Despite the fact that the military does everything in its power to make the move easy, it is always an emotionally and physically draining experience.  The most painful part is the “hurry up and stop-iness” of  the whole process.  Three months (if you are extremely lucky) prior to the move you are told where you will be moving then you do everything you can to sell your house at break neck speeds and the insanity halts for a few days while the wise civil servants decide when to send you to find another home…then there is a mad dash to get the dogs to the kennel or the kids a sitter and you depart to find a home in 3-5 days.  No easy feat in itself.  When you find your future home and return the stop and wait starts.  For a few weeks you wait for the movers to come and then it is hurry up and  ”pack, load, move” all condensed into 3 days.  Then the road trip begins, us and our two beautiful Newfie dogs in a small car across the country.  Thank God for rest stops and hotels.

I am part way through this process again. Patiently waiting to find out when we will depart to find our new home.  We have 3 weeks left until the move so the trip better be successful!  Moving to military housing is always risky, it could be good but it could be horrible, especially here in the great white north, but with so little time to find a house it is our only choice right now.  

I know this might seem like a rant against being a military spouse, it really is not.  Sure there are inconveniences and sometimes frustrations but it is a life that is full of adventure and pride.  Being a military spouse may not be for everyone but I love my life and would not change it for anything.

Yesterday was my convocation from three long years of graduate school but it was not about me.  You see my mother has a penchant for making all things about her including my college graduation, my first wedding and even my high school graduation.  It seems she believes that these are appropriate times to do things which often make my sister and I wonder whether there is actually a camera hidden somewhere.  Let me begin by telling you about my day yesterday and then maybe I will start at the very beginning so this story makes more sense.

1. That night would be the last time in the next twenty four hours that I felt at ease.
2. As an aside my mother also felt my wedding day was about her…

After we arrived at the location of the convocation my poor sister and fiancée had the pleasure of babysitting my crazy mother while I enjoyed the relative quiet calm of the ceremony.  Fortunately for me I was not present for my mother’s bizarre behaviour which of course drew attention to her and away from the ceremony itself.  I do not make light of the fact that she is indeed mentally ill, but I am constantly amazed that despite this I am still hurt when she insists all events revolve around her.  Throughout the ceremony she managed to get up and walk around 16 times, come back and remove her shoes as well as eat (loudly) a bag of chips which she attempted to share with my fiancée by shoving them into his mouth.  She also randomly spoke to strangers about random topics proving to be embarrassing enough for the rest of my family but she also tried to set my sister with an innocent bystander only to remember a minute later she is not even single.   After all this she feigned exhaustion and retired to bed at 6:30 pm rendering my celebratory dinner over before it began.  It ended up consisting of drive thru burgers which my sister, fiancée and I ate around my dining room table.

What I learned today was that despite all my hard work, my graduation was not about me.  Maybe tomorrow…

I began to speak at a very young age but never spoke baby talk, my mom often referred to me as a ‘little adult’ and that was fine with me.  I had plenty of friends, they were usually my parents adult friends or the boys from my class.  I found girls to complicated with their multi leveled systems of communication.  I was blessed with a sister 7 years my senior who loved me and thought nothing of my odd behaviours, chalking them up to me being me.  My early life was riddled with seizures and brain scans.  Not a life I wish on anyone.

Whatever was making me behave these ways was overshadowed by the fact that my mother was suffering from manic depression which began prior to my birth, so my good grades and overall lack of rebellion were never questionned, just accepted. 

My biggest problems stemmed from my choice in men later in my life.  My first husband was a nice man, though he was emotionally distant and I feel too much but sometimes lack the ability to express it so that marriage failed.  Before this I tried my hand at dating and had one successful high school relationship in part due to my boyfriends extreme intelligence and logic.   I am now in a happy relationship with a man who is highly intelligence and very understanding of me and my ways.  Though he is not at all autistic he is a rocket scientist and works in a field which is filled with people like me.

I have difficulty making emotional attachments and have throughout my life thought that having only one or two friends was plenty.  That being said when I do form an attachment it is extreme and dedicated and the pain I feel when it ends is palpable.  I have feelings and care deeply and resent when people tell me I do not. 

The stereotypes shown in the media of Autism and Asperger’s are both positive (Sheldon on Big Bang Theory) and negative (see Boston Legal and Grey’s Anatomy).  I can relate more to Sheldon as I have a few friends, I am obsessed with my academic research and do not like changes in my routine….I am not a rambling and completely unsympathetic monster and I can function in society.

I am proud of who I am.  Autism is part of who I am but it does not define me.  I am an academic, a writer, a friend, a loving dog owner and most importantly a soon to be wife.

I am sure there are a million therapists and psychiatrists who can answer that question in a rational and scientific way but I am not sure that will help here.  Believe me I understand the feelings of helplessness and sadness that lead one to contemplate suicide, I have been there but it is necessary to to take a step back and wonder….what about my mom?  Will she ever forgive herself?  What about my sister?  Will she forgive me?  My poor dad.  What about my husband/wife?  What will this do to them?

The guilt instilled in me by my Roman Catholic upbringing stops me every time and the feelings os despair  eventually give way to happiness.  Believe me I am thankful everyday that I chose to live.  But that does not change the sadness my friend has left.  It was so unlike her to be selfish, she was always considerate about the feelings of others, its like she had a momentary lapse of judgement; it should not have been a permanent one. 

Now everyone is left to pick up the pieces she left behind.  With no answers or clues its hard to put together this puzzle.  I hope that no matter the cause she has found the peace she was searching for.

“She flew up to heaven on the wings of angels”

Don’t get me wrong there are millions of intelligent people out there, my fiancee (a rocket scientist, no really thats what he does for a living) is one of them but, even he just looks at me with a blank start when I start yammering too long about the merits of the Dayton Plan in Bosnia and why such a thing would not work in Afghanistan and Iraq.  I mean he is interested but that is not exactly pillow talk. 

So today I start my blog.  Sending out my random and sometimes intelligble thoughts into the world. 

Wish me luck.