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The cure for autism part 7

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Drugs! It took a little while to get back to my cure for autism blog. The reason being that I feel a lot of anxiety about this because it will be the hardest cure to write about so far. In retrospect, I am not sure we could have coped any differently. Back in my day we didn’t have blogs, the Internet, or even many books on how to cope with a violently autistic family member. There certainly were not any books written by siblings for siblings. How does a dysfunctional family cope with almost 2 decades of constant stress and daily episodes of violence? We lived in fight or flight mode for almost twenty years! Twenty years!! Doctors could only offer one basic solution to our constant stress, medications to treat our symptoms. Every single person in our household was medicated at one point or another. 

Besides being autistic, Matt had a myriad of mental and physical health issues. He was given several different anti-psychotic medications. Some made him like a zombie, limp like a rag doll. Mom couldn’t stand that. Others didn’t seem to do much of anything or had side effects that were intolerable. One drug made him stiff as a board and he needed assistance doing simple things like walking up stairs. 

My dad had several ulcers. He was impatient, angry, and seriously depressed. I often worried when I came home to a completely quiet house that I would find that he had killed himself. He was distant, dispondent, or storming around the house angry about something. My mom was was always full of worry, anxiety, and self-doubt. Always afraid to make the wrong decision, perfectionistic. Her teeth were constantly clenched. 

Then there was me. Outwardly, I had it all or so most people thought. I turned down the opportunity to have a career in modeling to go to college which was paid for in full by my family. I always had my pick in men. I drove a red firebird in high school. I can honestly say that I had someone pass a semi in the pouring rain in a no passing zone on a two lane highway just to try to get my phone number. Do you hate me now? Most of the other girls did. 

Inwardly, I was a mess. I couldn’t sleep at night. I would go long periods of time  without eating much. Every time I ate I would feel nauseous and my stomach burned. My grades dropped because I couldn’t concentrate in school. I was put on a high dose of amphetamines which did help my ability to focus but was like drinking 10 cups of coffee. I started scratching my skin, picking at scabs, pulling out my hair. I had issues with anxiety, hyper vigilance, and obsessive compulsive tendencies. I was seriously depressed. I was prescribed the highest doses available of anti-depressants. I felt like a zombie, totally numb to all feelings. Some drugs made me sleep 18 hours a day, weight gain, constipation, diarrhea, but nothing made my environment change. I could tell when the medicines weren’t working for me when I had nightmares. I dreamed that cats were clawing up my body or birds were pecking at my skin, my skin crawled. The worst thing that happened was that I was prescribed the highest dose of Prozac and became downright unconsolable. I grabbed a bottle of pills, locked myself in my room, threatened suicide, and ended up spending a couple of days in the psych ward. But I wasn’t the only one in the house thinking of my own demise. Mark was also very depressed and was having problems focusing in school. He would hang nooses in the tree next to our house for my mother to find in the morning. He was quiet in school and at times was a target for bullies because of it. He really wanted the pain to end, perhaps even more than I did. 

Luke was hyperactive and couldn’t concentrate in school. He was always moving around in his chair, tapping his pencil, and annoying the teachers. He was medicated for ADHD. Luke dealt with the stress by partying hard. Sometimes my parents would find him out in the yard in the morning. That was if he even came home at all. 

Still no cure, not for any of us. 

(We are all living relatively happy lives now. I promise I will write about something light and fluffy tomorrow!)

Hyper Vigilance 

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I sit and watch looking for signs of trouble like a prairie dog on guard. Except no one ever relieves me from my post. I must stay alert. I can’t relax. Never let my guard down. I startle easy.  Relaxing classical music makes me edgy. Soothing piano music blooms my anxiety. I pace the floor. I feel a little trapped. Sleep eludes me, I wake at the slightest noise. Matt does not sleep either. He rocks in his bed back and forth, back and forth, back and forth sometimes so violently that he chafes his face and gets blood on the sheets. My brothers can’t sleep, Matt is too loud. Sometimes Matt is angry or dad fights with him over brushing his teeth. He can’t stand anyone touching his mouth. His teeth eventually rot. 

Mom puts the classical music record on at night in attempts to calm us on the roughest days. I can’t relax. I can’t sleep. I have nightmares. I wake at the slightest sound. Every night I wake up and can’t go back to sleep. In the middle of the night I am safe, but sleep eludes me. I can’t clear my mind. I can’t stop thinking. Worry. Hyper vigilance gives me a false sense of control over my environment. I like to be in control. My rules and rigid structure give me a false sense of security. I hate chaos. Sometimes we would make plans to go somewhere and Matt would have a meltdown. Lots of times we turned around and headed back home. I don’t like a change of plans. I accused my mother of favoritism. Why was Matt the god of our world? The rest of us were crying to go, looking forward to it. Why was it that Matt could hurt me and everyone I loved and not get in trouble for that? Why did he dictate every waking moment of our life? Why did mom ask him what he wanted to do and not us? These were all the questions I asked as a sibling. I was angry at my mom a lot even though it wasn’t her fault. I blamed her. I resented her. 

I would like to say that I am no longer hyper vigilant, that I don’t wake up to the slightest noise, that I have given up all desire to want a lot of control over my life. I am not sure that this is something that will change. 

Just low

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I feel down today. Just low. I feel like I am climbing a mountain and can never reach the top. Running uphill and only getting a few feet from the ground. Why do I try so hard? Why must I run this marathon? Literally. I am exhausted. Tears escape my eyes with little or no provocation. Sleep is restless. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to work. I don’t want to run. I don’t feel like eating.  My muscles all ache. I haven’t felt this way for awhile, but it is no stranger to me. 

It started on Father’s Day with a slow descent. I thought maybe it was because I was mourning the relationship with my father that I never had and will most likely never be. Wishing for a moment that someone else was my father. Feeling envious of his daughters. Why was I never good enough? What is wrong with me? 

I did conquer a fear on Sunday. A fear of driving over high bridges. But I only did it because I was trying to avoid another fear, the fear of being late. Does that count? I don’t know anymore. I am trying to keep my head above water and to keep climbing that mountain. I am sure this moment of moodiness will soon pass. 

Kicked out of the roller rink

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After I was old enough to drive, I started hanging out at the roller rink a couple of small towns over. The roller rink was small too. It seemed like we were turning more than we were going straight. I always ended up with a blister on one side of one foot since we only skated one song in the opposite direction. 

There was a little girl that would go skating when I was there too. She was about 5 years old. Her parents would drop her off during open skating and head to the bar next door. It seems like when someone shirks off their responsibilities, other people take it on. Good thing I was like a big sister, protective instead of predatory. There was one occasion though when she protected me. I was hanging out with another friend when this older girl came up to my friend shoving her and accusing her of looking at her boyfriend. I told this older girl to leave my friend alone. She took my head and bashed it into the wall. My little friend told the owner I was in trouble and he kicked the older girl out. She promised she would find me and kick my ass in the parking lot when skating was over. I admit I was a bit worried.  I was used to getting hurt by my brother, but was not good at fighting back. I refused to leave early, but she never showed. 

The second time someone got kicked out again inadvertedly had to do with me. My mom thought it would be a good idea to take Matt roller skating with me. Mom took Matt by the hand, gently leading him around the rink like a small child. The slow skate started and the lights dimmed. Matt had to go to the bathroom. Mom took off his skates and put on his shoes. On the way out he grabbed a little girl by the hair and started kicking her over and over. It took a couple of people to get him off of her. The girl’s dad was furious. Once again, the owner came over and kicked us out. My mom was crying, apologizing profusely, saying it wasn’t his fault. The owner was understanding, but said we would have to leave just the same. 

It was storming when we left the skating rink. I drove home in the pouring rain, tears pouring from my eyes. I screamed at my mom that I was never having kids because I never wanted to have one like Matt. My mom kept repeating over and over that she was thankful that Matt did not have his roller skates on while he was kicking that girl. We were both crying hysterically, the thunder a perfect crescendo for our outpouring of grief. I remember listening to In A Gadda Da Vida the whole mournful trip home. It was just another day in the life. 

Marathon training, week 5

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I am tired already. I come up with a lot of my blog ideas while running and apparently develop my ideas best between 3:30 AM and 6:00 AM. Yesterday I woke up at 3:30 AM, laid in bed until 4:00 AM, got up, wrote my blog, tried to go back to sleep without success, and decided at 5:30 AM to go for my 18 mile run before the storms moved in. It was humid in the morning, the last few miles I think I was getting a little dehydrated. Every muscle in my body hurt, even my feet cramped up and a toenail was bleeding. 

I saw a deer on my run, we eyed each other up a little but decided we would not be running partners or adversaries. On the last mile, another runner was coming towards me along with a truck with a trailer on the back. To make things more suspenseful, there was a black cat in the middle of the road. The cat ran in front of the truck escaping by a couple of inches, the runners were safe as well. 

Today is my day off. I took my daughter in this morning to get her wisdom teeth out which has been rather uneventful. I remember getting mine out when I turned 21 after being in a lot of dental pain. All is remember is crying hysterically and getting bloody drool all over my roommates car. On the last day of recovery, I met my husband on his birthday. It has been almost 20 years since I got my wisdom teeth removed. How ironic that after having my wisdom removed, I made one of the smartest decisions in my life. 

Two more days of training this week, then my first 24 mile run next week. Yikes!

Nautical thoughts

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My husband and I had a boat renaming party this past weekend for our sailboat. I have another confession to make. I fell in love with another man. He gazed into my eyes and called me beautiful. His embrace drew me into the intoxicating scent of his cologne like a siren calling to a sailor out at sea. He bestowed upon me a gift of a parchment paper journal for Internet free blogging. I was in love hook, line, and sinker. I called my dad for Father’s Day anyway, all the while feeling the guilt of desiring another dad. My new love presided over the boat renaming ceremony. 

The ceremony itself went without a hitch. When I woke up the morning of the party, I had great trepidation after looking at the forecast. A storm the size of the continent of Africa was coming towards us with a guesstimated arrival time of noon, when the ceremony starts. I consulted Paul, my husband who has the gift of weather parting, and told him we were in need of a miracle because at this time I wasn’t sure that the boat wanted to be renamed. And part the weather did. The ceremony started with a little drizzle, just enough to keep a few of the fair weather sailors home despite the free beer. The party included denaming the boat by pouring champagne into the water by the bow and toasting. My new love told the story of Paul’s and my accidental overnight sail with the mere thought of changing the name of the boat. Good thing I did not tell him about the boat almost starting on fire right after the old name was removed. (The ceremony also required a virgin to urinate off the side of the bow, so we skipped that part). Then we finished the ceremony with renaming the boat, pouring champagne on all sides of the boat, another toast, and a beautiful closing toast by Paul. 

The party was attended by our children, a few close friends, our employees, a few random sailors, and my mom. Paul’s mom called a couple days before the party and said she couldn’t make it because it might rain despite the fact that Paul told her she has windshield wipers. Well, I had better go back to bed or start on my 18 mile run this morning. Another storm the size of Africa is coming and I don’t think I will be as lucky this time. 

Confessions of an inexperienced blogger

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I have been a blogger for almost a month now. I am a “cave man (mom?)” blogger. I don’t know what I am doing. I can barely figure out how to capitalize letters much less add pictures. And talking about pictures, should I add one of myself? Will people know who I am? Is that ok? I’ll be completely honest, I was going to link my blog to my Facebook account but I couldn’t figure out how to do it. But then I thought, how am I going to be completely honest if people that don’t really know me really know me. When asked if the dress makes you look fat, I usually say green really is your color. I change the subject when I really want to say that dress makes you look fat. So I decided it would be better to share all the personal experiences in my life with complete strangers. 

I’m sorry I never “liked” your blog, I did like it. Sorry I never responded to your comments, I haven’t figured out how yet. I always knew I would end up being a writer. As a child, I would sit in my room and write novels on paper. Yes, paper! Who ever thought something like this would be possible? Now I could never write fiction. My walk through life so far has been so interesting and crazy that I couldn’t be imaginative enough to make half of this crap up. I will work harder to try to figure out the technology end of blogging. These are the crazy thoughts that keep me up at 4 AM. 

Daddy issues

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I wish that Hallmark would come out with a new line of Father’s Day cards for dutiful children whose dad never gave a crap. I opened many cards that spoke of loving advice, warm embraces, and gentle guidance. Nope, nope, and nope. I’m probably not the only one out there that feels this way. 

My dad never hugged me or told me that he was proud of me, even when I graduated from college. My dad never told me I looked beautiful in that dress, even on my wedding day. There were no father daughter “dates”. We didn’t go out to eat together, to the movies, or anywhere. He showed up to events when he “had” to. Warm fatherly words of advice consisted of “shit happens” and “life’s a bitch, then you die.” Ok, you get the picture. I never dated anyone without daddy issues either. 

My husband, Paul, is a 1960’s love child. He was born to a single, unwed, high school dropout, teenage mother in Chicago. They were dirt poor. Paul spent the first half of his childhood in low income housing in Chicago. His mother enjoyed a brief marriage while there, just enough to change her name. When the city started to get rough and gang activity started heating up, his mom moved him out of the city along with his retired, widowed grandma. They moved up to a small town in northern Wisconsin. Talk about culture shock! Paul did get teased because he had the same last name as his grandma. His mom had a different last name, but still no dad. What a small town scandal in the 1970’s, for sure. 

Paul has a brilliant Mensa level mind. He earned his MBA while starting up his own successful business. He is always sought out to help organizations with their finances or in leadership roles. He is also a great dad to our children. But where does he go for fatherly advice? He has a great step-dad now, but his only two sons both got out of prison last year. Probably not the best place for advice. Certainly not my dad either. 

Paul’s mother is a little slow, she never could complete her GED. She would rather play the slots than play with her grandkids. There were countless occasions where she would cancel out last minute, not show up at all, or come hours late. When she did show up, sometimes she would leave angry spewing out obscenities. For all of her shortcomings, I have to thank her for not aborting my husband and for moving him out of the city. 

For all of you dads out there celebrating Father’s Day this weekend, have a good one! If you are struggling to be a good dad, it is never too late for change. You can still lead a relatively happy life with daddy issues. If you have a Hallmark card dad, tell him how much you appreciate him before it is too late. 

Cats, part 2

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I grew up outside of a small town with a population of 200. It was a bustling little town in my day with a creamery, a grocery store, a feed mill, an oil company, a bank, two bars, and my family’s business which was a garage that sold and fixed cars along with a gas station. The town also had a train running through it. Before my time, it used to have a passenger train, which grandma told me stories of her sister standing outside to wave good bye to her future husband going off to war. 

My parents build their house on about 10 acres of land outside of town. There was a barn on the property and also a foundation for a house. Legend has it that the original house on the property burned down. The property contained several buildings including the barn which was used for lumber and storage. The barn was also the home for several stray wild cats. 

There was one scrawny little starving cat that would always eat at our compost pile. One day Mark and Luke thought it would be a good idea to catch this cat. They caught her and locked her in our garage along with the two antique cars. One that I never saw driven and one that my mom would bring out once or twice a year which was a real treat for us to ride in. I fed the wild cat and spoke softly to her, eventually gaining her trust. She knew my voice and I was the only one she would come out for. I tamed her. She was my first “friend” in the home bound years. 

My brothers went in the barn and caught 2 more kittens after that. They were little and had to be fed with a dropper. The gray kitten didn’t make it and the  black cat got hit by a car. Never fear, he didn’t die. He lost all of his fur and his tail curled up like a pig’s. He earned the name Piggy. He was an ankle biter and the black sheep (cat? pig?) within the cat community that at one time was about 20 cats strong. Matt never bothered the outdoor cats. 

Marathon training, week 4

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Yesterday I pounded out 12 miles on the pavement. I was going to wait until Thursday to start up again after the 10k this last Saturday. But I felt no pain, no need to recover. I still feel some disappointment over the 45 seconds. What I didn’t tell you earlier is that the whole week leading up to the race my acid reflux was eating away at me. I sat with the garbage can next to me at work. The morning of the race I took my Prilosec, liquid antacid, and tums and still was in a moderate level of pain three quarters of the race.  I was more disappointed that no matter what I did I could not control the nawing pain inside of me. I know that it is silly to feel disappointment when I did the best I could under the circumstances. I also know that it is silly to feel anger when blogging about something that happened 30 years ago (guardians). But I will take feeling any day over the alternative. There was a time in my life that I did not feel any negative emotions. What a great way to protect yourself from pain you can’t handle. But guess what? I couldn’t feel any positive emotions either. I was just a shell of a person trying to survive. 

I have a new running partner. I would like to say that it is my son who ran the 10k with my husband and I. He was egging us on quite a bit with talk of beating us without training. He did not beat either one of us, but would like to try again with a 5k. Whatever gets him off the couch.

My new running partner is my daughter’s 17 year old friend. We got a mile into our first run together when a man in a service truck whistled at us rather loudly. I laughed for the whole next mile. It really isn’t safe for women to run by themselves on deserted country roads. My first running partner is super model gorgeous and you wouldn’t believe how many local service truck guys stopped us to ask for directions. My new running partner said she was more likely to be kidnapped by her dad who is stalking her instead of a service guy. Both of my running partners, like me, are outrunning many demons. They are both younger and faster too. They could leave me in their dust. Don’t worry honey, I have your back. Literally.