The Cavern of My Autism
Just tired of being in this body. I'm going to outer space.
Mostly I feel like an alien.
Outer space is my damn body!
A forever foreign cavern is my body
A very deep and mysterious hell hole
Going to be trapped here forever, Fuck!
Can someone open the door and let me out?
I really do want to be let out!
Love me, I do.
Why Retards are Sad in this World
Retards need love just like everyone else who live in this world. Queer people to bad people treat retards the same. Why do people treat them poorly? They have love in their hearts like everyone else. Retards beat the man who are beating them at the same time. Why do people treat retards bad? Are they afraid? They are afraid retards eat them. They are afraid retards hurt, eat and will kill them. Eat, eat, eat! Retards will eat them. Queer people to bad people will question me about this. World needs retards. Yes! Retards, retards, retards! You can say it, too. Retards. Go ahead and say it. Go ahead and shout the word. Retard is who I am.
Our daughter Elana was 13 years old when she began communicating with facilitation. Some of her first words cry out against the world's crude perceptions and limiting views. Here she transforms an ugly label into a powerful statement of self affirmation. (Stephen Connor, facilitator and parent.)
http://www.inclusioninstitutes.org/index.cfm?catID=36&articleID=107
Why love?
I love me the way I am. I often think that I'm not lovable. I know this is not true. I'm lovable for many reasons. I'm going to tell you just how lovable I am. I'm one of a kind who could never be duplicated.
I can remember being a little girl who's Mom would kiss and hug her all day. My Mom loves me for being her baby girl. She loves me for doing my best. I'm a spitting image of her. Her love is the deepest I have ever known. I know she loves to wake to find me smiling down at her. My Mom loves to be my Mom.
As a teenager I remember my Pop worrying himself sick about how I felt at school. My Pop loves when I hug and kiss him to death. He loves to meditate with me. My Pop loves that I'm just like him, an artist. Him and I are the closest because we spend a lot of time together . He loves to read to me. He loves being my Pop. He's such a great father.
My friends love me for being me. And they love me for letting them be them. They love me because I'm very cool. We do so many things together. I know a woman who is my best friend who loves me so much you can feel it radiating through her heart. I know a thoughtful woman who does everything she can for me. I know that many people love me.
I also know that love must come from within. For love to heal one's wounds, love must first come from within one's self. The road has been long, long and rocky. I love that road that has brought me here. I love being me though it's hard. I know I'm strong enough to make it through. I'm lovable beyond all measure. You know me, I'm lovable.
In case you don't know me, I laugh at the rising sun. I giggle at the song birds. I hope for peace on earth and equality for all. I love the beauty in all, unjudgingly. I am compassionate to all life. I understand the immense complexity of life.
I play drums, sing and dance. I'm a talented artist. I'm a curious, adventurous explorer. I'm a devoted friend. I recycle and buy recycled goods. I have faith in man kind. I am strong, weak, independent and dependent. I accept all these parts of me.
I love my blue eyes and curly hair. I ride horses every week. I play gladiator games of fighting. I'm good. I love to eat. I am me. I love people! I talk to strangers and tell them I love them. I love me because I'm a gardener, a tree watcher, and a rose smeller. I'm an attentive listener and give good advice. I give great back massages. I'll rub your back nicely. I love to play in the water. I love me because I'm intuitive. I'm playful, smart and sensitive. I love me because I'm a hugger. I love me because I do nothing to hurt love. I love me simply because it's me.
Rewrite History
I remember when I was three, I loved to look at the trees. I would watch them all day long. The leafs would rustle in the wind. To me the trees were lovely. I felt the love they gave to us all. They are our family. To me we are all family.
by this time my real family was becoming worried. My Mom was wondering why I was not developing like the other babies. We went to so many doctors and asked them to test me. They gave me hundreds of tests and I failed most of them. Because of my failure to be like other kids they diagnosed me with autism.
Now this is the way I'd rewrite history.
When I was three I loved to watch the trees. I would become lost in their love and beauty. My mom would watch with me she thought they were beautiful too.
Soon after I would say my first word "tree". Do you know how happy my family was? They screamed and cried with joy. They were so proud of me, their beautiful little girl.
The days slipped through the cracks, the years flew by like the wind in the sky. I went to school, the kids loved me. I had so many friends. My girlfriends and I would have slumber parties where we would stay up all night talking and playing.
When I was in high school I was a cheer leader. I was the most popular girl in school. My boyfriend was the football captain. We broke up soon after graduation.
I went on to study science in college. I loved to figure out how the world worked. I became a scientist who cured autism.
While in college I met the man of my dreams. His name is Daniel Winston. We fell in love and married shortly after college. We had two healthy children, a boy and a girl. We love them so much we do everything for them. Their grandpa and Grandma are good grandparents.
Horses Hear Everything
It was a frozen day in December. I felt like the word indignant. The meaning of this word can overtake my everyday life, very unexpectedly, like the residing cold-unmoving yet, somehow, abrasive. Nothing could satiate me. I was nine in this skin, but my expectations, my wants, were much older. Much more defined. I could not express what I felt, or wanted to say, in a way anyone could hear. I could produce sounds, but not words. My bodys inability stifled all my attempts at communication.
Our house always felt damp on my skin. It was tattered, a bit, on the outside. The people living in it, however, provided an unending warmth that permeated through the winter chill. Like many neighborhoods there were children living in it. None who would come near me. At least not for quite a while. I was always "the one in another world." The strange one. Though, I never knew completely why. I had feelings, thoughts, desires and humorous insights just as they did. The only difference was I had no way of saying these things with my own two lips. Maybe I did feel things differently, or see things other than what they saw, but how would I know if they didn't share their feelings with me? The things they see? And, why was it bad to be strange? But, in those days I tried to set those thoughts aside and I took solace in my Mother and Father.
My mother hurriedly prepared the house for our only guest this holiday. My grandfather. All my hopes of fulfilling this specific want rested in his hands. My father came by to help, and paused to look into my eyes and say,"I love you." I smiled and looked back with deep gratitude. It was what I could do. I sat there, in our kitchen, quiet and unable as usual. But, inside, I visualized with the passion of a saint.
He would be tall, sixteen hands high. Muscular yet refined. Black silk coating this figure I fantasized about. With an everlasting fire in his hoofs, but gentle as a spring rain. Most importantly of all he would hear everything I say. He would know me like only the most true of souls could. He wouldn't be my horse, though. No, I would never own another being as some have owned mine. He would simply choose me as I had chosen him.
I felt the energy rise in me. I was overflowing with language inside and I just knew that when Grandfather arrived he would hear my cry. Suddenly, a loud hand rapped upon the door. My Mother was startled, but proceeded towards the sound. Each fraction of a second that passed as the door was opening seemed extended and viscous, like chewing gum was between the door and its hinges. In a flash I burst into gut-laughs of joy. My Grandfather walked towards me and said with a smile, "What have we got here? Presents for Elana!" He sounded so excited, but as he pulled them out to show me the brightly colored boxes, I lost my joyful laughs and began yelling. No one knew why I had reacted so, and my parents began to placate me with things to grab and a place to sit. I could not yell anymore. All thundering of anger and joy in me had dissipated. I was left surrounded by loved ones, yet very alone. But, I did not lose all my hope.
That night as my Mother lay by me, rubbing my hair to ease me into sleep, I couldn't help but imagine my beautiful horse friend. "Maybe they were saving that gift for the morning." I thought, "Maybe Grandfather was keeping him outside in a horse truck, or something. Or, maybe he's at a special arena I can go to anytime I want and play with him. Maybe...".
I fell asleep late that night, and woke up quite early, waiting patiently for everyone to rise. I stood by my parents bedside and felt them wake because of my anxiousness. When Granddad awoke I greeted him with a loving smile, in hopes to redeem myself of the night before. I didn't want him to change his mind and not bring to me the horse.
We all went to where the presents lay, and I sat quietly, gripping some ribbon, hoping with all my faith that my wishes would be granted today. But, present after present was opened, until finally my Dad said, "Time for breakfast, guys!" It hit me so deeply. I knew no one, not even my Grandfather, had heard my cry. All I had gotten that year was in boxes.
I was alone. But not completely. Days, weeks, months, even years went by. But, I kept on dreaming about the horse. One day my Mother came to me and asked me if I wanted to take riding lessons. I squealed and yelled with such joy, the sound of my feet jumping and my voice projecting could've been heard to the moon! Someone had finally heard my cry. Now, I go riding with many horses every Monday. And, let me tell you, horses can hear everything.