I think the thing that bothers me the most is that, out of all the possibilities for our situation, I had never in my life imagined this one.
My kid looks at me with disappointment in his eyes, when he's not looking at me in anger. I have tried my best with the limited information that I have (he will not communicate with us via the way he used to) to meet his needs, but as usual I fall short. Yes, he has led a very traumatic life. No, it's not due to my irresponsibility, past not heeding the feeling of fear his bio dad instilled in me from the start. Had I done so, my son wouldn't even be here. Not to mention, at that time I was still brainwashed (family shit) to think that if I took any sort of offense to what was being done to me, that was evidence of my mental instability. Prior to the age of 30, I wasn't even aware that I had human rights. I had my son at age 27. Let that sink in a bit.
I have walked through, climbed out of, swam through some deep shit with that kid on my back. And right now I'm exhausted. My son's nads are dropping, my egg repository is about to shut TF down, we're both hormonal and tired, and there's no help in sight past a devoted stepfather I'm not allowed to talk to. That's right, no touching. Regulation 12" apart or you will be manually separated. 😶 The dorm master is strict about these things. Which means I'm always horny. I can't wait until school starts, we have 40 more days in the wilderness...then we have Fridays free. Probably a good idea to invest in some prophylactics. It's crowded enough in here and things get more and more expensive.
I thought I was providing enough cover, "crouching" over him, to keep his eyes away from my abusers. Ultimately his as well, because due to their hatred of me, my child lost an entire family. It makes me rage, knowing his future with all those random negroes crawling across the east coast, who could at least have tried to give him a little love.
Kiddo feels lost and alone in a world that moved on without him. What was here when we left has shifted beyond his recognition, upon our return. When we left this place before, we left THE most inclusive situation he could have had. Back then you could get speech therapy in a matter of weeks. He had friends, his favorite teacher. We had each other. By many twists of fate we managed to have a lovely home. My dumb ass let one more roomate in...and she did us in. Promises to pay that never materialized. I had to turn over my lease, because I simply could not afford to incur an eviction. It would take months of my pay to resolve. Where would we live until then?
I had no choice but to leave. I don't think either of us would have survived the local homeless shelter, and after that first and only run in the "best one in the area", I said never again. I wonder if he can remember those days. He was but five years old. He was six when we left the DC area for the first time. My family life was that bad that I was willing to step into the complete unknown, 2100 miles away from home. Strangers have always been safer than my family. Often much kinder as well. In August of 2019 I stepped off an Amtrak train with kiddo, after 32 hours of travel, into the arms of the one who still sleeps beside me. He too, was a stranger. I got much deserved side-eye from my friends until they realized who he is. He's a good one, that's who he is. Every month, the week before my period, I try to put him out. Then, once the red tide has died down, I'm glad he didn't go. I'm beginning to miss the days of sporadic, painless cycles. Lemme be caught out again, instead of insane on a schedule, please.
My son and I are like two fighters in a ring, glaring at each other during time out. Our old dynamic has been worn down by years of moving, COVID restrictions (that's when he stopped playing...when he had no space to). For 18 months we lived in a studio with my fiancee of four years. That's where I went, when I lost our home out here. Again, a veritable stranger was safer than my family. I'll get into that in other posts. Luckily for us, my gamble was a good one. Joel is a rock to this family. He loves kiddo. He loves me. He's a provider. And my backup. He's often the only one pleading my case and the case for my health with regards to our current parenting situation. And yes, I consider him a parent. He has full authority to act on my behalf regarding kiddo. I'm grateful for it. Because sometimes I have to tap out. If I didn't have that option today, I shudder to think about where we'd be. I'm getting sicker, and few people are listening. It's scary. What happens if I can't take care of my kid? At least now I have someone who knows all his meds, knows how to program his tablet. Knows his preferred foods. Someone can finally pick him up from school now! The terror of before, knowing he'd be in state care at the end of the day if anything ever happened to me, bcause there was literally no one. I don't have that fear anymore. If I died, he'd keep kiddo. And he'd be qualified to, because all bio dad can give him is space on the street until the system absorbs him for life. It can't end that way. It just can't.
That's not something my son's care team seems to understand. Because of my initial status as a single black mom, I think I may have collected a lot of educated white saviors the last time I was here. When they could help the hapless, tearful, desperate mom, they gave a shit about me. Now that I come with an equally educated white man in tow, he's "some guy" and apparently I'm no longer as devoted to my son, now that I've made it clear that this shit ain't a nunnery? I guess? They need not worry, my son was some random Disney miracle. I'm sure I shoot blanks. He just popped up because a dream is a wish your heart makes... I hope, that as he gets older he realizes that he's been wanted since he was a flutter in my belly. I hope we can reconnect sooner than When Puberty Is Over. This shit suuuuuucks. But anyways, chugging on because this train don't stop for no one who ain't already on it...
I guess I'm no longer inspiration porn if I bring in stable help. And I'm waiting for any of these people who are essentially consultants in the Business of Raising My Son (you can be replaced, FAFO) to intimate that I've brought someone questionable into my son's life. I've dated twice since I escaped his dad (ball and chain ass bitch of a man, he hasn't played in traffic yet much to my dismay). I made the mistake of not doing a background check on the first one, but he came from wholesome Mormon stock, so I thought he was okay. Nah, his ass was the runt of the litter. It's telling how much they trusted someone with "cursed skins of darkness" to reign that dude in. His parents let us house sit for a bit. I'm the only reason he got to stay there, I guess my personality (and kiddo's cute presence, no doubt) put them at ease. However, dude was a mess and I left him. Second (and last) time around? Yeah, nah. I did my background check. Once burned, and all that.
My method is this: I find out about you, and if there are no barrier crimes (the usual nasty shit that makes you wish certain methods of torture were legal, DV, evidence that you ain't learned your lesson yet) then I wait for you to tell me what you did. If you do, then you stay. He did, and so he stays.
Anyways, the presence of the educated white man with opinions on my son's care and who makes them listen to me...he's being met with a bit of chagrin. Oh, well. We both love the fuck out of this kid, and something is wrong. I have a feeling that some of these people are just mad that the source of my son's pain can't be proven to be us. That would be nice and cut and dry for them. Allow them to still feel like they alone are the reason for my son's progress.
I'm just sitting here most days, after another day of touch and go with my heart beating outside my chest. Every time he singles me out, every time he lets me hug or kiss him, every time we can get through a transition with a smile on the other end, I am grateful.
But I'm scared. The people I once trusted are now looking at my child and only seeing his autism. That four letter sentence "it's just the autism," is smothering him. Last year at school, his teacher called me. She told me to rush over. When I got there, she told me she had to evacuate the class after kiddo had a meltdown. She then told me that he used his talker to say "I feel violent."
Tonight I feel especially violent because a group of people who remember my son at age 10, all russet curls and wide green eyes, are refusing to see the frightened almost-man before them. They are infantlizing someone much smarter than they realize. In that, he is like me. I will let you think I know nothing, because I'm watching you to see how you treat those who you percieve as no threat to you. If you show mercy, you may be part of my tribe. If you show enough arrogance, even my ditch-dwelling ass can touch you. This is just camouflauge.
Today my surrogate mom and I went to lunch. We talked about kiddo. She too, has raised a son on the spectrum. She readily admits how different our situations are, but she still gives very sage advice. And on this, she has told me to finally show them who I am.
My son's pediatrician, who I moved across the country to gain him access to, disappointed me the other day. It took Joel to make me see that she still sees the child she met in my son. She has not been with us these last four brutal years. As teachers got to abuse him for months with no reprisal. As we were locked indoors and chased from every park when we did go out...and he just didn't understand. As his thoughts and his body began to change, and it was scaring the fuck out of him. As we struggled to find doctors who would simply continue his meds. Therapy? Unheard of since July of 2019.
And yet it's so easy to just blame us, instead of this system that sucks most of us dry. Not gonna let them, though. I'm going to learn to be more merciful towards myself, too. I have put him on every waitlist I can. We're in harm reduction mode until he can be given the therapy and tools to cope with the changes that are happening, and the things now expected of him as he grows up. I know he can do it, I just need all the other adults in the room to believe it. This coming year's IEP is gonna piss some school staff off, but they're gong to give me something to work with, after the certificate of 19 years of completion is done. Since you could never help him get a diploma (oh, I have such opinions on that), he will learn to legibly write his name (this is improving), we will master basic arithmetic (which he can do) and reading will be sent home Monday through Friday. We can read together, books sent from school along with his personal library, because my son is literate.
If we had been able to stay here, he wouldn't be in the condition he is in. I wish we could have stayed. I wish I had fought all the things that were happening at that time. I wish I had tried harder. Joel would have eventually come out here, that wasn't an issue. But the two school years of outright abuse, he didn't need that. The lazy advocates who never fought for him, he didn't need that. All of the pain he had to endure, the bullies that were never admonished...all that invalidation, he didn't need that. He didn't deserve that.
Unfortunately, because I've been the only constant since day one, I'm the place where his emotional chickens come home to roost. There is no way for him to see that I'm not orchestrating this. His world is so limited right now, that he can't see. I just hope he can forgive me one day for how awful it is for him now. I hope he can forgive me for not making it clear that, though we were coming back here, not all would be the same. He can't go back to 4th grade. He has to wait one more year to get his favorite teacher. His friends have moved on...in so many ways. I ache for him, and I can't soothe his pain. He's like any other teen, I'm the most uncool thing right now.
I just hope we don't solidify into this. This wasn't what I had planned, kiddo. Not at all. But for most of your life there was no village where there should have been a large one. I'll never forgive my family for that. Or the Ball and Chain...unless he erases his carbon footprint and allow Social Security to provide the child support he has sporadically given (15% of this child's life!!!) thus far.
Fix it Jesus, if you are real. Damn.
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