Each morning while guzzling cups of coffee, I read articles, studies, chat forums, websites, blogs and my existing notes looking for Asperger and related materials to highlight or to comment upon. I’m looking mostly for science-based information, but honestly, there isn’t much inventive inquiry going on. Designing brilliant experiments is not easy, and non-existent in psychology, my favorite form of witchcraft.
Mother’s Day has forever been a sad day. My visual memory is paramount – it is a timeless record of my life and it is how I understand and analyze the present. Images float in and out of a ceaseless river of information, like paper boats bobbing up and down, sinking and reappearing out of the flood. Or, it could be that my brain is a crystal orb like those used by fortune tellers and witches in books and movies. The past and present are false boundaries if one thinks in pictures.
Q & A posts, forums, and advice sites are havens for mothers confronted by the terror that their child will be “outed” as being on the spectrum and that the Autism Nightmare will overtake their family.
“We’ve diagnosed your child as being on the Cannibalism / Human Sacrifice Spectrum; there’s no cure; treatments are ineffective and will bankrupt your household. Mom – You get a life sentence of confusion, anxiety and guilt for having given birth to such a creature, and you are responsible for protecting humanity from this demon.”
In the 1950s, my mother confronted my existence unprepared, without medical or psychological assistance (thank heaven!) and bearing the legacy of her poverty-stricken childhood. Shame was the only tool society gave her. Like many women raised in poverty and in abusive families, a motive for having children was that these “new” beings would provide a fresh start, but ominously, it is expected that children are to magically compensate for the mother’s early trauma. It is an unhealthy consequence of human vulnerability and a chain of unconscionable behavior toward children. My Asperger personality was an added insult to my mother’s fatal narcissism. I was not her salvation, but a cruel punishment; her expectations couldn’t be wrong – the disappointment was my fault.
I intuited these things, despite claims that Asperger individuals don’t measure up to pond scum in terms of our ‘humanity’. A long list of animals is granted the magical performance of empathy; we are not. We are often said to lack the ability to feel pain or to care about the pain of others. We feel, we care: but, we don’t believe that human beings own each other. Owning another human is slavery, whether or not the means is physical, financial, emotional or social. Born free: live as a slave. That’s the program.
What I lacked as a child was a means to integrate my reactions toward my mother’s demand that I fill the black hole within her. It was dangerous to get anywhere near the ‘event horizon’ of her emotional vortex, lest one be ripped to shreds. It was obvious to me that whatever strength I possessed would be needed to save myself. It was a rational Asperger choice and the correct choice, but no one will ever “see” the cost of that separation. One’s loyalty ought to be to Life itself, and not to any one person or idea.
Picture memories behave like information packets that include sensation and emotion.
On Mother’s Day I “visually” relive this relationship.
A black hole is a mathematically defined region of spacetime exhibiting such a strong gravitational pull that no particle or electromagnetic radiation can escape from it. The theory of general relativity predicts that a sufficiently compact mass can deform spacetime to form a black hole.