I see through you, you son of a bitch…

So tonight my man shape gets a call. A telephone call from out of the blue. His darling mother (who sees me as the nasty little pagan with tattoos and piercings.) played a nasty trick tonight.

She called MY number (not his) which indicates that she wants me to know and wants to cause me maximum distress.

She makes some small talk about his brother who has had a biopsy taken of a nasal growth. Then moved to “Guess what? Your estranged son who hasn’t even sent you a fucking birthday card in ten years. No birthday, no Father’s Day, no Christmas. No fuck all!!!

They are estranged through thr fault of his ex-wife. She has kept them poisoned for all this time. So granny dearest has to stick her snout in and cause all this stress.

My kid aren’t his blood, but they give him gifts and cards every Yule, birthday, Father’s Day any other day!!!

Now it looks like they are going to be swept aside. Well fuck that.

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Changing plans and meltdowns…

Well, it’s not strictly a change of plans. Both my boys were told that they had a dentist’s appointment. Nothing major, only a check up. Now I think both kids have heard and understood as they dragged their eyes away from the screen and both nodded and said “Yes mum”.

My mistake was not to remind senior before he went to school. I knew that junior would be OK. He put a reminder in his phone. Senior doesn’t have a phone. They freak him out and he can’t cope with them and he disolves into a puddle of mush if he has to talk on the phone. (Much like myself really.)

So, they got home at 4pm and senior got into his PJs, which is his standard routine after school. If he has to deviate from that, we have all kinds of hell in the shape of a meltdown which just got worse when he is reminded that he has to go.

The only way to calm him down is to wrap him in his blankie and let him come round. So far it’s looking like he will go screaming and crying.

The other incident that upset him was that he wanted proper chicken curry from a takeaway. I told him calmly that we were having Shepherd’s Pie (savoury soy (or real beef)mince) with mashed potato and cheese. Normally he loves this meal, but not today. He screamed even louder.

The neighbours must think that I  butchering the poor kid from the way he is screaming. I have an ear infection brewing which is extremely painful, so the screams are making it worse.

The moral of the story? Always double check and triple check with your autistic children when you have differing plans from their normal routine.

Having “that” conversation with your child…

The birds and the bees. There comes a time when you realise that you have to do the “talk”. You notice that you have a child with a serious girlfriend. They are both almost 16 and seem very serious about each other.

So you sit your child down and as you start to try and approach the subject, he announces to you that yes they have and yes they used protection.

I was fighting two emotions. Pride because his was clever enough to use protection and nausea because I really didn’t want to think about him having sex. Not one bit. It was one of those moments where you stick your fingers in your ears and sing Lalalalalala!

However, this brings me on to the important part of the talk. I told him he must never have sex without protection as I am NOT ready to be a granny yet, no siree, I am not! I’ve purchased a box of condoms for him and I’ve told him when he needs more to ask me. I’ve also told him never do it outside. The thought of them up some disgusting urine soaked back alley full of broken glass and used needles makes me recoil in horror it really does.

So I’ve told him that if they’re going to do it, then they either go to her house or they come here.

I’ve also given him the boring part of the speach about the legal age of consent. I realise by purchasing condoms and giving them a place to go is encouraging them to break the law, but if one takes the attitude that they are going to do it anyway, I am just doing my best to help them.

The funniest part of the conversation was the dawning horror in his eyes when he realised that his aged, crippled mother got upto everything that he had just been telling me about! 😂

Is being angry really worth it?…

Seriously, I’m wondering if it is. Why I hear you cry? Well, my 15 year old has come home from school with one of the worst temper meltdowns I have ever seen him have. For a neurodiverse child with autism, ADHD and pathological demand avoidance, believe me when I tell you he has had some really bad stinkers of a meltdown. But this one? It was visceral!

Normally Im quite able to not rise to this and just put him in a quiet space until he calms down. But today? I have the flu. I feel like hell. My temperature is 38.9 and I’m alternately shaking and sweating like crazy. So when Captain Gobshite came through the door in this ball of fiery anger, I just couldn’t cope.

Within five minutes, I had royally lost it and was screaming like a possessed banshee at him. He had started yelling and blaming me for losing a form he could not find that he needed for school. No way was I taking the flack for that. He is not using his autism as an excuse for laziness. The form should have been back in his bag after he showed us.

He was being so rude and confrontational and he knew he was pushing all the right buttons. Yet most of the time I don’t react. I wonder if my being ill has lowered my guard on my emotions.

I screeched and yelled back at him until the damn thing was found and then I burst into tears and had to take a Valium.

As my temper levels returned to normal, I began to wonder if there was a point at all to anger. All it does is break you down and destroy you heart and soul. It leaves you feeling sick and broken inside. Is that short flare of temper really worth it? Is the two minutes of tension relief it brings to you really worth the destroyed voice and love that it brings? Here’s the rub… I don’t know, I really don’t. But if I had to, I’d choose that it is horrible and simply isn’t worth it.

I guess the point of this post is a little self centred. But I just want to us to remember that anger is toxic, and if you can at least keep that going, the thought will slowly help us remember to be calm in those situations.

Have I made sense here? I’m waffling on as a result of my temperature. Bleurgh. Pass me the sick bags.

Wrung out…

Dispair is creeping up inside my chest and curling it’s fetid fingers around my throat. I’m fighting the urge to cry, but the needles of tears are pricking the back of my eyelids like a thousand needle sharp teeth.

I try so hard to be a good person and a good mother. My kids are my absolute world. But they are both autistic and have special needs. I do everything by myself. But my youngest has just snapped at me. Violently snapped. I had a flashback to being beaten by his father. It was horrific. I’m now feeling cold, hot and terror filled. He is downstairs and ignoring me. He has retreated into his autistic shell. A part of me is so envious. I would give anything not to feel right now.

My thoughts are so dark right now. Why does everything I touch turn to shit? Why am I such a failure? Why can’t I have friends? I’m so toxic that every single person that I meet ends up melting away from me like butter.

I’ve fought so hard for so long that I have nothing left. I’m wrung out…

Difficult few days…

The last few days have been both physically and emotionally difficult. As much as I have my boys, and I would crawl over broken glass to give them what they need to be happy, I have to fight many demons to be able to do it.

My mum died 26 years ago. I was 16 years old. The pain has never gone away, but it has become easier to bear. There are three times when I really have to fight not to cry though. They are her birthday, christmas and when I am ill. So this christmas there have been two out of three. There have been a couple of nights where I have fought to hold it together in front of the boys, then once they are asleep, let rip with quiet tears. I miss her so much.

My pain has been at almost uncontrollable levels. Moving even short distances has been so damned difficult. My knee popped out but thankfully went back in on its own. No way I’m going to A&E on christmas eve! All I wanted was a cuddle from my mum.

Yet I did it. I gave my boys a wonderful day. They understand why I can’t wrap presents neatly. They don’t care. Their gifts are shredded so quickly, I don’t think it really matters! My friend came and cooked Christmas lunch (I can’t use the oven) and ate with us. It was wonderful.

Sure, I didn’t have butt loads of presents. We didn’t go out anywhere. But what I have is the image of my boy’s smiles imprinted in my heart. That is the best gift of all!

Flare up central…

I have not been feeling particularly well for the week or so. Both my EDS and my fibro have been kicking the crap out of me.

Four nights ago, I rolled over in bed and my shoulder popped out. Oh boy wasn’t that fun. It got popped back in, but it’s still painful. I’m eating handfuls of pills like smarties. 😭

I cannot remember the last time that I wasn’t in pain. I cannot remember the last time that I wasn’t exhausted. I can’t remember the last time I felt like a human being.

But I tell you one thing. Disability or not, my kids WILL have a totally fucking awesome christmas.

This feels weird…

I’m now heading to having four hours of sleep in forty eight hours. My legs feel wibbly as hell and my muscles are shaking. I’m snapping at everyone and behaving in general like an Imelda Marcos wannabe (without the shoes).

Yes in my dictatorship, things should all be hunky dory. Trouble is… they’re far from OK. A good dictator should project a firm and forceful image to his or indeed her people. That’s really the first thing that should happen. Yet what do the citizens of my dictatorship get? A pathetic, useless, self loathing, fat, stupid piece of crap.

Not much of a benevolent leader huh? Wouldn’t you think that you would have someone who had a little bit of self belief? Not in my town, which is no grand open space full of happiness. My town is the mess inside my head.

Why is it such a mess? That is when it becomes difficult. Talking over the events that lead to me feeling the way I do always leaves me feeling like I am trying to swallow a lump of wet cement and the more I struggle to get the words up my throat and out of my mouth. So for me to sit here and explain  why I am so fucked up is going to be almost impossible. But I’ll try.

I was raised by my grandfather and my mum. My ‘father’ was a foul mouthed, verbally and physically abusive bully to both my mum and myself. He got off on hurting people who were not strong enough to fight back to him.

He was smart enough to never do any of this crap in front of my grandfather as he knew that my pappy would have beaten the crap out of him. The one and only time that my pappy challenged him was the time that my ‘father’ decided that he was going to move us back to the place that he came from in the North West of England.

Ever since we moved, my life became a living hell. None of the kids at my new school wanted to play with me! I was a huge target for the bullies. Not only was life hell at school, but things got a lot worse at home for me. 

My mum was sick, so he was leaving her alone. This meant he turned to me. His words were enough to cut me down at first and oh boy did he ever cut me down. I was ugly, fat, stupid, useless, idiotic and unable to get anything right.

The physical abuse came next. I always knew when I was going to get hit. He would pace up and down the room, punching his fist into his other hand. Then all of a sudden, he would lash out. Not only would he use his hands, he would use a belt, a hairbrush, his shoe and any number of other weapons. He would lock me in a small cupboard for hours at a time to control me.

That wasn’t the worst of it. It was the nights that I heard him at my bedroom door that were the worse. My monster was real. I can’t…it just hurts…too much. I remember the stench of whiskey and the pawing hands as he would say sorry afterwards. It sickens me to my very soul. I cannot even stand the smell of whiskey now.

My mum died from breast cancer when I was 16. My ‘father’ kicked me out. I ended up in a crappy little one roomed place with a job in a burger bar. I could at least pay my bills and live.

Life limped on with me getting drunk a lot. Eventually I dried out and applied for my nurse training. I was accepted!

On my 19th birthday, some of the girls from work took me out for a drink. I met a guy. I fell hard and fast for him. Within a week I had moved in with him and within six months, we were married. A huge mistake. He turned out to be a carbon copy of my ‘father’ and I became what I had sworn I had never be – a battered wife.

There are years of abuse. Much as the situation with my ‘father’. I cannot bring myself to talk about what happens. The words just solidify in my throat. I can’t say them. Maybe one day they will come out.

The birth of two children did nothing to stop him. He didn’t care about any of us. It took me a long time to build up the courage to escape him.

We may be physically free from the terror now, but I remember all too well the cold fear from even just hearing his voice. I don’t know if that will ever change. 😦

Now I’m also living with PTSD, bipolar, BPD, generalised anxiety disorder, OCD, a hatful of phobias and other problems. I also have my physical issues

So you see, being a benevolent dictator in my realm is not easy. I have all of the hate swirling round in my head. If people just felt that terror for one second, then they may understand a tiny bit of the sick fear. They might be able to dance with my demons.
I’m just hoping they let me sleep tonight. Even just a little.

Consumerism gone mad…

There is absolutely nothing wrong with wanting to give your family a wonderful time at christmas. But where does the line get drawn? Should a line be drawn? Or should people spend and spend and spend until they have accumulated piles upon piles of crap, three quarters of which you can guarantee will have been broken and/or forgotten about by the end of January.

I was thinking about this the other day as the final gift had arrived in the post. It was a video game that I had pre-ordered a couple of months ago for my eldest rug rat. I got a nice surprise in the form of an email from Amazon telling me that they had refunded me some of the price as it was cheaper than quoted. It might only be pennies, but pennies certainly help!

I am a single mum to two kids. My boys are my world and I would crawl through fire to give them the best time that I can. I am disabled and cannot work, so my money is very tight. I scrimp and save all year round and I will start buying them things around August. They are both really sensible kids and they know that I don’t have much money. So they give me a list with one “definite” thing and some other, smaller things too. I make sure they get their one definite gift, and then if I can, I will get them some other things from the list as well. I’ll also get them some of their favourite chocolate to wrap up and put in their stockings.

I’m well aware that some people cannot afford to do that. Some people cannot even afford to eat. So every year, I will donate £5 to Shelter Scotland. I know it isn’t much, but it will at least go towards helping someone eat. Here is the link should you want to help them out too.

Please help Shelter Scotland!
I had to face the dreaded annual christmas food shop yesterday. Normally I do my food shopping online, but I need to shop at a particular place for christmas to help get the best value for money. It’s basically a frozen food store that sells some other bits and pieces too. It allows me to get a lot more food for the same price, so I can make sure my boys eat well at christmas.

There is a pound shop next door to it (similar to the Dollar Tree for my Amerucan readers) so I can pick up some extra little treats for very little money, which is a huge help, it really is.

Upon coming out of that shop, there was a homeless guy sitting there on the floor. He was thin and dirty and his clothes were threadbare and full of holes. He had the blankest look on his face I have ever seen. He looked so sad and full of dispair. It was heartbreaking to see. He had a polystyrene cup in front of him on the ground, and it had only a few pennies in. People were walking by and they just didn’t see him at all. They were so wrapped up in their raging consumerism, they didn’t want to see a reminder of how poor things can be for people.

I was almost in tears. I was panicking because of the crowds and just wanted to get back to the car. But I couldn’t just turn my back on this man. I sent my carer to get the blanket we keep in the boot of the car, so he could at least have something to keep him warm. I had no cash on me at all. I always use my debit card when shopping. I wanted to give him some money so badly. Then I had a brainwave. I gave him a two litre bottle of water and some crisps and biscuits and chocolates from our groceries. OK, it wasn’t ideal, but at least he had something to eat and drink. How could everyone just step on by and ignore him like that?

I thought about all the massive amounts of food that get wasted at this time of year. Not only the crazy excesses that people buy for their families, but also the waste that supermarkets create every year. We should all follow France’s lead and donate all that food to homeless shelters/food banks.

Then last night, I was browsing the news on the Internet and I came across a story that really got to me. A mother of three from the Isle of Man has spent over £1500 on gifts for her family. The pile is so huge that it obscures their christmas tree! Now a part of me thinks that she saves hard to buy those gifts and she has a right to buy whatever the hell she likes for her own family. Then my mind sees that poor man sitting on the floor with his soulless eyes. The man who cried at being given a bottle of water and some crisps. I can’t accept that level of consumerism as being ok when people like him suffer on the streets at christmas.

You can read Emma Tapping’s story here and judge for yourselves.

Consumerism gone too far.
I will always do my best to make my kids happy at christmas. But I will also try my hardest to show them that while it’s ok to have a good time, they must also think of and help those who cannot afford to be caught in the consumerist trap.