spectrumom

Sam was away at Boy Scout camp since Sunday and I picked him up last night.  When I got there he was in meltdown mode complaining about water in his ear.  He cried and lashed out at Isaac a few times.  Generally, not himself at all.  After about an hour, I finally got him settled down after we loaded the car and went to the Trading Post for ice cream sandwiches.  He never complained about anything but his ear, no matter how many times I asked him. Tonight Sam and I got back into our swing of walking the dog.  I love our walks.  Sam is in charge of the dog.  Since he has had a life long fear of dogs and still dislikes it when Ghost barks (very loudly) and when Ghost blocks the tv by walking in front of it, the fact that he loves this task is quite amazing.  We talked about what was best about camp, and what was difficult.  I asked him why he was melting down at camp. "Oh, you mean because of my dad?"  He hadn't said that at camp.  He had been complaining about his ear.

One of the things I have been reluctant to blog about has been my own emotional rollercoaster.  I spend entire days wanting to cry, even when things are not necessarily going badly.  Although they go badly enough of the time that the overlap may be somewhat inconsequential. I actually have had another mom tell me she chose happiness.  That made me feel ashamed of my own inability to control this.  I have talked to my doctor ("Oh, that sounds like menopause and stress.  No pill for that.")  I meditate.  I read like crazy.  And still no fix.  No button to turn off the thought of 'My life sucks that bad that I wish I hadn't been born.'  And no turning off the desire to cry all day, but the inability to get more than a few tears out.  That tightness in my chest and the turning into anger at our extended family for not helping out.  The chronic neck pain and headaches that result from my body's complaints about having to internalize all that negativity. It is j

I am sick of apologizing to you for autism. I have spent years saying things like "I'm sorry you were disturbed, he has autism." "I'm sorry you were offended my little boy took his swim shorts down and your grandaughter saw his butt." "I'm sorry your dinner was disturbed by his loud humming." "I'm sorry you were subjected to an hour of talking about Nintendo and gambling." The fact is, I just don't give a fuck about you anymore. I'm done feeling sorry for you. Probably because I'm too busy feeling sorry for myself. Or, more honestly, I'm just not giving a rat's ass about you and your feelings anymore. Because for every scream during dinner, every irritating hum, every repetitive comment on Nintendo, I've had a thousand. And frankly, I'm not the asshole that you are now for complaining to me about it. You were bothered at dinner for maybe 45 minutes. You were bothered for a three hour