People do not change. That is not an opinion. It is a hardcore fact. No religion. No love. No massive quantities of therapy can change the core essence of a person.

That is the harshest reality for me right now. Even harsher when you try to play by the rules, keep the peace, in vain.

I will never change as well. What I have tried to supress and channel slowly unravels and I am back at square one.

You cannot compromise your dignity, your heart and your family on the idea that people will change. You cannot live your life turning a blind eye. It doesn't work that way.

Ultimately you decide.

What and who you put up with is on you. And as we continue our paths ignoring red flags, compromising our being and believing in change, we only cheat our selves. And sooner than later the gig is up.

So we expand like rubber bands, changing and stretching our limits to accommodate others and hoping others will do likewise, until we snap.

And that hurts.

he who cannot be named.

I don't speak of the word "love".  It is difficult for me to pronounce.  It gives me chills.  It makes me nauseated.  I am not the opposite of it, but I am not its counterpart. It is like, the unspeakable.  Like the bald villain from Harry Potter, who I always forget his name, but know, his name cannot be said.  But yet, you anticipate and wait and sometimes even yearn for it.

It is, the complete opposite of what I was brought up on.  I was brought up on, no hugging, no kissing, no iloveyous, no tenderness when you got a boo boo, no mushy mushy shit.  I was brought up on the unconventional, non-traditional, even ridiculous, borderline unlove, love. 

Due to this, I have never had a stereotype of love, an image, a portrait, a standard, a how-i-would-like-it-to-be.  That has manifested itself and projected on my dating history.

I have dated the good guy, the friend turned boyfriend, the jock, the guy who's parents hated you, the guy who's parents loved you, the guy all the girls wanted, the guy no one wanted, the bad-pot smoking guy, the tortured artist, the older man, the much older man, the man who still lives with his parents, the guy with a kid, the single guy, the guy who's hustling, the unemployed, the guy who makes you look cool, the one you make look cool, the guy who breaks your heart and you vow never to let him break it again and he does it anyway, the jesus freak, the political rebel, the nerd, the one who can't spell for shit, the fat one, the skinny one, the guy who wants to move in after a month, the younger guy, the much younger guy, the mushy one, the cold one, the nature guy, the yoga-zen guy, the guy who never has a clue, the guy who thinks he knows it all but actually doesn't, the one who didn't get me and made me stay and waste my time, the one who got me and scared me and made me haul ass...all the shapes and colors and variety the world can offer.  

Yet I cannot pinpoint 'love' anywhere.  Or my type, or standard or frame of reference for it.  Is 'love' a Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks movie? Is love "The Notebook"?  Is love "Blue Valentine"? Tortured and painful and aching?  

Is "love" what I am looking for?  Is it looking for me? Would I know it, if it hit me?  Is it insomnia?  Is it a stupid ass smile during the day for no reason at all?  Is it the most unconventional, random, neversaw it coming event?  Is it?

truth is, I haven't got a clue.  I don't know what it looks like and all the data I have collected over the years (yes my failed diverse dating was actually data collecting) has not helped me establish a pattern or plan or course of action. I dare not to speak it's name, but just like the Harry Potter flicks, life would be so much different and less exciting without it. 


...this past week my eyes have been a victim of things, no eyes should see.  And memories resurface like old stains on a good ol' shirt you've lost too early.  Funny how memories can open up a whole lot full of emotions and scars and bullshit you thought you were over.  Funny how the human mind loves to relive all this stuff in all its rawness and gory.

I have seen the rise and the fall.  The up and the down.  The negative and the positive.  All flash like a blink.  I have seen priorities shift and compromises and morphing and conjoined twins and relationships blossom in the oddest of places.  I have seen people compromise and give it all to lose it all and wonder if these people now bang their heads and hold their hearts in their hands, crumpled up, in a pulp, bloodied, heavy, and regret every single thing ever done in the name of love and compromise.

I heard of a friend (not me) who had a pretty shitty life and had finally gotten back on track and was doing great with her daughter.  She met a guy.   A good guy.  And after many a begging the guy convinced her (he had no children and she is advanced in age) to have another child.  His child.  After many a debacle, she decides this is the man she loves and this is what she wants to do, only to hear, after she gets pregnant, that he can never really love her and leaves her.  Now she is left pregnant with a fatherless child. Fuck.

This is the shit you can't make up.  This is the shit that terrifies me.  The fucking compromise.  The letting the wall down, the letting the other person in, the stop-being who you are and stop-standing for what you believe in, to get screwed over.

And yes, I know that no relationship can stand without compromise; without some kind of eye-to-eye, without some kind of common ground.  But at what price?  When does compromise turn into, becoming a wuss?

Even with the kid, compromise is essential.  I had to learn to pick my battles, know when to stand firm and know when it wasn't worth it to drag out an event or point.  Cause my mental state depended on it.

But I have the kid for life.  I have no choice here.  I can't cop out.

I see this situation with my friend and it hurts.  It really hurts.  She has put herself out there to get fucked over.  And it scares the hell out of people like me.  

In my eyes, after all that I have been through, compromise is vulnerability.  It is learning to quiet my mouth, sedate my actions, not demand what I deserve.  I don't know if that can be accomplished.  I see women morph into their men.  I sometimes don't see couples, I see conjoined twins.  And that is abominable.

There is a fine line between compromise, settling and copping out.

I don't know if I can tell the difference.  I don't know if I can compromise without feeling helpless, vulnerable and exposed.  I don't know how the dynamics work.

And sometimes, just sometimes, for the sake of many things, I wish I did.

Damn, I wish I did.

One: Best Company

...As I primed our outfits for Miss C's Honor Roll Ceremony tomorrow, a haunting thought came to mind.  A  thought that has come to mind many times before but today as it rang in my head and  pounded in my chest, I  just had to catch my breath.

I have done this shit alone.


We have survived alone.

And in these days of me being uncharacteristically happy, I realized that alone maybe not that bad.

I wasn't sad at the 'doing it alone'.  I was no longer bitter at 'alone'.  I was in fact, stoic.  I can zip up my own damn dress, most of the times. I can wash my own car.  I can hold up a full time job and be a full time mother to a child who is a handful.  I have done it alone.  I mean, I have had my small corner support team and Miss C's dad is always hands on, but he doesn't live here.  I have the kid 24/7.  Enough to make me wanna drive off a cliff, literally, a few times.

I have done this alone.  The Dx, the tantrums, the job loss, the no money, the heartbreaks, the men that worked and I pushed away, the men that didn't work and messed me up, the parents who could give a shit, the fucked up jobs, the nights where I wanted to just send it all to hell and disappear and never come back.  Alone.  Alone and I am still standing.  That has got to mean something. Something. Damn it.

and maybe a day will come when I will have someone to zip up my dress, or sit and be a political junkie with me and talk bullshit and watch a game and just chill.

And maybe I won't.

Regardless, when tomorrow the kid goes on stage to get her recognition and we both look fabulous I will know I can pull my own weight.

and to that: Fuck yeah.

Against the Clock

And as the water ran, I opened my mouth to scream...and nothing came out.  Nothing.  I screamed in silence.  Complete and utter silence.  I am consumed.  I am consumed by the kid.  I am consumed and tired.


All I could replay in my head was her face an in between her pink and red bows, her new bald spot.

She is yanking out her hair in anxiety.

I could see it over and over and hear her say: "I think I am going crazy".

It was all my head could replay.

No child should ever think they are going crazy.

No one for that matter.

I am consumed and tired of this crazy roller coaster of emotions. I am tired of the "tomorrow is another day".

"Tomorrow things will be better".

When it comes to my child, I am a selfish bitch.  I don't want things to get better tomorrow.
I want them to get better NOW.

I walk a thin line between anger and pain.  I want to be angry at her. I feel sometimes like I do harbor feelings of anger towards her.  This afternoon, I couldn't stand to look at her, or speak to her.

But I also feel pain.  Deep, unfathomable pain.  Pain so hard, so paralyzing  I cannot sleep, or think or breathe at times.  Pain that cannot begin to be compared with the pain my daughter feels.  I see it in her face.  I see she cannot control herself.  I know she tries.

And I am going to say what many people will debate, but we have all thought at some moment:

Am I doing all I possibly can?

At times, like this week, I feel like a failure.

And I know it is not in my hands.  And I know that it is not my fault and that it is what it is...but the helplessness can lead you to think this at times.

Even when I know it is not true.

But the pain is there regardless and the silence of my immediate family sharpens the pain and makes things more unbearable.

And in this month of April, the month of Autism Awareness, I cannot help but feel nauseated and sick each time I see a ribbon or a poster or a "Light it up Blue"...because it is a reminder, we are no where closer to finding a cure, which means my time is running out.

Be Mine

"Isn't Valentine's the best Holiday"-the kid
"No, it isn't"-me

and she stared at me and demanded to know why I had stabbed her in her little sweet ol' heart.

I started to think how to put it diplomatically   But really, there was no way.  I cannot tell a lie.  I couldn't lie to her either.  Valentine's is a crock.  And I don't say that because I don't believe in love.  I say it, because it is.  It is a crock.  A commercial crock.  It is the day of the year I wish I didn't have to leave my house.  People in red, the flower sending, the chocolate buying, sugary lovey dovey, restaurant filled, motel packed day of the year.  Cards for lovers, husbands, wives, friends, grandparents, dogs, cats...dammit. The chalk tasting hearts with crooked printings of "Be Mine"...the Peeps...well, the Peeps aren't bad...I can deal with the Peeps, but...all in all, aren't we a little overboard?

And who can forget: The proposals!! Oh God!! The proposals!!! (which not so long ago I was subject to on a Valentine's Day and I swear I could hear the God's laughing).

Really? Really?

Is this all necessary   Do we need, just like Mother's Day, ONE day to tell someone you love them? With a pink and red 6 foot plush Teddy Bear that plays "Great Balls of Fire" when you squeeze it's paw???!!

Then: the possible break ups, the back to ignoring your loved one, the screening of the incoming calls, the pouring over facebook statuses to analyze what his/her post ment and if it was directed to you.  From "in a relationship" to "it's complicated".

The aftermath of the sugar induced future diabetics of the planet.

I am not pessimistic or loved scorned.  I do believe in love, in being there for your other mate, in showing some kind of affection, whatever your choice maybe.  I just don't go with the masses or the crap they try to feed us.  I don't need a 6 foot teddy bear.  I need someone to be there for me.  To mean what they say, to stick it out in all types of weather, to hold down the fort with me.  I need people to be nicer to each other, everyday, love their kids, neighbors, planet, the guy at the light asking for some change.

Love is and should be in constant motion.

No one should wanna be someone's Valentine' should wanna be their love.

So I opened my mouth, ready to give my 101 reasons why Valentine's sucks and as the kid stood there demanding my explanation, all I could muster was:

"Just kidding!! Valentine's is awesome".

Her face was relieved.

Just like Santa and the Three Kings and the rest of things in life that seem real but are fake, she had enough time to find out on her own, without me pushing it, what a crock this was as well.

For now, let her love, even if it is in the sake of this fake saint.  And let her, wanna let me, be her Valentine's.

The Undermine

This week I got one of the many episodes I get from people who have barely seen the kid during her life and have all kinds of opinions of her diagnosis, prognosis and other misconceptions they like to add on.

Case in Point: "You sure it was Autism?  I think maybe she was misdiagnosed, because she looks perfectly normal to me, blah blah blah.  I have seen kids with Autism and they don't look like her".

Yes.  I made the whole Autism thing up cause I enjoyed all the hell we've been through the last ten years and it makes for one hellava victory story and all the pity I get from people feels oh so good.

Don't get me wrong.  I love the fact that the kid is back on track and is almost unrecognizable compared to her peers, but do not undermine my last ten years.

Do not undermine the fact that from day one she was born I knew something was wrong; she cried non stop; she was probed and examined by every single emergency hospital during her first month trying to pinpoint what was wrong.  Do not undermine her hand flapping and complete zoning out during her first year of life.  Her severe tantrums and incapability to cope in public. Do not undermine her diagnosis at the age of two. Her walking on the tip of her toes, her body rocking, her screaming with each haircut.  Do not undermine all the nights I had to rip her off my body in severe temper tantrums.  Do not undermine the time she bit into my arm at the grocery store and ripped the first light layer of skin and the hell of a bruise it left behind.  Physically and Mentally.

Do not undermine the 2 psychological therapies, 2 speech therapies, 2 occupational therapies, 1 physical therapy, 1 kinesiology therapy she took weekly and the gluten free casein free diet we did the first three years of her diagnosis.  Do not undermine the nights I lay in bed debating whether to pay on time the electric bill or pay an additional therapy.

Do not undermine all the birthdays and Holidays she just sat there, blanked faced, completely unaware of what the hell was going on.  Do not undermine all the nights I lay in bed wondering where the fuck I went wrong?  What the hell was gonna happen to her if I would die?  How on earth was I gonna survive the week?

Do not undermine all the days I had to nearly kill someone at the Department of Education to get what the kid deserved.  Do not undermine the tears, the screams, the frustrations, from the kid and from me.

Do not undermine the kid's summer of 2011 where she had a horrible set back and refused to leave the house for the entire summer due to being terrified of getting sick; such paranoia that led her to vomit and want to hurt herself.  Do not undermine the fact that she takes 2 different pills to cope. Do not undermine that a couple of months ago she ripped out her eyebrows, again.

So, it is not all in my head. Lord knows I wish it wasn't.  And though I am comforted by the fact that she is better and most people that do not know cannot tell, I can.  Just today I noticed how she still cannot alternate her feet climbing or walking down stairs or get metaphorical jokes, or how she broke down in hysterics because she could not complete a simple one instruction task I gave her, which was getting something from the kitchen.

I can see it and I know how hard it has been.  For both of us.
So next time someone wants to undermine and doubt what we've gone through, I will let them know.

We have been through hell and back, and hell and back and hell and back....and there is no for sure way to know how this story ends, but it is Non Fiction and it happened to me and lots of other parents...and that is never to be undermined.


So today I received a Multimedia Message on my phone.  You know the one with Gene Wilder, as Willy Wonka?  Where he says something smart ass along the lines of:

"So you...." blah blah....

you got to know the one, cause there are tons of them all over the place.
Well this one started off with the sentence, and I am gonna repeat it for the sake of writing, because believe me kiddos, I would rather not repeat this one...."So you have big tits...."

Insert long ass pause here.
Insert bewildered, whatthehellano face in here.

I mean, we are all adults, and I received some cray-cray texts and pics from my female friends and we kid around a lot...but this, coming from a member of the opposite sex; a member whom I don't consider in my inner circle of "ifyougetarrestediwilljoinyouintheslammer" friends.

I, the woman with a thousand words and quick wit, was astonished.  Flabbergasted.  Offended.

Should I answer and how?


It was all I could conjure that could every so eloquently speak my mind.

I was immediately accused of having no sense of humor.

Dude, do I look like I'm 17 and shop at Hot Topics?  I am a woman...a grown ass woman.  You are a grown ass man.  Ever wonder why you're still single?  Hint, muthableepin', hint.

I have a sense of humor, a dark, dry, sense of humor, but alas, I do have one.
I can be witty, funny, charming, comical.

I like humor.
I don't like crass.

There is a difference.

"CRASS".  There is a reason "ASS" is in that word.  It ain't no coincidence.

So I curse you technological Gods for creating Multimedia Messages and giving people the sense that crass and vulgar and cheap, equals funny messages to share with people you don't barely see or hang out with.

And I thank you because in that same world, I can choose to unfriend and delete such crud and block further bodily parts and function jokes from every invading my space.

I have bodily parts and functions...but my ASS has CLASS.

That's the difference.

The Scientist

So there was a time I could not listen to Coldplay's "The Scientist" without completely breaking down.  It was automatic. I heard that song and I would just crumble.  I would be driving and had to contain myself to avoid looking like a raccoon once I arrived to work, or school, or wherever   Sometimes I even played it when I needed a good cry.  Just to get it out of my system.  I would, as in the video, go back, rewind and reminisce; of all that has gone to shit.

My relationship with Vader, Vietnam, the kid's Autism, my crappy job that I justify with "it pays the bills", relationships gone bad, sour, wrong, lost...all the disasters a human can collect throughout their existence.

I would go back and try to pinpoint the exact, precise moment it all went to hell; trying to see what I did that made it all go wrong, since I have always believed, that since I am the common denominator in all the scenarios, I must have some kind of partial responsibility.  Maybe if I tried more, maybe if I was less stressed during my pregnancy, maybe if I was nicer, smarter, quieter....enough maybe's to haunt you two lifetimes and back again.

But today, today as I sat and drove and listed to The Scientist, I was bewildered. I did not cry.  I did not even make an attempt to tear up.  Nothing, zilch, nada.  I realized I was so over so many things.  Over the drama with Vader and Vietnam, over Autism and all the crap it carries along, over relationships that don't have a point being remembered, unless it is to give you a swift kick in the ass so you don't forget your errors.  I was over it.  I was over it for today.

That doesn't mean that all will be well; that my relationship with Vader will be mended, or that all will be peachy with the kid; doesn't mean I will be happy-go-lucky everyday on my way to work.  It just means...that as they come, I will deal and when I'm done dealing, on to the hanging around for second blows or being masochistic and rewinding every single event to pinpoint my faults.  

It would be so easy to "just go back to the start"....but "no body said it was easy"....and I'm done with the instant replays...what's done is done...and I'm feeling so much more like "Paradise" right about now....

Braving the Cold Weather

"It's cold out there" 

I had not heard a more accurate or real as hell phrase that so bravely and so boldly expressed in a nutshell what the dating world is...or relationships in general.

It is a cold, cold world as Gza would say.

Dating is hard. Dating with a kid is harder. Wanting to date, is a whole 'nother story.

I am single, by choice. I don't mean that in a cocky manner. It's not like I have a line outside my door of suitors wanting to date me (though I should, cause I am awesome)....all jokes aside...I have had my share of experiences in the dating world and have found some interesting, good people. Just not interesting, good people for me. 

Truth is, I still cannot come to terms with giving up control. But even as I sit and type this and even if I say in millions of conversations that all is swell and that I love my liberty...

I realized this past New Year's Eve, that I got cold, I got the chills. As the clock struck twelve and my lil' brother kissed his wife, I couldn't help but feel a bit cheated. I bit like, has this world gone mad? My little brother has a relationship. And I by choice, have decided to stay on the sidelines. I scrambled as far away as I could, in a room, and couldn't help fight a couple of tears as Empress called and told me "it will be better". 

So I am at this crossroad. Do I want it to be better? Do I wanna take the chance? Can I bare exposing myself and risk becoming one of THOSE people I loathe at times? The ones who talk all giddy about their other half and seem, at times, like conjoined twins. I did that and in retrospective realized I had lost myself; and am back on the road to recovery. 

So, yes, it does get cold out there. Yes, there are times I might feel like maybe I'm missing out and that I am walking a very thin line to becoming the crazy cat lady but then again, maybe I won't. Maybe there is a happily every after, with a conjoined twin...or not... 

 Either way, I brought my sweater, if it gets chilly, I'm ready. 

 Always ready.

The new black

It has been a long ass time. Too long to be quite exact. Funny how when we get involved with other beings we forget the things we most loved to do. In my case, write. A little older, a lot more wise and supremely more kick ass...Mary is back. So bare with me while I get this all updated and up and going once more.... Back is the new black. Fresh is the new 2013.

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