A Musing

I haven’t really written anything in a while.  I mean, other than a few memes, I’ve really been absent.  Not even phoning it in.

Honestly?  completely and utterly overwhelmed.  By nothing in particular and everything in general.

I feel useless.  I feel fat.  I feel tired.  I feel uncreative.  I feel uninspired.  I feel like everything around me just keeps on moving and I’m stuck in a big bowl of pudding–and not a good flavor either.  Like pistachio or some shit.

(seriously–why is that even a flavor?)

well, lets find the trigger, shall we?

1)  Autism therapies will be covered by insurance staring July 1.  Which means everything that the Regional Center did will now be done by me and I think a girl at the agency who supplies our ABA therapist.  I don’t know what I’m doing.  SHE doesn’t know what we’re doing, our doctor had never HEARD of this and suddenly she has to write treatments and prescriptions,  and you can surely bet that  Anthem sure as hell don’t know what they’re doing other than keeping that bottom dollar firmly stapled down.  And I live in this constant fear that someone is gonna come look at my kid-who has improved by LEAPS AND BOUNDS due to this therapy, as have my own parenting and coping skills, and say that he doesn’t need it and take it away. And that I will have to fight AGAIN to get him something other than the sad services supplied by the over-extended school system, to whom sometimes I think Ben is just a body filling a seat and bringing in that per student $$.

It’s kind-of crippling, this fear.

2) Ben starts kinder in the fall.  And frankly the amount of paperwork and fucking medical information I have to give is setting me on edge.  It feels invasive.  And I’m not one who’s all private and secretive.  But I’m a little bothered by the PACKET of info I have to provide.  And–another honesty–when I go in, we will no doubt have to go through the questions and the confusion about his iep AGAIN, like the last time, and then I will be told about the program that I have already investigated AGAIN, and be introduced to the teacher, whom I met with for said investigation, AGAIN and I suppose I am tired of having to FUCKING EXPLAIN MYSELF and my son.  and I’m tired because I know this will HARDLY be the last time.  HARDLY.  And I’m wondering why they don’t have a special liaison to handle this instead of the school secretary who is not going to LISTEN to me but rather ASSUME (as she has done before) and then READ and say “oh”.  It’s exhausting, this ferris wheel.  exhausting.

In the grand scheme of things, I know I don’t have it bad.  I live in a beautiful home.  And with some budgeting and frugal living, I can stay home and work with Ben and his therapists as we bombard him with treatment. I am not alone in this, with a husband working hard to help Ben all he can, and to keep our marriage working and thriving.   I have a son who is on the higher functioning end of the spectrum, so I’m not dealing with half the shit with which some of my sistas-in-arms are dealing.  I am able to get some “me” time most days of the week.  For all this I am grateful.  GRATEFUL.

So then I feel like a heel when I sound like a whiny lil BITCH and “oh wah wah wah, I have to fill out forms and I have to deal with stupid people”

And I don’t want to write about it here–because that feels like the greatest exercise in narcissism, and I feel like an emo teen all over again with all these emotions threatening to overwhelm and no way to really express it without sounding like an ungrateful child.  So I don’t.  And then the blog goes dormant.  And then the only hits I’m getting are from spambots and their porn and prescription drug scams…

Yes, pills.  Yes exercise.  yes, spirituality.  YES YES YES. I know.  I do.


Sitting here, writing this, thinking about my feelings, I am realizing the last time I felt like this.  The year Barack Obama ran for President.  And the vitriol and the hate and the stupidity and the general malaise that IS an election year was hard.  I remember telling a friend how much I hoped he would win–but that it worried me, the amount of hatred that followed him. I remember looking at my friend, an African-American woman, and our boys–born about the same time, mine not yet diagnosed, and really worrying for her safety, and the world within which our boys were supposed to thrive.  Would they grow up and not even see one another’s skin color?  Would it even be an issue? And she was calm as rain, and just as soothing.  And she told me not to worry.  And I figured she was crazy, but that there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about that or the state of politics, and I let it go.  And Obama won.  And people are still crazy. And my kid likes all sorts of kids.

I need to stop watching Mad Men.  Because watching these women struggle, and those men have mid life crises, in an election year is seriously threatening my stability.  Even though i LURVE looking at all the couture syles ans it  HAS inspired me to make a custom fitted bra so that I can try to look as awesome as Christina Hendricks, with whom I share a similar bust size.

For which I am also, heavily grateful.

So–pardon the absence.  Pardon the whining.  Pardon the Morrisey quality of this post.  I hope to be back to my charming irreverent self sometime soon…

Categories: Uncategorized | 10 Comments

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10 thoughts on “A Musing

  1. You’re allowed to feel ALL these things. I used to think I was the only “bad” one who felt like this but the more I read, the more it seems we’ve all felt all these things. We’re grateful. We know we’re lucky in a lot of ways. We know there are others who would gladly take our problems. But it still sucks and we still want life to be easier etc etc etc. Here’s to wallowing for a bit and then finding the charm at the end. 🙂

  2. Friend…all this is allowed, and all this is okay, but I do wonder if maybe there’s some depression/anxiety lurking? With the demands we have as autism parents, it’s completely reasonable to be overwhelmed.

    Whatever the case, we’re still here, no matter what. My anxiety has been bad, so had to get some meds. It happens.

    What do you need from us?

    • Flan, i’ve struggled with depression all my life. I’ve got the pills. I’ve got the strategies. I’m just in a funk. Happens. These things usually run their course, and then i go get a pedi or some shit and i’m right as rain.

      Thanks girl.

  3. I remember when our son started school for the first time. That alone can be a very stressful situation. Maybe the upcoming Summer months will help you unwind and relax.

  4. *big hugs* I know we all see our “whining” and “bitching” on our blogs as a bit narcissistic and self-serving. But, I find when I finally let it all out there, there is at least ONE reader that will connect with it. Other people will get something from all of this moaning and they are going to THANK you. I find that if I’m even questioning about whether I should share something, it means I should. Our bitching benefits others. Who knew, yeah? 😉 LAVA YOU!

  5. Wait. That’s weird.

    Are you me? Because…. you sound like me. I mean… EXACTLY like me, give or take a few specifics.


    • which oddly enough is another reason i didn’t want to post this, because i was afraid i’d be called a copycat.

      ’cause this is high school.

      I think we’re just having mid-life crises (which would mean that we’re gonna live to be at least 80. so there’s that)

  6. I think it’s great that several people have given you positive feedback on this post. That’s one of the reasons we all blog-to share and to get support.
    But I know that I blog because writing about my experiences is the way I think about them, process them, reflect and learn. So, you don’t need our permission to whine or complain. Right or wrong, they are your feelings, and they are real.
    I figure if there is some reader out there who doesn’t like our whining, doesn’t approve of the subject matter, disagrees with our word choice, questions our puncutation or sanity, they are free to stop reading our blogs.
    So, write what you need to, when you need to. But you don’t need my or anyone else’s permission to do it.

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