RSS

Tag Archives: autism dreams

Autism: Dead or Alive

I woke up coughing at 5:30am. This was not related to the smoke in the house that I mentioned on my last post – though it probably had something to do with it, my house was not smoky on this particular night.

I felt like I was choking, and my first thought (which lasted for several minutes) was that there had been a fire and I died of smoke inhalation. For about 5 minutes, even though I could dimly see my room around me, felt and heard ‘my girls’ beside me, and was aware of one of my cats on the bed as well (I have a very full bed these days!) I completely believed this to be true.

When I told people at my Life Group (Bible Study) about this, one of them asked if I was in Heaven. When I said, “No, I was looking at my clock, and into the faces of my dogs,” she mentioned something about the possibility that I wouldn’t make it there; to heaven, that is…

Panic!

If I dream I have died (though this wasn’t a dream) and don’t find myself in heaven – does that mean I am not saved?

Thankfully my husband responded that he believes there will be animals in heaven, and gave his reasons – so in a few seconds I was calmed by his words (thank you, dear husband!) I need my dogs. I don’t think that will change when I am dead.

So there I was, lying awake in bed, fully convinced that this was the beginning of the afterlife and I would be trapped in this place (at least I had my babies with me!) when I realized I must be alive.

How disorienting that was!

It was then that I felt a deep longing for my youngest (foster) daughter who was taken from me 8 years ago, and remembered that I had been dreaming of her – though the dream escapes me now – when I was awakened by the choking.

Perhaps in those last moments of my dream there was a fire, and I was dying in it.

What a strange experience that was, and I wonder if there are other people in the world who are fully alive, and believe they are dead. So weird.

036

 

Tags: , , , , ,

Autism: Letting Go

It isn’t that the entire day was hard, but…

I woke up at 4am as I have been doing far too often lately. Since it is typically after 12am that I finally fall asleep (that takes a couple of hours itself) it is very unfortunate that, less than 4 hours later, I am awake and unable to get back to sleep. It certainly isn’t that I am not tired. In fact, I can’t even get up – I just lie in bed for the next three hours trying unsuccessfully to fall back to sleep.

Needless to say, I have been very tired, and not functioning very well.

There was some cleaning to do – laundry especially. Ever since the city workers came by and blasted out our storm sewers while I had laundry going, it has been prone to flooding. I don’t know if they are connected, but that is the load it started with. The clothes get cleaned fine, but when the washer is spinning, piles of fur and debris (much more than what is reasonable from what went into the wash) pour out with the water into the sink.

If I am not there to catch it, the water floods over the sink to cover the laundry room floor, hallway, and the bathroom beside (where it pours down the drain by the shower.) Such a mess! This has been happening for at least a couple of months now.

Since I have to watch the washer as I do laundry, I stayed downstairs to sort through boxes of food storage containers. I have no idea why we have so many – but they had been sitting in boxes in storage for over a year now, and we don’t really have storage space in our home.

That was exhausting, but I mostly got through it. I put our Christmas tree outside (so the animals wouldn’t eat it) for the thrift store – I was the only one who cared since our kids were moved, and we really haven’t the space for it (we will use a small tabletop one instead.) I left the rest down in the hallway, though I am sure it will annoy my son who rents the space from us since he has a very curious cat.

In the afternoon I spent several hours sorting toys into bags to give away. This was a very painful activity for me. Though our (foster) kids have been gone for over 8 years, and I haven’t even babysat in 7, and have been considering giving these toys away for at least 6 years, it was still exceptionally hard for me.

But I have felt a strong (near constant) prompting over the past few weeks to do this. Because it hurts, I kept blocking the prompting out, saying I wasn’t ready (I would probably never be ready if left to myself, to be honest) and the push kept getting stronger.

So I got the toys sorted and waiting in the upstairs hallway – but as I said, it hurt… a lot!

DSC02530

So many hopes, dreams, memories, and losses tied up in those toys – and to give them away!!! But they should be played with, and…

I can’t have children, and I can’t go back – both of which frequently cause me a lot of pain in themselves. I am being asked to let go, and though it really does hurt, I know it is the right thing to do.

It was Misty (my newest addition – Chihuahua) who was most concerned as I sat crying, surrounded by piles of toys my children used to play with – though Clara and Molly looked to see what was wrong, too. Sweet girls! I am so very thankful for them, and it is only because of them I was able to answer this call to let go, but…

This is hard!

 

Tags: , , , , , , ,

Autism: Hostile World

I don’t belong here.

It has been the resounding theme of my life.

Unliked. Unwanted. Not like them.

Not trusted. Not accepted. Not belonging.

I want to be liked.

I try to fit in.

They allow me…

Because it is Christian.

Because I am… family (of a sort.)

But not because I belong.

I don’t.

First they let me know;

By glances and actions rather than words.

I try harder, and harder still.

And rather than improve their acceptance of me –

It gets worse.

They don’t want me there, and…

I wish I could be a person who doesn’t care.

But of course I care.

I’ve always cared.

Yet if I can’t be accepted,

My impulse is to run.

Maybe another school,

Another group,

Another part of town?

Maybe another province,

A city where I have never been?

But wherever I go,

Whatever I do,

There I am:

Not belonging.

So I build these worlds.

These fantasies in my mind.

And the more pain my reality contains,

The further from reality my fantasies take me;

Until there is little left

To bring joy or relief

In the world around me.

So much fear.

So much pain.

I would spend most,

If not all of my life,

Dreaming;

Just to endure it.

But the older I get,

The less the dreams satisfy;

For I know my dreams,

These fantasies,

They won’t come true.

I return to a world that feels hostile to me.

Alone and fearful and full of pain

Thinking “maybe if I try harder,

Try harder,

Try harder…”

But the harder I try,

The less I belong.

I wish I didn’t care,

But I do.

I am still nothing more than that small child,

Crying to sleep at night

For being abandoned in a big, frightening, painful world

That never wanted her.

me at 7

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Autism: To Dream Again

This morning was “The Summit” church service at the wharf – were once a year all three campuses and five services of our church get together for church, worship, and lunch after.

It rained a lot yesterday – which is kind of a big deal since we had a drought all summer with only half an hour of rain in about 2.5 months. Today was sunny and the skies were clear (which also hasn’t happened for much of the summer.) It was a nice day for outdoor church.

While I was there I once again noted something that surprised me. I was watching the parents with young children, and the older children at the awkward stage, and was surprised once more to acknowledge that I don’t want children.

Stressful, exhausting, difficult…

It is a foreign concept to me to not want children. Until a little over a year ago, even after years of infertility and a traumatic failed adoption, having children of my own was the main desire of my heart – even though I did have, and raise, and still have, my now adult son.

I would see other parents with their children and felt… envy, and sadness, and… lost, alone, forgotten. Other people had families – why couldn’t I?

It was another, and a major, characteristic that separated me from them – and I hated that separation. I still hate it, maybe, but at least I can see what I couldn’t see then: Children are overwhelming.

Beautiful, and fun, and worth the effort? Yes – but…

Children call attention to their parents. Always. You see the children, you see the parents – and there is advice, and there is judgement, and there is a lot of stress that comes with the job.

And I can’t be watched.

As I sat watching the parents dealing with the children I remembered that. I can’t be watched, and children call attention to their parents. Always.

I can’t be watched, for when I am watched I operate from a different part of my brain which significantly drops my functioning level to the point where I pretty much always fail. So having children – no matter how much I wanted them and loved them (and I did) – was a recipe for failure. There was no way beyond it for I can’t function when I am watched, and parents are always being watched.

As I began to accept this revelation – which has come to me in the past, but I always fought against (“if I could only try harder, or do things different, or research more, or… maybe I could” – but no, I can’t function when I am watched, and whatever else a parent faces in raising a child, they are always watched – and if they don’t want to be watched, there must be something really wrong with them, and they shouldn’t be trusted with their children to begin with; right?)

As I began to accept this revelation I began to realize that if it weren’t for the memory of the trauma of losing ‘my’ children, and without the fixation of a lifetime of wanting children (possibly because that, in my eyes, was the measure of success and ‘normalcy’ – to be a ‘good parent’) I might even be able to admit that I am happier and calmer with my life as it is now.

The traumas are there, and they do cause me to struggle a lot of the time – but this thought that I could live okay without children… it is mind blowing. It is to turn completely in the other direction, and accept that it might be possible to dream again.

041

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Autism: Only A Dream

It was only a dream, though I longed to stay there. First my foster son came to me: beaten, fearful, longing for love. “Can he stay here?” the people standing behind him on the porch asked, “He can’t go back there.”

“Of course,” I replied, and took my son inside; still a child; still wanting to be with me; still wanting ‘this’ to be home. From wherever they were, the girls followed close behind.

I read the file belonging to the youngest. “Nguyana” was written at the top. I hadn’t the time to question it; there was so much to do.

I cleaned their rooms and set up their beds. The younger two were still in cribs. I prepared my birth son as best as I could for their homecoming.

I was in the baby’s room, watching the girls play. “I love you,” the preschooler told the baby with strong emotion. “She has grown,” I thought; feeling thankful that they were mine once more.

Their brother walked into the room. “They called her Gooyanna,” he told me, “We didn’t like it.” Well, they were only foster parents, it wasn’t a legal change. “We will call her (by her real name,)” I told him, and he was satisfied.

It was only a dream. It didn’t last long. My children came to me, but when I woke they were gone. I was sad, and longed to return.

They come to me in my dreams. Only my dreams. And I wish I could remain there with them. I awaken sad and broken for only when I am with them do I feel whole.

preadoption

 

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Autism: Unwanted Dreams

As thoughts of my children overwhelm me, there is a sadness which catches within and threatens me with memories and fears of despair. My heart and soul long for their return even now, though they have been gone eight long years.

I woke up with the song “God is Awesome,” running through my head. “… there is power here for miracles to set the captives free and make the broken whole…” I am broken. I was broken before my children were taken that day, but in that moment I was shattered.

The thought of my children returning fills my mind with dreams of a future; an expansion of my heart and life where all other ‘dreams’ are of shelter, isolation, retreat. I still want to learn such things, and still think they are ‘good’ things to do – but in my children I see ‘life’ and ‘purpose.’ I see ‘future’ and ‘hope.’ And while I worry about the transition for my son that was left with us, I also see that my fears of him being alone, and even for his faith, have their answer in this.

But what is the point? This dream is a fantasy on par with my desire for teleportation and wishes that come true. It won’t happen – and this hope? It fills me with life and joy for a moment, and crashes in despair in the realization that it won’t ever happen.

The ministry would never come seeking us to take our children home – they neither saw the children as ‘ours’ (since we never had finalization on the adoption and weren’t related by blood) nor did they see us during that last year with us as a decent answer for the children.

And why would the children want us? They are settled where they are, even if it is foster care, and the girls wouldn’t even remember us, they were so young. Besides… what have I to offer them?

So the dream that shows me a life full of purpose, and healing in my heart, mind, and marriage, turns to despair as I admit to myself that it is impossible. And my heart breaks as I feel myself losing my children all over again. And again the loss threatens my sanity for there has been far too much of it.

The thought came strong after hearing the apology from my sister in law – for until that night I would have said that was more impossible than having my children returned to us, but it came. Unexpectedly, and unsought, it came. And I thought, if God could orchestrate that, having my children returned to me couldn’t be so hard.

And I allowed the thought. I fixated on it for days.

But dreams… in my life, dreams don’t come true.

And the pain that comes crashing over me when I realize again that the loss was forever… it destroys me. It shatters me all over again, and I wasn’t even healed from the first time.

I guess that there are some hopes, and some dreams that I must convince myself I don’t want. Children? That is one. My children? Never, ever, ever!

And yet even telling myself I don’t want them brings pain, and tears, and despair.

welland

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

Autism: Like Losing My Children All Over Again

The week my mom left was an especially difficult time for me. It is so hard for my mind to understand the abstract nature of this world – such that, “my mom is gone; will I see her again; and… are my memories of yesterday(s) real?”

Above the difficulty I was having with her departure, I also happened to be reading a book that led me to question my faith. It wasn’t so much in belief, but in “faith without works is dead.” So I was overflowing with guilt and shame, regret, and fear that since I seem to fail at everything. Does this then mean I won’t have ‘works’ to show my faith is alive, and therefore God will reject me?

That same week, I must have been triggered by something (perhaps the dream in which I was trying to bring my children home,) for I was emotionally re-living the loss of my (foster) children, and the attack I had experienced at that time much like it was occurring again in the present time. My pastor says that the emotional receptors of the brain don’t understand time. Therefore, when a memory is triggered from something that was emotional (and that time in my life was very much so) it feels as if we are experiencing it again. Therefore the saying “Time will heal,” is not accurate.

welland

I tend to agree with him on that one, as it is certainly true for me. I frequently relive traumatic times in my life when memories are triggered, and it really hurts as badly now as it did then. I may not be living it every moment of every day as I did when it happened – but the pain is just as intense, and the hurt just as strong, as it was in those days.

And then I had another dream. And though the dream was extremely unlikely to be a subconscious reflection of reality; and though he has never given me any reason to believe this might be a possibility; and though I have not been suspicious, or jealous, or anything in our relationship – the dream still had a very strong impact on me.

In the dream, my husband was confessing to cheating on me continuously, and was mocking me for being upset, and for being too stupid to know he didn’t want our marriage to last.

It wasn’t even a very long dream, and when I woke up, while I still acknowledged such a thing to be extremely unlikely – emotionally I was aching, and responding to my husband as if it were true. I didn’t speak to him of this – it was a particularly ridiculous dream; yet perhaps if I had I would have been able to heal, and not fall apart in ways he couldn’t understand (not knowing where such things were coming from.)

It has been hard enough living with this idea that he doesn’t want me battling in my mind for several years – but to have this added to my mind: that he doesn’t want me because he has someone else (even if I know it to be untrue, and only the result of one nightmare) brought me to a certainty that he doesn’t love me, and doesn’t even want me around.

And while it was unfair to him, since it had nothing to do with his actions, and everything to do with my dream; I still responded to him as if it were truth – and it hurt. It really, really hurt. And he had no idea.

So he fed this belief he didn’t know I had, from a source fully outside of reality, by responding to my discussions about not being able to go to the lake since I had no solution for keeping my girls safe with (what appeared to me) indifference – and as if he really didn’t want me to go with him. And then he got my gloves wet, and I fell apart, and it was like…

It was like losing my children all over again.

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

Autism: Fantasy or Reality

Last night I had the strangest dream… whenever I want to share I dream I have had, I think of that song we used to sing in grade school music class: “Last night I had the strangest dream, I’ve ever dreamed before. I dreamed mankind had all agreed to put an end to war.”

Well, I guess my dream last night wasn’t about putting an end to war. It was more, I suppose, in reflection to anxieties regarding my mental state – which has been… challenged, I suppose, with the departure of my mother (on an airplane, not in a grave.)

Vacation July 2016 014

At first I was in a building of sorts. I think it might have been my church in the area which is now being used as a toddler room, but used to be the library. My son and I were in that room, only he was a young child (as he was when it was a library) and he was playing hide and seek with another child who was somewhere down the hallway.

My son had hidden under a shelf and behind the book drop box that used to be in there. I was sitting on a chair reading, and waiting for my husband, I assume. He used to work there, and was on the worship team for a while, so in the past (when my son was young, and that room was a library) we used to wait for him a lot in there.

As I was reading, I looked up. At the other end of the room was a double closet (which is not there – though my son has something like it in his bedroom at our house.) In the closet was a large pile of laundry, dirty sheets, and such. Suddenly several of these were lifted up by invisible hands, and flung at me. Not only were the sheets and other clothing being thrown at me, but heavier objects as well, such as a lamp, and books.

I got my son, and fled.

When people asked me what had scared me so badly, I told them of these objects coming through the air on their own. “The wind,” they said. “Demons,” I responded. I took them to the room and showed them the heavier objects that had been flung at me.

As a result of this, I was encouraged to check myself into a mental hospital. I have been in that hospital several times in my dreams – though I have never been to one even to visit in reality. This building was really nice. It had hardwood floors, lots of plants, a few indoor gardens, an atrium, and even the rooms were well decorated. Above that, they had activity rooms for crafts, and other things of interest to me.

In past dreams, when I have gone there, I decided not to stay. I needed to be with my animals, and couldn’t leave them behind. Above that, the rooms were often shared, and I couldn’t bring myself to a place where I would have to share a bedroom, and especially a bathroom. So I filled out the paperwork, and I left.

This time, however, I knew I needed to stay – the outer world was becoming too dangerous for me, and I couldn’t live well in it. So I walked up to the admitting desk, where I knew the man behind the counter (a man from my church who is in his 80’s I think.) He was sure I was there for someone else, but I corrected him, told him my paperwork was completed, and that I was Autistic.

What got me most about this dream was not that I was questioning my mental state (which I do) but the fact that I finally admitted it was bad enough that I was willing to stay in a place where I had to share a bathroom in order to be treated.

Since my mom went home five days ago now, I have been really struggling again with abstract concepts of time and distance. She was here, and now she isn’t. Not only isn’t she here, but she can’t be, as she lives to far away to just come back. Try as I might to recognize this as truth, it just doesn’t fit as such in my mind. So things like this bring me to a space where I am questioning if anything from the past (including the visit from my mom) was real – or was it just a dream?

And I suppose with that comes the fear that each time these things occur, my sanity slips a little – and that fear that my memories are but a dream carries into my dreams to tell me some day I might need extra help in seeing the difference between dreams and reality.

 

Tags: , , , , , , ,

Autism: Fears That Bind

This week, for the first time in months, my girls and I have been spending a lot of time outside. The weather is (finally) warming up – not so much that it is late in the year, but that more than most years, this one has been consistently cold and snowy. Apparently there hasn’t been as much snow as usual in the mountains surrounding us, though there has been more down here where we live. I don’t understand that. What I hear in the news is that although it seemed we got enough snow that the fire hazard this summer should be low, that might not be the case.

Anyway, things have been getting warmer, and every day the sun stays out longer. Typically this is the time of year when my depression is at its lowest, and I am filled with thoughts of gardening. I love the idea of gardening. I like planning. I like growing things. I very much want to do this well. It is a desire that has been consistent year after year since around the time my son was a toddler (not that I didn’t want to before that, but it just wasn’t possible.)

I remember the first plants I ordered for my apartment: a banana tree, African violets, a lemon tree… they lived for a while, and I dreamed of filling my place with plants. I love how homes filled with plants look. Yet I moved often during that time in my life, and the plants didn’t like the change, and didn’t survive.

Frequently the places where I lived were too dark to grow much, and one that I live in for just over a year, faced completely north. It was the nicest apartment I had lived in, and was subsidized at that, so I was only paying $200/month including heat and hydro; a pretty good deal. It was also the place where I started leaving my Christmas lights up and on until summer because it was so dark in there.

Well, I gave up that place to move from Ontario to BC. I still frequently regret that decision, but I was in my early 20’s, and didn’t understand the difficulty distance would make. After all, I could catch the plane an hour from my new home, and fly right back ‘home’ to see my family. I am an idealist, and had no concept that I might not be able to make enough money, or find enough time, or… to actually get home often enough that the distance wouldn’t be an issue.

In the 17 years since I have lived here, I have lived in two town homes (on the same strata), one rental home (with a pre-existing garden, on our church’s property) and then the house my husband and I bought together 13.5 years ago.

Every year since moving to BC I have tried to grow things. The drive is so strong that I continue in spite of my very real fears that tell me to let it go every year, and my very real struggle with having neighbours, which very frequently leaves me overwhelmed and in tears.

I continue despite the fact that year after year it becomes harder to believe I can actually be successful at this. With each year, I learn more and more that I don’t learn well. Being taught by others, or reading and researching on my own… these things don’t seem to help me. The only thing that helps is when I actually do something that works.

After years of success, I believe I am able to grow tomatoes, sunflowers, chives, and pumpkin. After all, they always worked well before – so long as I planted them early enough, and in the right places. I have also successfully grown kale, lettuce, dill, sugar peas, radish, and Swiss chard. Each year I have harvested plenty of cherries, plums, and raspberries from our yard. I can do some things, but it isn’t enough.

007

I think that a lot of my issue with not being successful in my gardens isn’t time, skill, or desire – but fear. I am afraid of what the neighbours will think, so I often end up doing less than I want. I am afraid that I won’t be successful, and so buy cheap materials – cheap soil, found boards, cheap seeds… and where, if I were willing to spend the money, I would likely make it back in food – when I am afraid to spend the money to start with, I pretty much end up with little to nothing to show for it at the end of the season.

That lack of success leads me to be more afraid of my neighbours… but the fear of the neighbours also keeps me from trying since it is only in my (very visible) front yard where most things will grow. What if they don’t want it there? What if they complain? What if…

And all of these fears take this season that would break my depression that builds throughout winter away, and instead surrounds me in doubt and darkness until I can no longer see the light that brings me hope.

So as I fight my way through this month, and my thoughts fill with dreams of a garden, I pray that this year, I will overcome the fear, and build my garden for success. For only then will I truly grow.

 

Tags: , , , , , , ,

Autism: Thoughtful Interactions

A few days ago I went shopping with my husband. As we approached the one mall, in the rain and sleet, I saw a sign that he had missed. “Event today,” at the pet store, it said. It didn’t stand out much, though, as their balloons weren’t floating due to the rain. “Event at the pet store!” I said to him as we walked towards the mall doors. “What?” he responded, and I pointed to the sign.

We walked through the doors, and I was in Heaven! Dogs everywhere! I guess people had brought their purebred dogs to the event to show about the different breeds. They were all in the center of the hallway in exercise pens (except the largest, who were just being held on their leashes.) Of course I had to visit them all (I am very social when it comes to dogs, though I ignored all but one person.)

Thankfully my husband understood this about me, and allowed me to go up and down the hallway saying hello to each individual dog. What a great event!

The one person I did talk to had been the interpreter for a deaf student in my Women in Trades program. Of course, I pet her dogs before, and during the time I talked to her. That made it much easier to talk. “I should have taken the RV Tech course,” I told her.

During our gateway program, the three of us had attended a ‘Shadow day’ together at the main college 1.5 hours drive from home. We spent half the day shadowing the RV Tech course, and all of us were impressed. Afterwards, the interpreter said that if I took that course, she would too – only it was in a different city, and I couldn’t get there every day. I couldn’t afford to commute, even if I could make myself drive it every day, and I couldn’t afford to live apart from my family for ten months. So I declined, much as I thought I would enjoy the course.

The interpreter told me that (the deaf student) said the same thing. She hadn’t done so well in the course she took (which completely surprised me as she was super smart – we thought she would excel at it – apparently the instructor didn’t believe in ‘women in trades,’ which I believe as she was really smart, as I mentioned.)

Too bad.

I ended up taking Residential Construction, and helped build a house as part of the course, since that was offered in my city. I did very well in the course, but… the yelling, and swearing, and weight of the material, and pace – all were far too exhausting for me, and I only worked in that field about 4 weeks total (in two different jobs) after finishing (with honours, no less.) It was too much, and I couldn’t do it any more. In fact, for all of those 4 weeks with the exception of the first day on each job, I was seriously praying to get into an accident, or fall of the truss table, or something to provide an excuse that I wouldn’t have to go back – it was that bad.

ResCon

The thing that impressed all of us about the RV tech course, was how calm everyone was. The pace was much slower, yet they learned so much more (plumbing, electrical, carpentry, even some welding.) Several of the people in the class were even being retrained after they had bad back injuries at their previous jobs in construction – so the weight, pace, and even back issues did not stop them from being able to do the job.

Plus I love small spaces. In my last job at the motel, my favourite place in the entire building was about the size of a small walk in closet. On one side it had a stacking washer and dryer, and the laundry tub. On the other side were all the clean, folded towels for the rooms, and cleaning rags for housekeeping. In the center were two doors – one leading to the guest laundry, and through to the back rooms; the other leading to the motel kitchenette (we provided continental breakfast) and the office.

On my breaks, I would bring in a chair, and sit in that closet with both doors closed – until they took out one door for the sake of ‘efficiency’ and I felt exposed in there.

My point is, had I been able to do it , I really believe I would have really enjoyed the RV Tech course, and I likely would have even very much enjoyed working in that field afterwards. At the very least, I would have learned all the skills I wanted for my home, though on a smaller scale. But I couldn’t get there. Plus my husband liked the idea that as a carpenter, I would have started at the pay scale that a typical journeyman RV Tech would have expected at the end of their apprenticeship.

Well, now I am unable to do either – and as I have said in the past, my dreams nearly always exceed my abilities, so I guess it is just as well. But it would have been nice to have a job I could do, and enjoyed doing.

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

 
%d bloggers like this: