Tag Archives: Autism

What’s Your Most Public Wrong?

Standard

.

Not so long ago, when I was battling with a severe turn in my war with Clinical Depression, I wrote a post about how noone in the world is so important that they make a difference. A difference of any measure or proportion.

And if you read it,
I’m sure you wanted to tell me just how wrong I was.

But it wasn’t ME that was speaking – it was the Black Dog.
The ugly voice that seeps into my skull and winds it way through every tendril and synapse of my brain.

My Clinical Depression is a beast that has made me question the validity and purpose of Homo sapien sapien on our beautiful Blue Planet.
Our net worth.
We seem to cause so much more destruction than we do innovation, and humanity itself vipers back onto itself repeatedly to cause such misery.

In truth, it is Mankind’s (& I use this gender specific term deliberately)
that I have a problem with.

In 2014 I faced the most basal knowledge of humanity and the ultimate purpose of us being in existence. I desperately sought some minuscule grain of hope that would give me a more wondrous outlook on the future of us all.
Even the tiniest glimmer of better things ahead.

And what did I discover?

That the Hope that I desperately seek, is not in grandiose or mammoth achievement or pursuits . . . . .
. . . it is in the tiny things that we do in our every lives that make Life sing with Purpose.

The kindness, compassion and honesty that are the keystones of a “Good Person” are what create a beautiful community and a world worth living in.

It is the granny who collects rubbish in the park as she goes on her evening walk.
It is the rock star who speaks to an autistic fan with true ‘is-ness’.
It is the homeless man who adopts and cares for a stray dog.
It is the nun who uses church funds to open a home for poor & the ill.
It is the mother who who goes without new clothes for five years, so that her children can attend a better school.
It is the Wealthy man who shares all his knowledge rather than hordes it.
It is the broken & alone woman who allows her ‘best friend’ to attack her verbally, because she know that her BF is in pain and just needs to yell.

It is actually the undocumented ‘goods’ that happen every day in every corner of our world, that make Humanity and our existence real.
And it is these ‘goods’ that make life worth living and each new day worth looking forward to.

Clinical Depression steals the view we have of this possibility.

It clouds what is really in front of us and instead throws up a murky curtain, a vision, of our greatest dread. A completely false vision.
Without my medication I would not be able to push that illegitimate vision aside and see the truth.

In fact – I wouldn’t even be here.

.

.

.

.

.

Building A Tipi

Standard

Every Thursday afternoon, for a couple of hours
I look after two boys
to give their Mum a bit of respite.

One boy is 6, and the other is 8.
They are both real boys!
They yell, and punch and get seriously physical.

Each time I see them I try to think of something
physical,
and something
mental
to do do with them.

We’ve done
* painting
* a “Me” album
* card games
* melted crayons
* glass etching
* bush walking
* woodwork
and a few other bibs ‘n bobs.

But yesterday we went to the creek at the back of their property
I know! How lucky are they?!?
and did some work on their cubby house.

It’s awesome!

Bit by bit they have been building it,
with both their Mum & Dad.

It basically a lean-to
made from large and small branches,
propped up against a tree.

It looks like a tipi.

It looked a little something like this. A little ;)

It looked a little something like this.
A little 😉

I knew it was there,
and had planned to go there with the boys.

I brought ribbons and wool and scissors
and we decorated it.

I told the boys that Native American Indians
would decorate their own tipis with feathers and beads, etc
to bring good spirits and fortune to their lives. ***

We also added some more
a lot more, actually
branches to the structure.

Except for the marauding mosquitoes,
we had so much fun.

It was so awesome!

I forgot what it felt like to just ‘muck around’.

Seriously, when was the last time you just played like a kid?

Made
mud pies with leaves & twigs & stuff,
or
built a fort out of bed sheets and dining chairs,
or
create a sandcastle in the sand pit?

When is the last time
you acted like a kid?

.

*** I do not claim to be any kind of expert on American Indian culture,
but instead used this opportunity to talk to the boys
about another culture in another time.

.

History/Background on decorated tipis

.

 

Hey Bitch !!!

Standard

Last week I was in my local Mitre 10
– a hardware store for those not of Oz –
with two short people,
and the smaller of the two,
who is only 4 years old,
piped up with . . .

. . .  “You’re a Bitch”.

Funny thing –
it happened as we were leaving
right at the checkouts
which happened to have
a long queue
of people.

Oh Joy!
An audience !!!

Now,
the ‘old’ Pia
– the one who suffered from ALL encompassing *asthma* –
would have freaked out.

I would have puffed up my chest,
like a bull about to charge the matador,
deepened my voice,
and made some very serious threats.

:(

: (

But!!!

This time around,
I was so calm
that had I been watching
I would have been VERY afraid.

I made an audible gasp,
looked directly at the profaner
and said quietly,
“I am so disappointed in you”.

Holy mackerel!

Who knew that these words were so powerful?!?
Seriously.

I had the most contrite
and apologetic
short person
all afternoon.

Having learned a VERY powerful lesson that day,
I will be repeating
this form of behaviour management
in the future.

Now,
you have to be made aware,
that this particular short person
actually registers on the Autism Spectrum,
and although the
“Bitch”
comment could be seen as wilful and malicious,
was actually part of a coping mechanism
that is still to be guided and helped into a
more socially acceptable forum.

Patience peeps – a very precious commodity!

*asthma* = code for
clinical depression

Livin’ In My White Bread World

Standard

I don’t need to be told that I think too much.
I know.
I really do!

Problem is – I have a greater fault . . . .

. . . . I feel too much.

Big time!

Since my early 30’s I have been physically conscious of the fact that I was born:
* white
* in a democratic country
* with a wealth of natural resources
* with free education
* and legally speaking, the same rights as men.

When I could just as easily have been born in
* Thailand
* Somalia
* South Africa
* Brazil
* Cambodia
* China
* India
* Afghanistan
* etc, etc etc . . . .

I am tangibly aware that I was not stolen, abused or sold.

I’ve never been forced to hold a gun
I’ve never been forced into prostitution
I’ve never had to walk through a rubbish tip to find items to sell so that I can eat that night.

I HAVE been poor.
I HAVE been suicidal.
I HAVE been close to having to resorting to prostitution.
I HAVE been hungry.
I HAVE gone without the necessities, like water, electricity, heating, etc.

And STILL, I have nothing to complain about.

On the weekend I watched the Hollywood blockbuster “End of Watch”,

Click on photo to go to Official Website

Click on photo to go to Official Website

which pricked me with the white-bread reality of my existence
as opposed to the gun-fueled, drug saturated and poverty ridden existence
of the ‘baddies’ in this film.

Then, last night
I accidentally caught this program while channel surfing on my tv.

I work with autistic children every day.
I’ve even worked with a self abusive little boy
(my beloved little MrL)
while on the Autistic Bus.

BUT – I will never be subjected to the utter hopeless misery
Sun Chao’s mother (Sun Bingli)
must face every day and night,
even in her dreams.

I feel sick at how lucky I am.

I have NO reason to complain.

NONE!!!!!

Smack Pull Spit!

Standard

There are very few negatives about the Autistic Bus.
Well maybe the 5am start with 6pm finish. Blech!

And maybe the only other real negative, is when MrL gets hyper and starts whacking me in the scone,
pulling my hair and spitting on me.
Gross, man!

However, increasingly, my three little charges are becoming more and more wonderful.
More gorgeous to be around for three hours each day.

For instance, MrL who initially constantly yet now decreasingly, HATED being touched.
I always got a punch in the snozz if I tried to hold his hand.
Now?
He insists on holding my hand almost the whole trip
AND he has started asking** for me to stroke his face.
I don’t question it – I just do it!

And MissB? MissB does NOT like to told what to do.
Especially if it something that she does not want to do.
Tantrums, pulling faces, ignoring me, throwing things . . . I use to see it all.
Now I get smiles, discussions** about rainbows and cows,
singing “Incy Whincy Spider”, reading books, following instructions,
holding my hand when we get off the bus, and more.

Again – I don’t ask why, I just thank my lucky stars.

And finally gorgeous MissP?
Although this is just my opinion,
I believe that MissP is the most intelligent of my three munchkins.
The least communicative and outwardly cogniscent,
I ‘feel’ MissP listening and looking and taking it all in?
She has recurring physical issues including a digestive system that is trying to sabotage the rest of her body,
but remains positive and bubbly.
I dare say that this is due in no small part to her amazing Mum – R.

That’s not to say that I don’t find all the parents loving and generous and incredible.
I definitely do.
It would take the patience of an entity
crossed between Mother Theresa, Saint Valentine & an angel
to be the carers that I see twice each day.

Their goodness and value to our society is immeasurable.
Truly immeasurable.

…………………..

Oh . . .  I saw this photo on the way to the AB this afternoon
and had to stop and take photo with my phone.

I laughed out aloud when I read it.

What a kook I am!

Can you see what made me laugh?

Can you see now?

 

** None of my autistic charges are able to talk. they can all vocalise with grunts and squeals, but not one of them is able to speak.
When I talk with them I need to use many visual clues to gather what their intent is – I’m not always successful, but we all plug away just the same 🙂

Do not read . . . Seriously! This post is about poo.

Standard

And not the kind that eats honey and who has a best friend called Eeeyore ;(

The last 24 hours my life has been ruled by faeces. Gross, huh? Well not when you consider it brought about two happy endings.

Poo Story One

On the Autistic Bus the past day and a bit, Mr L has been seriously out of sorts. Hitting himself, hitting me, hitting the windows of the bus. He hasn’t done this in weeks. Mr L was fractious at home and he was fractious at school.

Then when I picked him up from school on the Autistic Bus this afternoon, I was told by Gorgeous Aid 1, that Mr L had emptied his bowels of the solid variety and was now a much happier boy. Yay!

End of PS1

Poo Story Two

On the Autistic Bus this morning I developed a most unpleasant need to expunge foul gas from my back end. Thankfully I was on a bus full of children, so the blame was easy to pass. However, when I disembarked from the bus I began to go into a panic.

Farting was no longer enough. I was at severe risk of creating a ‘turtle head’ and I had to get home NOW.

Gargh!

Changing gears was incredibly painful. I was in too much pain to squeeze my pelvic floor muscles to maintain no early arrival of the impending force. But . . . there was already the matter of the latent turtle head. Oh dear god, please don’t inflict the pain of passing the obstruction early therefore missing the pleasure of the utter relief it’s passing would create!

I was literally bent over the steering wheel with pain when I pulled into my carport. Just 15 metres to go, could I make it? In too much pain to even beg higher beings for mercy, I hobbled to the lav.

Only to have three excited canines DEMAND attention. NOW!

My strides came town, I did a fast pirouette, and sat! Hallelujah, praise the lord. I made it.

After some short breaths reminiscent of pre-natal classes, my innards relaxed . . . . . and nothing happened!

The turtle head was now a cork and I was up that creek without a paddle. Tears began to form in my eyes. An unnatural pressure was building in my bottom half. I think I was going to blow!

And,

I did!

A mass the size of a pink grapefruit, finally escaped my poor poor tummy, and I gave out an equally large sigh (you thought I was going to say fart, didn’t you?).

As I type this post, I can still feel the recoil of the muscles in my derrière as they try to regain their normal size. It may take days!

End of PS2

So – there are my two stories about poo.

Hurrah to you, if you read it all!

I Don’t Have To Wait Until I Die

Standard

I have always had provision in my will to donate a percentage of whatever monies remain after my death, to be donated to children-based organisations + a couple of doggie ones.

One of those is LEARN. A group based here in Western Australia.

LEARN

A group that I discovered today is at real risk of closing unless something major happens TODAY.

NO SHIT!

By time time Monday 28th May turns over to Tuesday 29th May, if the group hasn’t raised a mere $300K,
they will be closed down.

This decision is made by a government where the leader, our esteemed Premier Colin Barnett,
is spending $80 MILLION dollars of preserving an old building, Hale House,
that HE will then use as his office. NB

PLEASE . . .
Can you donate $10?

It may be the difference between an autistic child and their entire family living a real life despite autism
OR
just trying to exist due to lack of support and programs designed to enable autism affected families.

Email your pledge here (openthedoorsoflearn@gmail.com)
and then email

tool #1

Helen Morton – Minister for Mental Health; Disabilities

(minister.morton@dpc.wa.gov.au &/or helen.morton@mp.wa.gov.au)
AND

tool #2

Colin Barnett – Premier & Minister for State Development

 (cottesloe@mp.wa.gov.au)

and tell them you know about their appalling lack of community awareness and their self-appreciating greed.

Don’t forget to tell them of ANY positive interactions you have had with an autistic child –
just to remind them that this issue isn’t about money . . .
. . . . . It’s about children!!!

Thank you do much for your help, peeps.

Read more information about this ridiculous situation here at Snowball Effect.

NB All government information on this project states that the project will cost $25million, however the updated figure they were forced to publish is past $80M. I am looking for a link to prove this data!