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.


  1. I'm sorry your childhood was so miserable and I'm sorry today is so hard, bringing back the memories. Yeah, I pretend today doesn't exist either. I don't admit that I wish my mother was dead because it shows what a horrible person I am. I lie to people if anyone asks what I'm doing for her for Mother's Day because I don't want to explain and justify to people who won't get it. Not that anyone will ask anymore. Yeah, it is ONLY on days like this that I'm glad I don't have anyone who cares about me.
    Your children love you Amy. Perfect or not, because of you they know what real love feels like and will have happy memories of their childhoods. This is big! No, people shouldn't be celebrated for popping out kids and raising them decently. It should be expected and something everyone with kids does. But many don't. And you didn't exactly have great models for how to be a parent and yet you turned out to be a good one. I wish you could be proud of yourself for that!
    ::Big hugs from a pest far away::

  2. These feelings are best vented as you have, my friend. Rather than keeping them bottled up inside, where they are only going to fester, and become even more toxic.

    I feel that I can relate, somewhat. Though I was abused by a sibling, there is still much that I hold my mother and father responsible for, both of them could have stopped what happened to me, if only either of them really gave a shit.

    I want you to know, (and I hope that "KatKnip" reads this too.) that you are not a bad person for having such thoughts and feelings. You have been put through absolute Hell all of your life, because of those two. They did not deserve the beautiful child you were, and are, within.

    My father died years ago, my mother died earlier this year. I had not spoken to her for 2 years, as I got fed up with her bullshit and denial. I did not attend her funeral. When I heard of her death, I felt a sense of relief.

    Yes, "Mothers Day", "Fathers Day", and a whole lot of other "Days" are nothing but utter crap!

  3. Yes, our Amy has right to every bit of her anger and more!
    Me, maybe not. I hesitate to even say much about my childhood because compared to Amy's I feel very guilty complaining. Some physical abuse, but mostly mental. The short version is I was deliberately manipulated, damaged, and kept isolated and dependent on dysfunctional family so no one would find out how disturbed they were and so I'd never be capable of leaving them alone. I did leave them (moved 350 miles away as soon as I could), but I barely function which they throw in my face. What I wouldn't give to be strong and good like Amy. To have something to show for my life, love, children, a career, friends, a home... To be able to say, "you didn't succeed in stopping me." But they did succeed. They've won and they know it. They've flat out said so!
    Keep writing, Amy. Sometimes your blog makes me smile and sometimes it makes me cry. But either way, I feel a little less alone. Thank you! :-)