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theremustbeawayout's Blog


God's Plan for Me? Give me a Break. . .

If I follow pop Christian theology, then I should surrender to God's plan for me.  Let's see, that would mean I should just ackowledge and accept the fact that I must remain a virtual pet/prisoner in my tiny little world, that I am an indolent nothing meant for. . .nothing but staying inside the electric fence.

I don't know what's next.  But if it's 30 more years of the nothing, of not even struggling to find something useful to do with my life, then I have to say I've wasted an entire life. 

I like to say that I've been a great, exceptional mother, using attachment parenting to minimize the effects of my child's autism with much success.  The truth of the matter is that attachment parenting looks a lot like codependency.  And as a co-dependent, I was uniquely suited to the task. 

Here I am, back to sitting around the house doing a whole lot of nothing.  Except now I'm also overweight.

I surrender, all right.  I just plain give up on trying to have any kind of a life, trying to create any kind of meaning, trying to leave the house, trying to connect with others.  I acknowledge the nothing inside my soul.  I don't like it.  I wish it was different.  After half a century, it's just all the same as when I was a teen, prisoner in my mother's life.

Well, I was raised like an animal, a dumb pet.  I can dream of being a wild animal all I want--but a dream is all it will ever be.  I'm destined to be a lap dog that's kept on a very short leash.
 

God's Plan for Me? Give me a Break. . .

If I follow pop Christian theology, then I should surrender to God's plan for me.  Let's see, that would mean I should just ackowledge and accept the fact that I must remain a virtual pet/prisoner in my tiny little world, that I am an indolent nothing meant for. . .nothing but staying inside the electric fence.

I don't know what's next.  But if it's 30 more years of the nothing, of not even struggling to find something useful to do with my life, then I have to say I've wasted an entire life. 

I like to say that I've been a great, exceptional mother, using attachment parenting to minimize the effects of my child's autism with much success.  The truth of the matter is that attachment parenting looks a lot like codependency.  And as a co-dependent, I was uniquely suited to the task. 

Here I am, back to sitting around the house doing a whole lot of nothing.  Except now I'm also overweight.

I surrender, all right.  I just plain give up on trying to have any kind of a life, trying to create any kind of meaning, trying to leave the house, trying to connect with others.  I acknowledge the nothing inside my soul.  I don't like it.  I wish it was different.  After half a century, it's just all the same as when I was a teen, prisoner in my mother's life.

Well, I was raised like an animal, a dumb pet.  I can dream of being a wild animal all I want--but a dream is all it will ever be.  I'm destined to be a lap dog that's kept on a very short leash.
 

The Con Job and My Unwitting Approval

So yesterday H & Offspring were at an event to which I was unable to go.  The plan was for H to procure dinner for us all after the event.  H sent me a couple of phone pix from the event.  Afterwards he texts to say there is food. Twice.

Now, after the first text my knee-jerk reaction was to text back and say, "Great!"  by way of keeping up a conversational exchange.  But what am I really saying?

In light of our long history, H would have heard this as permission to not do anything else about food for all of us.  As a matter of fact, I would have to say that much communication with H is based on what I will allow him to get away with.  Since I did not respond to the first text, he texted again to seek my implied permission to get out of the obligation to deal with the meal.  Again I did not respond.  When H & Offspring returned, H was prepared to deal with dinner.

This "What Can I Get Away With?" attitude is exactly why my H. is a S.O.B.  This outlook turns me into his parent from whom he seeks permission, and keeps him locked into the role of teenager who is always trying to stick it to authority.

The first time I heard an older sibling speak to H as if he were a child, I was incensed on H's behalf.  Now, of course, I understand.


The Con Job and How to Make Me Put Up with His Late Hours

H:           I can finally start getting home at a decent time this week!  What a relief!  (Lists the factors that allow this)

Me:        (Insert some comment about how nice to have him home, having dinner together. . . )

H:           (Right after I experience relief over H's ability to now get home at a decent hour, H starts delineating why all the circumstances that allow him to get home this week will evaporate next week)

In the past I heard, "Poor me.  Nothing is in my control.  I really want to get home at a decent time, I do, I miss my family (etc.).  But my job!  We are understaffed! I feel such great responsibility! "  And I believed that none of this was in his control.   This last time, a couple of weeks ago, I heard in his words, "I'm glad for a little let up.  But don't you even start to think that you will know what to expect from me.  I'll come home when I damn well feel like it, when I am too tired, or because what I am doing that day is boring.  If something interests me, I'll stay till I drop because it's more interesting than home."

OK, so you would actually have to have more background and context to see why I interpolate like that, but that's not important here.

H actually slipped up once and said, "Well, if there's no reason to come home, then I'll stay and finish (xyz)."  Yes, folks, he actually admitted that home, me, and the offspring are not actually interesting enough to come back to all on its own.

Bastard. 

Asperger's and the obsessive interest and denial

Asperger's requires an obsessive interest.  I don't have one. 

Uh.......hang on. . . . . that would be wrong.

One.  One interest only. No other interests for the first 45 years of my life. 

Hours upon Hours spent in therapy, trying to figure out an activity for enjoyment rather than things that had to be done.  Something to look forward to, something that would give me a spark.  I knew this made me different and strange, not actually wanting to do anything.  This is ennui, not depression. 

My obsessive interest was a skill, and not necessarily a marketable one.  I was no good at it, trying to turn it into a profession had burned me (figuratively) and hurt badly.  For that matter, this interest was the container for all my emotions, kind of like a life-boat for them.  So what else could I possibly do with my life?  I persevered in this profession against the efforts of many people to dissuade me.  I persevered with not much success.  I persevered without any close colleagues until it dawned on me after many years that I didn't have to hurt like this.

And it never occurred to me that this might  fit the description of Asperger's. 

1-5 of 5 Blogs   

Previous Posts
God's Plan for Me? Give me a Break. . ., posted January 10th, 2014, 1 comment
God's Plan for Me? Give me a Break. . ., posted January 9th, 2014
The Con Job and My Unwitting Approval, posted December 17th, 2012
The Con Job and How to Make Me Put Up with His Late Hours, posted December 5th, 2012
Asperger's and the obsessive interest and denial, posted September 19th, 2012

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