What's going on...

[foxkits]

Well, hello again. It's almost October, 2023 and...it's been a day. Not bad...just could've been better.

After arriving in Louisville on June 7 this year, getting off the plane, getting into the Metro and driving back...I made it as far as west Indiana, pulled into a safe place, shut down and tried winding down a bit in the car, in the smoky dark...the smoke from those Canadian wildfires. And I gave thought to the airline flight over earlier that day...and the near-midair collision 2 years back...and all the flights in-between...

It then-and-there occurred to me that flying wasn't fun anymore. And decided it was time to keep my feet on the ground awhile. How long was anyone's guess, let's just call it "until further notice". And the next thing I knew...my eyes were opening to the sunrise. In the thought of it all, I'd fallen asleep, got 5 hours of it and woke up. Warmed up the car, looked around, pressed on in the hazy, brightening morning.

Once arriving, the fact of my decision became known to two people: my friend whose Camaro I'm helping on...and my father. Both are pilots. They reserved their opinions when I told them...but now, they come out:

• My friend owns a Cessna 172 and wants us both to commute together when tasks up north pop up. After I reminded him I'd rather drive up on my own dime and arrive at his arrival, his frustration came out: he feels this is an affront to both his hospitality & flying skills...and thinks I am overreacting to the near-midair collision;
• Dad's no longer licensed but flies with friends, takes the yoke sometimes. Tonight, we talked on the phone and aviation pops up briefly...and he says "Oh, that's right, you don't fly anymore", in a disturbing tone. I tell him I just need time...if anyone knows how terrified I could've been 2 years ago and how terrified I was nearly 49 years ago...it'd be him. He was there for the former, as pilot-in-command; it wasn't his fault at all...only he and the instructor know how truly terrified I was.

The first near-midair was enough...but I bounced back and was flying again within days. This time...it was different: I saw it happen, I saw the other plane. Your mind, over the hours, in disbelief, chews on it, chews on the facts: 39,000 feet up, 590 miles per hour, 45 below zero outside...impact. Instant decompression, instant body-cavity expansions, instant death. Hundreds of bodies fall to Earth, along with wreckage. It's all over for everybody...and almost all over for the event. Just the last of the debris to fall to the ground. Then recovery, the families notified, the investigation, funerals, investigation wrap-up, lawsuits, grieving loved ones...a memorial erected at the site. Moving on.

All this and more was swirling in my mind 2 days later when I crumbled into a nervous breakdown. A few days later, I was forced to fly back home...it was the third-worst flight of my life. Then 2 months later, I flew back to Boise to get my minivan, trailer & stuff. That wasn't fun, neither...but I tried. As well as this last time.

It angers me when people I know don't really listen. It shows they don't care. And if the people who know you best don't seem to listen of care, it makes life a bit more lonely. Careless utterances hurt. And I just stop trusting them, stop talking to them.

Someday, I just might find the fun in flying again, who knows? But for now, I need my feet firmly on the ground awhile, only God knows how long. Need time. Need space. Need respect. Why is that so <expletive> hard for others to understand???

Hey you can enjoy flying drones with your feet on the ground

 

[BobbiSueEllen]

Just woke up a bit ago, did some reading of others' struggle posts. On one post, I'd shared how, in my instance, undiagnosed autism played a big part in my insatiable cravings to not only wear diapers but live like a toddler girl. We all have various, diverse reasons why we're so deeply drawn into diapers...and for the divisive conflict within us all about wearing.

Ever since before I first got back in diapers, there had been this elusive, dark, sinister being watching me from the shadows. I could feel their presence, couldn't shake them. At all. At times, I'd catch a glimpse of this Shadow-Person out of the corner of my eye, turn quickly...gone. It frustrated me to no end...and it never left, ever hovering, ever watching me.

Then, after decades...I was told I have autism. It put me into months of a tailspin of anger, rage...hate of others, self-hate. Things I'd done to others, things done to me. If this was anything like an LSD trip, I'd dare say this was far more intense...very 3-D, very touchable...very real. With the Shadow-Person still watching me all the while, just out of view. And when it suddenly stopped...calm. It was all over. Like an epic hurricane. Just over. And Bobbi Sue Ellen came out of the aftermath, came out to play.

And then, too, the Shadow-Person revealed itself: autism. And it took to my side and has been there ever since, no longer a shadow. We're companions now, wherever we go. But I suspected there was more to it...and after just over an hour ago, I find I was right. And it took a Star Trek episode this past weekend to find out...

The episode was "The Enemy Within", where during a transporter incident Captain Kirk is split into his two halves...two Kirks. Very much looking alike, ever so different in nature. And the two of them observing, struggling cat-and-mouse against one another until the crew fixes the matter after retransporting both Kirks back into one.

It finally occurred to me and I learned a little more: my Companion, the former Shadow-Person, is more than just autism...it's me with autism. I was my own Shadow-Person, curiously, somberly trying to learn about myself from the outside looking in, trying to understand with every new observation, every new day. There, but apart, day after day, into the tens of thousands of days, darting out of my own view lest I be found out.

For now, we are like two Kirks wherever we go. I wonder if we'll ever unite into one, or what it'll take to do so. But we do it alone, without so-called 'professional help' because this is something that can't be fixed in the shortwhile, with hour-long $150 couch-trips; I have to do this alone..."with a little help from my friends'...because this is not an event. This is a journey, and this journey will take my entire life.

With a few rest stops along the way, of course. And hopefully another Diaper Camp or two.

And to hell with 'the professionals', because my journey should not have to finance their BMWs...or their own hypocritical, schadenfreud lifestyle/alcohol habits. And we know they have 'em.

And we know we're only relevant to them while the meter clicks. And just wait 'til you see what they scribble about you on their pads while they soothe-talk you! I sure did. And it was so insultingly two-faced. I'd rather get my help the hard way...from trial-&-tribulation. That's the journey, after all.

And my journey requires baby steps...because I am a baby. With the eyes, mind, heart and soul of a baby girl. In diapers. And dresses. And all the stuff a baby girl needs, including my dearest love, Bonnie. So I'll drag it all with me until this journey's done and The Other Journey begins. And I'm gonna go there free.

This has been
yet another
Tales from the Crib
segment. ​

 

[BobbiSueEllen]

Time doesn't always heal all wounds.

 

[foxkits]

Time doesn't always heal all wounds.

You're not alone. There are many of us that our little part of us will be with us all our life.what ever the reason.

 

[BobbiSueEllen]

This is frustrating: the doc is a bit irritated because I haven't returned my Cologuard kit. And is recommending a colonoscopy.

Two problems: two days before my kit arrived, my 'specimenage' went liquid...and has remained so. Unviable specimens. And I've tried everything to improve it...with no success. Doc's frustrated, Cologuard daily reminds me I haven't sent my kit in, despite me calling and informing them why, twice. I'm frustrated.

Doc wants me to go in for the colonoscopy. I said only if they skip the IV. They do colonoscopies routinely in Europe without IVs and that's how I want mine. "We don't do it that way here in the US", they say. Fair 'nuff...I won't do one then.

• I have nobody to drive me home in a semi-sedated state...and I don't do monetary transactions or sign/agree to anything while incapacitated, e.g. pay an opportunistic Lyft/Uber driver;
• They use Propofol. I am very leery of that drug, which they jokingly call "milk of amnesia"; Wikipedia has touched upon its "street-drug" grade of abuse by many, including medical workers...but not about its potential for misuse on people, such as for rape or other abuses on patients by medical personnel, law enforcement, government, so on. Wikipedia states that Propofol "is on the World Health Organization's List of Essential Medicines"...which, at that barely-qualified rate, is reminiscent of when Time Magazine awarded Adolf Hitler their Man of the Year Award in 1938...a careless, willy-nilly endorsement. Propofol is also used for euthanasia...and;
• I am terrified of IVs. In early 1993, I attempted suicide with an IV setup...even successfully inserted the catheter into a vein in my arm. That left an impression.

This whole matter is frustrating, so I gave up. Decided to lean upon the adage of "I will not waste my days trying to prolong them. I shall use my time" and leave it at that.

 

[PaigeCherubiel]

My wife and I haven't returned our Cologuard kits either, and its been "radio silence" for over a year. Maybe the fact that the prescribing doctor has retired has something to do with it. And Propofol was what killed Michael Jackson, as I recall.

 

[foxkits]

This is frustrating: the doc is a bit irritated because I haven't returned my Cologuard kit. And is recommending a colonoscopy.

Two problems: two days before my kit arrived, my 'specimenage' went liquid...and has remained so. Unviable specimens. And I've tried everything to improve it...with no success. Doc's frustrated, Cologuard daily reminds me I haven't sent my kit in, despite me calling and informing them why, twice. I'm frustrated.

Doc wants me to go in for the colonoscopy. I said only if they skip the IV. They do colonoscopies routinely in Europe without IVs and that's how I want mine. "We don't do it that way here in the US", they say. Fair 'nuff...I won't do one then.

• I have nobody to drive me home in a semi-sedated state...and I don't do monetary transactions or sign/agree to anything while incapacitated, e.g. pay an opportunistic Lyft/Uber driver;
• They use Propofol. I am very leery of that drug, which they jokingly call "milk of amnesia"; Wikipedia has touched upon its "street-drug" grade of abuse by many, including medical workers...but not about its potential for misuse on people, such as for rape or other abuses on patients by medical personnel, law enforcement, government, so on. Wikipedia states that Propofol "is on the World Health Organization's List of Essential Medicines"...which, at that barely-qualified rate, is reminiscent of when Time Magazine awarded Adolf Hitler their Man of the Year Award in 1938...a careless, willy-nilly endorsement. Propofol is also used for euthanasia...and;
• I am terrified of IVs. In early 1993, I attempted suicide with an IV setup...even successfully inserted the catheter into a vein in my arm. That left an impression.

This whole matter is frustrating, so I gave up. Decided to lean upon the adage of "I will not waste my days trying to prolong them. I shall use my time" and leave it at that.

There is logiccareits a national service to get people to there Dr appointments.

 

[LePew]

I think it would be wise for someone (like myself) to advise you to suck it up and get that colonoscopy.

1) You can figure out transportation arrangements if you had to. I hear ya, you got some personal rule of this and that. That’s nice but this is more important than that.
2) Yes they’ll use that drug that you don’t like. They’re the medical experts and that’s how they do it. Medical procedures aren’t a good time and they’re not supposed to be. Just let the professionals do their job their way.
3) No one likes IVs, you just have to suck it up. You’ll be scared, anxious, you might feel like fainting, you might faint. Again, this is a medical necessity, and never a pleasant experience for anyone. I’m terrified of IVs too (for different reasons than you) and nearly went into shock when they IVed me for my colonoscopy. It sucks but it’s just something you have to get through even if you don’t like it.

I’ve seen someone slowly die as they lost their battle with colon cancer over the course of a year. You don’t want this to happen to you, please believe me. It’s not a good way to die.

Please, do the medically responsible thing for yourself and get that colonoscopy so that any issues can be addressed quickly and relatively painlessly compared to full blown cancer.

Edit: sorry if this comes across as harsh but if you’re excusing yourself from a colonoscopy because it’s scary, unpleasant, and inconvenient then you need some tough love and a kick in the rump.

 

[KBoy]

I left a few cryptic messages on my profile yesterday which caused concern. I was not in a good frame of mind at all and a few people here got worried. I can't express my regret enough, believe it.

So, what's going on?

Simple. I'm a fool. The worst kind of fool. I'm a fool for my daughter and some may halfway applaud, halfway critique it. But this degree deserves more critique than applause. I became a fool for my daughter on the day my ex packed the kids and left on June 1, 2003. A wife is someone you love, someone you devote yourself to...but that is wholly overshadowed by the love and devotion due to a daughter. A wife is not blood...a daughter is. Fight as one might, sometimes the non-blood link fails. My body was failing. I was no good to her, apparently, so she left. Just as well, she was not only dabbling in criminal activity like Breaking & Entering, which left a trail of consequence coming right back to me & the kids...but over the entire run of our relationship, she cheated on me. I suspected it. It was confirmed when our divorce was finalized 2-1/2 years after she left. I just shrugged, there was no more breaking left to do. This body was already broken and this heart had already healed & calloused over.

My daughter, from Moment One, was heartbroken. One doesn't forget that. Between the day she drove off with her mother and the day I got her back, she'd lived a tough life of loneliness & heartache. "Mom"'s lot was not at all stable and she'd conned my daughter to believe in a "sisterhood", which 'worked': my daughter bought it and it tugged her 51% to her mother. She was confused, torn. She stayed devoted to her mother. Shortly after she discovered she was pregnant at 15-1/2, the 'sisterhood' crumbled. My ex didn't call me to ask for help...my daughter called me, sobbing, saying her mother kicked her out. Not even a good-bye. She said she had nowhere to go.

I said "No, that's not true. Come home". And she did.

After she returned, more truth came out: the mother had been lugging the kids from one bad scene to another. Bad. Zero stability. To make matters worse, she had stolen again...from her own children. When my daughter got her 50% value stipend from my Disability, it included a $21,500 lump-sum check. Her mother had it all spent in 6 weeks. A few months later, when my stepson joined the Army, he had gotten a $23,000 enlistment bonus...she spent $16,000 of that, quickly. She'd used ID theft and stabbed me with her medical bills, but thank God for divorce decrees because the creditors turned tail and went after her. She's still a wrecking-ball to this day, of her own undoing.

In a few years, time, my daughter her turned her life around: She got truth, she got reason. She got educated. In time, she got married. Now she's a professional, with a house she's buying and four children...my grandkids.

Know what it's like being a single dad of a daughter who's pregnant or with a baby? Demeaning. Extremely. And you wouldn't believe how much. Whenever I took my daughter to any clinic for a pre-natal or post-natal visit, the staffers there would ask her about 'her husband' with an eye on me, and she would grimace and say "Uh, no...he's my father". A staffer's look would go from curious to condemning. You can feel the hate. No, not 'contempt', because it's no better or worse than the word "hate". You feel it. And it doesn't stop there...it continues, with stores, restaurants, you name it. They don't ask...they judge. They might as well say it: "CHILD MOLESTER". And you wear their hate, whether you want to or not, no matter what the fact. I felt it the worst when I took my daughter & her newborn oldest daughter to Babies R Us, with a few hundred dollars to outfit the baby's corner. Staffers there noticed us, would not help us. We both felt it. Hate. We got the hint, bought one small item, paid at the stall of a snotty, hateful, middle-aged clerk. My daughter was weeping as she took the baby to the car and I told the clerk "You humiliated us. I brought my daughter here to buy a crib, a stroller, and every single one of you here not only didn't help us but knew we needed help and didn't care. And I don't know why you are all hateful to us and nobody else but--"

"We're not hateful."

"Oh, forgive me, I don't see 'love' for what it is then. My daughter is a teen mother who was attacked, chose to keep her baby. Her mother kicked her out. I am her father, I took her in. Now I know the rumors are true: your corporation hates single mothers."

"That's not--"

"It is! You just showed it. Your mouth failed you and your company. I will never again set foot in or buy anything from Babies R Us, Toys R Us, any of your subsidiaries. You lost my business forever. And I will tell others, I will crow it from rooftops and will be all over Facebook and the internet with it. You're banned. Goodbye!"

I complained everywhere, including their website. Toys R Us deferred it. But their site, their Facebook page, all the business review places showed an incredible amount of complaints: unfulfilled orders, registry-fund theft, gift-card funds theft, extremely-poor in-person, phone and online customer service, ranging from their teen-mom hate to other intangible reasons. All over the US and Canada. I felt a little better after Toys R US and Babies R Us crumbled. They had it coming, they got their due. What you reap, you sow. Good riddance of bad rubbish.

Today, shadows remain of a tough past. With all these blessing comes different kinds of problems. Everyone has way more clothes than they really need, and they end up a double-endless pile on the laundry-room floor. Dishes are hardly done. Games are broken. Toys are everywhere, tons of them. Nobody wants a clean place and the kids certainly would rather snap a finger, say "Clean it!" and then use a guilt-trip to invoke results. That doesn't work with a markedly-impaired-with-autism 13YO girl, an impressionable 10YO brainiac who's every bit her mother at the same age, an 8YO girl with autism who wants to be someone's loved little girl...and a 5YO rough-and-tumble boy whose attention is drawn to other things, like others his age. I think the parents see their oldest daughter as 'useless' and the two youngest aren't old enough. And so they call on the 10YO for everything. And her smile is vanishing. That breaks me up. Her parents won't teach the kids...they just play Finger of God. Snap. "Do it!" And so it must be done. And add two indoor cats to the mess. It used to be six kittens but now four are gone. Two are just as troublesome as six.

But none of it gets done. The parents have overwhelmed the kids with toys, clothes, blankets, dishes, cups. Almost all of it ends up in the sink, despite the presence of a working dishwasher, which I installed a few days after my flight which was almost hit by an oncoming jet and I was still in trauma. Nothing improves. At all. And this has been going on for 13 years...the worst of it since after my daughter got married.

So, back to the opening line. I'm the fool. Why? Because I got too involved. Without intending to, without trying, I hemmed in on the kids' marriage. Put pressure on them, unwittingly. How? Easy. I took their job over. Cleaning the place, feeding the kids, under the guise of helping...but more like fear. Tell me that doesn't impinge on a marriage. It does.

I am terrified of the grandkids' welfare. Of the kids' welfare. I am terrified that CPS will be called by someone and step in. Fear like this does not weigh good at all upon anyone, let alone a 56YO with severe fibro and moderate autism. I try, I struggle, I break. While my daughter's in a frenzy to keep the place going while 75% of the time her husband's at home, he's on the goddamned game console. And then he talks about wanting a $1,100 sport rifle or a Pontiac Firebird. BULLSHIT.

Know what it all comes to? Me. I'm the reason. I am the reason this is all crumbling. I'm a fool. Because I care too much. And I've pushed in on what the Bible calls "the marriage bed". It's more than just a bed, you know. Tell me I'm wrong. That's where my fear has led me to. I am a slave to fear. All the responsibilities, no room for rights & privileges, separate living space 11 miles away. Exhausted every day from pain, mental exhaustion, sadness, despair...fear.

The answer came to me last night after talking to a good friend: part of it was while I was writhing in bed, trying to get to sleep (got 5 hours), after an afternoon & evening of grief which saw me steer my minivan towards telephone poles, only to snap back after each one, missing them. Yes, I attempted suicide. I was spent. I came home, shook my fist at the sky, screamed. And then I cried, hard. But last night, after the tears were gone, as my skull ached, the answer hit. And it was simple...

I have to step back and let my daughter & her husband fall. They need to. They have to crumble, look at the ruin, see what it's really all about and rebuild. Get rid of the excess. Get close to their kids again. get close to each other again. I am the wedge. I must get out of the equation.

If I am still required to babysit (free of charge, of course, because family does not charge), then there are conditions will be levied:

• I will neither do their dishes nor bring mine over to do;
• I will neither do their laundry nor bring mine over to do;
• I will neither vacuum nor clean;
• I will not take another morsel of food from them, it is not right;
• I will not tend to their cats;
• I will rehome Elliott.

Meanwhile, I will let them struggle; they will either simplify & restructure or struggle, fall and rebuild. Nobody can become a winner unless they first experience & understand what it's like to lose. It's humility. It's what we all must experience. It cuts the bullshit out of our lives, makes us simple and victorious individuals. There is no life without defeat or loss; it has to happen. God knows I've lived long enough to lose enough and somehow rally back. So now, it's their turn.

There is a trigger-defense set up: if either of them mention 'going on meds', it will mean I pack my life and go back to Idaho. I have autism...I am NOT a mental case. And I am exhausted from my daughter's superiority complex and resultant, disrespectful asides & insults from her over-free mouth under her definition of "chummery". I am not her chum; I am her parent. Because whether I stay or leave, it's up to their attitudes. Or attitude. Because if they want anything good in life, they have to earn it themselves. They have to give up their vanity and Parent Up. Adult Up. They're just gonna have to wait for their toys. I'm 56 and I sure don't have many toys as comparable or as prestigious as they want right now. Now isn't the time to accessorize & brag...it's time for them to struggle towards the goal of raising good, honest, capable human beings. Time to Humble Down. I have to step away; how far is 100% up to them.

I'm done with it. I can't do this anymore.

I do not know what to say. Bobbi, you destroy preconceived ideas, even one's I have about myself. You deserve the support of this community, and shall definitely have mine.
Neil Peart was the best, Rock on BobbiSueEllen No Sarcasm, No Bullshit

 

[tschornaja]

[...]

• They use Propofol. I am very leery of that drug, which they jokingly call "milk of amnesia"

[...]

I had a colonoscopy with Propofol. When preparing I suddenly had a very short nap. When I woke up, I asked the nurse when they will start, but she already left the room. My bladder was almost bursting. I got up and sitting on the toilet I understood: enough time has passed for my bladder to fill up. Colonoscopy has ended. I felt very disconnected.

This said, I think, Propofol is a wonderful drug. It needs a lot of trust. It seems that you don't trust your colonoscopy center. In your situation I wouldn't agree to a treatment with sedating drugs, too. My wife accompanied me home and it was very comforting.

I hope, you find a solution. They removed five polyps and said I should return in three years. They even printed out pictures of my polyps for me.

 

[LePew]

This said, I think, Propofol is a wonderful drug. It needs a lot of trust

Trust for what exactly? Is it so hard to trust a medical center not to violate you while you’re sedated? Seriously, who would do that?

 

[BobbiSueEllen]

Trust for what exactly? Is it so hard to trust a medical center not to violate you while you’re sedated? Seriously, who would do that?

Well, trust is becoming more and more violated now but the matter isn't entirely about trust as much as it is about a drug which has many worrisome issues, even with the WHO's "Golden Boy" okie-dokie:

• Abuse: there are already lots of documented cases of people--from street junkies to active medical personnel--taking trips on propofol. Some have died from it, the most notable being Michael Jackson;
• Misuse: some reports of medical personnel misuse of propofol have emerged, ranging from petty theft to sexual misconduct. What's to stop various federal agencies from using it to interrogate and torture? And leave no memory-trace upon the victim? Plus police interrogations of victims/perpetrators under propofol in medical settings? It is very possible. If 19 sub-humans can fly four jetliners into buildings and the ground--a thought which had it been posed anytime before 9-11 would've been thought preposterous--anything can happen. I've lived long enough to see many things, once thought of as insane and/or impossible to humanity, happen. Schrödinger's Cat has infinitely less plausibility, and;
• Euthanasia: propofol is one of the main components in the death-penalty lethal-injection 'cocktail' here in the US. Its use alone can kill. Documented.

I can understand removing pain in medical procedures; what I can't understand is removing memory of it. Too darn convenient...for all. The potential for harm is too great for the perceived 'payoff'.

 

[BobbiSueEllen]

I never mentioned this...but a few weeks back, I finally told my landlord & his wife--they're both in their mid-30s and very open-minded--that they have a baby in the house and that the thing I was working on this past summer was an adult-sized crib...and that I'm AB/DL. Before that moment, they had little-to-no idea.

We've always gotten along very well: other renters came & went, whether they left on their own or were asked to leave...and rarely forced out by court action. When I left for Kentucky, they said I could move back anytime, if needed...and they wrote for me a Letter of Recommendation, should I have needed it, saying I was the best tenant they ever had and that I am highly recommended. That letter, along with my reference sheet of prior landlords, stood out fabulously. It impressed a few people in Kentucky...unfortunately, it also impressed the "forklift" (which is what I call Shysters...take away the S and you have Hyster, a forklift maker) who rented that Radcliff dump to me in deceit. And finally, it came the time to beg...and my landlord-friends really came through in the clutch. So I moved back, into the largest upstairs bedroom there. I'd've settles for less but the one guy who was occupying it before I arrived couldn't afford it anymore, took a smaller room to save money. I can definitely afford this!

But back to the conversation: one day, recently, I was upset, depressed; they lent an ear. They'd seen me working on something weeks earlier, they thought it was a bed. It was and is...somewhat. They flinched not once when I told them it was a crib, like a baby's crib. A big one. They were piqued...they knew more was on the way. Shrewd of them...

It finally got said: "What this is, it's not illegal and not unsafe or dangerous for children or adults, but it is misunderstood. It's my lifestyle, something I've been into for 42 years now". Eyebrows went up...you could tell they were thinking "42 years?!?!" and I continued: "I am supremely discreet, supremely respectful about it. I'm AB/DL."

They were both blank. "What's that?"

"It runs along the same lines as the crib. AB means Adult Baby and DL means Diaper Lover."

You could tell some gears were going in their heads, but not that furiously. "What does that mean?"

"It means I love dressing, living like a baby--a toddler--in my own space. I wear diapers, enjoy my crib, color in coloring books, play with toys; I also have me-sized bottles and pacifiers, and I love to cuddle Bonnie, my life-mate bear," which melted the wife; "It's part of my autism...not saying all of us are this way but many of us are. It's for sensory comfort, consolation, peace. It's how we who do this process and manage stress of autism and life with it. I was a DL before 2000 and converted to AB."

No upsetness or anything. So far, so good. From then on, I knew they were friends I could trust 100%; before that, it was 99 and 44/100%. The line was crossed...they approved. There's nothing about me they don't know now.

The wife spoke up: "I knew something was going on when you were making that...that bed, I thought it was...and before that, when you drove up in the minivan and I saw your teddy bears, I knew more than ever that you were an alright person!" Utter melt...very happy.

Then he told me: "It's okay! We're okay with it, even the diapers. And she and I talked it over before...you are always welcome here and you can stay here until you get older and pass away if you want." That was humbling...and broke me to tears. And then the hugs...I was speechless.

Once that was over, he said "So, is there anything more to this?"

"Well...as a matter of fact, yes. The baby part...I'm a 2-year-old baby girl, right down to the dresses and nighties." And she awwed. I melted yet again. They haven't seen the bedroom yet, it may happen...but only if they ask. And I'll gladly show them. I told them I also have a toy chest, rocking chair, high-chair and a diaper pail. They were okay with it all.

So, all-in-all, I still have bad days over the family debacle. But this coming-out really buoyed me enough to help endure this life crisis adequately. So, I keep going. The encouragement helped me finish the move, get some things done, clean up...and is helping me think a little clearer about 6 months from now, when the year's up. I'm leaving that in flux...but two things are for sure:

• I'm never again setting foot in the state of Kentucky, which will require further negotiation, and;
• I've got the best friends in the entire world...both here in Idaho and here at ADISC.

I am rich beyond compare, my cup truly runneth over. Thank you!

 

[LePew]

congrats on that awesome level of acceptance! It must have been scary explaining this to them but it went great.

 

[Edgewater]

It is that small, but real part of this World that contain 'Nice People'!!
It is important to take measure first, time helps to see them in a cross-section of life experiences, but they are there!
Far too few are just too busy and into their World to look around and find them.
Happy that you have begun this process!
Hugs, Good Friend!!

 

[killahB]

• I'm never again setting foot in the state of Kentucky, which will require further negotiation,

If I ever do the Bourbon trail thing like I hope to some fie day, I'll tell Kentucky how you feel about them (after I have purchased my desired Bourbon)!

 

[BobbiSueEllen]

Could things get any worse? Everything's falling apart today...

 

[KBoy]

O Bobbi, it's a support group, what is wrong?

 

[LePew]

Oh no, I’m sorry! Don’t know what’s going on but I’m sorry it’s hard on you.

 

[Edgewater]

In the darkest corner there is always a light, sometimes that light may take a few hours to filter in from the morning's Sunrise. Sometimes it comes from us accepting the darkness and turning on a light.

Regardless of what is happening, you have a large support group that cares about you!

Huge Warm Hugs Good Friend!