Saying goodbye to the old me…

It was Easter dinner last night and I had the menu all planned out. The previously frozen tofu was thawed and marinating in pickle brine. All I needed to do was peel and chop potatoes for fries then make the sauce for the broccoli before cutting the veggie into bite sized pieces. Oh and get the fries and broccoli into the oven to bake and dredge the tofu in a garlic powder and flour mixture and fry the tofu…

You get the picture. I’d hoped to make brownies too but I was struggling even with the thought of prepping the tofu. The veggies were overwhelming. So I ended up slicing up a tomato and an orange instead of prepping veggies. That way I wouldn’t end up curled up in the fetal position on the kitchen floor. Been there… done that… don’t want to do it again.

food prepI miss me. I miss the woman who could happily spend the day prepping meals then go on to read or write for a couple of hours. This picture’s from Facebook where I captioned it:

I spent all day cooking! I made apple sauce (apple, cherry, and nectarine sauce to be precise), chocolate pudding, fudgesicles, pizza dough, two different soups (lentil and broccoli-cauliflower), four loaves of banana bread, chocolate covered cherries, spaghetti sauce, almond cheese, and cashew cheese. Now it’s time for me to have a bubble bath, read a book, and relax before bed 

I struggle so much. I had to listen to two songs already just so I could be relaxed enough to write and I’m contemplating watching a third one. So many things I could handle with ease a couple of years ago, I can’t handle now. I get overwhelmed with shopping and will have to apologize to Colin because I just can’t handle one more store and the bus ride home too.

I used to curl up to read and finish (or almost finish) a novel. Now I’m lucky to get through a chapter. And I’m finding sleep getting harder and harder. My heart pounds… I feel short of breath. You’d think I was in a horror movie instead of my own safe bed. The past two days have found me listening to music in my swing chair in the wee hours of the morning, too anxious to sleep. It helps but it means I’m losing about two hours of sleep a night and I’m already needing an early afternoon nap so I can make it to evening.

I have brain fog. So much brain fog. People tell me things and I forget almost immediately, no matter how hard I try to remember them. I forget what I was saying as I’m speaking. I even forget what I’m thinking. I check my calendar multiple times a day, just in case I’m missing something. Sometimes I am and, luckily, I’ve found it before I was late. I signed up for free massages at Carea and completely and utterly forgot about them. Like I had no idea I’d even signed up, in writing, for one session let alone two. It was a pleasant surprise but still disconcerting. I am so thankful for reminder calls and texts.

The old me was lively and outgoing. She cheered people up and customers used to comment that her smile and friendly wave brightened their day. The old me carried around a notebook and wrote novel excerpts on the bus and quickly typed them out at home. The old me could hold a conversation that wasn’t online.

I’ve been autistic my whole life but the depression and anxiety ripped off my masks and I haven’t been able to find them again. I rock and sway regularly, listen to the same songs over and over (and over). Bounce in my swing chair to settle down. I have meltdowns when things aren’t going the way I thought and the world’s suddenly strange and different. Even though it really isn’t, it’s just my perception.

It’s weird to be mourning myself when I’m still here. But, in a way I’m not, there are so many differences between the old me and the new me, it’s like I’m a whole new person. I guess all I can really do is get to learn who the new me is and try to like her.

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Autism support…

People say they love autism. They love changing their profile pictures and banners to “light it up blue”. They love the little puzzle pieces. They love pictures of cute, adorable autistic kids and videos of them behaving properly (ie neurotypically). If you ask them, they’ll tell you that of course they support autistic people. And they do… as long as the autistic person keeps on being “normal”.

Autistic people aren’t “normal”. We rock and flap our hands. We sometimes make strange noises. We get overwhelmed and have meltdowns, which range from standing silent in the corner to screaming and crying. We eat the same thing for weeks… months… years on end and wear the same clothes day after day. We wear headphones in public, even during conversations, and cover our ears when there’s loud noises. We lack mouth filters and sometimes say things that are horribly rude without any idea of such, at least until the berating starts.

And the attitude follows us online too. We get laughed at or yelled at for mistaking a sarcastic meme for a serious one. We have no idea which emoticon to use for complex posts. We get accused of missing the point of posts when we didn’t miss it, we just felt a different point was more important. But our view doesn’t matter because it isn’t “normal”.

We don’t stay sweet, adorable children. We grow up. We’re your strange neighbour who wears the same clothes every day and talks to himself. We’re the person crying on the bus because we’ve done three transfers already and now the bus is stuck in traffic and we just want to be home. We’re the person online who’s trying to be helpful but misunderstood the meme and now looks unsympathetic. We’re the person you’ve known for two years and is “so rude” because we still haven’t learned your name, even though we know your favourite colour and you only said it once a year ago. We’re the person who will. not. stop. talking. about. ducks.

Next time you tell yourself that you support autistic people, change the word autistic to weird, strange, eccentric. Do you accept those people into your life? Because, if you don’t, you’re an autism poster supporter. So stick up that puzzle piece in April, even though autistic people don’t like it, and tell yourself you’re doing your part. But at least try to be honest with yourself. If you don’t support us in all our messy, glorious rainbow of existence, you don’t support autistic people at all.

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Autism Speaks does not speak for me…

In just under three more weeks, Facebook will be awash with blue. Blue banners, blue puzzle pieces, blue lights; all with a message imploring people to think about autism. This campaign has been co-opted by Autism Speaks, an organization dedicated to curing autism.

They see autism as a separate entity, something that clings to their children, slowly destroying them. They see it as something evil, something hellbent on destruction. And they make this obvious in their videos.

The first Autism Awareness month was held in April 1970, the year I was born. Back then autism was seen as something severe that primarily affected boys. Which is why I, as a chatty, albeit socially awkward child, was given the diagnosis of being a square peg instead of receiving one of autism.

It wasn’t until the early 90’s that people started paying more attention to children who weren’t severe enough for the autism label yet were still showing enough symptoms to not be considered average. These children fell under the category of Asperger syndrome (or Asperger’s). This disorder had been recognized by Dr. Hans Asperger back in 1944, the year my Dad was born, but didn’t gain much notice until 1981. It subsequently disappeared in 2013, when aspies got moved under the term “high functioning autism”, a term that is hotly disputed in the autism community.

Colin was born in 1997, six years after Asperger’s was recognized in Canada and the States. Autism was first mentioned briefly by his speech therapist when he was three and his Junior Kindergarten teacher when he was four. Both times I adamantly disagreed. I knew almost nothing about autism and none of it was good. As far as I knew, autism was children who banged their heads on the floor, rocked violently, screamed, and bit and clawed at themselves and others.

Colin was seven years old and in a special education class when my sister mentioned she thought he had autism. She was the third person and by then I had decent high speed internet and a need to find an answer. That was when I discovered autism checklists. I found so many of Colin’s unique quirks in those checklists, enough to make me realize those three people were likely right. Plus more than enough information to realize that my limited knowledge of autism was just that, limited to the most severely affected people. It took over a decade for me to realize I’m on the autism spectrum as well and I didn’t get officially diagnosed until last year.

Both Colin and I are highly verbal and have our own gifts. I’m good at writing and singing while Colin is good with electronics. He installed three ceiling lights in our home after watching his grandfather install one. He’s built and rebuilt several computers. He also has repaired speakers and RC cars. Basically we’re the people who Autism Speaks ignores.

Autism Speaks plays on the fears of parents. They act like autism is some outside, malevolent force out to destroy not only children but their parents’ whole lives. Something to be cured at all costs, even with “voodoun, prayer, and herbs”. Or, as Colin put it, “They make it sound like autism is a big bad meanie. It’s not, it’s just a birth defect.”

Many autistic people see autism as a neurological condition, hardwired into our brains before birth. It’s just as much a part of us as the colour of our eyes or the pigment of our skin. It’s entwined in everything we say and do. For every negative that can be said about autism, there’s a positive. Many autistic people have a special interest, in which they can rival PhD’s for knowledge. We can focus intently on minute details, often noticing things that neurotypicals miss. We are very routine oriented, which is good in many work environments. We are often very empathetic, which is a double edged sword because we can be overwhelmed by empathy to the point where we freeze and people then assume we don’t have empathy at all. Autism Speaks ignores all of this.

Autism Speaks in fact, ignores most people with autism, leaving us voiceless in their cause. Instead they focus on the parents of young children. Parents who are scared and vulnerable. This is a business and the parents are their clients. Autism Speaks CEO made $371,000 in 2013 (the most recent number I could find) and they spent over $52 million dollars in advertising. No wonder they speak so negatively about autism, they need scared parents who will do anything to cure their child. Scared parents with open wallets.

This year, instead of lighting it up blue, paint your page red or #toneitdowntaupe. Look towards ASAN the Autistic Self Advocacy Network instead of Autism Speaks. ASAN is run for, and by, autistic people.

Remember, Autism Speaks, but you don’t have to listen.

Employable Me…

Are any of you neurodiverse and looking for a job in the United States? Do you have skills that are overlooked by the workforce? If so, I might have an opportunity for you.

Optomen Productions, a company that produces such shows as Food Network, Travel Channel, Nat Geo Wild, Animal Planet, Investigation Discovery and Bravo is making a new program called Employable Me. They want to find people on the autism spectrum or with Tourettes and help them uncover hidden talents that will land them jobs. They have a preview here, sadly it doesn’t work in Canada but hopefully it will work for you.

If this opportunity interests you, you can contact Liz Alderman at Liz.Alderman@OptomenUSA.com.

Good luck! If you do get accepted, please feel free to message me. I’d love to know.

Five more years…

Five more years. That’s the estimated time until I can get a one bedroom apartment through subsidized housing. It should also, hopefully, get Colin through a good chunk of his schooling and prepare him for living on his own.

Getting him to be independent has been a process, not a one shot deal. Since he’s autistic and delayed socially, I started teaching him in late elementary school by sending him across the street to buy a small amount of groceries on his own. Something that made him feel quite proud of himself. Of course back then he was using my debit card but it was a start. His high school teacher was speechless when she found that out. Apparently he was the first student, out of all she’d taught, who had grocery shopping as a skill. Now he has his own bank account and a pre-paid Visa. He can spend exactly what he put on there and no more. Giving him responsibility without the worry of overspending.

Our bills are split relatively even. I pay extra on the rent  and pay our insurance while Colin pays for our Virgin bill (phones and internet). We were doing our grocery shopping together until this month. I lent him my card to buy three items at the grocery store. He forgot my three items then went to Dollarama and spent $71. So separate grocery runs from now on.

Colin’s all excited about his new responsibility because that means he picks what he wants, namely canned ravioli and macaroni and cheese. I figure he’ll broaden his horizons food wise once he gets bored with processed junk. Tomorrow I’m going to teach him how to make real macaroni and cheese, starting with a roux. Tonight he’ll be learning how to prepare tofu. The sauce is in a bag but it’s a start.

I’d say it’s bitter-sweet to be preparing for him to move, but it’s not. We’re both ready for places of our own. Splitting expenses just makes the inevitable move a lot easier. I’m looking forward to visiting Colin, and his clutter, in his own place then going home to relax in mine.

The weird part for me will be living on my own. I moved from my parents’ house right into my fiance’s house then our marriage broke up and I lived with our two kids. Kait’s flown the coop and is doing amazing. Now it’s Colin’s turn. We just need to wait five more years.

p.s. For those who are concerned about Blackie. She is doing 100% better now. Gobbling up her wet food and running to greet people at the front door. I’ve put her euthanasia money into a savings account but I don’t think she’ll need it any time soon. Which is amazing considering it was only a week ago that I was dithering about getting her euthanized. The appointment had been scheduled for a week ago tomorrow at 3pm. I’m so glad I dithered and cancelled the appointment. She’s such a sweet kitty and she’d leave a huge hole in our hearts.

Autism in the news…

I’ve recently become aware of a website, Healthline News, which has printed several articles on autism. Which is good because they are the second largest health information site that’s aimed at regular people, not medical professionals. They have an audience of 60 million readers, which is almost twice as many people as there are Canadians. Their articles span a variety of issues, not just autism, but I’m focusing on their autism spectrum articles today.

One article that’s interesting is an article which looks at white matter in the brain in comparison with the severity of autism and ADHD. Another looks at both the employment rate of people with autism, which sucks by the way, and how autism is portrayed in main stream media, which is improving. They also have a list of phone apps that can help teach young children and can help busy parents stay on top of appointments and therapy sessions. I could have used several of those apps when Colin was little, that is if we actually had smart phones back then.

Searching their site brings up over nine hundred hits for autism so you’re sure to have a variety of articles to read and information to peruse when the kids are settled down and not interrupting you every 3.5 seconds. Plus there’s many other articles on a variety of topics, from sex to cooking to improving your memory.

So, if you’re looking for a free website, with more articles than you could read in a year, this site is for you. Enjoy!

My life as it is…

I woke up this morning to discover Jeremy had made me breakfast to eat in my room which is so not typical for them. And, even more surprising, they weren’t dropping hints for anything. Breakfast was edible too. Mega bonus!

I was going to head out to a group called “Bucket Lists and Life’s Adventures” but finished breakfast a bit too late and went for a bike ride with Jeremy instead. It was a beautiful day here in Ontario and absolutely incredible, colour wise…

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So pretty!

“Can you hold my bike?” Jeremy asked when we got back to the front of the building. I nodded and held it steady while they ran inside.

“Only some jerk got mail,” Jeremy said with a laugh as they threw a letter into my bike basket. It was from the Ministry of Community and Social Services. Not to be confused with the Ministry of Magic.

I opened it as soon as we got inside our apartment and the words jumped out at me.

The Disability Adjudication Unit has reviewed your disability and found that you meet the program’s definition of disability.

In most ways this is good. I’ll have money to live off of, a drug card for my bucket of meds, and an discounted bus pass which will give me transportation through the region. But I have to admit that seeing the letter proclaiming I’m disabled was a shock. The word comes with a fair bit of baggage. I’m not sure my stuffed dragon and I can hold it all (it’s a very small dragon).

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Jeremy and I took a break after we got home then my Mom and I took a whole big load of stuff to our local Value Village (pronounced Value Vill-aghe with a slight nose tilt and a bad accent). I had five ficus trees on my balcony but the kittens kept climbing them so I now have two. Plus we got rid of my wicker rocking chair (I can rock well enough without it) and Jeremy’s too small elliptical. We suddenly have living room space!

Today was supposed to be my trip to downtown London, England to ride the London Eye and see Wicked with my ex boyfriend. I’d like to lie and say that the stuff I did today more than made up for the missed trip, but seriously? Today was supposed to be the highlight of what I thought would be an amazing trip and a ride through woods I’ve seen a hundred times and a run to a second hand store doesn’t compare. But, sigh, that was then… another lifetime ago… and this is now. And today was pretty damn good (and came with a delivery of breakfast).