Every November, an event called NaNoWriMo takes place. It's where people challenge themselves to write a novel in exactly one month. I tried to do it last year (unsuccessfully), and though I'm not taking part this time around, (much as I would have liked to), I've been thinking a lot lately about a situation that occurred recently with an old friend of mine who stopped talking to me a few months ago.
I wanted to find some way of dealing with the situation, to sort through all of the emotions I've been feeling, so I decided to write about a particular memory I have of her. I have no idea if this is any good, but now I know I can write 850-ish words in an hour (that's how long it took me to write this), so I feel much more motivated to work on my book.
This piece is called Hair of the Dog.
---
"Come on, Charley!"
Her voice is sing-song, playful as she waves her hand. He pants happily, eyes bright and shining, chest heaving with eager breath, and trots over. I watch as she clips the green leash to his collar, readying him.
"Wanna go for a walk?"
He barks in the affirmative, tail wagging nonstop. The noise rings in my ears, but I stay calm, focused on the task at hand. I pull on my coat, following her copper ponytail out into the cool, autumn night.
Down the road, Charley does his business, and she lets him off the leash soon after. "So he can run around a little," she says, and I nod.
The lights from the baseball field behind her street cast a faint glow; beams of light slipping in between the thick trees. It's only steps to the high school from there, beige and black walls and doors that close with a thunderous click.
Charley's vibrating form appears under the streetlight then, thick, white curls turned to an unnatural orange. A rustling in the bushes catches his attention, and he's off, chasing the unlucky--and no doubt unhappy--neighborhood cat.
We shake our heads in disbelief, our collective laughter echoing down the street.
---
She calls him back soon after, and we head inside, clomping up the creaking steps and through the two doors into the foyer. The smell of dog hits me in the face almost immediately, and I wrinkle my nose in disgust.
I'm not a dog person.
It's always the barking, the piercing volume that vibrates inside my skull and leaves me trembling, overwhelmed. The yappy dogs are the worst, with their high-pitched yelps and jumping as if they have springs attached to their paws. The combination of the two is enough to send me running from the room.
She told me how dumb Charley was when I first met him. That he'd never hurt a fly. I remember the almost permanent grin he had on his face, teeth exposed, pink tongue hanging down as he stared at us. His fur reminds me of my mother's sweater--coarse and smooth, bristling underneath and between my fingers.
He's helped me be not afraid.
I walk behind her to the TV room, listening to the scritch-scratch of his feet on the hardwood floor. It had been the usual back-and-forth at the video store that night, trying to decide what to rent. We never agree on anything, until the very last moment, when some movie we'd missed catches both our attention.
"Are you okay with this one?"
"I am if you are."
"I'm good."
I watch the tape slide into the VCR, the television flickering as the FBI warning appeared on screen. She grabs the remote then--one of several on the ruddy wooden chest in front of us--and fast-forwards. Her legs are tucked under her, a bowl of popcorn curled in one hand and pressed against her sweatshirt-covered torso. My purchase from the store was a box of gummi bears, and I've already taken them out of the package and sorted them by color, discarding the oranges and yellows.
She's washed her makeup off, revealing the truth behind the facade. Erect, reddened pimples dot the landscape of her face, all connecting to form a picture of what is inside. I've watched her hide, standing in front of the mirror, concealing, pressing the brush with fevered strokes, again and again. I don't understand it.
To me, she is beautiful. She is my best friend, and she is beautiful. If I can see it, why can't she?
The movie begins to play, but I'm regarding her silently now, honored by this moment. She has let me know who she really is. I do the same thing, but all the time, because I don't know how to hide. Sitting here beside her, eating painstakingly arranged gummi bears, I can finally breathe. I am at peace.
She's a part of me. A string for this kite that is always flying, flying, nearly flying away forever. She makes the earth real. And when I'm with her, I'm real.
Charley is lying next to her on the couch now, head bowed and resting on her leg. His doggy derrière is perilously close to my person, and so I hurriedly scoot over, one eye fixed warily on his posterior. She seems even calmer when he is around, and I gaze at the two of them, grateful for the comfort they have both given me.
The movie has finished, a final swell of music crescendoing as the credits start to roll. This is the part I dread, the knowing it's begun to end. I would like to live in a universe of infinite Saturday nights, spent exactly like this. There would never be any Sundays. Sunday is the falling day, the day of knowing what's coming, and being able to do nothing about it, except wait.
But I am safe here, in the night. Behind these walls, in this room, on this couch. With her sitting next to me. I'm sixteen, and she's my best friend, and she always will be.
...Won't she?
Monday, November 15, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
It Will Get Better
In response to the recent suicides by several gay teens, there is currently a campaign going around called "It Gets Better," featuring videos of the famous and non-famous alike, telling these young people that things do get better. I was inspired to create a video of my own, though this is geared more towards individuals on the autism spectrum than GLBT teens (but everyone is welcome to watch). It is a little lengthy, for which I apologize, but if you enjoy it, please "Like" it and pass it on!
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Call for Participants: Please Repost!
CALL FOR PARTICIPANTS
I am recruiting males over the age of 18 with a clinical diagnosis of Asperger's Syndrome for a study to teach how to ask someone out on a date. Sessions will be conducted three to four times per week. The study is currently ongoing and participation for each volunteer should last for approximately three weeks. If you are interested in participating in this research, please contact Amy Gravino at Amy@amygravino.com. Thank you!
Study Participation Criteria:
- Must be over the age of 18
- Must have official Asperger’s Syndrome diagnosis from an outside agency or clinic
- Must live in the NYC/northern New Jersey area.
- Minimal to no previous dating skills training
- Must have at least two to three unsuccessful previous attempts at asking someone out for a date.
I am recruiting males over the age of 18 with a clinical diagnosis of Asperger's Syndrome for a study to teach how to ask someone out on a date. Sessions will be conducted three to four times per week. The study is currently ongoing and participation for each volunteer should last for approximately three weeks. If you are interested in participating in this research, please contact Amy Gravino at Amy@amygravino.com. Thank you!
Study Participation Criteria:
- Must be over the age of 18
- Must have official Asperger’s Syndrome diagnosis from an outside agency or clinic
- Must live in the NYC/northern New Jersey area.
- Minimal to no previous dating skills training
- Must have at least two to three unsuccessful previous attempts at asking someone out for a date.
Monday, September 20, 2010
A.S.C.O.T Coaching, LLC
I am very pleased and excited to announce that the A.S.C.O.T Coaching, LLC section of AmyGravino.com is now up and available for browsing! If you or someone you know is interested in college coaching services for students with Asperger's Syndrome, or any of the consulting or public speaking services I have to offer, please feel free to check out my site and pass it along! Click the banner below to go to the A.S.C.O.T Coaching, LLC main page. Thank you!
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
The DSM-V Asperger's/Autism Debate
Last night, I was perusing the Autism Speaks Facebook page, when I came across this post: http://www.facebook.com/autismspeaks?ref=ts#!/posted.php?id=75219157496&share_id=150715731619580&comments=1#s150715731619580. It's a link to an "In Your Own Words" blog written by a young woman with Asperger's Syndrome about why she feels Asperger's should remain a separate diagnosis from autism in the DSM-V.
I hadn't even gotten to read the blog post itself when I started reading the comments on that link. And there were many, oh yes, from parents/professionals/folks on the spectrum in varying states of outrage/agreement. But the comments that stood out to me the most were from a 16-year-old with Asperger's named Jordan. He flat-out was attacking people at certain points, and his whole overall attitude was doing a serious disservice to Aspies everywhere (you can read some of the things he wrote at the link there).
I was most disheartened by this, as you can imagine, and so I decided to write a response. It turned out to be a freaking novel (is anyone surprised?), but I both addressed Jordan and got out my feelings on the autism/Asperger's debate. This is what I wrote:
"Okay. I've sat here reading (almost) every response to this for the past half an hour, and my brain is aching. Jordan, let me direct this to you first...I know you have Asperger's Syndrome. Guess what? I do, too. But the way you have conducted yourself in this thread is giving a seriously bad name to "Aspies" everywhere. You've attacked people needlessly (telling them to "shut up"), and I find your entire attitude to be condescending and know-it-all. Maybe you didn't mean to come across that way. In fact, you probably didn't, but here's the reality. People aren't not listening to you because you have Asperger's--they're not listening to you because you're sixteen and you DON'T know everything. No one does, in fact. Heck, even I don't. I got this diagnosis at age 10, and here I am seventeen years later STILL trying to figure it all out. And even though I don't have the answers or a great, all-encompassing solution, here is one thing I do know:
We all want people to see our point of view. This is somewhat ironic because, being on the spectrum, we tend to have a difficult time seeing others' points of view. I know that when I was sixteen, all I wanted was to be heard, to be acknowledged. I see you on here, going on about how great you are, how you could have your grades up "if you wanted to" and how you plan to be a published author and this and that. There's nothing wrong with having goals or dreams, my friend. But from your comments I detected a serious amount of insecurity--like you felt you had to tell us these things over and over to "prove" that you deserve to be taken seriously. But if your arguments and the things you had to say were truly sound and well thought out, that's all you would need. No "proving" necessary.
But instead there is hostility pouring off of you in waves, and I recognize it, along with your insecurity, as I have seen in adult males on the spectrum twice your age at support group meetings I have attended. You may think that you don't need any help, but that's the surest sign that you do--and the day will come when you'll have to ask for it. I once felt the same way--I was downright ashamed to ask for help because I thought I should know how to do "these things"...and I didn't. So I suffered, and maybe I lashed out at people too, in the same way that you are. All it does in the end is cause more harm than good, and it further prevents having what you have to say be heard by the people you want to have hear it.
Anyway...back to the subject at hand. I understand both sides of the DSM-V debate. I'm currently a grad student in ABA, and I've done observation in classrooms with kids on every corner of the ASD spectrum. I used to have a fear not unlike the blog author's--of being "lumped in" and seen the way I saw those kids. But the fact is, Asperger's is a part of who I am. They can change the wording, but that doesn't mean its meaning has to be taken away. And if, in the process, it allows folks with Asperger's to receive the services they need (services I certainly never got in elementary, middle, or high school), then I can't see how it would be a bad thing.
It doesn't make us any less who we are, unless we let it. We are different--not better, not worse--just different, both from the rest of the world and from each other. But the more productive use of our energies would be to help one another, not tear each other down. All of the fighting and squabbling is a waste--a waste of time, and heart, the heart that I know we all have. A heart that beats for our spectrumite brothers and sisters, and all their loved ones.
My goal is and always will be to leave this world a better place for folks on the spectrum than it was when I got here, a goal I hope to accomplish by acting as a college coach for people with Asperger's, and by being a public speaker. I have spoken at autism conferences all across the country, as well as professional development workshops and school assemblies, and the overarching message I try to leave my audiences with is that we may be different, but we have much to offer the world. Each person on the spectrum has their own gifts and challenges, and should not be overlooked, no matter how affected or not they may be."
I hadn't even gotten to read the blog post itself when I started reading the comments on that link. And there were many, oh yes, from parents/professionals/folks on the spectrum in varying states of outrage/agreement. But the comments that stood out to me the most were from a 16-year-old with Asperger's named Jordan. He flat-out was attacking people at certain points, and his whole overall attitude was doing a serious disservice to Aspies everywhere (you can read some of the things he wrote at the link there).
I was most disheartened by this, as you can imagine, and so I decided to write a response. It turned out to be a freaking novel (is anyone surprised?), but I both addressed Jordan and got out my feelings on the autism/Asperger's debate. This is what I wrote:
"Okay. I've sat here reading (almost) every response to this for the past half an hour, and my brain is aching. Jordan, let me direct this to you first...I know you have Asperger's Syndrome. Guess what? I do, too. But the way you have conducted yourself in this thread is giving a seriously bad name to "Aspies" everywhere. You've attacked people needlessly (telling them to "shut up"), and I find your entire attitude to be condescending and know-it-all. Maybe you didn't mean to come across that way. In fact, you probably didn't, but here's the reality. People aren't not listening to you because you have Asperger's--they're not listening to you because you're sixteen and you DON'T know everything. No one does, in fact. Heck, even I don't. I got this diagnosis at age 10, and here I am seventeen years later STILL trying to figure it all out. And even though I don't have the answers or a great, all-encompassing solution, here is one thing I do know:
We all want people to see our point of view. This is somewhat ironic because, being on the spectrum, we tend to have a difficult time seeing others' points of view. I know that when I was sixteen, all I wanted was to be heard, to be acknowledged. I see you on here, going on about how great you are, how you could have your grades up "if you wanted to" and how you plan to be a published author and this and that. There's nothing wrong with having goals or dreams, my friend. But from your comments I detected a serious amount of insecurity--like you felt you had to tell us these things over and over to "prove" that you deserve to be taken seriously. But if your arguments and the things you had to say were truly sound and well thought out, that's all you would need. No "proving" necessary.
But instead there is hostility pouring off of you in waves, and I recognize it, along with your insecurity, as I have seen in adult males on the spectrum twice your age at support group meetings I have attended. You may think that you don't need any help, but that's the surest sign that you do--and the day will come when you'll have to ask for it. I once felt the same way--I was downright ashamed to ask for help because I thought I should know how to do "these things"...and I didn't. So I suffered, and maybe I lashed out at people too, in the same way that you are. All it does in the end is cause more harm than good, and it further prevents having what you have to say be heard by the people you want to have hear it.
Anyway...back to the subject at hand. I understand both sides of the DSM-V debate. I'm currently a grad student in ABA, and I've done observation in classrooms with kids on every corner of the ASD spectrum. I used to have a fear not unlike the blog author's--of being "lumped in" and seen the way I saw those kids. But the fact is, Asperger's is a part of who I am. They can change the wording, but that doesn't mean its meaning has to be taken away. And if, in the process, it allows folks with Asperger's to receive the services they need (services I certainly never got in elementary, middle, or high school), then I can't see how it would be a bad thing.
It doesn't make us any less who we are, unless we let it. We are different--not better, not worse--just different, both from the rest of the world and from each other. But the more productive use of our energies would be to help one another, not tear each other down. All of the fighting and squabbling is a waste--a waste of time, and heart, the heart that I know we all have. A heart that beats for our spectrumite brothers and sisters, and all their loved ones.
My goal is and always will be to leave this world a better place for folks on the spectrum than it was when I got here, a goal I hope to accomplish by acting as a college coach for people with Asperger's, and by being a public speaker. I have spoken at autism conferences all across the country, as well as professional development workshops and school assemblies, and the overarching message I try to leave my audiences with is that we may be different, but we have much to offer the world. Each person on the spectrum has their own gifts and challenges, and should not be overlooked, no matter how affected or not they may be."
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Introducing: AmyGravino.com!
Hello, loyal readers of my blog! I am most pleased and proud to present you all with my brand-new, fully-functional website: AmyGravino.com!.
AmyGravino.com is your one-stop shop for everything and anything relating to moi. It has my bio, my C.V., pieces of my writing, articles I've written, video and audio clips from media appearances that I've made, and more. The page for ASCOT, my college coaching LLC, is still under construction (which is fitting because I'm still trying to hammer out the details of setting up the LLC), but everything else is finished.
I am trying to attract people looking for college coaching or consulting services, or anyone looking for an autism/Asperger's Syndrome-related public speaker, and I knew I needed to have all of my information in one place, hence the creation of this shiny new site.
Now, I know I am no website designer, and it certainly doesn't look as good as if a professional did it. But, I worked very hard on creating all of the pages and putting stuff together, so I hope that you will all enjoy perusing it. If you have any (constructive) feedback to offer, then please, by all means, do let me know. And if you like what you see, please feel free to spread the word of AmyGravino.com as far and as wide as you like.
Also, I have added a new feature to my blog here: the "Share" button. It can be found on all of my current and previous blog entries, and its function is to make it easier for you to share my posts with whomever you think might want to read them! So please do use this feature at your convenience. Thank you!
AmyGravino.com is your one-stop shop for everything and anything relating to moi. It has my bio, my C.V., pieces of my writing, articles I've written, video and audio clips from media appearances that I've made, and more. The page for ASCOT, my college coaching LLC, is still under construction (which is fitting because I'm still trying to hammer out the details of setting up the LLC), but everything else is finished.
I am trying to attract people looking for college coaching or consulting services, or anyone looking for an autism/Asperger's Syndrome-related public speaker, and I knew I needed to have all of my information in one place, hence the creation of this shiny new site.
Now, I know I am no website designer, and it certainly doesn't look as good as if a professional did it. But, I worked very hard on creating all of the pages and putting stuff together, so I hope that you will all enjoy perusing it. If you have any (constructive) feedback to offer, then please, by all means, do let me know. And if you like what you see, please feel free to spread the word of AmyGravino.com as far and as wide as you like.
Also, I have added a new feature to my blog here: the "Share" button. It can be found on all of my current and previous blog entries, and its function is to make it easier for you to share my posts with whomever you think might want to read them! So please do use this feature at your convenience. Thank you!
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Home Is Where the Hard Is
Sitting on an enclosed deck in the middle of a thunderstorm has become a favorite pastime of mine. I used to be terrified of thunder; as a child, even the slightest rumble would send me flying under the covers, shaking with fear. Even now, the storms seem scarier when I am inside, so I call upon my father to join me, where we settle into the green and white-striped chairs--his, always the recliner. With the sounds of whipping wind and falling rain all around me, I am calm.
My parents still live in the house I grew up in, about a two hour's drive from where I am now in New Jersey. Graduate school has kept me almost absurdly busy, and I don't go back there very often, except for the occasional orthodontist appointment or holiday.
There is a danger in visiting one's old hometown, in that you run the risk of seeing people you know. People from the past, who remind you of the person you used to be, and who you spent years trying to forget.
People you went to high school with.
The beige and black building is much smaller than I remember. At its feet rests a verdant landscape, the grassy, crater-shaped bowl used for baseball in summer and sledding in the winter. A long handrail in the middle of half moon-shaped steps leads the way to the front doors, whose once heavy handles yield easily to my hand. From faraway glance, it is peaceful, serene, and immaculately kept.
For me, it is and was my vale of tears.
It can be said that people spend most of their lives trying to figure out who they are. It can also be said that this process almost universally begins in high school. Jock. Nerd. Homecoming queen. Band geek. Class president. Loner. Which one are you? Now's the time to find out, to find others like you and stand together--allies in the silent war of the hallways.
But to do that, you first must know that you are a person. I never got that far.
Sometimes it was only a look. A brow furrowing in disapproval, eyes rolling almost comically far up into their heads, a brief scoff before finally turning away. I never knew what these things meant, but still I was left with a deep burning inside my heart. Chest heaving, cheeks flushed, the beginnings of teardrops forming in my throat. A powerful poison that was slowly, methodically, killing me.
I knew I wasn't like my peers. Not popular, beautiful, happy. Not normal. Through elementary and middle school, my apartness from them became painfully obvious in almost every way, but it wasn't until high school that I realized the true nature of the divide between us.
They were human. I wasn't.
I believed this. At first, it was because they told me. "Psycho. Freak. Loser. Retard." In between classes, alone in the hall, standing by myself not saying a word. If there was an opportunity, they took it, hurling insults like tommy gun-loaded paper airplanes whizzing through the air.
Am I someone? Am I even alive? the questions plagued my thoughts. After a while it became impossible to see the difference between their lie and my truth. Their words were pinballs, firing around in my mind through the maze of neurons and synapses, reverberating, shrieking as they traipsed and ran and looked for the end of the labyrinth, to no avail.
I was convinced that I wasn't really there; just a body, floating through those halls day after day, with no essence or tangibleness behind it. Nothing to tether me to the earth, to the rest of humanity. My soul belonged to them.
This was the storm that I lived in, with no shelter to run to, no protection to shield me. No matter where I tried to hide, the thunder always found me. And it roared.
My father gently rocks back and forth in his recliner, the screws squeaking quietly as I listen. The rain is beginning to subside now, the sky brightening, and the air is tinged with a crisp coolness. The trees are stained, their leaves heavy with damp. Tiny droplets hang from every edge, pulling them down as if bowed. Another survivor. I nod my head gently in reply. We have both made it through the storm.
My parents still live in the house I grew up in, about a two hour's drive from where I am now in New Jersey. Graduate school has kept me almost absurdly busy, and I don't go back there very often, except for the occasional orthodontist appointment or holiday.
There is a danger in visiting one's old hometown, in that you run the risk of seeing people you know. People from the past, who remind you of the person you used to be, and who you spent years trying to forget.
People you went to high school with.
The beige and black building is much smaller than I remember. At its feet rests a verdant landscape, the grassy, crater-shaped bowl used for baseball in summer and sledding in the winter. A long handrail in the middle of half moon-shaped steps leads the way to the front doors, whose once heavy handles yield easily to my hand. From faraway glance, it is peaceful, serene, and immaculately kept.
For me, it is and was my vale of tears.
It can be said that people spend most of their lives trying to figure out who they are. It can also be said that this process almost universally begins in high school. Jock. Nerd. Homecoming queen. Band geek. Class president. Loner. Which one are you? Now's the time to find out, to find others like you and stand together--allies in the silent war of the hallways.
But to do that, you first must know that you are a person. I never got that far.
Sometimes it was only a look. A brow furrowing in disapproval, eyes rolling almost comically far up into their heads, a brief scoff before finally turning away. I never knew what these things meant, but still I was left with a deep burning inside my heart. Chest heaving, cheeks flushed, the beginnings of teardrops forming in my throat. A powerful poison that was slowly, methodically, killing me.
I knew I wasn't like my peers. Not popular, beautiful, happy. Not normal. Through elementary and middle school, my apartness from them became painfully obvious in almost every way, but it wasn't until high school that I realized the true nature of the divide between us.
They were human. I wasn't.
I believed this. At first, it was because they told me. "Psycho. Freak. Loser. Retard." In between classes, alone in the hall, standing by myself not saying a word. If there was an opportunity, they took it, hurling insults like tommy gun-loaded paper airplanes whizzing through the air.
Am I someone? Am I even alive? the questions plagued my thoughts. After a while it became impossible to see the difference between their lie and my truth. Their words were pinballs, firing around in my mind through the maze of neurons and synapses, reverberating, shrieking as they traipsed and ran and looked for the end of the labyrinth, to no avail.
I was convinced that I wasn't really there; just a body, floating through those halls day after day, with no essence or tangibleness behind it. Nothing to tether me to the earth, to the rest of humanity. My soul belonged to them.
This was the storm that I lived in, with no shelter to run to, no protection to shield me. No matter where I tried to hide, the thunder always found me. And it roared.
My father gently rocks back and forth in his recliner, the screws squeaking quietly as I listen. The rain is beginning to subside now, the sky brightening, and the air is tinged with a crisp coolness. The trees are stained, their leaves heavy with damp. Tiny droplets hang from every edge, pulling them down as if bowed. Another survivor. I nod my head gently in reply. We have both made it through the storm.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Participants Still Needed!
CALL FOR PARTICIPANTS!
I am recruiting males over the age of 18 with a clinical diagnosis of Asperger's Syndrome for a study to teach how to ask someone out on a date. All volunteers will be required to have their own transportation and must be able to come to Caldwell College (located in Caldwell, NJ) three to four times per week. The study is currently ongoing and participation for each volunteer should last for approximately three weeks. If you are interested in participating in this research, please contact Amy Gravino at AGrav3230@aol.com. Thank you!
Study Participation Criteria:
- Must be over the age of 18
- Must have official Asperger’s Syndrome diagnosis from an outside agency or clinic
- Must have transportation and/or live in the NYC/northern New Jersey area.
- Minimal to no previous social skills training
- Must have at least two to three unsuccessful previous attempts at asking someone out for a date.
I am recruiting males over the age of 18 with a clinical diagnosis of Asperger's Syndrome for a study to teach how to ask someone out on a date. All volunteers will be required to have their own transportation and must be able to come to Caldwell College (located in Caldwell, NJ) three to four times per week. The study is currently ongoing and participation for each volunteer should last for approximately three weeks. If you are interested in participating in this research, please contact Amy Gravino at AGrav3230@aol.com. Thank you!
Study Participation Criteria:
- Must be over the age of 18
- Must have official Asperger’s Syndrome diagnosis from an outside agency or clinic
- Must have transportation and/or live in the NYC/northern New Jersey area.
- Minimal to no previous social skills training
- Must have at least two to three unsuccessful previous attempts at asking someone out for a date.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Thoughts on a Tragedy
I recently had the following link posted to my Facebook wall: http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20100722/ap_on_re_us/us_children_strangled. It's the horrifying story of a woman in Texas who murdered her two children with autism by strangling them with a wire.
What is there to say about a terrible story like this? It's sad. It's tragic. Beyond anything else, it's representative of a failure on so many fronts. It would be easy to blame the mother, to call her a whole host of names and condemn her to the lethal injection that is probably coming her way. But she is not the only one at fault here.
The articles mention that Texas is ranked #49 or #50 in terms of mental health services and supports. It's likely that there is also not much in the way of autism awareness, which leaves this woman--the parents of not one, but two autistic children--isolated, with no access to information or resources, and slipping deeper into the depression that the article said begun when she moved into that apartment.
Up here in the Northeast--especially the NYC area--there are autism organizations all over the place. Autism Speaks, Autism New Jersey, ASPEN, GRASP, the DJ Fiddle Foundation, AHA-NY, and more.
It is difficult enough raising a child with autism here, where awareness is high and resources are numerous. It is difficult, too, for we adults on the spectrum to find the services we need. Therefore, I can't imagine what it must've been like for this woman down in Texas, where there aren't many or even any of these groups, any support services of any kind; where "hope" is the longest long shot that there is.
It is circumstances like this that lead to desperation, to this woman thinking there was no other solution than the one she chose. Don't misunderstand me; I am not defending what she did in any way; she took the desperation she was feeling to its most extreme end, and two innocent children are now dead for it. But the whole atmosphere down there--the ignorance and the misunderstanding--is what helped to set the stage for this in the first place.
However...one thing that would move me to condemn her outright is how, in the article, she is quoted as saying, "They're autistic...not normal. Not normal. I want normal kids." That is an incredibly heartbreaking thing to say on top of everything, and unfortunately gives a sad insight into her mental process and perhaps that still of society at large--that having a "normal" child is better than having one with autism.
Had she even given the children up for adoption--which would have been better, because at least they'd still be alive--who knows how hard it would've been to find them an adoptive family because of their autism. But at least they would have had a chance. At least they would still have their lives.
So what do I think of this? I wish I could say I was shocked. I used to be, when I'd hear stories like this. Now I just add it to my growing mental list of horror stories that have come to represent such a system-wide failure. It is stories like this that make me ever-more determined to do what I do--to make this world a better place for individuals with autism, so that things like this never happen again.
What is there to say about a terrible story like this? It's sad. It's tragic. Beyond anything else, it's representative of a failure on so many fronts. It would be easy to blame the mother, to call her a whole host of names and condemn her to the lethal injection that is probably coming her way. But she is not the only one at fault here.
The articles mention that Texas is ranked #49 or #50 in terms of mental health services and supports. It's likely that there is also not much in the way of autism awareness, which leaves this woman--the parents of not one, but two autistic children--isolated, with no access to information or resources, and slipping deeper into the depression that the article said begun when she moved into that apartment.
Up here in the Northeast--especially the NYC area--there are autism organizations all over the place. Autism Speaks, Autism New Jersey, ASPEN, GRASP, the DJ Fiddle Foundation, AHA-NY, and more.
It is difficult enough raising a child with autism here, where awareness is high and resources are numerous. It is difficult, too, for we adults on the spectrum to find the services we need. Therefore, I can't imagine what it must've been like for this woman down in Texas, where there aren't many or even any of these groups, any support services of any kind; where "hope" is the longest long shot that there is.
It is circumstances like this that lead to desperation, to this woman thinking there was no other solution than the one she chose. Don't misunderstand me; I am not defending what she did in any way; she took the desperation she was feeling to its most extreme end, and two innocent children are now dead for it. But the whole atmosphere down there--the ignorance and the misunderstanding--is what helped to set the stage for this in the first place.
However...one thing that would move me to condemn her outright is how, in the article, she is quoted as saying, "They're autistic...not normal. Not normal. I want normal kids." That is an incredibly heartbreaking thing to say on top of everything, and unfortunately gives a sad insight into her mental process and perhaps that still of society at large--that having a "normal" child is better than having one with autism.
Had she even given the children up for adoption--which would have been better, because at least they'd still be alive--who knows how hard it would've been to find them an adoptive family because of their autism. But at least they would have had a chance. At least they would still have their lives.
So what do I think of this? I wish I could say I was shocked. I used to be, when I'd hear stories like this. Now I just add it to my growing mental list of horror stories that have come to represent such a system-wide failure. It is stories like this that make me ever-more determined to do what I do--to make this world a better place for individuals with autism, so that things like this never happen again.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Pity, Party of None
This is a comment that I made yesterday on Facebook, in response to comments I saw posted by someone with Asperger's Syndrome. She was frustrated because she just graduated from law school and doesn't have a job, and felt that the world had screwed her over.
Her comments belied a bitterness towards the world because of abuse she's suffered over the years and a general resentment towards having autism. She was basically feeling sorry for herself and saying that no one would try to treat her this way if she didn't have autism, and she was angry that no one "had the guts" to stand up for her. So I felt a very great need to respond to all of this, and this is what I wrote:
"Sometimes, when no one else will stand up for us, we have to have the guts to stand up for ourselves. Do you think there are any of us who HAVEN'T had the 'system' fail us? We are living and trying to be successful in a world that isn't designed for us, and yes, it sucks. But complaining and wallowing in self-pity accomplishes nothing except proving them right--that we are "damaged," "useless," "pathetic"...any of the names that I myself have been called and I'm sure others have been, too.
I know it's hard, but you have to stop listening to their voices, the voices that condemn you to failure, and listen to YOUR voice--the voice that says "I graduated from law school. I kick ass!" I mean, that's a HUGE accomplishment, and it says so much about you that you fought against those long odds and persevered and got that damn degree, despite what anyone said.
People told my parents I'd never go to a regular high school, let alone college, and that I'd work in a sheltered environment. This year, I'm about to graduate grad school with my Masters degree in Applied Behavior Analysis. I'm a writer, a public speaker, an activist and advocate for all people on the autism spectrum. I have had the fortune to have my voice heard, and so I especially try to represent the people whose voices haven't been heard. I know your frustration and your pain so well because they were once my own, too.
It would be very easy to use my diagnosis as a crutch--when I was younger, I used to say, "It's not my fault...I have Asperger's Syndrome." But blaming everything on the disorder is just as bad as not wanting it to exist. It's not all of who you are, but it's a part--a part that can either be negative or positive. And people that would abuse or try to take advantage of you don't do so because you have autism--it's because they perceive that you are vulnerable and not someone who would stand up for yourself. But if you do, if you have confidence and believe in yourself, they won't be able to push you around.
For me, having Asperger's Syndrome was once all negative, but rather than being crushed under the weight of it, I've used it to try and make a difference in the world. Look at it as an asset--a perspective that you have that NO ONE else does. With that and your law degree, I know you can change the world, too, and help to ensure that no one ever goes through what folks like you and I have gone through, ever again."
Her comments belied a bitterness towards the world because of abuse she's suffered over the years and a general resentment towards having autism. She was basically feeling sorry for herself and saying that no one would try to treat her this way if she didn't have autism, and she was angry that no one "had the guts" to stand up for her. So I felt a very great need to respond to all of this, and this is what I wrote:
"Sometimes, when no one else will stand up for us, we have to have the guts to stand up for ourselves. Do you think there are any of us who HAVEN'T had the 'system' fail us? We are living and trying to be successful in a world that isn't designed for us, and yes, it sucks. But complaining and wallowing in self-pity accomplishes nothing except proving them right--that we are "damaged," "useless," "pathetic"...any of the names that I myself have been called and I'm sure others have been, too.
I know it's hard, but you have to stop listening to their voices, the voices that condemn you to failure, and listen to YOUR voice--the voice that says "I graduated from law school. I kick ass!" I mean, that's a HUGE accomplishment, and it says so much about you that you fought against those long odds and persevered and got that damn degree, despite what anyone said.
People told my parents I'd never go to a regular high school, let alone college, and that I'd work in a sheltered environment. This year, I'm about to graduate grad school with my Masters degree in Applied Behavior Analysis. I'm a writer, a public speaker, an activist and advocate for all people on the autism spectrum. I have had the fortune to have my voice heard, and so I especially try to represent the people whose voices haven't been heard. I know your frustration and your pain so well because they were once my own, too.
It would be very easy to use my diagnosis as a crutch--when I was younger, I used to say, "It's not my fault...I have Asperger's Syndrome." But blaming everything on the disorder is just as bad as not wanting it to exist. It's not all of who you are, but it's a part--a part that can either be negative or positive. And people that would abuse or try to take advantage of you don't do so because you have autism--it's because they perceive that you are vulnerable and not someone who would stand up for yourself. But if you do, if you have confidence and believe in yourself, they won't be able to push you around.
For me, having Asperger's Syndrome was once all negative, but rather than being crushed under the weight of it, I've used it to try and make a difference in the world. Look at it as an asset--a perspective that you have that NO ONE else does. With that and your law degree, I know you can change the world, too, and help to ensure that no one ever goes through what folks like you and I have gone through, ever again."
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