Swearing...and crap...and shitty stuff...see? Swearing. I told you so.

Here I am...again.
No, trying desperately for some jocularity but failing miserably.
So, I mightn't.
Try, that is.
It's worse prattling crap that is no where close to being funny.
So you just get the crap.
2 hospital visits, one on Sunday the other today.
Police were involved, too, with capsicum spray at the ready.
Again.
One thing different...knives were involved today.
Knives that have lived on a magnetic strip screwed to the kitchen wall for years HIGH up above our heads and the trusty Stanley knife in the shed.
Until Aspie teen had his growth spurt and is just taller than me.
Kitchen knives now locked in ugly orange toolbox, with an ugly padlock, tucked away out of sight under the kitchen bench.
No injuries, no skin broken, no blood happened...but only because his father scared him into dropping the first one and wrestled the second one off him.
Numb.
I feel numb...not so much as when someone dies but like everything is at a distance, like the old proverbial of looking at life through the bottom of a bottle.
Or...something.
Cos, apart from the knives, he's hearing voices.
Has been for ages.
But good old Denial is more than a river in Egypt and if you keep denying it those voices might disappear.
Yeah, when pigs fly backwards to the moon on Sundays for fresh fish from China.
Is he psychotic?
Probably, going by the behaviour and paranoid claims we've had thrown at us (along with the claw hammer, shoes, utensils, etc).
Is it schizophrenia?
Is it anxiety?
Is it the full moon turning blue in the 3rd house of Saturn when Taurus passes through the 2nd quarter?
Who freaking knows.
All I know is that those on the Autistic Spectrum do have the potential to start waltzing up close and personal with a mental illness, of any sort, variety and style.
Gotta love mental illness, it's an equal opportunity bullshit artist c**t.

The power of knowing names

It is an ancient belief, in many cultures, that there is power in names and those who know a person's real name have a powerful hold over them.
You know how I've said a few times that just the knowing is a huge relief in itself?
Well, it's just as relieving for Aspie teen.
For the first time in almost 2 years he hasn't gone off tap during a full moon.
Since Monday he's been quieter, a fair bit calmer, asking for loads of cuddles and being a snuggly boy.
I had a quiet chat with him and he said he feels calmer, less frightened since the meeting with the neurologist.
A name, a label, for his behaviour and a reason for it have given him a calmness he hasn't had for 24 months.
9th January 2009 he was shoved off a trampoline and his whole world shifted with his personality change, his massive anger at the world, his anger at himself for this behaviour and his never-ending sense of being unworthy.
It's not something we can change, there's no magic wands to be waved nor have we got a time machine to pop back and alter history.
This Boogie monster is hitching a ride with us for ever and we have to make the best of it; knowing its name and where it sprang from has given back to Aspie teen a sense of empowerment that has made this Boogie monster shrink somewhat.
Like the horrid troll Rumplestiltskin it's lost a lot of its power over us just by knowing it's name and where it dwells.

Think of the shrieking teen babysitter shakily picking up the phone that is ringing late in the dark stormy night after the lights have gone out, with lightning flashes illuminating the room and the scared teen answering the phone,

"Helllloooo?"

Heavy breathing down the line, a door creaks open, the lightning flashes and the thunder roars.

But the no-longer-scared babysitter yells,

"I know your name and I know where you live. I'mmmmmm commmmming to geeeeeeet yooooooooooooou!"

And then the babysitter picks up a chainsaw, ice pick and hockey mask.....

*snort*

We got AN ANSWER!!!!! No, it is not 42...although that is my age right now...Spooky, Mulder!

But seriously, WOOT!
Saw a fabulous neurologist for Aspie teen yesterday.
We have An Answer!
A label for these monstrous outbursts!
Episodic Dyscontrol Syndrome aka Intermittent Explosive Disorder.
Go on, go gurgle it.
*waits*

No, I did not do crack cocaine or drink alcohol or swing from chandeliers when pregnant; I had high blood pressure, worked full-time until the placenta previa was discovered (the placenta was covering my cervix, no emergency exit that way), enough fluid retention to call off the drought and was so bored on strict bedrest that I even read the fine print on those dinky Franklin Mint offers.

And at 16 weeks I lost Aspie teen's twin.
Didn't know there were twins until after the fact, lost him/her on THE weekend all freakin' radiologists were out on strike (cos a potential miscarriage is not considered an emergency. huh) so we had to wait til Monday to discover the Aspie fetus was waving his bungee cord about still, that there was an empty sac beside him and there was another egg propped at the end of my fallopian tube waiting to get rubbed up the right way by the Spouse's swimmers.
The GP was very insistent "Please, don't have sex for awhile!"
I've followed his instructions to the letter ever since....

Anywho, the kidlet was born via caesarian, was whipped off to the neo-natal unit, yada, yada, yada, the rest is history.
So, yesterday we were told that whenever a twin dies in utero there is always some form of brain damage to the surviving twin, even if it is unable to be detected by an MRI.
Which is the most likely cause of his frontal lobe not working properly (ADHD, behaviour control, Tourette's, Autism, etc).
And the push off the trampoline 2 years ago may be the straw that broke the camels back with yet another insult to his frontal lobe, triggering the Episodic Dyscontrol.
So, we wait for the appointment for the MRI and further genetic testing (as it's been almost 10 years since our last lot of genetic tests and massive progress has been made since then).
Not that there actually is anything we can do; we can't stop it or change Aspie teen or hang him upside down from the chandelier and whistle Dixie to see if he turns into a frog.
We basically stick to the medication he's on.
And ride out the malestrom whenever it hits.
But now we know!