Autism & Getting Weird

Change is always weird.

This particular transition knocks weird outta the park, though, as polarised stop/go events have me scratching my menopausal beard in bewilderment.

There's a lot happening, and nothing happening at all.  

We're getting ready to start the slow integration of Finian into adult services.  The whole process has taken the better part of a year.  There have been long periods of silence, punctuated by mad flurries of activity.  Next week he's going to attend for an hour for 2 days, with the intention of eventually working up to a full week.  I'm encouraged by their client-centredness, but I have to own that I'm worn out by the protracted nature of proceedings.  It feels like I've been holding my breath for a long time.

Finian has been expressing his anxiety in his own unique way.  

He's been picking the paint off woodwork in the dead of night, waking us up to inform us that he's turned into a giant, nocturnal mouse.  "The paint is scratched" has become a mantra I will never use in meditation.  

The distressed look (both woody and parental) is now big in our house.

He's pica-ing like a boss.  I found him having a good old chew on the dog's toy bone a few times.  Finno has an immune system made mostly of pig iron, so he'll probably give some exotic disease to Milo rather than the other way round.  I'm now watching the pooch for signs of Dengue Fever or Chagas Disease.  Meanwhile, Finian is healthy as an ox, with beautifully shiny, white teeth.

He's been blindsiding me with blitzkrieg meltdowns, in that he's binned the usual escalations I can work with.  Normally I like surprises, but I've discovered I prefer the ones that are wrapped and expensive.  To this end, for my birthday, I would definitely prefer a sparkly piece of jewellery than a conniption.  

Just sayin'

I've caught him peeing into the drains outside.  I don't know if this is anxiety related, or if he's just being a lazy-arse.  It's been a dry month, so maybe it'll do the roses good anyway.  Not too bothered about this one.

In addition, my daughter has moved into college accommodation.  I miss her like mad but am also delighted for her.  There's a feeling of not quite knowing what to do with myself, while being savagely proud of the focussed young woman she has become.

So these changes seem to be laced with some kinda ambivalent identity disorder.  They're behaving like feral children who had too many blue m&ms and aspartame-flavoured bubbles at a party. Meanwhile, there's only so much beard scratching I can do before my face falls off. 

my actual face