Every time I sit down to write I always hope something witty and ingenious will make the journey from my brain to my fingertips. Right now though, the only thoughts that I can seem to formulate are about the paper cut on my finger, my desire to go to zumba class, and my need to escape the blurting autistic teenager in the living room (I say autistic teenager because right now, the autism is overcoming the child. Right now, in this moment, all I can see is the autism, and not the child. In other moments, all I see is the child. It is a constant give and take of identities.). I am constantly looking for escape. Where is my plan B? Sometimes, most times, there is no plan B. I am stuck in the moment and cannot escape it.
Waking up at 2am to a blurting autistic teenager is one of those moments. Some nights, like anyone, the autism barely shows and the autism just manifests from the need to go to the bathroom. He can express his need to go but at 2am it is difficult for even the most typical of people to function cognitively. In that respect he’s just a kid with autism. But other nights, when 2am rolls around the autism takes over. Blurting loudly in two second intervals, running up and down the hallway, jumping up and down, and banging on my door are not things that any normal person does, hence the autism. Sometimes all I have to do is pretend I am still sleeping, other times it becomes a full out battle. Those are the nights where my anxiety gets brought to its weekly, uncomfortable high point. The point in which I can’t find a comfortable position in which to lay, where my fingers grab onto the pillow to prevent lashing out, where taking the deepest of breaths is interrupted by a loud “BAH!” coming from across the hall. It is by far the most delirious, wretched feeling I have ever experienced. It comes with the territory though.
Some things are expected in life. When confronted with the idea of having kids I am conflicted. Currently I enjoy living the single life, mostly because of the independence it brings fourth. Doing what I want, when I want, with no one to answer to. Getting married and having kids means I am no longer my own person. I answer to the call of my children and husband. I am too young for that. Yet here I am, twenty years old, and caring for a kid with autism. Devoting my early mornings to waking up with him and getting him back to bed. Sacrificing my Saturdays to watch and take care of him. Allowing my evenings to be filled with numerous glances at the clock, hoping for his bedtime to roll around. Wait, last time I checked I was not thirty, married, with pregnancy stretch marks. Why do I do it? Why do I stay?
I honestly do not know the answers to those questions. I have countless reasons to leave, but I feel committed to being here… like I signed this contract, though no such thing exists. Maybe I just like to make life hard. There are people in existence who do that, make their life harder than it needs to be. Perhaps I have crossed the line into their territory. There is the thought that I could just be a good person, but do good people harness anger within their souls toward a poor autistic kid? How could you not? Even his mom snaps at him with anger. In a perfect world we can handle his negative, annoying behavior with little emotion, but guess what, in a perfect world there would be no autism. So we live in an imperfect world with imperfect people and all we can ever do is the best we can. Perfection is not part of the job requirement.
So those questions will remain unanswered along with any lingering doubts about the loch ness monster and Santa Claus. I can say that living with autism makes the crummy things crummier and the good things better. Take my paper cut. It is just a paper cut, and a paper cut, though annoying, is small. But a paper that coexists with an autistic child is enormous. Now there are two negative forces in life. Plus add the fact that the laundry is still wet and I have no clean clothes. Then there is remnant, unfinished homework that needs to be done, the bank account that is overdrawn, and the empty bottle of shampoo in the shower needs to be replaced. Any of these, or the combination of these (with the exception of the autism) are completely bearable. But combine these things with the mounting anxiety that comes with living with autism, the frustration, the annoyance, the sheer volume of autism itself… life becomes unbearable, to the maximum extent. So what is there to do? I put on my wet clothes (after trying to dry them with a hair drier) and go to zumba. Or yoga. Or spin. Or just to the gym in general. I find a place where I can escape to, literally escape. The second I walk out the door and get into my car its like finally finding a place to hide from the people, thoughts, and circumstances that are chasing you. Like an animal being hunted in the forest, it does not know why it is being hunted, chased after with guns. It just knows it needs to hide. Finally it finds a place under some brush and listens as the footsteps of hunters grows distant. That’s what its like when I leave the house. I can breathe in a big sigh of relief. I can breathe period!I have my hiding place. It may only be for an hour or two until I must return to the battle field, but its what I have, its my plan B.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
I do not wish to blog.
So I have come back to blog. Not to share, but just to write, ramble, curse, remember, compare, reflect, and think in another way. I spend so much of my time in front of the computer doing homework or facebook, why not be able to blog.
Its interesting, I read something, who knows what and where, but it was something that- oh yea, it was on my test! But anyway, it said that some students finr it easier to write on a computer because for some reason, a blank computer screen is much less daunting than a blank piece of paper. It did say, however, that the writing was not as good as that of its paper written counterparts. Now that I realize where I read this information from, I am questioning its reliability, but it does seem like a fair statement. Especially now, with technology the way it is, why wouldnt people have an easier time writing things on a computer versus the good old fashioned way of paper and pen. I notice, as I write, that how I am writing is drastically different. When I handwrite things it never sounds as good or colorful or well thought out as when I type things. Maybe its just that when I sit down in front of a computer my mind goes into paper writing mode. The vocabulary, out of habit, changes with automaticity now. I dont even have to think about it. The writing is much less personal though. Yes it is laced with great vocabulary, but what's a plethora of words compared to something handwritten, where the feeling seems to have been taken straight from the heart and left on the page, as if the pen was just an extension of your body. Someone I knew had to call off her wedding because of her fiance. He was supposed to send everyone a written statement as to why the wedding was cancelled. Not only was it short, vague, and denying respinsibility for the matter, but he typed it and didnt even sign it. He left absolutely no piece of his heart on that paper. The address was typed out and there was no return address. It was distant and void. I dont want to be distant and void, however, I dont want to be dripping in blood from being to emotioanlly connected.
There is, however, something so seducing about the quality of writing that I can produce typewritten. Like a pianist playing the piano, my fingers glide across keys creating a melodious tune. Letters and sounds that make up words that when put together, they are riveting enough to stir the soul. That is why I so adore literature. A rose, by any other name may smell as sweet but words in any other syntax or sentence or paragraph would not produce such a melodious sound.One word, a favorite of mine, oh if I could use it daily I would. But alas, it is hard to sind such a sentence in which it fits perfectly, in a context which does it justice. Now tell me I am not destined to be an English teacher! Unfortunatly this particular piece of writing is drowning in howevers.
I wonder if I could ever be an essayist, would I make the cut? Would I be able to with purpose, string together words and create in writing something as beautiful as a pearl neclase or Cannon in D? How marvelous it would be to get paid to write! Would I even have anything to write about that would be worth reading? I cant count the times when I have picked up something to read and put it doen after only a few paragraphs. Dont judge a book by its cover but the first few paragraphs are fair game. I havemany opinions about the world and how it works. I also have many stpries that I wish to tell. Many life lessons I wish to teach. So many things I wish to put to paper and immortalize in writing for as long as can be! Thoughts have power, but thoughts put to paper, well, there is no stopping those thoughts. Those thoughts are going somewhere. My thoughts so desperately want to leave my mind and travel! My heart wishes to release so many things, it wishes to bleed onto paper its hurts and its happiness, its passions and its provocations.
I do not wish to blog. I do not wish to journal. I do not wish to keep a diary or a running record. I wish to write! And that is what I will do. I will write until my thoughts have been around the world. Some of my writing will be horrendous. Some of my writing will be noteworthy. Some of my writing will be inbetween. And some of my writing, I can only assume the vast minority, will travel.
Its interesting, I read something, who knows what and where, but it was something that- oh yea, it was on my test! But anyway, it said that some students finr it easier to write on a computer because for some reason, a blank computer screen is much less daunting than a blank piece of paper. It did say, however, that the writing was not as good as that of its paper written counterparts. Now that I realize where I read this information from, I am questioning its reliability, but it does seem like a fair statement. Especially now, with technology the way it is, why wouldnt people have an easier time writing things on a computer versus the good old fashioned way of paper and pen. I notice, as I write, that how I am writing is drastically different. When I handwrite things it never sounds as good or colorful or well thought out as when I type things. Maybe its just that when I sit down in front of a computer my mind goes into paper writing mode. The vocabulary, out of habit, changes with automaticity now. I dont even have to think about it. The writing is much less personal though. Yes it is laced with great vocabulary, but what's a plethora of words compared to something handwritten, where the feeling seems to have been taken straight from the heart and left on the page, as if the pen was just an extension of your body. Someone I knew had to call off her wedding because of her fiance. He was supposed to send everyone a written statement as to why the wedding was cancelled. Not only was it short, vague, and denying respinsibility for the matter, but he typed it and didnt even sign it. He left absolutely no piece of his heart on that paper. The address was typed out and there was no return address. It was distant and void. I dont want to be distant and void, however, I dont want to be dripping in blood from being to emotioanlly connected.
There is, however, something so seducing about the quality of writing that I can produce typewritten. Like a pianist playing the piano, my fingers glide across keys creating a melodious tune. Letters and sounds that make up words that when put together, they are riveting enough to stir the soul. That is why I so adore literature. A rose, by any other name may smell as sweet but words in any other syntax or sentence or paragraph would not produce such a melodious sound.One word, a favorite of mine, oh if I could use it daily I would. But alas, it is hard to sind such a sentence in which it fits perfectly, in a context which does it justice. Now tell me I am not destined to be an English teacher! Unfortunatly this particular piece of writing is drowning in howevers.
I wonder if I could ever be an essayist, would I make the cut? Would I be able to with purpose, string together words and create in writing something as beautiful as a pearl neclase or Cannon in D? How marvelous it would be to get paid to write! Would I even have anything to write about that would be worth reading? I cant count the times when I have picked up something to read and put it doen after only a few paragraphs. Dont judge a book by its cover but the first few paragraphs are fair game. I havemany opinions about the world and how it works. I also have many stpries that I wish to tell. Many life lessons I wish to teach. So many things I wish to put to paper and immortalize in writing for as long as can be! Thoughts have power, but thoughts put to paper, well, there is no stopping those thoughts. Those thoughts are going somewhere. My thoughts so desperately want to leave my mind and travel! My heart wishes to release so many things, it wishes to bleed onto paper its hurts and its happiness, its passions and its provocations.
I do not wish to blog. I do not wish to journal. I do not wish to keep a diary or a running record. I wish to write! And that is what I will do. I will write until my thoughts have been around the world. Some of my writing will be horrendous. Some of my writing will be noteworthy. Some of my writing will be inbetween. And some of my writing, I can only assume the vast minority, will travel.
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