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Friday, March 30, 2012

Living in Insanity-ville

The first child comes home angry and ranting about life being un-fair.  About him being discriminated against because he's only 16 and no one will hire him to be a professional Videographer.  "I need more professional equipment!  I need a better camera!  This is not fair!"  He goes on with I hate this...and I hate that for at least 20 minutes before I interrupt.

"I have to go pick up your brother."
"No! Don't leave.  I need to talk to you."
"You've been talking to me for 20 minutes.  You're to repeating yourself.  I have to go."
"Well can I come with you?"
Why? So you can complain more in the car.  I don't think so.
"I have no idea what kind of mood your brother is going to be in when I pick him up.  The last thing he needs is to listen to you ranting if he's already upset.  The boys don't want to hear that either."
The boys I'm referring to are Blue's best friends who carpool with us.  They are also on the spectrum.

It turns out it's a good thing.  When I pick Blue up from school he is very ...well, blue, sad, over the whole ridiculous middle school thing.  The kids who tease him and try to make him feel less than.  The kids who make fun of him for being nice to a girl, and tease him that he must "like her".  He takes it all so personally.  His emotions and feelings are so extreme.   Having his besties in the car usually cheers him up, but not today.

By the time we pull into the driveway at home, he says to me, "I just can't do this anymore.  I don't want to go back to school.  I'm tired of fighting with everyone at home.  I just want this all to end.  I just can't live anymore." OUCH! Blow to the gut.  Heart sinking in to the depths of the ocean.  These are words a mother never wants to hear coming out of the mouth of her child.  I know within my heart that he doesn't really want to end his life, but he wants to end his pain.  And he wants me to understand the depth of his pain.

Before we can get out of the car...here comes Red.  He couldn't wait for me to come into the house to start moaning and complaining.  I stop him in his tracks.  "Look...your brother is feeling pretty bad right now.  I need you to go back into the house and let me deal with him, and when we come in, I need you not to agitate him and set him off.  I don't want him to end up in the hospital.  He's feeling that bad."

Of course I get ninety questions before he actually backs off and goes into the house.

I call the Neurologist who is currently prescribing his medication.  He suggest that I get him to see his Psychiatrist, or take him to the local pediatric Mental Hospital.  I am so not even trying to here this.  That place is horrid!  I had to place Red there once and I vowed never to go back there.  I don't care if I have to drive a country mile to find somewhere else for help.

Blue can hear my conversation with his doctor.  He notes the serious possibility of him having to go to the hospital.  He doesn't want to go there.  I make an appointment for him to see his Psychiatrist the following day.  Meanwhile we all treat him with kit gloves doing everything we can to keep him relaxed.  I don't leave him alone at all.  Before bed, I have dad rub his back with a GABA calming cream and lavender essential oil.  We make sure he goes to bed early.  Having good rest is really important for his mood.

Meanwhile, I am trying to keep Red from ranting about becoming a Professional Videographer.  He is reading all kinds of information on the internet and comes up with the ridiculous notion that he needs a $15,000. camera to make this all happen.  A friend of the family has asked him to do amateur video of a small wedding.  He thinks he can't do it without a professional camera (which he would probably have no idea how to use).  I have to explain the impracticality of his request while trying to keep him from amping up and disturbing his brother who is already off to bed.

To prove his point he begins to read to me and his father a good 3 paragraphs of technical writing in support of his need for professional equipment.  He reads it so eloquently with such fluency, I'm a little taken a back.  This is the boy who says, "I can't read! It's too hard!"  So when he finishes reading, I stop him dead in his tracks and say, "Hey! Is that YOU?  Reading all of that technical information so quickly and easily without making any mistakes?  So you can read!!!"  And with that ....we all give him a round of applause and a standing ovation.
He can't do anything but smile.  And thank God...he shuts up for the rest of the night!

I crawl into bed, feeling a little sorry for myself, for my children, for our crazy life in this house of insanity.  I have a glass of wine or 2 as I browse through Facebook and read a couple of blogs that I follow.
My friend Scotty (John Scott Holman), a fellow writer and Aspie, writes about being homeless right now and his father taking advantage of him, stealing his money and refusing to pay it back.

I read a blog by my friend Rhonda, of  Pugariffic -"I Hate Autism"  who has a 17 year-old son with autism who is pretty big and strong, a gentle-giant until he looses it, has a meltdown and rages, he physically hurts her, but she refuses to put him in a group home or Residential Treatment because of the barbaric conditions there.

Then I read about my friend Laurie @ Adopting Special Needs -There is no Calvary.  She writes about her adopted daughter 8 year-old Hope who has PTSD, among other things, and rages at any given moment, biting, kicking scratching and hurting her mother because she forgot her pencil in the car.  She writes how she may have to be placed in a Residential Treatment Facility so that she can no longer hurt the members of her family, all because some sicko physically and sexually abused her when she was younger.

Before I close my eyes I am praying for my bloggy autism friends, and my "Confessions" Facebook Community asking God to continue to give them strength to endure the insanity that we are living through.  I pray also for my own children, and suddenly realize, my Insanity-ville is not as bad as many others.  My autism is not your autism.  It's still hurts when my child is in pain and I can't do anything to magically take it all away.