Posts tagged ‘Demagogues’

Honesty: My Story: Dear Nicholas,

Dear Nicholas,

We’ve been apart nearly 10 years and there’s apparently still a piece of me that is afraid of you. I used to be so strong before you. My Granny taught me never to fall for a guy like you. I still don’t know how it happened. Well, that’s not entirely true. I thought I could save you. I thought I could save you from yourself. First, from the gang that didn’t exist in the end. Then from your parents because they didn’t understand you. Little did I know that they didn’t understand you because you were stoned all the time.

I wish I had known how much of my life was based upon lies.  How do you keep your life straight in your head? All the lies you tell? Or did you only tell them to me? Did everyone else get the truth? No, that can’t be right because I know you aren’t Autistic. You’re a Sociopath. So you lied to the doctors in Columbus, those are more lies to keep straight. Unless you just don’t go back now that you have the diagnosis.

This whole “I’m a changed man” crap. Is just that, crap. You don’t just change from what you were. Not who you were but what you were. You were a monster. You are a monster. You always will be a monster.

I don’t know how you treated your other fiancées. Do they know how you treated me? Are they aware of how you used to sit on the couch and obsessively clean your swords? Especially while we fought? Or how you used to sleep with the swords under the couch, thereby under you, because you refused to sleep in bed with me?

To this day, I don’t understand why you never wanted to sleep in bed with me. You asked me to marry you. It was your idea. And yet, even when we lived at your parents house and they were on vacation, you wouldn’t sleep in the same bed with me most of the time. I didn’t understand it then. I don’t understand it now.

You said you loved me. Yet you did everything you could to sabotage our marriage. You wouldn’t sleep in bed with me. You abused me. You misused me. You were hurtful. You neglected my son. You abused him. You sabotaged marriage counseling. You continually brought your mother into our marriage. Every fight. Every misunderstanding. Every time I told you “no”. Every time you wanted beer. You called your Mommy and pulled her into our marriage.

Should we discuss your treatment of me throughout our relationship? I think we should. The technical term is Domestic Violence. Let’s call a spade a spade shall we? Since if I remember correctly, you just love the Ace of Spades…so a spade a spade…


You screamed at me. You tormented me. You mistreated me. You threatened me with your sword collection. You called me names. You threatened me, in general. You threatened to take Gavin from me – then you would lie to the courts and see to it that I “never saw Gavin again” if I ever told anyone how you treated me. You cheated on me. You pushed me down the hallway. You showed me how you would plot your abuse case against me – so you could tell the police how abusive I was against you if I ever tried to leave. You sabotaged marriage counseling – my last-ditch effort to make our marriage work. You denied me affection if I sought it out. One night when I tried to connect to you by partying with you and your friends (including your mistress), you raped me. You pinned me to a door by my throat with Gavin clinging to my left leg. You tried to put your fist through a table over a childhood milestone – an over-reaction because I had company over for once. You tried to put your fist through the side of the refrigerator. Drugs? You did those. Alcohol? You drank those. To excess? Yes, you had that covered too. You are an alcoholic, addict wife-beater. You stole my social security number in order to obtain social services after I’d left you. You ran up massive charges in my name at Hollywood Video renting movies I already own after I left. You also ran up large bills in all the utilities – gas, electric, cable, phone – and left them in my name but refused to pay them. (That one is okay though because I just had your electric shut off on you.)

Let’s talk about Gavin for a second. Gavin is mine. Now he is ours – mine and Rob’s. Then, he was mine – just mine, not ours. You may have had a slight part is helping to create him but that’s it. You didn’t help to care for him. You never truly loved him. You skipped his 1st Birthday Party! You say it was to work. I say it’s because you’re an ass. You could have requested to have the day off. They would have given it to you. You didn’t ask. So you missed the party. You slept through his 1st Christmas morning! You were sleeping on the couch and I tried to wake you up. You yelled at me and said, “He’s not going to remember. I’ll see it all later!” then you passed out again. (Never mind the fact that the gifts for his 1st Christmas were purchased by your parents because you took the money out of our checking account and spent it on drugs. But who’s counting, right?)

Were those not good enough examples of your horrible parenting skills – or the complete and total lack there of – with Gavin? How about this one then? How about my first day of work at HH Gregg? Remember that one Nicholas? I had to be at work at 9am. At 8am I was getting ready and I woke you up – again from where you were sleeping on the couch. You woke up and smoked a cigarette. You promised you would stay awake and not go back to sleep. I left at about 8:30am. You were still awake. Gavin was asleep and not due to be awake until about 10-ish. I called from work at 11am – no one answered. I wasn’t too worried – yet. By 1am, when you still didn’t answer I was worried. I called repeatedly. Finally, I called the neighbor. She went to the Apartment Complex Manager and got the spare key to the apartment. Do you remember what she found when she let herself into the apartment? Do you?! She found you – passed out cold and totally unresponsive on the couch. She found Gavin – in his crib, where he had been for over 19 hours at that point! He had cried himself hoarse. He was soiled through his diaper, through his sleeper and onto his crib sheets. He had attempted to finish his bottle from the night before – the one with spoiled formula in it. (Formula because you made me wean him because you were jealous of the fact that he was breastfed when he was 6 months old. Let us not forget that.) When she found him he had no tears left to cry. Which means he was dehydrated.

All that happened because you had to get stoned while I was at work because you couldn’t and wouldn’t hold a job and couldn’t and wouldn’t stay sober. Just out of curiosity, do you remember what happened to the job you had right before I got that job? You were working at Check Smart and $300 went missing. The way I hear it, it went missing on your shift. They can’t prove it was you but they also can’t prove it wasn’t you either. So they just let you go. Interesting…

You know, when I started this letter I didn’t set out to bash you. I also didn’t set out to word vomit everything you did, or said, or thought. I was aiming to be more graceful and eloquent with the whole thing. I guess somethings you just need to get down and out. At least it’s out there though. Now I know that I’ve finally said my piece, or part of it, and I’ve been heard.

Good, bad or indifferent…I’ve been heard.


You. Woke. Me. Up.

7:30am ~ Gavin is just waking up and already in a horrible mood.

Good morning. Happy Tuesday to you.

Gavin KetZchup

This is my life.

Gavin has an alarm clock. His teachers gave it to him just before Christmas break because they worked on these class projects of “resolutions” of self-improvement before they left for Christmas break. Everyone received an alarm clock to assist them in becoming more independent. They were to begin setting the alarm clock every night so that they can wake up on their own every morning. Thereby removing one thing from our, the parental figures, morning to-do lists.

Gavin doesn’t remember to set his alarm for school. He’ll remember to set it for the weekend when he wants to wake-up at say 4:00am so that he can draw 50 pictures for his imaginary boss but to set it for 7:00am or even 7:30am for school? Forget it.

Therefore, Rob or I must wake him for school every weekday. He’s next to impossible to wake-up. (Thank you, genetics. Thank you, ex-husband.) However, our options Monday through Friday are either fight with him to wake him up or allow him to sleep and eventually go to jail for truancy. I’ll take the fight, thank you. This morning this is how my day started:

6:15am ~  Mr. Emmett John wakes up. He’s grumpy. We go downstairs and begin our morning routine.

6:30am to 7:00am ~ Somewhere in there Rob wakes up and comes downstairs. I just don’t happen to remember when that happened. I was half-asleep.

7:30am ~ Rob takes on Gavin. I mean wakes Gavin up. I make myself a cup of instant French Vanilla flavored coffee. I’m slightly more awake. Gavin is also grumpy.

7:30am to 7:50am ~ Gavin gets ready for school.

(This involves the following:

  1. Wake up
  2. Get dressed
  3. Brush teeth
  4. Go to the bathroom
  5. Find shoes & Put shoes on
  6. Take morning medications
  7. Put coat on
  8. Grab book bag)

7:55am ~ Gavin and I leave for school. I take Emmett John along for the ride this morning, just because. As we leave it is obvious that Gavin is in a horrible mood. So being the good mother that I am, I ask him what’s wrong. Here’s the conversation that I was not expecting to have at 8am.

Me: Gavin, why are you so grumpy?

Gavin: You. Woke. Me. Up.

Me: Excuse me?

Gavin: I said, You. Woke. Me. Up.

(Now technically, I didn’t wake him up. Rob did. I choose not to argue this particular point with him.)

Me: Well, you kind of have to go to school today.

Gavin: I wanted to sleep in and You. Woke. Me. Up.

Me: Yeah. Well, you have school. You didn’t set your alarm clock. You had to wake up somehow. So yes, we woke you up. Get over it.

Gavin: I wanted to sleep in. I didn’t want to get up. You. Woke. Me. Up. So I’m grumpy. ARGH!

(The longer this asinine conversation goes on the more irritated I become.)

Me: Look! In order for you to sleep in as late as you’d like on a school day you would have to be late. If you are late and/or absent too many times, the police will come looking for me and Daddy. They may even send us to jail. I’m not okay with that just so that you can sleep in.

Gavin: I try to remember to set my alarm but I forget.

Me: I thought you had come up with a sign or something at school with Miss S to help you remember to set it.

Gavin: I still can’t remember.

Me: I don’t know that it matters anyhow. You either sleep through the alarm, which leaves Daddy and I to turn it off and then wake you up. Or you hit the snooze, which still leaves us to Wake. You. Up.

(Now, yes, I was getting snippy. I was probably pissing him off and egging him on a bit. I shouldn’t have been. I’m his mother. I’m older. I’m wiser. Ya-hooey ka-blooey. But you know what? Sometimes, as awful as it sounds, I just don’t care. At 7:45-ish in the morning, when he’s being snippy because we dared to wake him for school, I. Don’t. Care. Truth be told, after a few minutes of hearing “You. Woke. Me. Up.” repeatedly; I was exhausted.)

Gavin: I know! I just want to sleep. I don’t want to get up. I want to sleep. I want to be left along. But You. Woke. Me. Up. ARGH!

Me: Again, I’m unwilling to go to jail so you can sleep as late as you like!

Gavin: You. Woke. Me. Up. AH!

(At this point, he slams his head into his lap and just growls at me from the backseat – terrifing Emmett John.)

Me: Really?! I mention the police and you’re still stuck on “You. Woke. Me. Up.”??

Gavin: I’m. Tired.

(As soon as we reached the school, he jumped out as if I had set his seat on fire.)

Me: Goodbye, Gavin! I love you! Have a…

Gavin: Yeah, bye! *SLAM*

Me: good day.

8:10am ~ I’m home. I have a raging migraine, which means my day is shot to Hell. I don’t know where any of that came from. I don’t know what to make of it. I’m pretty sure that his day is also shot to Hell.

PS I did in fact suffer from the “migraine from Hell”, which made my day Hellish. Gavin, however had a “SUPERB DAY” at school. Figures.

How many times must I mourn?!

I keep trying to get this blog exactly right. Just perfect – the way I want it. I’ve decided that it’s going to take me close to forever to get that accomplished and if I keep putting off my first official post until then…well, you may never hear from me again. (lol)

Emmett John had his ABR sedation hearing test yesterday. We’ve been waiting for this test for months. He had his basic OEA hearing test in January and the Audiologist couldn’t officially diagnose him but she said she felt comfortable saying that he had “moderate to severe hearing loss”. Meaning he was very close to being profoundly deaf. I was so sure he was deaf. I was ready for him to be deaf. I was ready to learn sign language.

Honestly, with the Hell that we live through every single day with Gavin and his Autism and Bi-Polar and whatnot. The Hell I endured at the hands of NTD and his mother before I met Rob. Then the continued Hell we suffered because of them after Rob and I were together – all throughout my divorce and custody battle. The various moments of Hell throughout my childhood. Surely, God wouldn’t do this…not again. Surely, he watched and he understood. Surely, he knows and understands that we can’t handle another Autistic child.

Oh forget the we*I* cannot handle another Autistic child…at least not right now. I just can’t. Not with Gavin manic the way he is. Not with Gavin hearing voices again. Starting puberty and having medication changes because we are on the “medication roller coaster” again. Not with Gavin having meltdowns of a caliber unlike anything I’ve ever seen from him before. It’s only a matter of time before he breaks his window or seriously injures himself.

Emmett John’s hearing is perfect. Everything we say…every sound…every everything he hears physically. But developmentally, he doesn’t hear most things. Apparently, this is common in Autistic children. I didn’t know this. He doesn’t make good eye contact – I thought he did. He throws these fits – I thought they were normal 21 month old fits…the Terrorist 2’s…now, not so much. So he can hear us but doesn’t talk. He babbles – like a 9-12 month old. I have no idea if he’ll ever actually talk. Does that mean he’s more likely Full-fledged Non-Verbal Autistic? Or could he still be some sort of High Functioning Asperger’s?

This will probably sound crazy and stupid to many of you. But how many times must I mourn the loss of my baby?!

How many?! He stopped responding to us. So obviously he couldn’t hear us. Right? So we schedule and take him for his OEA hearing test and he fails. The Audiologist says she feels he has moderate – severe hearing loss. I mourn the loss of my baby boy. I mourn the fact that I likely will never hear his voice the way it was intended. I mourn everything that he will never do. Never experience. I mourn every time he shoves a finger in his ear and gets frustrated because he appears to be unable to hear. I mourn because I don’t know when the last time he heard our voices was. Will he be able to remember them? How long can he hold on to those memories? I mourned many things when I believed Emmett John was deaf.

Yesterday all of that was Gone. Swept away in a moment. I had an Audiologist telling me that my baby could hear. Explaining that his “hearing was perfect” and he “doesn’t make good eye contact” and “hearing problems are common in Autistic children“. Now all of my work to recover and work on my mourning over his hearing loss had disappeared in a flash. The sedation nurse was so positive about the fact that Emmett John could hear – isn’t this great? Of course it’s great. It’s wonderful and I’ll do cartwheels – as soon as I mourn, again.

So here I am. Mourning my Baby Boy, again. Mourning for him. Mourning for us. This isn’t a life I would have chosen for him. This isn’t something I would have chosen to add to our lives – ever.

I’m mourning the loss of Emmett John in a host of new ways. I’ll recover in a few days. Until then, I’m just going to mourn and work on trying to make my peace with things.