…is about getting home at last.
After a bout with tobacco in my hair which freaked me out (see Living with COPD), also thinking of another moment recently when I vaguely thought of “The Rain Man,” A Dustin Hoffman/Tom Cruise movie from the mid-80’s; I realized something. In the other moment when I vaguely thought of “The Rain Man,” a movie about a seriously autistic brother, I was putting my hands over my ears and standing still with my head down as the siren sounded when I pushed the wrong exit door in the courthouse. Well, maybe my fingers were through my hair, I don’t remember. Anyway, at the time, I thought that this was somewhat autistic behavior.
Autism, or rather Asperger’s Syndrome, has been a theme with me lately. I see that my father doubtless has it, like Bill Gates.
When I got the tobacco in my hair (wet fingers while rolling a cigarette using my rolling machine) I totally freaked. Now this was partly because sticky tobacco against your fragile scalp really does transmit nicotine directly to your brain. The feeling progressed. An hour later, I have had a shower and have a slight headache and feel nauseous. Nicotine poisoning. I think the leaves are still in my scalp but they are rinsed now. They just itch a litle. Anyway now I am thinking of that isolated incident in my childhood when I went to bang my head against the wall while my mother fiddled with my brother in the other room in the usual nighttime routine of putting him to bed. I just got a sweet “goodnight.”
I used to do so many things that were strange like that that I can’t even begin to give you an example. I thought it was anxiety, I thought it was this, I thought it was that–a panic disorder. My doctors thought it was schizophrenia (to be honest; they always said “schizo-affective,” which doesn’t really mean anything, just that they don’t really know.) Somewhat unbelievably, I was, I think, an ambulatory autist. Not Asperger’s syndrome but full-fledged autism. I was painfully good at math. Better than my father, who used to have to fight for first place over second. Me, I always wrecked the grading curve.
And I think that my son has it too as well as his father’s profound understanding of the human, both at the same time and I am wondering what my poor mother, whom I called shortly after the tobacco started stinging, is thinking about being the caretaker for three autists.
It might help her to know. So my mental journey today is HOME. Back to a place where I don’t have to do things I can’t do. Where I can bang my head against the wall if I feel like it and not worry about it. The only remaining doubt about this diagnosis, in my mind is the head injury at 2. My son had about 3 of them.
I was never meant to be a mother. Well, obviously, I was, because all life is God-given. I wish I knew where home was for him.
I have an appointment with a neurologist in the works. I hope that we can get to the bottom of all this.