A Difficult Fall

From Summer to Autimn, we fall. Depression typically strikes us deepest in the weeks of this seasonal transition. The last four years, since we have lived in Willamette, there was no downward mood shift. In a sense, due to annual repetition, we thought our Seasonal Depression was gone.

This year's transition has been rough. I hear more often how people wish they could hurry up and die of natural causes. Whenever they pray like that, I take it seriously. 

I asked Therapist if our depression was bad because we had more "new" grief to work through, as in Chinese Medicine, Autumn is the season of grief, or some such thing.

It was only this Summer that we discovered the memories of our grandmother hiring a specialist from Chicago to train 8 year old me to be a whore.

Therapist thought it might be possible.

I'm tired...

My Father Sold Me and Gave Me Away, a child prostituted speaks out

I knew, in my conscious memory, that my father gave me to his three, twenty-something Air Force buddies for their sexual pleasures when I was around two years old. I call that "my earliest clear memory" of being prostituted. 

In the past few years, flashbacks revealed the ten year old incident where I received money from the scrap metal guy after performing sexual favors. I even included that event in my book, Always and Never Alone.

Then, there were the large events like the Christian men's Thursday bible study group whereby I was forced to sexually satisfy anywhere from 3-12 good Christian men. Those happened regularly, not every week, but with the frequency of once or twice a month.

There were the "motel incidents" where dad used a CB to entice strangers off the interstate so they could use child me for sex in motel rooms.

Can't forget some of his Detroit Free Press newspaper subscribers who paid extra for a chance to sexually use young girls, me.

The list, the list continues to grow of times that my dad used me and my body to make money to feed my siblings. I'm becoming convinced that within my remaining lifetime, it is entirely possible all child prostitution incidents may not get an opportunity to be revealed. There is only so much time for therapy each week.

The latest, the latest memory flashback that surfaced this week, again involves multiple men. The family friend who was a butcher. He paid dad, for using me and his meat delivery drivers, he paid dad in sausages, fresh, ground right in front of you hot dogs, sausage and kielbasa. Yet another injustice done to me on a routine basis.

It's difficult to have any sense of self, worth or self-esteem when your father and grandmother routinely sell you. Just sayin'. 

I'm not like you. I'm not like most people, even most child sexual abuse survivors. I was incested by my father, grandmother, great grandmother and great uncle. I was regularly sold to a multitude of men to be used for their sexual proclivities. I'm not normal or average. I'm not unbroken or a walking miracle. I'm broken, heavily damaged and disillusioned. I live in my own little world where I don't have to be hurt or used or violated anymore And I see the world, I see men, in a most negative way as I was used in ways most unpleasant and perverse. I am different and I talk about the vile crimes that my family and the molesters committed.

It was Never my fault.

I never had a choice. 

I did Nothing wrong yet I'm the one who pays for it every single day.

Two and a Half Months, Adjusting to the New Therapy Office

It took 2 1/2 months for Autistic Multiple Us to calm down and stop freaking out every time we stepped into the new therapy office.

Here are the factors:

Time- we showed up, terrified of course, twice a week for 12 weeks. We showed up which was huge and courageous on our part. Each time one or some of us could check the new place out, becoming acclimated a little more each visit. 

Common Interest- after over 4 years in therapy, we finally found a neutral outside interest that we both shared. Small talk. Finally, we discovered something that we could talk about that enabled us to interact.

Proximity- when everyone got vaccinated and we could sit closer, our People felt safe again. Therapist across the room didn't help us to feel like we could confide or share easily. We whisper frequently. Now, therapist can hear us.

People- the older adults started overriding, showing up more often than the frightened, hurt Littles. Where a Big goes, a Little is sure to tag along.

Therapy feels like it's real again, not just a test or hurdle to jump through.

I'm sure we will continue to have nervous people show up but I feel we have a greater percentage of alters that are going to make this continuing transition easier and easier.

I gotta say, We Are Brave. We are Courageous. And We try really, really hard to do the right thing, the best thing, what we need to do.

Never give up.

Never surrender.

Nonverbal Autistic Speaking Here

From Autistic me: you will never know how difficult it is for me, at times, to form words and speak out loud. My brain struggles with English as if it is a foreign language. Some days, like today, it's all I can do to string together enough words that my teen can understand what I'm trying to say.

Some days, Words Just Don't Work. And he and I have grown used to it; it's our normal.

The other thing I wanted to say, to those that love and care for nonverbal Autistics, being nonverbal does not hurt and it often feels very natural and normal not to speak. The times I'm nonverbal, I don't feel like I'm missing out on anything, in fact, the times where I feel the greatest, most pervasive peace and calm and whole, is when I'm nonverbal. 

I struggle because the outer world is completely against silence and mutism and nonverbal, whereas so much of my being, my brain and neurology screams 'be quiet, say nothing'; it is so peaceful in the quiet. I cannot emphasize enough that nonverbal can be pure bliss to some of us Autistics. Hell is being forced to talk and interact and play nice and act normal. 

I can't imagine how difficult it must be for a parent or caregiver of a nonverbal Autistic. I guess my parting wisdom as both an Autistic and the mother of a quiet Autistic is, if your child does not appear to be in any distress, they are probably quite content and maybe even feeling great calm.

I know my son loves me, even on the days I'm unable to speak. I love my son equally on the days I am verbal, and on the days I am mute. That does not change.

Just because someone is nonverbal does not mean they are in distress or pain. Sometimes it is the exact opposite. 

I live in both worlds, verbal and nonverbal. If I could only choose one, I think you can figure out which one I'd prefer.❤

Be kind to your local Autistics, both the verbal and nonverbal ones.

and there is no one listening

So talking is a useless endeavor. 

I want everyone to leave me alone rather intensely these days.

Disconnected 

I am alone

In an over filled world

That never cease

To take a breath

Or a pause

I watch

From afar

It's the safest place to be.

I want to go home, go to bed, sleep till morrow and then some

on being mute

As the noise inside my head slows way down, I delight more deeply in external noises (plus I am not as easily annoyed or overwhelmed by said noises).

It's less difficult to understand the spoken words of others.

Song lyrics, on the radio, suddenly became clear and coherent.

I enjoy the sound of my own breathing. 

I turned off the closed captioning on the television because I can understand what is being said now.

I've run into a couple hurdles. To activate my credit card, I encountered a voice-activated only phone number. In a similar vein, my dentist appointment could not be made via phone, rather I need to show up, written request in hand, and get an appointment made.

Likewise, at the vet, I couldn't park in the lot and call and ask the receptionist to bring out my dog food. Instead, I prepared a written sign, conveniently made from the box of dog food I required, so that the receptionist could easily see what I needed.

In both in-person cases, I was treated with great respect and my errands were successful. 

In some ways being mute is like a layer of protection, a blanket of insulation against the external world. My worries are less. My expectations are lowered, too. I don't have to engage in chitchat or banter. Good overall but at times a hardship.

More positive than negative.

Inside, I feel great calm.

Being mute has its pluses and minuses.

and so it begins....Alone again naturally

We've voluntarily left therapy, partially due to pandemic restrictions, autistic limitations and the feeling that the effort was more than the actual productivity. 

We had two appointments a week this month but only engaged in therapeutic work for two sessions. The others were no shows, cancels or walkouts without any memory/ healing work taking place.

It felt like we were walking in to a trap each time we arrived at the office.

The unfortunate analogy repeatedly heard was that it felt like therapist "was throwing rocks at our head." Therapy had become majorly unpredictable and too emotionally painful to endure.

All the warm fuzzies of being heard and unburdened melted away. The office turned into a frozen wasteland and my fingertips grew cold and blue.

There is no return date on any horizon that I can see. I feel perfectly okay with this. I didn't quit or bail, rather, I was painted into a corner. Leaving was the only way to get free.

I fly solo now. No friends, family or foes to bog me down or contort and twist for.

I think I heard some one talking out of my mouth try and explain that we had reached the end of our rope and were unwilling to fall for anyone but ourselves.

Therapy had been deteriorating right along with the rising pandemic restrictions. Distance. Distance, we know thee well. We cannot speak well or much when we have to shout to be heard.

We are on our own. The most common and normal atmosphere.

It's all good