I wrote this this afternoon.  While I was white hot with anger.  I considered deleting it, but thought better of it.  I considered toning it down a bit, but thought, no.  So will I regret it after hitting the publish button? Perhaps……

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I am sitting here shaking with anger.

Oprah is on  and that fucking moron Jenny McCarthy is spouting her sons recovery story.

I want to reach through the TV and wring her fucking neck.

Do you REALISE the damage you are doing!

MOMMY FUCKING INSTINCT.  If she says that one more time I will lift the hulking enormous television and throw it through the window.

So, Ms McCarthy, all the parents without ‘recovered’ kids (apparently Autism is like being hit by a bus, you recover and then you have a little boo boo – WTF!?!?!) just don’t have MOMMY INSTINCT. MI for short.  I am sure she has trademarked that one.
OMG.  I just don’t love my kid enough.

My son is GFCF by default. LOOOOOOOOONG before the Autism was diagnosed he was milk free, LOOOOONG before I heard of the ‘autism diet’ we were trialling gluten free.

My kid did ABA, speech, OT, no artificials etc etc, but my kid is still Autistic.  He will always be.  The shit and toothpaste all over my walls is freaking testament to that.

But if I had MI ™ and a little more love for my child, he would be cured.

Oh Jenny.  You, my dear, are delusional.  Sitting there with your Pob (just like Miss Posh) talking about your son being broken In. Front. Of. Him.

I look at that kid and I CAN SEE THE AUTISM!  I thought he was recovered.  I hear the echolalia.

‘He says the most amazing Budda things’?  You fucking idiot.  He is mimicking.  It is echolalia.

He is clearly maturing.  It is clear that the therapy has made a difference.  ABA does that.

Now she is talking about the MMR, apparently she had a little voice tell her it would cause Autism.  Apparently the seizure her son had  was preceded by the ‘little voice’.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

My phone is going to be ringing off the hook tonight.  I will be inundated with people asking me to help them recover their kids.  Any one have Ms McCarthy’s phone number?

My son was diagnosed with Classic Autism.  Classic, no language, screaming day and night.  I was told he would never have functional language or toilet train.  I was told to take him home and love him.

He is now doing amazingly.  Thanks to therapy.  Thanks to hard freaking work.  But he still has Autism.  He will always have Autism.

He is not recovered.  You cannot recover from something that is – in my view – an inherited neurological condition.  Minimize the  extreme behaivours, work on other issues.  Some kids will respond to therapy, some will not.  Regardless of how much MI ™ their mothers have.  Regardless of how much they love their child.

I read a book once that the mother basically beat her child every day and then sent him to boarding school.  Now he is ‘recovered’.  Do we endorse that shit?  No.

I am sure that diet, supplements, therapy etc etc etc have helped numerous kids.  Maybe even thousands.  But in my opinion (remember I deal with parents with children on the spectrum every day so I have some experience) if your child is ‘cured’ then they were never on the spectrum in the first place.

The other chick, Holly Robinson whatever.  Her I like.  I agree with every thing SHE said.

But that McCarthy freakshow needs to be gagged.  But first bitch slapped.

And Oprah.  How could you.

Now excuse me, that child that I obviously didn’t love enough to cure needs me to go and wipe his arse.

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Something else that makes me want to run and hide in a cupboard.

I picked up Boo from school, I was a bit distracted after watching Jenny McCarthy on Oprah (more on that later when I calm down a tad) so I just got him and we went to the supermarket.

I was hobbling around with Boo flapping his arms and people staring.  Yeah, asshat, stare all you like I was thinking.

By the end of it I was getting rather agitated.  People were just STARING.  Some smiling and gigling.  One person actually freaking POINTED at me.

Oooh I was really peeved.

I got home, unpacked the shopping, gave my Boo a big squeeze and took off my shoes to give my toe some relief.

Then nature called.  As I got into the bathroom I realised my fly of my pants was undone.

My black pants.

Bright blue lacy panties.

I looked in the mirror.  Yep they were like a freaking beacon they were so bright against the black of my pants.

So people weren’t staring at my Boo.

They weren’t even commenting at my bizzare limping.

They were staring and laughing at the stupid woman who went shopping with her fly undone revealing bright blue lacy panties.

And they are really freaking lacy too.  So they got a REAL eye full.

So after school today Boo and I went to a discount store.  We go ‘somewhere’ after school everyday and Wednesday is usually the corner shop for a lemonade but today we mixed it up and went to the discount store.  Karma?  Fate?  Just bad freakin’ luck?

So I hobbled around looking for Boo, cause of course he decided today was the day to finally get some independence and go looking around on his own.  Three times.  So we were there longer than usual.

Get to the checkout and the chick is having a deep conversation with her friend and ignoring us.  Boo is getting titchy, so I let him have an icypole from the oh-so-freaking-convenient freezer in the checkout line.  He is starting to cover his ears and squeal from the horrible off key CHRISTMAS musak and all of us in the line are getting a little peeved.

She turns to me.  ‘Hi!  How are you!?’ like nothing happened.

‘Yeah, fine’ I replied, when what I wanted to do was slam her over the head with the phone.  In hindsight I probably should have, cause it would have bought me a minute or two.

Grab my purchases and Boo’s hand and limp, painfully, outside.  I was soooo lucky to get the park right out front. As I get to the car my phone rings.  I put my bag on the bonnet and standing at the drivers door answer it.

It was my Mum. ‘Where are you?’

‘I’m at the warehouse.  Boo ran away from me….’

SLAM!!!!!!

A humungous 4 wheel drive comes careening into the park next to me and slams into my hip, flinging me into the drivers side door.

Does he stop?

No.

He keeps going and slams the passenger side mirror into my back and leaves me inches between my car and his.

‘He fucking HIT ME!  A car just drove into me and FUCKING HIT ME!’ I scream in disbelief into the phone.

‘Yeah, OK, calm down.  When will you be home?  I am at your house waiting you know’ comes the response from Mother of the Year.

‘Mum.  I just got hit by a car!’

Then the guy in the car and his stupid woman stare at me and he yells ‘You stupid fucking bitch!’

‘What!!!  You hit me you idiot!’

He and his chick hide in their car.

‘Kelley???  Kelley???? Are you coming or not’ my mother asks me.

*boggle*

‘Yeah.  I will be there in a minute.’

So I yell some obscenities at the dickhead, Boo is in the car and is absorbed in singing to his reflection in the passenger side window so didn’t hear, and drive home.

Get in the driveway and Mum and Dad are waiting.  I am still seething.

‘What’s your problem?’ my oh-so-caring Mother asks

‘I just got hit by a fucking CAR!’

‘No need to use that tone and language with me!’

I unlock the front door.

Mother of the Year smiles at me.

‘My new kitchen comes tomorrow! Isn’t it exciting?!’

‘Yeah, great.’ I mumble rubbing my hip and wondering if it is bruised and thanking my lucky stars that I wasn’t turned sideways or the fucker would have run over my fractured toe.

‘Well you could show a little enthusiasm Kelley.  After all this IS a big deal for me………’ and she went on blabbering, but I tuned out cause…….

I GOT HIT BY A CAR and her new kitchen is more important…….

And people wonder why I am so freakin’ unbalanced……

Just got back from a Carers function.

If I didn’t feel like slitting my wrists before, now I do.

Hobbled in the door and met up with a couple of girlfriends, H and K, laughing and giggling and ribbing me with ‘hop along’ yada yada.  Found my old case manager and had a few laughs with her and then we were all seated.

Let the whinging begin.

Freaking hell.  No wonder no one wants to hear about carers, their all a pack of sad sacks.  For an hour and a half all we heard was ‘Poor me’, ‘My life is worse than yours’, ‘Oh, if you think THAT is bad…..’, ‘I want, want WANT’ Gimme-fucking-gimme.

If these people just stopped complaining and took a breath, maybe they could get some help.

Yes, our lives are hard.  Yes, we didn’t choose to live this way.  Yes, it is not freakin’ fair.  But if you just concentrate on the negatives then yes, your life sucks.

Halfway through the chicks speech (and they held off the food till we heard about how horrible our lives were as to lose our appetite) there is an announcement.  ‘If you parked inside the yellow line out the back you need to move your car now, or you will get a $66 fine’.

Guess where I parked?

So I hobbled out there, drove around for a few minutes to park somewhere else, MILES away from the venue and practically crawled back in there.  To find a guy sitting in the seat next to me that I had my foot up on.

You know when you see a familiar face and you smile and say hello and then in that milli second you realise WHY you know that face?  And that person is probably the last person you would ever want to spend time with?  Yeah.  That was him.  I saw him when I initially hobbled in. Now my dinner buddy.

The woman droned on, the whingers droned on.  I turned to H and said ‘Do you reckon we get razor blades to go with our meal, cause I could do with one right now’

*gaffaw*

Dark look from the speaker

Speaker says ‘So after all that, how do you feel?’

H turns to me ‘Sucicidal?’

*gaffaw*

Speaker finally finishes up and the food is served.  Asshat next to me gets the chicken, I get the beef.  ‘Would you mind swapping? I don’t eat red meat.’ I sweetly request. ‘No’ he spits and then goes on to bend my ear about how horrible his life is with his child and how much his school sucks and how he keeps writing formal complaints to the Education Dept and the school hate him.  Shit, I hate him too and I barely know him!

I escape to the loo.  I make a coffee and try and walk back with it. An INSTANT coffee with full fat milk!  I am that desperate.  I turn my freaking back on him to TRY and have a less depressing conversation for a change.

He starts whispering in my ear.

I am not going to escape.  I give in and try and help him.  Every suggestion gets a condescending look and brushed off. I am going to strangle this fucking man and then who is going to pick Boo up from school while I am languishing in jail?  But I have heard they have cable TV….. hmmmm.

Then the rest of the table gets in on the act.  They hate their school, they hate their teachers, they hate hate hate.

Swap schools I suggest.  No, to inconvenient.  Speak to the teacher.  No cause when the TELL them to do things they don’t do it RIGHT.  OR they don’t even know the teachers freaking NAME!!!

Do the teachers do anything you like?  Yeah. Do you tell them, thank them?  No!  That is their job!

I stare into my sticky date pudding.  Word is out that there is a chick that will listen to your whinging and they engulf me like zombies looking for brains.

‘Help me.  Do this. Fix this. Your life couldn’t possibly be as bad as mine….’

I am drowning in a sea of negativity.

H looks at me and makes a cutting motion on her wrist.  I fall about in giggles.

One particularly pathetic specimen looks at me in disgust.  ‘Why are you so happy?’

I look her directly in the eye and say ‘Cause I don’t choose to dwell on the negative.  My life is not defined by my sons disability nor my caring role.  I choose to see my son as my child and not a child with Autism.  And I try to see the funny side in every situation.’

These people just don’t get it.  Be a horrible demanding piece of negative shit and no one will want to help you. A little bit of praise goes a long way.

Now I am totally shattered.  I need a bottle of red and a straw.  I need a shower to wash off the negativity and anger.

I need to get some good tunes going in the car while I pick up my Boo.  That kid can smell despair from a mile away.

As I was walking to my car to leave a woman stopped me, the I-hate-my-kids-teacher-but-I-don’t-know-her-name drop kick.

‘Are you going on the Shopping Tour on the weekend?’

‘No’

‘Why not?  It’s a fundraiser!’ for her kids school, the one I wanted Boo to go to but he can’t.

‘Poverty’ I call over my shoulder as I limp to my car

She turns to her friend. ‘Yeah, sure.  I have seen the shoes she wears…. she aint poor’

I smile to myself.  It’s all about appearances baby.

Freaking telemarketers. They are really doing my head in lately.

I know they are just doing their job. DH did a little telemarketing years ago to supplement our income, so I know how hard it is. But some of them are just total arseholes and deserve my disdain.

Ring Ring, trills the phone interrupting my blogging fun.

‘Hello Mrs XXX how are you today?’ singsongs a heavy accented man,

‘Fine’ I cagily reply while bill due dates fly through my mind.

‘Well Mrs XXX’ he continues, getting my name terribly wrong and my mother-in-law spins in her grave, ‘My name is Steve and I am calling from……..’

My mind wanders, his voice gets more excited. Steve from some middle eastern call centre thinks he has got himself a winner.  Something about my winning a holiday or a mobile phone or somesuch.

‘Look Steve, I am really busy right now so sorry I am not interested.’

‘Oh but Mrs abortion-of-my-last-name-sending-the-old-girl-spinning, you get a yada yada yada…… I’m not listening again…

(DH always said he wanted a woman with a short attention span, well it came with something else but I won’t divulge that lest getting all the women reading jealous….)

‘Steve, I am not interested, thanks for your time’

Click.

I hate doing that.  But sometimes they won’t get the message.

Ring Ring…

‘Hello?’

‘Hello Mrs abortion-of-my oh you remember the rest’

‘Why hello STEVE!  Didn’t I just hang up on you?’

Click.

And I have a short attention span?

But my absolute favourite of all time:

Ring Ring as I am running out the door to pick up Boo from school.  I HAVE to be standing out the front of his classroom at 3.25 exactly when he comes out to get his bag.  Otherwise *shudder* you don’t want to know.

‘Hello Mrs last-name-wrong-old-lady-gyrating’ coos a sweet grandmotherly voice.

‘Hello’ I reply getting sucked in by her sweet Nanna voice

‘How are you today’ she coos down the phone line, shit this woman is good

‘Fabulous thanks!  I am just running out the door to pick up my son’

‘Oh, well I will only take a minute of your time.  I am calling today to ask for your help, kids with (insert condition here, I don’t want to name it) need your help and support. Today all I am asking is for you to take a book of raffle tickets at $20 a ticket…….’

‘Look, I am totally supportive of your cause but I have a child with Autism and I am raising funds for that, so I am sorry I can’t help you today.  Good luck though’ I say, thinking wish we had someone like her for our fundraising.

Her voice is noticeably cooler ‘Well that is all fine and dandy, but you don’t understand.  This is much much worse than Autism!’

I stop midair, coat half on.  This particular condition is mild compared with what I deal with everyday.

‘Are you a doctor?’

‘No’ coolness is escalating to ice-cubes-down-your-undies cold

‘So you must be a psychologist then?’

‘No, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.  You need to support these parents as you are lucky that your child is healthy.  What would you do if your child got sick?’ retorts the Ice Queen

Fuck me dead.  This woman is unbeliveable.

‘Well I would do what I am doing now.  Would you care to purchase  a book of my raffle tickets’

Click.

Biatch hung up on ME!

And then I was late picking up Boo.  And all hell broke loose.

I saw this last night.

I have no words.

I feel sick

Read this from Freak Parade. I emailed Mel and asked her if I could link to her cause she says it much better than me.

My post would be full of expletives.

And death threats.

Stupid bint at work sent one of these freaking things to the WHOLE OFFICE.

The worst part about this particular one is that it was a picture of the Virgin Mary. Apparently some president of some country didn’t send it on and his son died 2 days later. Redneck Dickwad sent it on to 20 of his closest Klan mates and won the lottery the next day.

Apparently the Virgin Mary will protect me if I send her on. She was bloody lucky that none of us took religious objection to it. Everyone just deleted it, but not me, no siree.

These things piss me off because someone is wishing me harm. They don’t want bad luck so they pass it on to me. Nice. If you send me one of these then you are not my friend. I have had enough drama in my life without you passing more on thankyouverymuch.

So when I saw this email I took action. So biatch, you want me to send this on to 20 people to prevent my hemorrhoids growing whiskers? Well you, my dear, are technically ‘people’.

So I sent it back to her 20 times.

Good luck finding 20 people to wish harm to you twat (thanks Robin for reminding me of this particularly fabulous insult)……..

20 times!

Bwaaaa haaaa haaaaa!

Oh and by the way, I didn’t like her to begin with. Don’t like the colour of her nose, since it is stuck up the General Managers arse most of the day.