Category Archives: depression

Being “supermom”

People look at my son, look at me, and say things like “I don’t know how you do it.” Or “god only gives us what we can handle” 

I know they mean well, what I’m thinking is:

First off, I didn’t know I had a choice, and second, bullshit. If there is “GOD“, then I want to climb to the Highest mountain and scream “FUCK YOU!” Holding up my middle finger at the sky because what the hell did I do to deserve this? And more importantly, What did my son do to deserve this? If “GOD” only gives us what”we can handle” then why do we hear about parents who kill their kids? Why do people kill themselves or kill other people? Why do we continually hear about mass shootings and disease wiping out people by the hundreds of thousands? God’s will? Why create only to destroy? The devil? Why doesn’t God protect us then?

But instead, I smile, shrug or laugh and crack a joke to ease the tension because they mean well. They really do. They don’t realize that we hear these things over and over again and I can feel my eye starting to twitch when I hear that pity in someone’s voice.

They think I’m special because I am my son’s mother. I’m not. I’m just a mom. Just because your kid has the flu, doesn’t mean you drive back to the hospital that you delivered your child at and demand a new one…On the contrary, it makes you care more. Makes you “MOM HARDER’. You get set into hyper parent mode and the maternal instincts are seething out of every pore so viciously, you swear you just felt your mammary glands let down and your boobs start to tingle. You care for your sick child and nurse them back to health… Only with autism, or any developmental disorder, that last part never comes. Things just get a little better. So instead of puking out of both ends, the kid still has explosive diarrhea and a lower grade fever. Or now they have an entirely new menu of symptoms and when you bring them to the doctor, they don’t know what to say… They are just as, if not even more, lost than you are.

So, you try a remedy you heard about, try diets, therapies, apps, different laundry detergent and dish soap… You just want your kid to get better and be healthy. You breath a sigh of relief because today the rash is clearing up or maybe the fever is gone, (s)he stopped coughing non-stop or finally has a solid bowel movement; only to have it ALL return after a week and your back to scrubbing vomit and shit out of the carpet and washing laundry non-stop.

Now imagine this is what life is now. An endless cycle of not knowing what is coming and your kid never seems to fully “recover”.

This is autism. There is no “recovery” you kinda get used to it… But you don’t.

Momming in hyper-mode for 9 years straight has left me with crippling anxiety and depression, left me feeling indifferent some days and others I’m feeling like my emotions are contained inside only a piece of wet tissue paper and soon as there is the slightest disturbance to that barrier, they come pouring out like a landslide that just cannot be stopped and I find myself and my partner are trying to catch it all with a tea cup.I’ve made compromise after compromise on things I thought I could/would (n)ever consider.

I’ve gone through phases where I would drink 1-2 bottles of wine almost every evening after putting my son to bed just to stop the trembling of my nerves trying to escape because I’ve been in flight or fight mode for the past 6 hrs because I have OCD and am fecal phobic and my son was going through a phase that he enjoyed smearing shit all over himself, walls, carpet and any other crevice he could cram his tiny fingers into and I screamed at him with tears in my eyes while I sobbed uncontrollably then spent the rest of the day feeling guilty, angry, resentful and just trying to clean the mess and make it up to him and just feeling more guilt along with the pain of chemical burns on my arms because I can’t stop cleaning. I needed something to ease this pain. 2 glasses in, I’m climbing into bed with him holding him while he’s sleeping and pushing me away then just stare at him while he sleeps and looks so peaceful with tears streaming down my face while I tilt my glass to my lips with one hand and wipe the tears and snot onto my sleeve with the other.

I’ve locked myself in the bathroom to eat a half eaten donut my son didn’t finish that I found in my purse.

I’ve spent days on the couch binging on Netflix or playing video games or in the garage painting every piece of furniture that we own and could carry out by myself while my son is at school.

I’ve gone days without eating, showering or talking to another person.

I’ve given my son benadryl after melatonin failed so I could have some time to sleep, regroup, and shower.

I’ve locked him in his bedroom with his iPad, books, toys and swing to keep from losing my shit while I’m trying to cook dinner or wash the dishes.

I’ve let him eat frozen go-gurts, pizza rolls, and bagels all day because I don’t have the energy to fight him to eat something healthy or just to cook anything in general.

I’ve tricked him into trying new things by disguising them as something else.

I’ve capitalized his fear of the hand mixer and blender to my advantage when I want him to stop screeching or doing something destructive or dangerous.

I’ve paid $40 for an app and $30 for a season of Yo Gabba Gabba just to keep my son busy and distracted so he isn’t dragging me to the refrigerator every 2 mins because his meds give him Stoner-ish Munchies.

With struggle comes wisdom and I’ve learned brilliant tricks to get a kid to take meds and get enough fruits and veggies, how to avoid having to change my kid’s sheets everyday, how to hide the taste of kale, how to find shit in carpet and how to get it out. I can find almost anything to help make just about any problem behavior a bit more tolerable.

The point I’m trying to make here, is nobody is prepared for this shit. I’m not special. I’m not stronger than most people. I love my son…. That is all. I love my child because I’m a mother. I’m HIS mother. Loving him is my job. Even if it is a hard job sometimes, it’s not a choice. We don’t get to pick and choose who we love. We don’t get to choose our children. Sure there are days that I clench my fists, bite my lip and think “what the hell was I thinking by having a kid? Why do people do this?” But on the other side of the same token lies the answer… Becoming a mother/father is the most important thing anyone can do for themselves. Because it’s as blissful as it is maddening. It’s as beautiful as it is disgusting and that unconditional love is powerful. That is “how we do it” it has nothing to do with strength or “GOD“… It’s just love for our kids. When people see me on the floor changing my 9 year old’s diaper, and say “how do you do that?” I don’t see a 9 year old. I see my baby. That’s the same ass I’ve been wiping since 2009. I breast fed him so the shit shooting up his back isn’t exactly a new thing… Anyone that loves their kid would do the same. Not ANYONE, but anyone that loves their kid. I have worked with children who’s parents abandoned them at a nursing home because of their disabilities and it was pretty heartbreaking. But then again, who am I to judge? Some people just don’t have it in them to care for someone that needs so much and I get that. I think it would take a different kind of strength to walk away, and that is just not the kind of strength I have.

What people see are the little things parents like us do for our kids that seem normal to us because (at least for parents like me that only had one child) we don’t know any different. We adapt for our kids and find ways to cope. Some healthier than others. We learn to laugh through tragedy, make jokes about the struggle, hell, sometimes we flip our kids the middle finger from the next room or just spend a good 15 mins just talking shit about them and making jokes at their expense when they aren’t around. We know as their parents, our love for them goes unrivaled but kids can be energy leeching, tiresome and annoying little shits. Any parent that says their child doesn’t piss them off is a filthy liar.

We just have to come up with ways to cope and creative ways to get through the day. If you have to take anti-depressants, write poetry, paint, use tinder, play video games or If having a couple glasses (or bottles) of wine at the end of a rough day is what you need to distract yourself to keep from driving your car off of a bridge, then by all means, do what ya gotta do. I feel like we should be allowed to be shitty parents sometimes. We should be allowed to have off-days. Like I said before, nobody is prepared for this shit. Furthermore, few people have any answers and nobody has a real”solution”. We just have to deal. Make the most of it. I take pride that my son can read, is adorable and is ultra affectionate. Has untapped musical talent, Is playful and has an infectious giggle. There are kids out there that are not on the spectrum that can’t or won’t do these things but my little guy is always smiling, singing and ready to cuddle and be tickled. Sure, if I ask him “how was school? What did you have for lunch? Whats your favorite color?” I will not get a response. He simply does not answer them. I’m not sure whether he can’t or won’t but That is fine because I have a stepdaughter that talks enough for the both of them.

Although… Yesterday he walked up to me and said bagel a few times so I gave him one. That was pretty exciting for me. As simple and small it may seem to parents of normally developing children, this is an equivalent to seeing your kid say their first word. Every. Damn. Time.

We autism parents have a full plate of too spicy, bland, or hard to chew food, and someone behind us demanding we have seconds. But when we get to the dessert, it seems to make up for all the trash we had to consume to get to that point. Make no mistake, the discomfort from having more we can handle is still there, The feeling of indigestion is still there, but we forget about it for a second and enjoy that sweet treat that we worked so hard for and it feels incredible because with that, a tiny bit of hope is restored. The future that seems like a pitch black never ending tunnel, looks a tiny bit brighter. I just hope one day, someone would hand my child a flashlight instead of a match. Until then, I will take what we can get and just white knuckle it until the end.

I’m sinking

The ground has given to the weight upon me. The weight that is me.  So much wine flowing through my veins my very presents opens a fault line under my achey toes. I bear down, but the earth just crumbles to sand as I desperately try to keep my head from being buried beneath the rubble.  The destruction and chaos that myself alone am responsible for.  I am the driver of the vessel that barrels through the crowd of people, losing control,  losing myself and taking everyone down in the process.  I’m not a nice person.  At least not if you are close to me. Or as close as you let me.  If i love you,  i will shut you out.  I will pick fights with you because you have gotten to me.  You have me at a point that I am no longer in control. You CAN hurt me. And you will.  But the only one to blame is me.  I’m shutting you out because you don’t understand me
Nobody does.  I should be alone, but I can’t be alone.  I don’t want to hurt.  I don’t want to freak out.  I don’t want to be crazy. 

But I am.  I’m fucking nuts. 

If I can’t find something,  i scream,  i cry,  i punch walls, doors,  if i could get by with it,  I’d punch myself.  I’m no picnic. I’m the eye of the hurricane.  I’m the olive sky before a tornado. I’m the brilliant lights of lightning as it strikes your dwelling. I’m the girl that wants to be better; wants to do better, wants to be good enough and not like my head and heart are tangled and and ripping eachother apart.  like my whole life is ending everytime there is a bump in the pavement, a crack in the sidewalk or a pebble in my shoe. Someone help me.  pllease god…help me. I’m defective.  I’m destructive,  my pain is contagious. I leave all I touch writhing in agony.  My tears are as acidic as the phrases that dance off the tip of my tongue. My pretty mouth will  frame words that will paint everything as red as my lipstick. My hands are cold and tremble, and will freeze one to the core. Hearts freeze and shatter like mine did.  I’m contagious.

And then…

I lay in bed, with my stomach turning and my heart sinking deeper into my the deepest pit of my stomach wondering why. Why don’t you believe in me? what is it about me that makes me so unworthy of your trust? I wonder why you don’t seem to care how I’m feeling.  My soul is dying, and you don’t even seem to notice the flicker of fire  that once danced in my eyes is now just cinder.   when you’re away,  sometimes I just need a person to talk to.  Someone to distract me from the loathing i feel sweep over me when I look in the mirror. All of the broken pieces of myself at your feet, but instead of helping me scoop it up and put me back together,  you just swept those pieces under the rug.  I keep moving forward,  wounded,  hoping you’ll slow down and recognize that I’m bleeding.  I wait for you to ask me if I’m okay, but instead,  you point out my flaws, those missing pieces and imperfections.

You don’t understand nor do you want to. I just want you to care if whether or not I’m okay.  But most of all, I just want to BE okay.

Torn to shreds

The tiny Fragments lay down at My aching feet that scramble. My vacant chest holds nothing but panic. There are no words or phrases that can Express what I’m feeling right now. 

I’m struck with grief, guilt and regret. I’m failing.  A thousand reasons to give up,  but I can’t.  I’m a mother. My feelings are null. A dirty girl searching for an answer, a steady hand to hold and a single night’s sleep.  Begging to be understood. 

On my mind, and forever in my heart

It’s been over 6 months but my heart still aches everyday.  Your birthday is coming up. I think about all of the birthdays we celebrated together.  Posts, pictures, memories…

           I am wondering if this ache will ever fade.  I wonder if I’ll always be fighting back the tears. If I’ll always feel this way. Like I’ve lost a piece of myself. 

           I flip through the pictures. I keep them in my phone.  In a way,  I don’t want the pain to fade because I never want to forget just how important you are to me, and the world.

              For your birthday,  I will make a promise.  You will never be forgotten. Your pictures will remain within reach and on my mirror to remind me how important you will remain. Just because I can’t call you,  I still hear your voice.  Sometimes, I hear music.  I know it’s you.  I feel it.  Thank you for being here for me even though I can’t feel your warm hugs, I still feel the love.  I love you. 

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Damnation

Affiliation and impersonation, consolation and determination lead to unification

Manipulation disguised as adoration  then fertilization and insemination.

Realization followed by termination in  with justification in fear of deformation.

then devastation.

Now deviation, defamation, consolidation,  revocation.  Humiliation.  Mortification. 

Devastation. 
Devastation
Regret and devastation.

Over it.

You know when someone hurts you, over and over, and like a doormat, you lie there while they wipe the shit off their shoes into the fibers of your soul, and yet, you still just crave their acceptance and approval? You think about them all the time. They reject you, pull you back in, throw you back out, and on and on it goes.

I haven’t spoken to the one whom played this obdurate charade upon my heart in months. Sure…it was difficult to endure the deafening silence…But I’m okay! I’m just fine! I’m breathing. I’m laughing and smiling…I’m living. I’m really living.

Sure,I think about him from time to time, how supposedly he’s married to a 17 year old, but now, I’m no longer ambivalent. I’m no longer baffled and befuddled.
Im no longer flummoxed and flustered, perplexed and perturbed. At least not about him. But most of all, no longer in a timorous state of self loathing. I wish him the best. I’m no longer angry.

After being single…I mean REALLY single, without him calling me everyday making me feel guilty for ever leaving my home, and seeing what my options really were… they’re amazing, impressive, intelligent and beautiful men that wanted to be with me…I realized, I can do better. And I have. I have a boyfriend now…will it last? Who knows. But I’m enjoying him. He’s a wonderful man. He calms me. Makes me laugh. and I love spending time with him. The best part…He is just as interested in my son as I am. He pays attention to the therapists, implementing everything they say and do into his interaction with him, he cares. I don’t know if I love him. I know he loves me, because he tells me every day. I’m finally being treated how I deserve. I’m happy and so grateful. 

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