Prepare to enter the wild and wooly world of an adult with Aspergers Syndrome, a form of autism characterized by intellignce, quirks, social difficulties and downright strange and oddish behaviours.

People with Aspergers generally are high functioning in everyday life but have great difficulty connecting with others due to the inability to read faces, body language and subtle verbal clues. They also tend to take words literally and have a hard time multi-tasking.

Oversensitivity to touch (clothing has to be soft and often the tags removed), light (do not leave home without the sunglasses), sound (loud noises and noisey places are avoided), taste (many Aspies have quite a limited diet and are frequently very picky eaters) and smells makes the everyday existence more of a challenge.

Fasten your seatbelts and come on in...
To find out more about what Aspergers is..please check out my earliest blog entries

Sunday, May 11, 2014

I hate mothers day

I really do. I detest those "social norms" that I cannot escape and that punch me in the face at every turn. I refuse to go online to see those drippy, dreary sentiments directed at others And myself. I hate being reminded that some people have caring mothers. I hate that mine was a coconspirator bitch who mistreated me so And yet demanded flowery shows of devotion and undying loyalty.
I won't go outside, as every frickin idiot who walks by wishes me a happy mothers day as if I'm something to be admired for raising kids that...haven't exactly turned out to be stellar citizens.
 I really hate that Grandma is dead. She was the closest thing I ever had to a caring mother. Maybe that's why I really hate this day, more especially this year.
 Yeah, last year I finally told my mother that I am no longer her daughter. Best fucking move I'd made in awhile.
 So some people have loving mom memories. I guess I'm jealous, too.
 Thanks mom for all the hatred, the slaps, the inability to look at me, hold me, show genuine affection and, of course, the complete inability to love me one iota. Thanks for applying the make up for covering bruises and telling me cover stories to tell others. Thanks for the years of physical starvation when help Was available. Thanks for forcing me to lie. Thanks for letting dad molest me and for accepting that it was okay. Thanks for sacrificing me to save yourself. Thanks for denying my allegations, you know, the ones you knew were true, to save my brothers and sisters from knowing dad was a bastard, incestuous, pedophile.  Thanks for rarely taking me to the doctor, telling me it was "all in my head" and that I must be making up my physical pains. Thanks for getting mad, upset and isolating me when I was sick, instead of giving a fuck and nursing me back to health. Thanks for breaking so many brushes beating us. Thanks for making us feel sorry for you when you hurt your hand beating one of us. Thanks for allowing dad to beat us and making us think it was normal and we deserved you. You fucking sorry excuse for a mother. Thanks for the truly miserable, pain wracked years of my childhood. Thanks for falsely making me believe you gived a shit. Thanks for never letting me know what it felt like to be safe and loved. Thank you for allowing me to endure weekly rape from your husband. Thank you for taking away any sense of self-identity I may have had. Thanks for telling me about stranger danger but accepting the incest. You were a sorry, pissant excuse for a mother. You are a hollow, empty, deplorable person who should never have been "blessed" to have so many children. Yeah, fuck you, bitch.
 I deplore all holidays, but this one head and shoulders above the rest. And I'm supposed to "celebrate" and be honored and shit. Fuck it. I should just stay in bed.
 I can't stand it. Can't wait for this day to be over.