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child abuse

doors without doorknobs... a dream.

last night I dreamed I was in my old house, the one I lost because my ex decided he would not pay child support unless the state could catch him to garnish it. it was a violent dream, which I think had to do with a violent reaction to listening to my Prolonged Exposure Therapy recording for session eight (which I have not yet blogged, but I promise to get to it as soon as possible).

in the dream I was in my kitchen, and I could see outside my windows that young men were flowing over the fences into my yard in droves. they looked like gang members and moved like ninjas and really scared me. my kids were with me. my partner was with me. I told everyone to lock the doors and reached for the back door, but there was no knob or deadbolt like I remembered there being when we lived there. the door was solid, with no knob openings drilled into it, but it was the same door that I remember, painted white and scuffed at the bottom where a dog had scratched at it to be let out (I'd always looked forward to replacing that door before I lost the house).

I am: literal, concrete, truthful

since I was diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome a few months ago I've spent some time reflecting on my life through a new set of self-awareness glasses. although nothing in my past life has changed, it all feels different because the context in which it was experienced has been altered.

my childhood was confusing and at times horrifying. there was no feeling of security, no feeling of being sure I was loved. for a while I was convinced that the reason I felt unloved was that I was adopted. snooping through family documents assured me that was not the case. in fact I found out that I was conceived before my parents married. as an adult, I wonder if their relationship would have lasted more than a few months if it wasn't for that fact.

as it was, they stayed together about four years and had another daughter 18 months after me.

the day of judgment is upon us

I've had so much to write about lately, but a great deal of fear over committing it to writing and sharing it publicly, mostly because my life, and the lives of my children, have been upended and shaken during the last few months and saying anything during the court-ordered family evaluation seemed unwise at best. I was also in the process of getting myself assessed for an autistic spectrum disorder. I am one of those individuals that falls into the part of the spectrum called Asperger's Syndrome. as it turns out, my son is one, too. more on that another day; back to the subject at hand...

mother, brother, sister, me

yesterday was Mother's Day. I taught my small one how to slice strawberries so she could make me breakfast. I spent time with my kids planting corn and landscaping and did my best to be gracious about Mother's Day sentiments.

I'm not a fan of most holidays. I find the overwhelming requirements of any holiday that purports to recognize someone based on their role in your life to be fairly unreasonable. we're all told who we should honor and how, setting up expectations on both sides that aren't practical. still, yesterday I wished I had a mother to honor. I have a mother, but I haven't spoken to her in a dozen years and I don't plan to in the future.

in spite of my no-contact policy with her, the simple fact that she exists has led to several interesting developments this past week.

"I was wrong."

it's like a broken record.

"I was wrong to do that".

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