Relationship Excerpts from when i was: inthemistofautism

June 17, 2013

No Longer Crazy…

Does chaos equal crazy or why I am not crazy.

The First Part:

According to my ex-husband from the start of our domestic partnership I created chaos thus I was crazy. Once I was obtained and we moved in together, a new persona manifested in him. Before he thought my chaos humorous, my box furniture original, and my use of one pan to cook all food tolerable, when we entered our domestic partnership it soon became apparent that I lived in his residency.

 He had the furniture, he kept the kitchen, he decided what and where any pictures went, decided how the towels were to be folded, and how the forks needed to be arranged for maximum efficiency. My step father had the same attitude towards his home and his wife. My mom was there for his comfort, she was a thing to be used and tolerated. Since he rescued her and her daughter from a life of extreme poverty and undesired advances then my mother and I should be grateful. Add to that the fact my stepfather was thirty plus years older than my mother and well I was witness to severe unequal distribution of power, tolerance, and emotional upheaval. Being the step daughter – I was in the same subcategory as my mother. When my stepfather said jump – I jumped. I called him sir and was required to always oversee the care of his biological sons and if my half brothers said jump I was to jump.  My value like my mother’s was minimal and attached to the males in the household. 

Thus I did not find it too strange when my then fiancé griped over the directions of forks and how the vacuuming had to be done in straight lines. He was after all to be my husband and in part rescued me. He knew of all the previous men, he sat through all my tears as the other men entered and exited my life; he cooked for me, and he tolerated my emotional outbursts. In retrospect I should have left him. And I did. Yet each time my fiancé would go hunting for me and bring me back. He has amazing skills in looking innocent with his clear blue eyes which would always shed the correct amount of tears allowing him to become the injured party.  He never asked me to explain my outbursts. He just wanted me back and so I went back.  And each time I went back – I became a little less myself and became a little more what I thought would keep us together. 

I followed his rules until I could no longer stand them knowing that with each breaking of his regulations a torrent of fights would commence. For example, I was not allowed to use his shampoo even though I bought it and it cost less than mine: his stuff was his stuff. The fights over the trivial became so significant I called it quits. I moved in with a girl friend of mine in 1998. I then moved back because he promised the trivial was not as important as I was. 

During the first part of our marriage I did three things. I worked between forty and forty five hours a week as a waitress, went to college full time trying to correct my errors of my first year in school, and went home to him where he always had a margarita or two waiting for me. He had found a way to control me. As long as I was buzzed he was able to care for me and I would not deviate from his wants. I would sit on the couch reading a book, watching a television program, and listening to him recount his day in excruciating detail. I knew what wire went where and why each register failed to work properly. My day of school and waiting tables was never mentioned.  My books were not important unless he felt I was too distracted to hear his story.  Because of the fights that ensued if I was not attentively listening to his day, I trained and I became able to repeat the last three sentence of any conversation we had. 

At times he got his alcoholic formula wrong and all past evils would manifest and arise in my head. Because even if one shuts the door on one’s past that does not mean the past is gone. It is still there awaiting the opportunity to reenter. 

My husband tolerated these outbursts which included running away, yelling, throwing of items, screaming, hiding, sleeping in the oddest places usually on the floor closest to the door. He would put a blanket on me and go off to sleep in our bed. The next day he would never mention these outbursts and I was grateful.

I was grateful he did not want me to explain, grateful he put a blanket on me, grateful he tolerated me and thus I stayed. Had I been stronger, had I done the work to actually work through my past pains, I would have had the courage to ask my husband why he never asked me to explain.  I did not because what I wanted most was to finish school and so we continued.

I graduated college in 1998. During that time I had found an intellectual outlet to my pain in the writing of poetry. So it only made sense that I work towards my goal of becoming of a poet. By then my husband had advanced through his company to a supervisory position in I.T. I quit my waitressing job and entered a career of phone sales where I could read as I waited for customers to approach. Because I went to graduate school at night my drinking became minimal. No longer was I sitting on the couch, no longer was I there to hear his days events. Our trivial fights again commenced. 

The second part of our marriage 

To say I was damaged during our first years of marriage is an understatement. I take full responsibility for our terrible wedding, our terrible first and second year. The third year was a mutual clash of wills and by the fourth I became indifferent to his advances. By the fifth year I no longer was as damaged since I had worked out/partitioned several aspects of my early life through poetry and short stories.  

The fact that I was something to fix, I believed, intrigued my husband: not that he wanted to deal with my past and work through that but he felt he could fix me by doing everyday items for me. At times I believed I did not have hands. If I tried to do something he would come by and take over. Showing me that his way was best, his way  

His sulking was not limited to bad meals. It also entered into our life when I was not able to do a job to his satisfaction.  And his satisfaction is perfection. 

During our first three years, we never fought about money or about any substantive issue then during the next five years of our marriage – our fights started to revolve around my expectations of him and his want of control. 

 If I could work over 40 hours a week as a waitress and complete college then why couldn’t he? If I could work in sales and work towards a masters – why couldn’t he finish a project.  And was it necessary for him to have so many hobbies that never actually manifested into realities? To state that he started living day by day is an understatement. He would take a day to plan a project out and never actually start the project. And if he did start the project it never came to fruition. Although our living conditions became larger, the room we had became smaller. He started accumulating stuff. I never complained because to complain led to arguments. Arguments that I no longer cared to have. 

He could sense I did not care. And part of him did not care either. So we coexisted: roommates at best with the occasional tussle. 

In 2001 my Master’s of Fine Arts was coming to a close. I had completed all necessary classes and was in the process of binding my thesis – when I just could not do it. As I reread my poetry from that era it is nothing but my pain. Thus I stopped and went off to teach high school English.  This was a twofold goal. One I was teaching and two because of teaching we were able to buy our home with zero down and at an amazing interest rate. 

I was so excited. After all that is the American dream. My dream soon turned to a living nightmare. If I thought he was controlling before on the minutiae of life. My husband became a tyrant of the ins and outs of the house. I wanted a chimney. He did not. I wanted a game room. He did not. I wanted a patio. He would build one later. I wanted dark colored brick – red preferable. He did not. I wanted color – his taste went to the neutral and differing shades of beige and gray.  Every trip to Home Depot or Lowe's made my blood run cold. 

I just stopped. I let him pick out what he wanted. I would no longer voice my desires. Sex between us became almost nonexistent. We started taking turns sleeping on the couch.  Teaching Romeo and Juliet six times a day grew intolerable and I returned to what I loved best. To where I could escape – I returned to school.  Law school seemed the most likely candidate. The first year of law school was amazing. My husband seemed to support me. I would wake up at 5 am and read. I was left alone to read and study.

My husband even started school again. It was painful to see him go to school. He would get bogged down on the most trivial matters that he would shut down. And if I pushed him then he would shut down even more. 

As I entered my second year of law school, I could not see a positive to being married to him. He was angry at me but could not manifest the courage to tell me why. Instead he left me alone; if I asked to go out he made an excuse. When I was invited to the Dean’s dinner at my law school, my ex-husband declined to go with me. When I asked to go to the movies, dinner, shows, it all was promised but never fulfilled. 

In November of 2004 I had had enough I tried to commit suicide. Nothing I did seemed to matter, I felt I was in an abyss. My ex husband had gone off to his parents in Washington D.C. for Thanksgiving and I was left at home.  I had planned to be gone by the time he returned. Instead before I achieved my goal I sat down and turned on the television and on it was the show about these women in a city and how relationship after relationship did not work out.  Soon I realized that I did not want out of my life I wanted out of my marriage. 

In December 2004 I moved out and into a one bedroom apartment. I made the mistake of allowing him time with me. He even went so far as to make me a care basket filled with fire logs, wine, pictures of my dogs which he took.  He was in full get the “crazy woman” back mode. And throughout 2005 he continued and when I was about to start dating a nice architect I had met, he asked me back. Silly me, I went back. 

And I would have been content to be back. But it soon started again, but very gradually, I became a Citizen in November of 2006, I was even the speaker, he declined to join me. For my swearing in as an attorney he was also absent. And it went on, by the time our son was diagnosed my ex husband had completely shut down again. 

Autism and My Marriage

 Sunday, January 8, 2012 

For those of you in an Asperger's (Aspie)/ Neurotypical (NT) relationship – this may sound very familiar.

My marriage has been a circular progression of nonmovant. The clothes change, the surroundings may change, but our relationship/ marriage has remained interlocked in a series of almost comical scenarios that replay. The first fifteen years it always ended the same way. I was wrong. Even if I could show evidence that it was not my doing – it would not matter. I was wrong. It became so commonplace that I just stopped trying to prove otherwise. See my husband could not be wrong.

This would build up until I could not stand it – I would threaten to leave and he would rise to the occasion and somehow convince me to stay by his actions and promises. Now you may ask – how is this Autism and not just the character of most men. 

Most men would not be able to get it right – in fact divorces are common place because a common man could not convince himself or his spouse to stay. While a spouse on the Autistic spectrum, in my husband’s case Asperger's, he would always get it right because he would take his ability to hyper focus on me and my needs and desires and accomplish his goal – get me to stay. 

Unluckily, the hyper focus never stayed and we return to what I perceived as “our game”: a game where I am wrong and he is right.

Prior to my son’s diagnosis this was our game. I even left my husband for a year in 2005. And during that year my husband was so hyper focused on getting me back – I really felt he had changed. Everything I had asked him to do around the house got done. His attitude towards me and life seemed to have changed maybe even evolved. He was romantic and endearing just like when I first encountered him. For example, before I moved out of our house he made a care package with wine, fire logs, and framed pictures he took of the dogs I was leaving behind. It made me question why I was leaving. And throughout 2005 he made these types of gestures which always made me question why I had left. So I returned.

When I returned to our home in 2006 we were content. And even though I had just finished law school, we agreed to start a family. We had our daughter in 2007 and our son in 2008. By 2009 we had returned to our game. I was wrong and he was right.

It did not matter that I had taught school and had training in childhood development – according to my husband our son was developmentally on target. I was crazy to think he was not.

In May of 2010 our son finally was referred for services. Our son was diagnosed on the Autism spectrum – our son was non verbal, he fluttered like flutterfly, stood on his toes and had little eye contact. He did occupational therapy and speech therapy for over a year. He was and is enrolled in a Readi Program to help him cope with the demands of school.

At first my husband shut down. Luckily, his father encouraged him to run a marathon – soon my husband was running. He was running every weekend and some weeknights.  Since 2009 my husband has run 4 marathons, several 10k and 5k runs, and two 50k races. I was left to care for the children and make the decisions and of course if the decisions did not work out I was wrong. If they did work out then they were his.

Needless to say by 2011 I was tired. I was tired again of being so wrong.

And I always marvel, furiously at times, how I could be so wrong in my husband’s eyes. Because I want to point out - I am practicing attorney and I teach college classes for a local university. I have in depth knowledge of the soul and of the mind, after all I have a Bachelor's in English (think of all the books I have read) and don't forget to add the 45 useless hours towards a Master’s in Fine Arts in Creative writing with an emphasis on poetry which I used as therapy to cure many of my youthful transgressions and injuries both real and imagined, and need I mention that I have a Juris Doctorate - see isn't it all very impressive? Also, I have read more on Autism and Autism cures than I care to admit. Thus doesn’t he know people hire me to help fix their legal problems; doesn’t he remember that people come to class and learn from me? Why doesn’t he remember that I used to teach school and have training on how to teach children and how to discipline? Doesn’t he know who I am?

The answer I hate to say is – no. He doesn’t know who I am because unless I am his goal, he is not aware.

See my husband is on the spectrum too. He may look me in the eye but he doesn’t hear and/or care to comprehend my words, my actions, the stories of my day, what book I am reading, what poem I have written, who I had lunch with or if I had lunch, and/ or what bible passage is lying open on my desk as he approaches to tell me about his day.

It is only when he becomes hyper focused – that he brings his skills and abilities to fix our relationship to my satisfaction because remember his goal becomes – getting me to stay. 

Our marriage only survived 2011 because of our mutual acceptance of Autism both in my son and husband.

Being an attorney, the divorce papers have been drafted up and ready to go for a long while – we each have on separate occasions called it quits only to relive our circular reenactment of the “we can’t, we can’t” fail because the bible tells us so, because what would our parents and our face book friends comment, because I become his goal – again and again and again.

So like most troubled couples we went to therapy and I don’t recommend it unless you have a therapist that is trained in dealing with Asperger's syndrome.  She made my husband miserable. She made me miserable as I sat there and participated in what I now see clearly as a cruel transgression. She wanted to make my husband see my needs through Neurotypical language. He could not understand. He knew he should be able to understand but could not.

However, it is important to note that I had an epiphany of sorts.

After we parted and I returned to work – I came to the realization that even though I do not know how an airplane flies – a plane does fly. I can memorize the words to repeat and can feign knowledge but the truth is I do not care and do not know how a plane flies – it just has to fly.

Now, my husband does know how a plane flies. He has tried to explain it to me countless times in countless ways something about air currents…. This is his language – his understanding.  He excels in his field of work (Information Technology) because of his ability to understand that which I and most Neurotypicals do not understand or care to understand. 

I realized at the moment of thinking of my inability to comprehend flight that my husband and I are different. And I finally realized that “our game” was not ours. His was his and mine was mine. And the outcome never changed and will never change unless we can make it “ours.” But how? Hopefully 2012 will bring this answer or at least some coping techniques and perhaps some good poems.

We may not survive as a couple. But will survive as parents and long life friends. I will see to that even if it means I am wrong.

My Son and Autism

Saturday, January 14, 2012

It is easier to write about the ruins of my marriage than to write about my son and Autism. In my marriage I glimpse a humorous debacle – in my son I seethe.  Not because of the diagnosis but because I cannot by sheer will and determination move his progression along at a faster rate.  I am hard headed. If I am told no – I will have it done to prove the no wrong.  If it is too heavy – I use leverage. If it is too expensive I find more work.  I am not an accepting person.

Little did I know that while I was honing my educational, emotional, and employment skills that each skill will be needed to help my child become an amazing man. If I need to litigate for services – I will. If I need to home school – I will. My life has led me to serve; my heart belongs to those that need. Ironically, my son needs and my daughter too. I make sure both fail and fail and fail again. Because if there is no failure then there is little trying. And they will try. Try everything.

I am surprisingly serene around my son. He is now three; although; emotionally he is a two year old at best. His vocabulary is at about 18 months. His comprehension and his motor skills however are extremely adept. He may not have the words to express; yet, he knows when, where, and what needs to happen. He is easily learning how to disassemble and assemble all his hands can reach. Also, he may not look us in the eyes, unless spoken to in a harsh teacher tone, but every now and again I catch a sly smile. Add to that that he is amazingly good looking and adorable and well Autism be damned.

I love him. I love him as I have never known love. One “I wuv you” from him and I stop in my tracks and race to embrace him.  If he but utters an “I want” – it is his. I believe God sent him to me to make me realize that I cannot just exist by sheer will and determination.

It is hard to accept help but I have sought it out. I have sent my mother and husband to training with Any Baby Can. I have allowed Easter Seals in my house and seen the wonders of its therapists.  I have shut my mouth and listened to speech, psychologist, doctors, dieticians, special education teachers, occupational therapists, neurologists, and any other person who may have insight. I have made myself a pest and will continue to be such so that my son qualifies and receives whatever help he may need. It is all very humbling.

It is humbling to be at the mercy of this person or that but the reality is that each person I have encountered along the midst of Autism is most amazing and caring. And this acknowledgement has made me stop and think of all the people I have ever encountered who touched my life profoundly. Each individual, in my opinion, was sent by God to lead me and teach me and deepen my life so I can survive both my humorous debacle and my seething.

Update

Sunday, January 29, 2012

I would like to write that my husband and I have been diligently working on our marriage and that we have come up with a few coping skills and are at the brink of a breakthrough. Unluckily, that is not the case. Since I now have insight on how my husband was able to on prior occasions butterfly net catch me, he no longer has that tactical advantage and it is painfully evident that he is at a loss on what to do.  He refuses to and or he cannot because of his limitations understand that what I need is for him to gain an interior life that includes me or perhaps he does understand but refuses to act or cannot act because of his limitations.

Before my insight and before the diagnosis – I was of the opinion, of the hope, that his actions manifested from his interior want and need to evolve into a man that I could be complete with at least that is what I prayed for. Instead, I now know his actions were superfluous – his goal was to get me to stay thus his actions were to that end and nothing beyond it.  His actions can be akin to the actions of those individuals, who go to church, dress nicely, put money in the collection plate and then go home. When questioned what the service was about they have no idea. Yes, they sat in the church but nothing was internalized and no lesson was learned. No good action comes from going to church and no bad action comes and/or no bad action is hindered from transpiring – no spiritual, interior growth comes from going to church. They go because that is what society says to do. 

I am of the opinion that my husband stays in our marriage because that is what society expects from him. If I could be traded out for a similar model with as little upset to his routine as possible he would be ok with it. 

Thus I have decided to leave.  Not because I do not care very deeply for him. I do. I, also, love the fact that he is a great father, a good provider, that he is honest and just plain good. But the incident that finally triggered my decision is as follows: we were going passively along our domestic life when he asked how I was. I stated fine as I was washing the dishes and preparing dinner. Perhaps the word fine was what set him off. He then persisted in questioning me – had he done anything wrong? He had not. I stated to please stop the questioning. He persisted. Until, as usual, a small fight becomes catastrophic. He then stated I was a miserable person and that I did not care about our children. By this time both children were crying and very attuned to our fight. I looked at my daughter and I understood what his words and my answers were causing in her. 

My husband has on several occasions stated awful things to me and I have reciprocated with equally terrible caustic comments. But never before had he used my love for my children against me. This I cannot and will not tolerate. Perhaps it is the mother in me that says no more. 

Days passed after this incident. And he, like a child, knew he did very wrong. He would however not apologize directly for it. At our bi-monthly meeting I informed him that I was leaving. He had nothing to add. I informed him that if he ever demeans me in front of my children that I will fight for full custody and for all material things. I know he is smart enough not to ever again do what he did – he loves his stuff too much.  As for the children, he loves them and he is a great father but I believe he would be ok with whatever decision I made with regards to the children – even relieved.

Thus I am walking away again. This time however I plan to be smarter than before and go very slow and not take his material giving and his small or grand gestures of helpfulness as proof of his caring for me. I know he cares for me but I doubt he loves me or even deeply cares. I know he wants me sexually, and he is a very good lover after all I taught him, but I know now that it is not enough to keep a relationship going.  And although I was about to succumb to his sexual advances yesterday all I could think was the “after” – how he would take a shower immediately after, how we would not talk about any true relevant matter, how he would assume all was right with us even as tears poured down my face. Thus I slipped from his arms, adjusted my clothing, and stated that he can no longer have me if all he wants me for is sex, he must decide to be a true husband to me: in short, I am no longer à la carte. And with that I left. He did not follow, he did not question, he just returned to his work. We have not spoken since then thus I continue my course and if he decides he can accept all of me and work with me to become a complete marriage unit I will be around. If he decides he can’t, he will never tell me; he will just lay blame of our failed marriage on me. And I am ok with that. 

To say my marriage is cold is incorrect. My marriage is worse – it is lukewarm. One can almost feel the warmth, almost.

 

God and Autism Make Me Laugh

Thursday, February 2, 2012

Last week I won the biggest trial in my legal career so far. Boy charged with three felonies, arson being one. The state had several witnesses each stating this and that. In short we won on all three counts. As customary, several defense attorneys and some prosecutors approached us and patted us on the back, shook our hands, congratulated us with the customary title of Counsel. With my hair tightly braided and in my steel grey suit and matching heels, I smiled and nodded my head in appreciation of the accolades. But what ran through my head and eyes was “see ... I can.” 

Today my son had his ARD (Admission, Review, and Dismissal) meeting to review his IEP (individualized education program). His READI teacher recommended that he be put in a collaborative/inclusive class setting with neurotypical children aka normal. Rays of light flew through my heart. Tears welled up in my eyes and a smile I haven’t felt in a very long time appeared on my face. To say I was happy is an understatement. 

As I reached my car the tears finally escaped my eyes – I started to laugh. This then was happiness. The sky never looked bluer. It sparkled. 

As the wind twirled my skirt I recalled that as a child I was told by my mother, by school, by life that if I had an education I would create for myself a good life and I would be happy. I have hundreds of hours of college, an amazing vocation, the ability to write, all in all a nice life. The type that my mother and school officials said I could get with an education. But I can say in all truthfulness that I have never been happy: not on the days I graduated, not on my wedding day, not on the days my children were born.

Today I was and I laugh at how God has shown me happiness. Discounting all my education, my title, my nice life, my big win – so I guess I never had to prove I was worthy of happiness – it just arrived through my son’s alleged disability. 

God makes me laugh with the lessons he gives me.

My Pre-Valentine’s Day Surprise

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Yesterday I walked down the stairs and was getting ready to leave. I said my customary goodbyes to my children with no expectations of acknowledgment from my son. My mother, who is amazing and who watches my children when they don’t go to preschool, was busy completing the valentine cards so she took little notice when my three year old son’s head popped up as I said “ good bye, goodbye.”

 He looked at me: stopped his movement of items, carefully made his way through the maze of blocks on the floor towards me. I, in awe, inched towards him.

My mother by now was aware of his movement but sat quietly. My daughter who is four but has the ability to talk at a hundred miles an hour was informing me of her name and her ability to write it several times in preparation for her cards. I smiled at her and acknowledged how brilliant she is for being able to write her name at such a young age; yet, keeping my eyes intently aware of my son’s movement because he was quickly approaching me.

My Autistic son, who I have been told by experts that he will need years of therapy and education to show any engagement, then raised his arms up and I bent down. He took my face in his little hands and he kissed me. Then he said bye and returned the way he came.   

I can ask for nothing more, God. Thank you.

Expectations

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

On March 2, 2012 at about 2:30 I filed for divorce. I expected it to be harder. I expected my hands to tremble or for tears to fall or for me to say, no, this is not the way let me try it again and walk away from the filing window. Instead the money went from my hand easily, the clerk stamped and numbered my petition and I was left with only my copy and a receipt. And the thought that ran through my mind was that the $300 that it cost to file the divorce was more than what I paid for my wedding dress. 

Thus all this got me thinking about expectations and when I got home I did not tell my husband instead I waited, expecting what I do not know. Four days passed and my husband asked to speak to me after the children had been put to bed. We sat at our dining room table and he asked me what the next step was. I told him I did not know and told him I had filed. Again I expected to cry as my words escaped but instead there was nothing. He smirked, he cried, and said he understood. I went swimming that night for a long while.

And thought about my expectations of marriage and about the quote from Lao Tzu: Act without Expectation.

I was brought up in a household where the man ruled. The wife was a commodity, she did what she was told. If my stepfather whistled or hissed my mother and I were to see to his needs. To say there was a disparity in respect, gender, and age is an understatement. Today, my stepfather is 86 years old; my mother is 56. The age gap is tremendous. She was little more than a child when he married her. But she married him to bring me across to the United States. It was in a short a terrible agreement, one drafted in tears and exchange, but one that my four foot eleven inch with straight long black haired mother upheld. My stepfather also upheld his side: we had shelter and food and when he was in a good mood many many funny stories and music. My stepfather was a dashing 6 foot three blue eyed jazz piano player with a silver tongue. On his good days he would come home and say how tomorrow he was sure he was going to make it big: how the crowd loved him: how it would all work out. On his bad days we were not allowed to make noise, not allowed to even look him in the eye. His bad days outnumbered his good days in droves.

Thus I was taught by my mother’s actions to accept what your husband gives you, accept the yelling, the control, and the intolerance. Accept that when he is watching sports to leave him alone, if he says recook, recook, if he says no pictures on the walls, then no pictures on the walls. He would not let my mother drive, work, or go to school.  She was not to question his finances and not question his comings and goings.

We were poor. Not because my stepfather did not work but because he had no ability to budget his finances. We moved countless times, not from city to city, but rather from apartment to apartment, then when my second brother was born from duplex to duplex. A few years back when I finally placed my stepfather in a nursing home (besides having Alzheimer’s, he fell and broke his hip, and I and my half brothers would no longer allow our mother to care for him: she couldn't, we were losing her and although she cried, as all imprisoned victims do at the loss of their captors, she finally broke down and allowed me to make the arrangements)  the amount of porn, records, cassettes, Cds, playboy, hustler, and all other types of magazines, and useless items I went through and threw away infuriated me. My mother, my brothers, and I had to go without while he enlightened himself via rubbish. But he was my stepfather and my mother did her best. And thus my programming/my expectations of marriage stemmed from this environment.

My husband was brought up in a very different environment. His father was Air force. When my husband was young his father was enlisted, his father however soon graduated college and became an officer. His father retired a Colonel. His mother is a nurse. She has red hair and by God she controls the house. This woman was able to work as a nurse, have five children, move every two or three years, sew clothes, make gourmet meals, and tell his father/her husband how and what and when to do in no uncertain terms. She has a list a mile long for her husband and she expects it to be done. He cooks, he cleans, he cares for children, he lays wooden floors, whatever she wants he does. He had a vasectomy and at her command had it reversed. She is not beautiful and as far as I can tell they have not had sex in ages; although, they are only days apart in age.  I am uncertain on whether their marriage is happy, sad, intolerable, angry, or indifferent. I just know that when I enter their house I feel like a complete stranger and not because I am Mexican and they are all blue eyed Caucasian. I shrivel when I hear his mother yell and/or chastise her husband.

Clearly, my husband and I were raised in two very different environments.  My expectations were that the husband controlled and his probably were that the wife would control. At the start of our marriage after a fight on how nothing got done, he even asked for a honey do list – I could not. I even tried to sit down to write one and as I was putting things on the list – I just did them: why not I thought.

It never occurred to me that the reason I could not write him a list was because I had been programmed that a wife never asks her husband to do a thing. The husband tells the wife what to do not the other way around.  When my husband and I got our first dog, my husband would whistle for the dog to come to him. To my embarrassment, when my husband whistled I came and asked him what he wanted. It was after all how I had been programmed. 

He was taught that if your wife wants or does something not to question it thus my many college degrees. I was taught that if your husband wants or does something not to question it thus his many hobbies and toys that clutter our house and garage. Thus when he said, don’t put pictures up without me; I didn’t. When he picked out the color of the house, the carpet, the appliances, when he said no to a fireplace, when he bought me a white car (a color I detest),  I did not push or say: no this not what I want – I did not say what I wanted because one does not question their husband and he was my husband.

With our expectations being so diametrically opposed there is little wonder why our marriage never blossomed.  The one thing that did hold our marriage together was sex. But remember because of my sexual molestation as a child – I controlled sex. Thus I would initiate it and I would direct it. It was the only area in our marriage that I would take full control in.  And him being a man, and being who he is, he allows me control in this area.

In fact he would have allowed me control in all areas but I didn’t want it. I expected to be the woman and for him to be the man that was my expectation in a relationship. Not that I could not control - I do because there is no one else to do it and in fact most of our main fights came from this issue: I wanted to hand over control to him with regards to the big ticket items i.e. finances, spirituality...and he did not want it; he did however want control over the little items: how the dishwasher was to be filled, how the forks need to face in one direction, and the cabinets be closed, how I was not to use his shampoo. These were our fights; not about money or infidelity but about our hot potato game of: I am not in control. It is important to note that I am a very ambitious, controlling person, very capable of handling most situations but my expectations of marriage and what occurs in a marriage were in part controlled by my childhood programming and in part by the ever knowing outside sources.

The bible teaches us that marriage is a union where the husband is the head and the wife submits, if this occurs then a content marriage environment arises where both individuals are fulfilled. Society teaches us that marriage is an equal partnership between husband and wife which allows for the partnership and individual to be fulfilled. Add to these myths - my husband’s and my backgrounds, a diagnosis of Asperger's syndrome and my own childhood demon of sexual molestation and well our marriage is lucky to have been around so long – 16 years in May.

The magnificence of filing for divorce and being in this limbo stage is the fact that I no longer have expectations with regards to our marriage, with regards to our roles. All expectations are over. I believe he feels it too.

This part is hard.

Monday, April 16, 2012

We are a few weeks away from the entering of the divorce decree. My Aspie is my aspie. He has not broached the subject. He has not said no, he does not want it or he does want it. I expected that. I expected silence. I expected that he would revert back to the being that captured me. Had I not known he has this diagnosis, this asperger’s which denies him empathy, denies me a husband that I can emotionally connect with, denies us moments of existence that should have been ours, I would have fallen into his arms again. For he has stepped up his process: he is nicer, sweeter, and more tolerant. He has made me his focus. 

A few weeks back I put up curtain rods in the children’s rooms. Something I have asked him to do for the last four years. Somehow it always went to the bottom of the list even though the curtain rods have lain in the closet since the children were born. Even though I wanted it done and asked repeatedly. 

I put them up myself with a little, not very powerful handheld drill. They are a skewed. In our son’s room it was much harder. I hit a stud and my little screwdriver could not penetrate and so I made a very large hole removing the screw. In the midst of this endeavor my soon to be ex-husband came in and looked around asked if he could help and then left when I said no. Had the paper not been filed the fight that would have ensued would have made me cry for days. Not that he would have yelled but rather his demeanor, his sense of being would have devastated me. He is in short two beings. One I care for and one I fear. Not out of physical fear but rather the emotional coldness that ensues. After one of those fights it is weeks before I can even feel that I am tolerated by him. 

But since the papers are filed his tolerance is higher. He has allowed me to close the windows, allowed his brother to move the mound of dirt in our backyard, allowed me to cook and mow the grass with only a minor glare. He even tried to support me at my newest venture – these crazy obstacle 5k races; although, I am aware that his desire to be there may have stemmed from another female participant. But still he supported me. Something he has never done. When I became an American Citizen and was one of the speakers at the ceremony – he claimed he had to be at work. I went alone, pregnant. When I was sworn in as an attorney – he smiled and went to work. My pregnant self went with my mother. But I must give him credit for the race he went to support “me” in, since he did take our kids with him to cheer me on.  And my boy and my girl both saw me finish a race. 

Again, if I did not know of his diagnosis – I would try again. But, from experience, I know his actions, his tolerance is not sustainable. I just have to think back to 2005 and to the many times I tried to rid myself of him at the start of our relationship. Once I said it was over – it somehow motivated him to make it not over – and I like a child would believe him. And I know that once I drop the divorce he will return to his moments of intolerance. To the moments I do not exist. Thus I will continue the divorce process to the end. I will tear down my house completely and hope we laugh.

Shattered Windows

Thursday, April 26, 2012

   Yesterday night my metaphorical windows were shattered. I was tired, I was hungry, I had finished teaching a class after a full day of work, I had swam for over forty-five minutes and I came home to the long awaited answers to my 2011 Christmas request. I guess he still reads my blog.

     In short the answers were for the most part curt, cold, evasive, and brutally honest - all in all in true Aspie character. After I pulled out the letters he wrote me at the start of our relationship almost eighteen years ago… I know that if he wanted he could have been a bit warmer, a bit more debonair. But his answers did answer the questions even though coal would have been preferable.

     As a wise woman wrote to me in my Aspie support group “hope is the last thing to go” – thank you wise woman, I believe hope has boarded “the last train to the coast.” In the back of my mind, or maybe it was my heart, I kept anticipating, waiting, expecting, that he would awake and see me as I am and not as I was. Instead after last night I see that in his sight: I am still the same girl he married.

     Odd that I could have unraveled and reemerged stronger, cleaner, more in life; and yet, still not be seen in a different light by the very man who wrote our poem to our wedding invitations: "How beautiful was the day the Angels came to see the joining of these two as they began to be...": this very man that before God and his family pledged in better and in worse. He had me at my worst and accepted me. But at my better he doesn’t seem to want me.

     My marriage is a humorous debacle. My divorce though seems to be going well.

 _____________________________________________________________________

Sunday School Blues

Thursday, May 3, 2012

I am a big fan of Johnny Cash. I have most of his songs and play them in the car. My four year old daughter knows most of the words and sings along. I was not too proud that she learned the words to Ring of Fire and not proud at all that when Cash sang about Jesus and her question to me was “why does Mr. Cash keep singing this name Jesus.”  I knew then that I needed to bring some sort of religious education to my family. 

I am Catholic by upbringing. My children’s father is Lutheran. Neither of us practice our religion. I go to Catholic Mass every now and again: I like the ritual but rarely does it do anything for my soul. 

We were married by my spouse’s youth minister who was let go by his Lutheran Church because of an alleged affair with a parishioner; our children were baptized by a Universalist Reverend at my father’s nursing home. In short, my children’s catechism was nonexistent and so I decided that going to my husband’s Lutheran church (the one that his parent’s would take him to when his father was stationed here) would be the direction to go after trying different churches out.  My children’s father did not care. He runs or works on Sundays. 

The Lutheran church we go to is near our home. It is very accepting of my odd little family. My mother who is Catholic goes with me. My daughter loves going for the singing in the little church behind the big Church. The little church looks like it came out of Little House on the Prairie. My mom says I chose that church because of that little church – I believe she is right. 

When we started I was able to go with my four year old daughter. I even offered to bring snacks. To my horror (then), in response, the Sunday school teacher asked me to help with the four year old class because the other teacher was going out of the country. 

Thus because I did not know how to say no when I had offered help, I taught Sunday school for about three months. It was amazing. Having taught high school English, alone, to 37 rowdy, hormonally, charged teenagers five rounds a day – teaching 20 four years old was a breeze especially with another teacher for an hour. I redirected, I taught, I encouraged, I tried to sing, I laughed: overall it was a great experience for a non-practicing Catholic who teaches business law and deals with felons. 

During these three months my son was at the nursery. He liked all the toys and the nursery always had a movie going and my mom would drop by to check on him during the service. But then my son turned 3 and he was allowed to enter the three year old Sunday school class.  My mom is amazing: she alternates going to service and caring for the very little children in the nursery. I will not let her take care of my son in his classroom, although she has offered – that is my job. 

Thus, I could no longer teach my daughter’s class, I went into my son’s class. At first it was good. I was able to help. Then I got sick for two weeks and his father offered to take him. When I returned my son would not sit still. He had gotten too comfortable.  

The first part of the class he is ok. He plays with play dough. But the singing he can’t stand, story time causes him to run out of the room, the planned activity ends up being thrown, and snack time is meltdown time. I have been kicked, bit, scratched, pinched, hair pulled, clothes ripped but the most hurtful and horrifying of all is the looks I receive of pity and sometimes contempt.

Most times I want to cry when I see pity in people’s eyes but when I catch contempt in their eyes, I just smile back. The looks of contempt keep me coming back – for I would rather be uncomfortable for a few days out of my life than deny my son the opportunity to learn not only about God but also about acceptance.

My son is learning. As soon as he has a meltdown we go sit in the car and I read scripture to him and wait for my daughter to finish Sunday school.  It would be easy to stay home and put on some Christian cartoon about Jesus. But that is not what I want for my son. I want him to learn tolerance, acceptance, knowledge, and that his mother will, regardless of snickers and looks of contempt and pity, be right next to him as he learns. And so we go to school, Sunday after Sunday: him for his lessons and me for mine.

An Excuse which is Invalid and Insignificant

Sunday, May 20, 2012

This has been a tough week. It has been a mixture of despair and unrivaled happiness. Despair because my marriage is officially over. I am moved out and living with my mother who lives a few blocks away from my marital home, the decree awaits his signature. And I keep replaying how I could have been so wrong as I sit in my little room at night in my mother’s house. I have replayed our start numerous times and from the start I took his gestures of doing things for me as a form of caring and at time deep caring, enough to believe he loved me; and although I did not have a passion for him, I saw myself loving him and in a way I do, at least enough to have stayed sixteen years in a marriage and eighteen in a relationship. 

In my mind I equated his doing things with love and I just kept anticipating that he would have this realization that I really was not so bad, that I had grown, that I had deepened. And that if allowed I would make a good wife: I am pretty, smart, good with finances, have a cute body, at times funny, gave him two children, and work very hard. But all in all it was not enough. I somehow mentally block him. I do not know how I do it. At least that is my perception of our interactions. And instead of dealing with his Asperger’s through knowledge, spirituality/God, or even medication, he is using it as his excuse. “I don’t think like you, I will never think like you, I don’t even understand how you think, we don’t communicate.” Thus because he has this limitation, this Asperger’s, he has a ready excuse on why he cannot fulfill his promises to me: promises of organization, completion, communication, relaxation, and parenting. 

Thus for him to continue in the marriage he wanted me to follow his rules. I refuse to be a child or go through what my mother went through in her marriage. I do not want a loveless marriage which would stem from my resentment of me following his rules. Rules that would be broken left and right by him and I could not bear to have my children witness such deception: Mom why does the washer need to remain open? Because Daddy says so. Mommy why do we have two very large piles of dirt in our back yard: because Daddy wants to move it himself. Mom why can’t we walk in the garage: because it is on Daddy’s list of things to organize…. And the list is so long and painful to read. There would be so many “mommy(s)” and I would have no answer as to why I could not just do it.  It would make/ it does make my blood boil especially considering the strides our son is making. 

My son who has been officially diagnosed autistic and was found to be in the mid-range has in the last three weeks blossomed. He is talking up a storm and almost to an understandable degree. He is singing along to his favorite cartoons. And he is only three and a half – all therapists, teachers, doctors, had explained to us that maybe by 5 with a lot of one on one therapy he would be able to follow simple commands, maybe know who we are, maybe say hello and goodbye. He is following three/four step commands now, he is being spontaneous, and he is smiling and looking people in the eyes with an occasional bye to someone he cares about.  

The last couple of weeks of Sunday school, he has been amazing. Today he even participated in story time. He went up to the rainbow of the Noah’s Ark book that was being read and pointed out to the teacher the colors correctly. Yes, it was partially inappropriate by society’s norms but I will take it. I was so proud. After, we went to Church to find who I needed to pay for the church picnic and he wanted to be carried. So I carried my forty pound three year old boy and he looked at me and said “I am so happy” then he saw my mother and as she approached he said “Ita [short for abuelita/grandmother] is back.” I am sure I was radiating happiness, something I rarely do. My mother held back her tears. 

In light of my son’s milestones, my son’s tenacity, and spirit and his overall good looks, I find that my husband’s excuse is invalid and insignificant. And I will not accept it. Therefore my marriage is over. And I am ok with that.

Not sure what is going on…but I am ok with that...

Tuesday, July 3, 2012

In short I am not sure what is going on but I am learning to go with the flow. Sometimes I awake at my children’s home and sometimes I awake at my mom’s home. It depends on my mood and the alignment of the stars it seems. Lately my now “domestic partner” seems to want to work on himself and on us but the work unluckily has not materialized in the manner I was hoping for.

But it is important to note that he is trying and not only with the everyday mundane chores. In the morning he makes an effort to say good morning and gives me a morning kiss. At nights he makes it a point to say goodbye and/or good night.  Yes, what most consider common courtesy is what in part our relationship has missed. He has on various occasions throughout our marriage walked by me as if I was nothing more than furniture. He has used me as a sounding board but never actually heard me. It has been cold without being frigid. Our relationship has been, and can be described, as a continuous drip of water that at times is refreshing but most times makes me livid.

Yet, he is trying and because I no longer feel required to try – I am attempting (in small ways) to make my wants known. I am learning from my son. When our son wants something: we say “how do you say it” – he then states: “I want…” we then give him his want. I am trying to learn the same technique towards my partner: thus I say “I want hug, kiss, good morning…” and my partner responds appropriately. Of course I wish he would do these on his own but something is better than nothing and since we are literally at nothing – we are finding our way.

There are days I feel like a nanny whore and wonder if life with another is not the way to go. But the truth is I don’t want another for I know that another would just turn into something similar or worse (I will do nothing that may bring a bad person into my children’s life). Also I know that I am attracted to these types of men or rather I attract this type of man. And alas, like everyone, there is that one I would return to but he is far away and from another life and I am afraid that if I got my wish with that one man when coupled with me that we would sorely disappoint each other, again. Moreover, it has been almost 20 years and we both have always had differing views of life. His memory, however, has made my last year tolerable – when I am at my lowest I recall those few moments we had together and I am reminded that I am capable of that sort of love which makes the heart flutter and the breath tighten. But I digress from the point at hand.

There are other days that I feel like this oddness may work: us living in different houses coming together when needed and wanted for companionship and parenting. But then there are those days that I just want to shake my domestic partner until he realizes that it is not fair that I should have to leave because he cannot grow. But the more I understand Autism the more I understand that the shaking, the yelling, the accusations, the hurt shown, is really useless and will not move my partner to action in any manner. 

Thus I continue my limbo. And I am thinking that maybe what may solve our problem is a bigger home: one that has a guest house in the back where my mother can live and where I can retreat to when I no longer feel part of his existence. I am not sure if I want to make that type of commitment. So until I am sure I will continue this rather odd relationship I have created after bringing down my marital home. As for what my domestic partner wants – I do not know. He has yet to voice it in a concrete determinate manner.

What I do know is that I enjoy/have always enjoyed his company when he makes me part of his existence and takes the time to acknowledge my existence. I also know that he is a great father, a good provider, an excellent lover, and is the most dependable man that has ever been in my life. This I know and this is why I continue this rather odd relationship we are forging.

Working on becoming...

Friday, August 10, 2012

Yesterday, I got my ass handed to me by a judge. My client was about to be sent to confinement for six months of drug treatment even though I had not properly admonished my client with regards to this severe punishment (it never occurred to me – it was after all an agreed upon deferred adjudication plea with the state)  and only because God softened the heart of the probation officer was my client able to go home to her child but this is not that story (it is in the footnote) … what this excerpt is about is how my now ex husband saw fit to ask me about my day and how he tried, very awkwardly, to hear my story out.

My Aspie and I are now legally divorced. But the story does not end there because after all we are parents to two very odd little children. And he is still a very good lover. Thus we are working on becoming friends. 

He has now on several occasions stopped himself while speaking to me and stated point blank “I have not answered your questions, have I” and “I did not hear you because my brain stopped when you said X and I have a story I want to say about X and so I have not heard you” – and these type of self aware statements just stun me. See, I have learned to tolerate his meandering answers or interruptions and bunny trail stories. 

It is important to note that I keep my speaking to a minimum because I tend to stutter in one and one personal conversations. I am good if I am selling something, or advising clients, or being before a judge, and I have no problem speaking in front of an audience (I enjoy it) but with one on one personal conversation – I stutter most severely unless I am angry. So most questions I ask of people are of the yes and no fashion or need a direct answer to minimize conversation. Do you want to take two cars? Which car do you want to take: my Aspie’s answers now, and in the past, spin and spin until the actual question or point becomes a distant memory.

And it seems he has to spin to finally get to the yes or the no I need. I have learned that and it has only been recently that I have learned to accept it. Before it would make my blood boil. Do you want A or B. Do you want left or right? Why can't he just simply answer and well, I believe, because with me he feels comfortable enough to not answer. Just like with my mother or a few other close friends, I feel comfortable enough to speak without stuttering. At work my Aspie delegates, he is the manager for his department, and like most IT departments his department is known for curt almost rude answers, his department will never win the fellowship award. But with me when my ex/my Aspie is in a good mood he does not give short, curt answers… even when I request them or maybe because I request them. (I have yet to figure that out.)

He has always been “talkative” with me. And when we first started off it was entertaining and very easy for me to allow since I don’t talk much to let him go on and on… he after all would finally get to the answer and/or point. I also learned that if I framed my question and/or statement to him in a certain manner I could get him started in the direction I wanted him to go. In fact I did that so much that I believe I partly caused our downfall because I never gave him the ability to really learn to set his (or our) course which was an issue in our marriage.

I am manipulative. I know this; this is one reason why I am a good lawyer and why I love the law so much. It is the few careers where being manipulative is seen as a good thing. My ex knows I am manipulative, he has seen me in action, has felt it himself when he cares to admit that it was my idea, he has asked me to do it on occasions to resolve his issues. I am very good at turning that which is not meant to be turned. 

Which is why in my opinion, God keeps sending me to these people who I am somehow supposed to help in their legal problems. So I try and like yesterday sometimes I mess up because I become of the opinion that I have it all lined up.[i] Thus God humbles me, reminds me my path, and still manages to help me and my client out. My client ended up getting a better deal than I had brokered. The Judge probated the whole fine since my client was going to be contained aka locked up for six months although it was abated. So at the end client got what she wanted and more, I got paid, and I had several people think that I went above and beyond the call of duty to help this “drug” addict mom out. I had not. 

So as I was telling my ex this story yesterday with regards to my client in a very truncated manner (I left off the emotional God connection)  – I saw in his face deep concentration. He wanted to speak up, he wanted to take over the conversation (I felt it), but I heard him take a breath and instead of stopping, even though I had started stuttering and skipping words, I kept informing him of the facts of the case. It made me smile. Although I gave him the truncated version of the above and the footnote, it still felt good informing him on why my day was less than stellar. And it felt good hearing him take that breath. 

---

[i] Although on its face the charge was a possession of a controlled substance of less than a gram, this case was rather complicated because it had a companion case of forgery which was a very good case to go to trial: in short it was set for trial but client on day of opted not to go to a jury but take the plea agreement.

I had prepped for trial for many days, I was not happy that she had opted to take plea. I was ready for trial. But is short during the adjudication hearing, I had on the record made sure to cover my ass by asking client numerous questions with regards to the plea deal and did she understand this and that… so she would not try to get the plea withdrawn/ and or sue me if she had a change of heart. Thus I thought I had all my ducks in a row and overall had gotten her a nice plea of three years deferred adjudication with a fine we could ask to be lowered by the judge. Thus I felt safe.

Prior to the punishment phase, the client went to a pre-sentence investigation and the recommendation came back that client go to an intensive inpatient treatment for either 9 months or 6 months since she pled to the possession of drugs (drugs are forgiven in most employments: forgery is not as easy). Both inpatient treatments would cause my client to lose her job and her child. Both of which I had not even mentioned to her (admonished her) as remote possibilities as a consequence of taking an agreed upon deferred adjudication (deferred is probation and if completed successfully client would never be found guilty) plea. 

Please know that it was not for my client that I was upset about – in the almost six years I have been practicing law, I have had plenty of clients lose jobs, children, go to prison for many, many years, be deported from the country, but the reason it caused me so much emotional grief was because I had thought I had had my ducks in a row. And to know it never occurred to me that client would be sent to drug inpatient treatment in this type of plea agreement hurt my professional pride.

I had to do a motion to withdraw plea agreement (highly frowned upon and rarely granted and what I had made sure on the record could not be done) which was laughed at and I was put in my place quiet “nicely” by the judge. My arrogance hurt me and hurt my client. Luckily, God took pity on me or maybe my client or maybe her little 8 year old daughter and softened the heart of the probation officer who was able to convince the judge to hold the inpatient treatment in abeyance and allow my client to do outpatient treatment instead. However, it is important to note that the probation officer’s heart did not soften until after the judge denied my motion, and ruled that my client was to go to the six months inpatient treatment and that the fine would be probated in its entirely. And we were dismissed from the bench. 

An hour later and after speaking with my client, the probation officer had a change of heart and spoke with the judge. I was still in the court room when the judge asked me to find my client and bring her back in to abate the six month inpatient treatment and placed my client in outpatient, I almost fell to my knees in thankfulness because by then I understood that my client would pay for my mistake. And as a bonus, the judge kept the fine probated in full. I was/am truly humbled and emotionally exhausted.

Odd, odd and more odd

Saturday, September 8, 2012

I am lost but I am finding my way. And my blog now has a companion blog, withinthemistofautism, it is written by my ex. It has partly melted my heart and it has partly enraged me. I am enraged because it took him this long to start to be self aware, I am enraged because he wants to reopen all the hurt, all the broken promises, I want to shake his curls out and cry, but he is trying. And I did promise that I would honestly try to work on "us" if he ever made a plan.

He has a plan. Thus after a rather destructive talk with regards to indifference to me around other females, I asked him why he wanted to do this "talk". He stated, we will be interacting for about another 14 years, if not more, and he does not want the pain looming regardless of our status.

I want to bury the pain. Find someone who knows nothing about me and reinvent myself. But the truth is: he is right. When I first started this blog I wrote that we would be friends regardless. It never occurred to me that to remain friends we would need to work. I imagined indifference on his part. And a continuing wrongness on mine. Odd that he wants to do the work for a relationship now.

Odd that he wants me to move back in. I do not want to because the stress it causes puts me back on those famous eggshells that most NTs have experienced in an Aspie relationship where if so much as a chair gets moved without his say so and sometimes even when he says so a meltdown occurs.  Recently, he has been able to step back and figure out that his actions are/were creating a not so nice environment for me and the children. Such insight, although long overdue and greatly needed, just adds to my frustration and my angry “why now” monster.

My angry “why now” monster is well fed. Last year, I for the most part dropped off our daughter at preschool. It was by no means convenient and in the opposite direction I had to go to get to work. It was however on his way to work.  Yet, it never occurred to him, unless I became angry, that he should drop her off. Most days, last year and the years before, he would leave early to work because traffic out of the subdivision was chaotic leaving me with the little ones to get ready as well as myself for work. Now he seems to be able to pack the children’s lunches and not worry about getting to work early, he even asked to take the children to school two days a week. And even though it is greatly appreciated, it IRKS ME. Why now, what changed to allow such aid on his part?

Even odder is that he even wants me back. I wish I was the kind of woman who lived for domesticity. I am not. I know this. I am the kind of woman who shoves all the clothes in the washer, adds a heaven sent Shout® Color Catcher sheet and walks away. I do not fold clothes, iron them, or anyway help their longevity. My Aspie long ago took away my right to wash his clothes. He is meticulous. Additionally, I rarely cook and when I do most would prefer I had not. My life is in short about me:  two days after I had my little girl by Cesarean I was in court.

Please understand I love my children and I do look after their welfare and make sure any and all demands are met but not necessarily by me. My mother is wonderful. She loves her grandchildren. And my children love her beyond measure. They prefer her to me and in reality I am ok with that. I am a great facilitator, a good teacher, a fun weekend mother, but an everyday, minute by minute, mom I am not. 

As a wife I can see how I fall far short in the areas of housekeeping and such domesticity. Sitting near my hubby at night hearing about his work day, as I rub his feet, is far from my ideal.  Thus why any man would want me back as his wife is beyond me. Domesticity is not my thing. Yet my ex seems to want me to return and not because I am withholding sex. I am not. Every third day or so I get antsy and my sexual need overcomes my angry "why now" monster. Yet, I know, and I believe he knows now, that a relationship cannot last just for sex, even good sex. Sex is like sand. It may sustain a relationship but the sand will eventually scatter or sink and the relationship will fall. Sex does not make a good solid foundational relationship. And I want a solid foundation for a real relationship.

I believe that if he took a step back – he will see that the reason he wants me back is because he fears he will not find another. And I want to tell him how wrong he is. He is cute, has a good job, is dependable, funny at times, and as he evolves and gains insight to his character and his flaws he will make a most marvelous husband and a wonderful life partner. I envy the woman who will get him next if he continues to work on himself. 

As for me, I am beginning to like my life again. I no longer feel caged up. I am trying to let the anger and resentment go and I am even learning how to cook. Odd, I know.

As 2012 comes to a close...

Saturday, December 22, 2012

As 2012 comes to a close and 2013 starts it seems I have not gotten very far but yet.... I have learned a lot about my level of tolerance and acceptance.

I am not sure if it is because my ex has such a childlike face that I have always been able to forgive him or because he really is a good person. In short I have found myself forgiving my ex aspie more and more in comparison to other important people in my life. But my forgiveness with regards to him has morphed. 

Before I would forgive him because I wanted to return to the peace and the times where he would bring me coffee and endlessly tell me about his day. Now I forgive him because there is nothing more that can be done. And I do not want to become a textbook bitter ex wife.

Thus, when he told me in no uncertain terms that he would not do what I wanted because although he could see how it would benefit the children it was not what he wanted to do and he will only do what he wanted to do – I forgave him in roughly two or three days. 

When he forgot that I had to work and left without the kids, I forgave him. When it fell on me to purchase the Christmas gifts and I still had to pay him child support, I forgave him. 

When he bought himself a 60 inch  unnecessary television that now sits in his house after we had discussed and spent several weeks researching the purchase of a bigger house with a room for me and another for my mom so I would not have to live in two houses, I forgave him. 

Yet, yesterday came a point when I sat in disbelief. We had already discussed Christmas. He would go with his family Christmas Eve and take the children. We would spend Christmas day together. Yesterday, in passing he states that his mother invited herself and 5 other people to his house and they were all bringing side dishes. I sat in disbelief. 

I hate his mother. During the last year she has visited my children three times. She lives less than ten miles away. She has traveled over three hours both directions to babysit her other grandchildren. She has flown to another state numerous times for her brand new grand-babies. Yet, my little girl asks at least once a month when can we see Grammy. 

And no it is not because I divorced her son. Last year the number of times she visited my children was less than a handful:  the year before the same. Ever since my son was diagnosed on the spectrum she had maintained a distance that is shameful. 

Yet, her son, my ex husband does not see anything wrong. It’s the way she is – he tells me. What do you want me to do – he tells me. She is busy – he tells me. But on my Christmas day when she asks he says nothing more than ok to her. 

Now it would not be too bad.  The main problem revolves around when he told me. He spoke to his mother either on Wednesday or Thursday of this week; he can't remember. Either way on Thursday night, he could have very well told me. I would have taken it better, I would have been sad a bit mad that he picked once again her over me but I would have gotten over it. Instead he does this and does that and gets laid. 

The next day, on Friday, he in passing tells me how plans for Christmas have changed. I feel like a whore. And he sees nothing wrong. In fact he became disgruntled at me because I did not look at him this morning. 

It has been a long time since we have had a fight in front of the children but when he sent me an email informing me that my behavior was cold and thus he would not interact with me on this, Saturday when he was in the other room – I had had enough. 

Enough on the excuses of why I should return. I love my children but to see their mother in this state is not good. To allow my daughter to believe it is ok for a man to deceive her even if as he claims it was not intentional is not good. 

The bottom line: he knew I would be mad. He wanted to have sex thus he told me the day after. He then did not even have the common sense to validate my Friday emails, the day of the information.  Perhaps it is the Asperger’s, but something inside me tells me it is more.  

Perhaps he wanted to ruin my Christmas day because I divorced him. Perhaps, he really is clueless. Regardless, I am growing more and more tired of my excuses on why I should return. He has given me no reason to. He in fact has given me more reason to stay away.

He still says A but never does A i.e. the blog 8 posts, the books he requested so he can read up on the relationship subject sit in perpetual dust, the school he promised to contact to finish his degree, the more counseling, the attending church service, the list is long and grim.  Perhaps subconsciously he wants me gone but does not have the courage to face his wants. 

Thus, I must be brave enough to forgive him in 2012 and strong enough to accept 2013 without him. 

dmv day

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

I was definitely off today. I even blamed little old women for my emptiness. In short I did little of anything. I awoke, drove to my children's home, dressed them and took them to school. I myself then got ready and was late to court.

Being late is not unusual for me. I don't like docket call so I always try to miss it. It is the what happened next that made me be off. I had no desire to even speak with the prosecutor, I gave the judge a pitiful excuse and was dismissed and the case was reset. 

I spoke to my client and sent him on his way. Him thinking that I had somehow procured him more time, poor soul. I then went to get breakfast and missed it by five minutes so I went to my office and sat. 

I did very little work today and logged into my Facebook page a bit too many times and tried writing poem after bad poem, finally posting the one about the little old ladies who pass out religious flyers, who am I to judge how God wants them to spend their time. But I digress, at about 11:55 am after once again waiting for my Facebook page to load, I gave up and put my head down. 

I slept for about ten minutes and my brain did the tetras thing it does when I am mentally exhausted. I awoke with a start and I realized why I had started my day off and no, it was not because it was cold. It was suppose to be my day off, I was supposed to go to the DMV and have my license updated.

My driver's license is one of the most important things in my life. Perhaps because my mother was not allowed to drive by my father. He controlled transportation. So he fought me when I tried to get my driver's permit. He refused to take me to my test. He laughed when I failed the driving part, it is the only test I ever failed.

Two weeks later I took it again and passed. When I bought my first car with my own money from
waiting tables at 17, I thought my step father was going to smash the car in. Driving to me is independence. My driver's license the symbol of that freedom. Today, at about 3:30 I changed my name back to my maiden name.

It was the last official document to change. I kept putting it off, hoping against hope, tomorrow, no better yet during the Christmas break, no too busy, after the new year and it all turned out to be excuses so I put it on my calendar and the day arrived. And although I could not pinpoint the reason for the fatigue this day, it came to me and startled me awake. My name, like my life needed changing.

I am now me.

so .... yes... I f***** up

Saturday, January 19, 2013

I fell off my little horse and landed in my ex husband's lap. And I can just kick myself. It is like I do not learn. Nothing, NOTHING, not a thing has a changed, will change... I am at a loss, I am lost. I am plain frustrated with me.

I am even too upset to post to my support group. What do I write: I was strong enough to divorce X but not strong enough to not have sex yet again. Yet, again I fall and for what a romp in a five thousand dollar sleep number bed that should rightfully be in my bedroom.

Geez... this just gets worse, for see I sleep on the floor of my mother's house because the twin bed I have in my little room is too soft. And yes, I have been too lazy to actually go purchase one or even dare to purchase one on line and have it delivered. Each day I say, I'll do it after this... and each night I end up rearranging pillows until I just fall to the floor and fall asleep. 

I have so many excuses I can write but it all comes down to this: I am not capable of keeping my legs closed for an extended period of time, not even with regular masturbation. Of course with masturbation, at least for me, comes a fantasy and the fantasy does not help me in anyway move me away from the past as my last and most poems, of my beloved, so reflect.

And with each time I allow my ex (s) entrance both real and imaginary a little more of me becomes lost, bewildered, frustrated, angered. I do not know what to expect from me. I know I should find another but how does one go about this. I feel so tired even trying the mediocre dating sites. I have all these lawyers around me but if I step into that pool, just to try, I may as well retire from being a reputable attorney.  At the gym I swim and that is all I want to do is swim. I have no desire to attract because it is impossible to do laps and talk at the same time. Swimming lowers my stress talking only will increase it. 

At church there are a few nice men but with my son and daughter, I may as well post a sign: date with me guarantees circus admittance. Thus I am at a loss. 

What of my ex beloved. He is married, I pray happily and in a far away land that is greener that I will never disturb. 

And what of my poor ex husband. Yes, I write poor because the truth of the matter is he sees nothing wrong. He sees not the past and not the future that is the power of having Aspergers. He will take me if I let him, he will leave me alone if I want, and regardless he will be a good man.

He just won't be the type of man that will ask me about my day, about lines, and bottles. The type that will inquire about birds that touch down, the way the music crescendos,  the way love is defined not by feeling but by acts of doing what one would rather not do at time one would rather do anything else. He is not the type of man who wonders or even considers aspects with regards to God. God is God. And I am me and as he says "I am sorry I am me but that is me." He makes lists and I am not on them and should not expect to ever be on. So, in closing, I slept with my ex husband (again). The circle restarts. I wish I could be callous and just use. But I can not, I will not, I will just pray that this orbit is short. And that a comet enters quickly.

deus ex machina

Thursday, January 24, 2013

I am one of those people that seems to get lost and somehow finds herself better off than most. Yesterday, I took my children to Costco for gas and an errand for my mother. While there we had pizza for dinner. I only had a small amount of cash with me and had no desire to go to the ATM for more since there is very little in there. The man before us overheard my daughter's and I conversation and offered to buy us dinner. I declined but it would have made for a very interesting first date as he stated.  

Later that night I dropped off my children at their house and waited for their father to arrive. He worked rather late because at his job this is his busy time. My ex husband is the IT manager for an amusement park. He has been at his employment for well over twenty years in various areas. He is very good at what he does and this is the time of year when all the upgrades and new projects start so he is busy and rather tired. So tired that he forgot to look at the calendar and did not realize that today was my day to take the children to school. He took them. Thus giving me more time in the morning and making me a bit cheerful. 

I therefore got to juvenile court A almost on time. The bad part was that I was in the wrong court and realized I requested the wrong youth to be brought over to court A.  Being early I tried to explain my mix up to the judge and she smiled and I went off to court B to explain to parent and judge B that I had requested the wrong child via the wrong court. When I arrived at court B there was a hearing going on that had to do with the very kid I was supposed to ask for but failed to. 

And here is where it all turns in my favor. 

The mother had hired but not paid an attorney for the child for a previous case, the kid gets picked up on two new charges and I get appointed to represent the child in his detention hearing. I was suppose to move up the detention hearing (and thought I had see court A above), had even spoken to the mother with regards to this and so as I approached court B I had planned to swallow the little pride I had left and beg forgiveness and throw myself at the mercy of the court. Instead I was met with a "come on up here" by the Judge. She explained to me the dilemma of the attorney and the reason I had not been given notice of the hearing. So the other attorney withdrew and I was appointed to all the cases for the child. We had our detention hearing and I looked liked I knew what I was doing. 

I then get called back to court A. And there by deus ex machina the biological mother is present for the boy I incorrectly requested. Mind you I never called this mother. The probation officer was there too although never requested and I felt I was in a play and I was the understudy thrown in. 

For see judge A off the bench appointed me to two other youths.  Thus my mistake, my stupid stupid, mistake of requesting the wrong child made me a lot of money. But that is not the best part; the other mother in court B saved money, and most importantly the mother in court A got to speak with the judge. And her son who has been my client for many moons now, got to witness his mother be present. His mother has never been present. His aunt cares for him. My client will soon turn 16 and for the last 9 years he has had little to no contact with his mother. Today I saw him actually cry silently as his mother begged the judge, I believe in my heart it was a turning point of sorts for him. 

Now please note that no youth was actually released today. My court B youth has many many cases to resolve, my court A youth has to be released to the aunt for she has legal custody but now because of his mother's request youth A will have a psychiatric evaluation that is greatly needed, as for the other two youths that crossed my path: one of those individuals is on his way back to his home state of Iowa to face some rather serious charges, and the other individual I foresee that I will be appointed to him and he will become one of my regular clients until he ages out. 

Looking back at the situations, one has to pause and wonder what the odds where. For me to request the wrong youth and to have it set on the very day that the other youth had a court hearing? To have mothers and probation officers be present. To actually have been on time to court to speak to the first judge. The time shifting and organizing is amazing and I would argue miraculous. 

In short, it has been a most hilarious morning and I believe God had a little fun with me. But then what is my will here on this earth but to make him smile, help those that cross my path, and thanks to God next time I am Costco I will be able to go to the ATM machine.

My Son’s Growth

Saturday, January 26, 2013

My four year old son has entered another realm of existence. No longer is locked, he now exists as an emotional two year old. A rambunctious young child, who jumps on the couch, plays with his trains, and is attached to a blue blankie almost as strongly as Linus in Charlie Brown.

He speaks in phrases taken from various episodes of Charlie Brown and Wall-e, his all time favorite movie. He is beginning to understand that what occurs in the film is not real and that the television apparatus has not caused the dilemma that breaks his heart like when Eve is taken into space and so should not be retaliated against by throwing items at it.

He uses his phrases to communicate and I am amazed how he is able to use such verbiage to pass through the spectrum. To those who do not know him and only speak to him for moments there would be no realization that he was on the spectrum. 

Moreover, reasoning is occurring to him and simple cause and effect can be explained to him. His melt downs are minimum but still uncontrollable when they do occur. Luckily, my ex husband and I have figured out how to minimize the impact of his meltdowns. My ex husband is even able to return to almost normal after one occurs with only slight exaggerations of the grief which such episodes cause him. He is even able to hug his son. Proof that father too can change.

My son is still going to the Preschool Program for Children with Disabilities, PPCD, and is signed up for a summer school at a special school for speech. Luckily, his birthday is in November and therefore he will receive another year of PPCD. By the time he enters kindergarten, he will be able to merge with the other students.

Academically he is beyond target. He knows all his letters, can count almost to 100, knows his shapes, colors, and other such trivial matters. He recognizes words and can pretend read with the sight words he knows. His technical and musical skills are quite impressive. He can play Twinkle Twinkle on the piano and can build a robot with parts he received for his birthday. All in all I am very happy with his academic progression and can only pray that his emotional, relationship interaction grows at a constant speed. He will always have to use his technical skills to compensate for his emotional lacking but the more each grows independently the more solid, deep relationships he will be able to forge.

I love my son and daughter more than I care to admit. Their love has taught me that I can love beyond a primal mother’s urge; a love amplified by growth, acceptance, understanding, and faith that one day each will be more than I ever will be.

How does one explain Hansel?

Friday, March 8, 2013

Hansel is the only man left I have not apologized to. The others that matter/mattered have gotten “hey let’s be face book friends” and to my deep blue eyed man a letter stating that had I been better we may have come to a resolution/and or conclusion of our tragic yet endearing moments. 

The reason I have not apologized to Hansel is that I do not remember his real name. I just know him as Hansel. This is his bit in my life. 

During the summer of 1994 I was sent off to El Paso for training for the Army. As referenced before in my blog I was a terrible soldier: it makes me blush because I was so bad. All I did was read and shun responsibility. It did not help that my MOS was something that I could not physically do. I was a 77 foxtrot which laid the pipes and bladders to fuel the Apache Helicopters. Thus I could not physically lift any of the equipment. But there I was in El Paso in the summer. 

In the morning and evening I would go for a walk. And during our first weekend there our sergeant arranged a hike. I went on the hike and Hansel went too. I don’t recall how it was we got to talking but we did, and like all good starts we laughed and joked and we unintentionally got lost from the group. As we searched for our way back we joked we were a Mexican Hansel and Gretel: thus his nickname. We found our group and returned safely. 

The next day he joined me on my walk. I did not want him with me, the sky was too pretty and the New Mexico skyline full of Mountains was what I wanted to focus on but he wanted to come along to protect me he said.

“Protect me from what?” was my retort.

“Well from lots of things like being raped,” he responded. 

“Too late for that.” I laughed

He asked to stop walking I continued. He said you can talk to me. I said I can talk to no one and walked on. I remember him saying that it was terrible it had occurred and he asked when it happened. I said something such as:”I was young and in the park at night and I was stupid and it was foretold.” 

We walked on and he turned to me a while later. “Foretold by who?” he asked. By my grandfather I said and then for the first time I let out how it had been when I was small. How my grandfather had
raped my 10 year old aunt in front of me on multiple occasions and how he would look at me and say when you are ready it will happen to you. How my grandfather grabbed and primed me. This I said under the most beautiful sky.

And Hansel took my hand and said “I understand.” And I looked at him and said “no, you cannot understand.” 

He then told me his story. How his uncle would do such “priming” to him. And he said to me, "I can understand." And he did. Thus we walked and the next day and the day after that until we returned to our separate units. 

When we got back to our hometown  he asked me out on a date. It was a proper date complete with flowers and a peck on the cheek. On the next date he introduced me to his parents. By the third date he asked me to marry him and he was serious. I was not ready I told him. We had not even had sex I joked. 

I did not know how to tell him that I could not be serious for a Hispanic man. So I stopped returning his calls, if I saw him during our military weekend I would go the other way. He was a junior at the same University as me (I was a freshman on probation) and I would avoid the computer lab I knew he was at. 

He stopped by my apartment one late afternoon in September and wanted to know why. I had no reason, none that I could articulate to him at that time. That I could never marry or even seriously date a Hispanic man not even one that could understand my pain or maybe because he could understand my pain, that the mere thought made me nauseous. He was and I believe is still a good man: one that I owe/owed an explanation to.  

I do not know why God sent this Hansel to me but I do know that a few days later in the same September God sent my deep blue eyed man but he did not want to know why: he just wanted me. And I believe because of Hansel I was strong enough to see myself as more than just that. 

Thank you Hansel and I am sorry I was not brave enough to tell you why. 

 

it still hurts dammit

Friday, May 10, 2013

So I am angry. Angry beyond all bounds. May 7, 2013 was my dad's funeral. No, I did not care for that man's life all that much but he was still the only man I ever knew as dad. He provided for us, he loved us in his strange way, and he made us laugh uncontrollably at times. My ex husband went away for the week for training without even an apology but I sort of understood after all it was work and it had been planned months prior to my father's passing. But.... 

.... when I got a text message/i message from my ex husband requesting I call him for prayer for the children on the night of the service, I felt I was going to explode. It was bad enough that he did not send his condolences, did not send flowers, or even a card, he did not say or call my mother, the woman who cares most for his children, "I am so sorry for your loss," he did not go visit prior to my father's death although he could have, he had time as shown by the many miles he ran before my father's passing, he did not even tell his parents. They were surprised on why I called to ask for a babysitter. This was all bad enough:  but to get a text message on the night of the funeral for something not even related to my father's death is cold.

I just have to think about it and I get tensed up. He then does not even have the gall to speak to me but sends me messages after messages of "how are kids," "how is your day," " tgif: i want to see you and kids." I feel empty inside, and so very hurt that the man I was married to and together with for over 18 years cared so little of this moment in my life.

I know I should not be surprised and in fact I should be thankful because even though I got no support from him: several people that I have not seen in years and one that I just met comforted and supported my odd little family. However, it still hurts dammit. I wish it did not.

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