Mutant and Proud


I’m still basking in the glory of what was the wonderfulness of the new X-Men movie.  I know only cursory history of the X-Men from the comics.  I was not a huge X-Men geek.  I have always and forever had my heart taken away by John Constantine in Hellblazer.

However, as someone on the spectrum, I completely relate to and am completely enamoured of the idea that mutation in all of its forms is the wave of the future and that like it or not and neurotypicals be damned, we are coming and we are here. We are aware and we are no longer hiding.

So, the main gist of the movie is to give us a little more insight into the background of Magneto and why he is so evil.  It helps us to empathize with his position that it is an “us” and “them” mentality that the world has. We must adapt and make a niche for ourselves.

It also gives us some amazing background on the character of Mystique.  Who knew that she was ****spoiler alert**** the adopted sister of Professor X?  Like I said, I am not an X-Men comic connoseiur.  I was extremely interested to learn about the origins of the X-Men Academy.  It was fantastic!

So, we need to point out the main theme of the movie.  Mutant and Proud.  It’s long held in the Asperger’s community that AS is the next step in evolution. The next step up in intelligence and focus.

I was so deeply touched by the ideas that were put forth.  Should we hide our difference to fit in and be accepted?  Should we wave it around like a flag and risk rejection?  Should we make it more acceptable and more easily tolerated by others who do not understand it?  Should we dismiss it completely and ignore it?

In my younger days I tried very hard to fit in and be like everyone else.  It never really worked and then I was miserable.  The only time I was happy was when I was reading, writing, or sitting in a bar listening to bands.  In my young adult years, I listened to some idiot tell me that something was wrong with the way I felt, the way I thought, and the way I did things.  I was still miserable and stopped doing the things that did make me happy.

Now that I’m 42, I don’t care.  I’m so obviously not the same, that I can’t hide it.  From the purple streaks in my hair to the way that I assess facts and put them into palatable patterns.  It’s just the way that it is.  However, at this time in my life, I have learned what is important and what makes me happy.  I have learned that the people that are critical of me, are not worth my time and I have learned who my true friends are.

I have learned who I am and not to be ashamed of it.  I have learned why my opinions are the way that they are that I should stick to them and be proud of them.  I have learned that I am worthwhile and I matter.  I am just as valid as anyone else.

So, the messages of the movies are these.  That those of us who are different have the ability to scare others because of our talents, etc.  Whaat we do with that knowledge shapes how we relate to the cookie cutter people.  I know that sounds confrontational.  But it’s reality.  Those of us who are different have to make a conscious decision about how to temper ourselves to be accepted. On the other hand, we also have to make that decision about how much we care about that acceptance.

The message also is that people who are different can contribute to the world just like everyone else….the difference being that in the world of X-Men, people who are different have to make a choice to be good or evil.  I suppose that everyone must make this decision just not in such absolute terms.   It is important to note that our contributions are occasionally more substantial because of the way that our brains put information together and interpret it.

I was in love with these themes.  Hide our differences or not?  Be recognised for our differences and demand that the world adapt, or move quietly in the background like Hank?  Contribute to the betterment of mankind in general realising that we are all people? Or forsake humanity for their stupidity and work to constantly remind them of that stupidity?

The choices are all ours.  We must all work together.  At some point we will need the help of someone who does not think the way that we do and we will have to be led through some system of social workings by that person.  That’s reality.  We

I walked away wishing that everyone who was different would walk away from life knowing that there is something about them that is wonderful and worthwhile.  It may not be today.  And we must all realise that we make our own destinites and that we are the only ones who can determine how we feel and how we deal with those feelings.

So, I also walked away wishing that our kids did not have to go through the same pain that we lived through to get to the same place.  In reality, I feel that I went through it, my son shouldn’t have to.  But here he is.  Going through hell for the same ends seems like a  lot of extra trouble for nothing.  I tried to give him the tools tha the would need to get through life with a measure of confidence that I was never allowed to have.

We can give our children the message that it is truly okay to be different.  However, the world doesn’t truly support this difference.  Sigh…I’m appalled that humankind hasn’t evolved anymore than that. And thank goodness that I have.

Advertisements

A belated blog post


I have been horribly negligent of the blog.  It’s mostly because we’ve had a lot going on and then we were on vacation for two weeks and then were bombarded again.

So to catch you all back  up to date, I had to go to court again at the end of May.  Of course it was the same old crap.  Although the judge did actually tell me that we were there to hear my side of the story.  No one listened, but we were there to hear it all. So this is the bits of pieces that I wrote while waiting and my commentary on the after effects of it all.  Next a mutant blog!

It’s so dementedly disturbing waiting outside court.  It’s a disorienting look at human nature and what it thinks is appropriate.  My ex always comes to court looking like he hasn’t bathed in 6 weeks.  He’s almost always wearing something that looks like he’s been sleeping in it for at least a week and that he’s slopped at least 2 meals down the front of it.

Two kids walk in wearing torn up jeans and t-shirts with inappropriate slogans.  They look like these clothes were their pajamas as well.  Some people wear what I presume are in Indiana standards, their good jeans.  The lawyers all look like slightly rumpled sharks and are fat and happy.  I always think that the picking must be good at the bottom of the sludgepile where they feed.  My ex’s lawyers are the fattest of all.  They have found a particularly good bit of sludge to eat from.  My ex is about 450 pounds, he’s probably the cream of the crop in sludge.

I always take deep breaths and try to keep my brain totally blank. There are so many awful social rules in court and I don’t understand any of them.  I wish someone would write a manual for autistic people who have to deal with the legal system.  Every subtle nuance-y rule seems like it’s amplified times 100 and the punishments for not following the rules seem so much more extreme.

I watch everyone carefully and concentrate hard on repressing my tics.  I’m sure that magnifies my stress level by somewhere close to a million.  I try very haard to not think of this as some kind of freak circus where the illusion is that my ex is a decent human being and therefore worthy of his words weighing more than mine.  But that is exactly what has happened though.  Unfortuneately for him, divorce court issued me x-ray vision and I now can see every lie for exactly what it is.  Of course, for some reason everyone else in this seems to have been issued rose coloured blinders.  For some reason these blinders make him look like some kind of upstanding guy when he’s really a small little man who hides behind facades.  How crafty he is to have learned such important lessons from his father.  Isolate the people you abuse and jump on a church bandwagon.

In all of this, I muse if the Bible banger that figured out the exact date for the Apocalypse could have made a gross miscalculaation of 24 hours?

The zoo in the waiting area has increased.  The mood has escalated and you can feel the anger and the mistrust and the evilness jusst seeping into the air.  It’s a noxious pool of toxic waste. It’s everything I can do to stop myself from throwing up.  This air is not good for autistic people who are barometers of human emotion.

It amazes me how unsafe I always feel in this place.  I know that it’s mostly because coming to court and having to be with my ex makes me remember every strike and every awful word that he ever said.  It makes me have to deal with emotions that I very successfully repress in my real life.  I know that it’s also because I am so stressed and I know that my brain does not function well under stress.  It doesn’t really function at all.  It tries to wrap me up in a little cocoon and protect me.

I know that they’ve done tons of research on Asperger’s and everything is carefully calculated to knock me off kilter.  I spend all of my energy just holding myself together.  There isn’t anything left over.  The other part of all of this is the unfairness of every decision. The judge threatens to throw me in jail every time I turn around.

I thought that once my son was 18 that all of this would be over.  But it’s not.  I always try to keep it in the back of my mind that my ex has some overwhelming feelings to want to hurt me so badly.  I don’t care and I am left sitting here an empty shell with no feelings or anything.  I don’t even care enough to hate him anymore.

It feel so poisonous in court that I can hardly breathe.

In the end, my ex’s lawyers tried to make it look as if I’m an idiot and that my appeal was a childish effort to strike out at my ex for taking my son away.  If only my motivation had been so simple.  In the end, they’ve decided that I’m going to fork out another $7000 in lawyer fees.  Seriously?  I must be sitting on a winning lottery ticket that I don’t know about.  It’s insane.  Where is all this money supposed to come from?

In the end, I am still in the same place.  I have no idea if my son is even actually alive, at this point I have doubts.  I have no idea what his mental state is, although, I am guessing fragile and fragmented at the very best.  I try to not think about it because frankly that well of depression just seems way too deep.

I can’t understand how the judge does not understand how his actions have tempered the course of events.  It’s frightening to me that he has gotten away with calling me retarded and telling me that I’m unfit as a human.  I realise that part of this is because my ex’s lawyers have done their research and understand how to hit me the hardest.

In the end, the judgement makes no difference.  There is no money for them to have.  There is nothing left for them to take that is imp0rtant to me.  All other relationships in my life are coloured by these court interactions.  All other measurements of trust are held up against these interactions.  All other measurements for safety are held up against this.  It’s just the way that it is.

I have no faith in the legal system.  I have no trust in it or in the officers that it employs.  I have no faith that the system will take care of those who cannot take care of themselves, because the system is there to hurt and belittle and step on you.  Don’t ever believe anything different.  My goodness these evil people have made me cynical!

Nothing has changed.

The vacation has made the next step very clear.
Watch out living entity of evil, I’m coming back for more.