google get thrown into conversation. This is how we know the conversation is going downhill. 

People pick apart arguments that barely exist. "Well, perhaps better services in place could have prevented this." "Not the time or the place for this discussion. Your comment shall be deleted by the admins."

If you say that you could see where a parent could have caregiver fatigue, you're called a murder apologist. "The parent should have called CPS, 9-1-1, left the child at a hospital or an agency for themselves. To say you understand any aspect of this parent is to defend this parent and I won't have murder apologists on this thread." What the hell? Anyone ever think that a parent in this kind of situation might be dealing with psychosis? Just wondering. 

If there is an acknowledgement of aggression and autism existing, a lot of people get up in arms. Why aren't we allowed to acknowledge this? And also, why don't people understand that the level of "autism severity" has not one thing to do with levels of aggression? I digress.

If you say that your kid is also aggressive, you're demonized in some form for putting that out there. Unless you're speaking to parents who might get it. It's a rarity, but it happens. 

You can't just say, "This is hard. My heart goes out to this person and his family." Nope, can't include the family. You just have to ignore the hell out of any siblings, grandparents, etc. 

You can't point out lack of services. Murder is never an acceptable option. So why are these two tied together? Why can't we have this discussion at the same time? 

You can't portray autism as anything but rainbows and unicorn farts, I guess. I don't remember seeing that in the diagnostic criteria in the DSM, but that seems to be the party line most people toe these days, including me a lot of the time. Guys, autism is fucking hard. It's hard to raise an autistic child with some aggression thrown in the mix. It's hard to be autistic some days. It's okay to admit this. 

There are massive refusals to see counterpoints/differences of opinions, even if they're only slight. It's okay to be angry- people should be angry this is happening. It's natural to feel hurt that something like this has happened again. But to not be able to see others' points of view? That's blindness. Willful blindness. 

We need to stop. None of this fighting and refusing to admit that things are hard is helping anyone in our community. All it's done is lay more blame in the wrong areas and making more people feel more alone and as if they should hide. And for what?

Making people feel isolated and even more alone isn't why I started blogging. If you ever feel as if you are in need of someone to talk to, in need of services and you know you are local to me (within the Louisiana/Mississippi/Alabama area), email me at deciphermorgan@gmail.com . If you aren't in my area, email me anyways. I know services don't always exist, but I'm willing to try to help you. You can find me on my Facebook page, too. 

If we cannot come together as a community and talk about the hard things- lack of services- for both autistics and caregivers, reasons for aggression (face it- a lot of caregivers are in the dark), and how to prevent another murder/suicide of an autistic and parent- then who do we discuss these things with? Our government?

We help, not more judgement from inside our own community.