Once Upon an Autism, Not Your Regular Fairy Tale

Godley and Creme

Posted on: December 26, 2010

I’m listening to “Cry” right now, it fits the mood. I remember I first heard that song on Miami Vice. I’m down, and I am trying hard to keep myself from falling into a depression. Pain does that though. I have the TENS unit cranked up to 60, the highest setting, and it isn’t helping my pain much at all. And my still broken knee is aching like crazy because La Dumbass Tracy found Michael Jackson’s Thriller video on YouTube and played it for her son. I couldn’t help but move to the song. A friend and I had a whole dance routine for “Thriller”. But now, I really can’t dance. I’m not supposed to walk without a walker, but I do around the apartment. I’ll never be so stupid as to go all the way outside using just a cane though, I nearly fell when I tried that. I have a hard time accepting being so crippled up. I’m pissed. Sometimes, I feel like I was cheated out of the best of things because of my past. I’ve only been in love once and I haven’t been in a relationship in almost 14 years because of that slimy bastard taking the best away from me! If someone flirts with me, I clutch and I hate it.

Being in the hospital did teach me that not all males are predator bastards though. When I was in ICU, it was all male nurses at night and they were very kind. Because that whole situation was very awkward. I do know that I’m not dead inside though. When I went to the ER there was this Paramedic/nurse not sure what he was, but he was so hot. I mean he was drop dead gorgeous. And I don’t think my crazy heartbeat was just from the amount of blood I was losing. He was so sweet, he brought me ice chips, heated blankets, and morphine. Mom and my aunt got a kick out of the display I made. I was shy around him, but when he’d leave the room, I’d blow kisses. I needed to pull myself up and he offered his nice muscular arm. Man oh man, he was gorgeous. My father would be pissed at me, Kyle was Asian. Heh heh. My father is a racist, and I remember he was so pissed that my first school-girl crush was half-black. (He didn’t like the term African American). I’ve always had a thing for darker men though, dark Italians, the Spanish, Latinos, and Asians.

The paternal unit that helped create Nicky had dishwater blonde hair, blue eyes, and was almost as pale as me. I wasn’t attracted to him. I met him at a very vulnerable time in my life and I was easy prey. I wish I could go back in time and tell myself to have paid attention to the red flags, that I would have been raped again, repeatedly, and abused. But then, I wouldn’t have Nicky. I never regretted Nicky. Never. He’s my pride and joy and nothing will ever change that. He’s my little protector. He doesn’t like men getting close to me, and he said if I dated, the man had to be handsome. He’s too cute. I ought to marry someone in the medical field because of all my aches and pains, then he could fix them all. LOL. But I seriously doubt I will end up in a relationship. I just don’t see it happening. Trust is an issue. Friends are fine.

I still think about the past, how different things were. I wasn’t worried about the government and political issues. I felt safe. Now the worries of the world lie on my shoulders. I have online friends who are being ripped apart by war and terrorists. I’m not a Democrat, nor am I a Republican because I can actually find middle ground when it comes to politics. It’s really actually amusing. I’m an extreme person, but with politics, I’ve found a happy medium. I wish I could find more happy mediums, but that isn’t possible. When I feel things, I feel them deeply. I’m a very passionate person. And I won’t call that mental illness. I see no problem with feeling things deeply. It can get me in trouble, but it’s a lot better than feeling nothing. I’d say that about pain, but I’ve hit my thresh hold. Breaking my knee in so many places was worse than the 42 hours of back labor I went through. When I broke my leg, I couldn’t move… I remember screaming for help and no one came. The phone rang, it was my Mom and by the grace of God I was able to slide close enough to yank the base of the phone off the table and catch the phone.

My last hernia surgery was hell, too. I still hurt from it.

I remember when I got my tattoo some years back. That was a tickle compared to what I feel now. But to me, getting the tat didn’t hurt much anyway. I was able to hold still quite easily. I even grinned at my friends while I was getting it done. But I will never get another one. Being diabetic puts me at a higher risk for infection so I have to be careful. No piercings, either. My ears have been pierced, but I’ve no desire to pierce anything else. At one time I had considered a nose ring, but after six botched sinus surgeries… Bad idea. I would never pierce my eyebrow, I can’t stand anything getting too close to my eyes. My tongue? Hell no. I couldn’t stand having something in my mouth like that. And piercing my unmentionables? Never. Ouch. No way.

Maybe I should dye my hair pink…. It’s been black, white blonde, several shades of blonde actually, blue/black, magenta, red, and various shades of brown. I won’t really dye my hair pink, those days are done with. I remember when I tried to highlight my hair when I was going to college, and I ended up with kind of a skunk look, but it was cool regardless. It was 1992. Well, I’ve rambled enough now.

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