Crazy people are people too

You know how I say I'm crazy with pride? Well it depends on what crazy I'm referring to. The crazy that's me, that's always been me, the me dancing in weird places to make the clerk laugh or driving like a mad woman, that's a crazy I'm proud of. The diagnosis crazy, the stuff that's new to me, not so proud and highly embarrassed.

I also know not only what it's like to take care of crazy people, I know what it's like to be crazy. 

When I take care of my nephew, I want people to know he's crazy. He's a handful. He's difficult. I want people to know because it IS difficult to raise him. I earned it dealing with the crazy. I want you all to know for sympathy and an occasional pity party because I need those things to get by and keep me going. Everyone enjoys a good pity party once in a while. Don't even pretend you are immune to that. Even more, don't be the asshole who is all, "shut the fuck up, stop bitching, and live your life about it," because we all know you cower like a little bitch too on occasion and need a poor you minute. 

I know I'm not the only one. I read blogs of moms of special needs kids, and most do the same thing. It's so difficult to raise this kid. It's almost impossible at times. There are issues that have no solutions. These are things they actually do experience. Things they want the world to be more understanding of because of those people who say, "Suck it up it's called parenting." 

One time I was on a facebook group, and a mom of a kid with down syndrome went ape shit over someone calling a mean person retarded. I understand the word offends her. I understand her need to advocate for her son and release her inner pity party, but she went too far when she is offended that someone called someone else retarded because she believes her son is retarded. It makes him appear special needs more so than he already is to people.

Yes, we are flipping the picture here. As the person who is crazy, I'm sick of people treating me as such. Here's the deal. I have a diagnosis that should land me in a long-term care facility for the rest of my life. I'm not there. Instead, I'm at home cleaning the house, taking care of my kids, raising my kids, cooking meals, planning doctor appointments, handling all the finances, taking the kids to school... I'm still the person everyone calls when shit hits the fan, "Hey Michelle, tears, I don't know what to do, I need to pay my water bill and I don't have the money." Ok. I'll help. "Hey Michelle, come get me now before I kill my mother." Got it kid. I will pick you up mid-meltdown with all 3 kids with me, calm you down, and make you spaghetti. "Hey Michelle, I can't bring this kid lunch because I'm busy here at work, do you mind dropping some off?" Why not? I'm the crazy one right? Nevermind my life, what do you want me to cook for him? 

Now that I've more than proved I'm more capable of life than most non-crazy neurotypical people, then they follow it with:

• You can't make clear decisions because of your diagnosis.
• Nobody will take you seriously in court or in your kids' school because of your diagnosis; your husband will get instant custody of the kids in a divorce because of your diagnosis
• Your advice that will make things easier on you in the future when I come at you to fix my problem is something I can't follow because you are crazy and therefore have no credibility; and when you come at me later with, "I told you so," I'm going to believe you are making it all up because you are crazy. 
• You can't say crazy things like "she's gonna regret the day she pissed in my Cheerios," or "Patti has no idea her pet unicorn, Lord Burgess Atwood, loves to dance to showtunes from Rodgers and Hammerstein," because of your diagnosis, people will take it wrong. 
• You are making excuses for your crazy, in response to things like, "I'm running late because I overslept, and then the kids flooded the bathroom and one peed on the floor on our way out the door and I had to change her clothes and clean it up, and then they wanted food..." As if real life doesn't happen to me anymore because some Freudian Wannabe wrote something about me on paper. 

Let's not even get into...

Did you take your meds?

I hear this question every time I disagree with someone who knows my diagnosis. Heaven forbid I have my own opinion and it's not the same as yours. 

The one that really gets me. I'm not entitled to emotions anymore. If I have a feeling, it's somehow part of my crazy and a sign that I'm getting worse. Just because I am pissed at someone for pissing me off doesn't mean I am crazy. In fact, if I responded with a poker face, that would be a sign of a mental problem. When you respond to fight or flight mode with calm logic, you are fucking crazy, like kill the population by talking them into drinking bleach crazy. If someone stabs you, pain is a normal response. If someone you love calls you a cunt, pissed off is a normal response. If a stranger calls you a cunt, a little pissed off followed by, "Do I look like your mama?" is a normal response. 

From a crazy person to another. From a person who handles crazy person to another. Do not assume the crazy are incompetent. That's mean. Calling me retarded over a diagnosis is bad enough, but to take the extra steps to SHOW me that's what you think no matter how you word it? Now that's fucked up. Look at people for who they are. 

If I'm sitting here telling you the world is going to end on December 5, you need to stock up on water, first aid kits, chicken blood to ward off the vampires, and wear this aluminum hat until then so the aliens can't see you, ok then treat me like I'm retarded enough to need your help and that my advice might suck. If I'm telling you, "I thought about driving off a bridge yesterday," Ok, red flag. That doesn't mean I don't know what we should eat for dinner or that my advice on making a crazy person see a shrink is bad advice, but it is definitely a red flag. IF you see me in my bedroom for days without sleeping or eating and just crying, lots of crying, and I didn't take the kids to school or clean the house, hospitalize my ass. But if you see me taking my kids to school, cooking meals, worried about coming up with money for picture day (hey multiple kids, that shit is not cheap), you know, being responsible and shit, don't treat me like I'm drooling on myself plotting to lick the windows.

I'm not saying you are not entitled to your pity party for putting up with my ass. If I make you stop what you are doing to come over here and help with the dishes, by all means bitch that you had to help me with the dishes. But don't bitch about shit I'm not. Don't do that to any person with a diagnosis. Don't treat normal or unusual but safe things like it's part of the diagnosis because it really hurts the person you supposedly advocate and love.

Judge a person NOT by their diagnosis, but by the things they do. If they are fully functioning or damn near close enough like you, don't treat them like they aren't. We all have moments of insanity, and just because someone had one long enough to get diagnosed doesn't mean they are always that person. If they aren't fully functioning, those who aren't actually caring for the individual really shouldn't have an opinion of them. By actually caring, I don't mean being nosy up in their business. I mean you wiped their butt and cooked their meal.

All people are crazy. Some of us are diagnosed. The people who don't know their crazy enough to give it a name are the ones that are dangerous. And all of us, crazy or undiagnosed, need to realize that we all may be different, but we are still equal. Crazy people are entitled to bad days, negative emotions, strange opinions, bad behavior, and shitty excuses just like you are.

PS. I have never licked a window, but I have licked people and poured salt on them and then licked the salt off before doing a shot of tequila. You don't even want to know what I do with the lemon afterwards. Mmmm. Body shots.

If for whatever reason you licked people for salt and you like my blog, you know, you can subscribe to it.

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You can also find me under these rocks...
      


Blogs who I think sent me traffic to my blog that you should check out if you haven't...  I do read all of these blogs regularly.

The Bloggess

Insane in the Mom Brain

More than Cheese and Beer

Finding Ninee

Ooops I Said Vagina Again

Janine's Confessions of a Mommyaholic

The Village Idiots

It takes a village to raise a child, so they say. I still have yet to see this "Village." If any of you know where the fuck it is, let me know. I bet it's in El Dorado. I definitely have very little help with the kids. While I can't seem to find this village, I know it has to exist because I always seem to run across a village idiot. That guy or girl who has to tell you how to raise your kid, with fucked up advice, in a judgy, you suck, you shouldn't breed sort of way. You know, Stranger Danger.

It happens to all the parents out there, especially the parents of a kid with special needs. Why? Bullies always target the special needs. They act all holier than thou but they are bullies who fuck with special needs people. They deserve your spit for that shit. Yes I'm telling you to spit in someone's face.

But really what it is, people are like wolves. They prey on the weak and injured. They prey on children and parents who are busy taking care of their children. If they can, they will prey in packs. But not all of us parents are weak. Some of us, you don't want none of it. Some of us are tigers and we strike back. We strike hard. We leave a mark.

Prime example. From the Grunts 11B Facebook page...

Ok. I prefer life when people actually mind their own gotdammed business. If it doesn't concern you in anyway conceivable then shut the fuck up and move out. I just returned from the dentist where my 4 yr old special needs son had some work done. My boy loves his daddy and on occasion likes to pop out and scream boo to scare me to get a laugh. As I'm sitting in the waiting room playing angry birds to pass the time while my wife is in the back with my boy, my son pops out and gives a grinning roar to scare me and starts laughing. All good fun right? Wrong. Some cunt slurping waffle has the audacity to open her dick socket and proceed to tell me to "control my fucking kid." Not wanting to upset my son by going with my first reaction, my wife and I take the kids to the car. I turn around and go back in to get an Appointment Card for the next visit (or so I said). I find this bitch ranting to the others how some folks shouldn't be parents. This of course is unfuckingsat. I proceed to give this twat the what for in a fashion so colorful that dentists walked out of their respective offices to see what was going on. The bitch just sat there like a coward not saying a word until I was finished with her chin still on the floor. After the debacle I turned to the receptionist and simply asked, "Can you send a reminder in the mail for his next appt?" As i was leaving the waiting room erupted into applause. The moral of the story is?
~Cowboy

I never am so fortunate enough to have someone with me to watch the kid(s) in the car so I can go back in. So I have to tone my response down a bunch of notches, though the one time I let it all out, my kid behaved perfectly for a whole week I scared her that much, and it was funny because I never seen a fat guy run so fast before in my life.

I don't think I've shared this story yet in fear that A, I might be judged. B, it would confirm all of your suspicions of my crazy. C, I might scare you. D. someone might report me to the police. Maybe I have shared it in an earlier post. I do remember typing it up at some point, but I don't know where or why. Anyway... This is definitely a story of what you should NOT do.

I was driving through a Burger King. I had my oldest kid with me, and she was I think 2 at the time. Because I knew we were just driving through without getting out of the car, I let her come with me in just a shirt and diaper, a last second decision made on my way out the door. She was not wearing pants or shoes. I rarely do this, but don't judge people who do because I'm definitely neither the first nor the last parent to do such a thing.

I get to the drive thru window, and they can't take debit card orders in the drive thru because their machine is down, but they can if you go inside. I argued with the person working there.

"Can't you just swipe my debit card in the machine you would use to swipe it if I were inside?"

No.

"I don't understand. You have access to a working debit card machine that you are choosing not to use?"

We just can't take your debit card through the drive thru.

"But you can inside?"

Yes.

"Then why can't YOU use the machine I'd use inside? I have a toddler with me. She's not wearing shoes. Trust me, it would be a thousand times easier if you walked to the debit card device and swipe it for me than to make me come inside and do it myself."

I'm sorry. You'll have to come inside.

So fuck all. I went inside. With my kid. Because she wasn't wearing shoes, I had to carry her. The entire time. Easier said than done.

I place my order. They hand me cups to get the drinks myself. I carry my kid over to the drink area, and the little metal rods you place your cup on to get your drink from the machine were so far apart, there was no placing the cup down and it staying there. It takes two hands to then get a drink because one needs to hold the cup, and the other push the button. I needed a third hand or a place to stick my kid. I had no place to stick the kid. The area for the tray in front of the soda fountain machine was disgusting. It was covered in 50 different shades of sugary sticky goop with condiments (like someone had fun with ketchup). So I propped my knee up to the edge of the tray area, let my kid straddle across my thigh like a horse, and I poured two sodas like a boss.

Mind you I'm double jointed... Well at one point during the whole thing, my knee started slipping, and my kid started slipping more toward the knee. I needed her back closer to my hip. So I for whatever reason, with whatever I was doing, like my hands were doing one thing and I had to act fast or the kid might fall, I did some sort of thing where you know how you have a kid on your hip sliding south and you nudge the kid up in a way where she kind of flies up, like you throw the kid back in place almost... Something like that, I stuck my foot up on the EDGE of the tray area to incline my leg so she'd go sliding back toward my hip, all for a split second like just the nudge I needed to get her back in place, and put my knee back. I'm not even sure my foot touched the edge. Like all I did was throw my knee upward really fast for a second wiggling my ass to scootch a kid back in place.

I finished getting the drinks. This guy walks up next to me and starts rambling on about something. I wasn't paying attention too much because I don't know. I WAS BUSY. Fuckturd. Anyway, I was just like, "uh huh. Yeah. Thank you." Walked away to the straw area. He followed me and kept talking, all calm. I was like, "Uh huh. Cool." And I walked back to the area where you wait for your food. He followed me. Kept talking.

Finally I started to pay attention, and he was pissed that my foot might of touched the edge of the tray holder thing for an entire second, that I was smearing my germs all over the place his food would touch. I was like really?

At first, because he was calm, I was calm. It went something like...

"Dude, I have a kid on my hip who I can't put down. I needed two hands to get those drinks. I'm amazed I did it with absolutely no help from you I should add. And it's not like that tray area isn't already disgusting number one or there'd be a poopy peed filled diaper ass on it for minutes as opposed to the sole of my shoe for a split second, if it even touched it. Second, your food is coming wrapped in paper and put on a plastic tray. If you are dumb enough to unwrap your food and smear it across that disgusting tray holder, you get whatever is coming to you in the realm of germs."

Then somehow it escalated where he was screaming, I was screaming, he told me I shouldn't have kids, I shouldn't breed, I'm a bad person, I'm the antichrist...

To top it off he looked like Michael Moore. An obese version of Michael Moore.

I did tell him he looked more gross than all the germs on the bottom of my shoe.

Anyway, as we were screaming at each other, me getting all ghetto overusing the fuck word, with my kid on my hip the entire time, the staff at Burger King just stood there with their mouths hanging open. Finally I looked at them and said, "I told you. I told you it would be a million times easier for you to swipe my damned debit card your damned motherfucking self than forcing me to come in this fucked up joint and dealing with assholes like this fuckhole over here. I hope you're fucking satisfied. I hope this made your job so much more motherfucking easy on you. You lazy asswipes."

So then I stormed out with 2 sodas, 2 bags, and my kid all in my arms, and I get to the car (well small SUV, Ford Escape). I put the bags on the hood of my car. I laid the sodas on the hood of my car and spilled them all over myself and my kid. I get the kid in the car seat. Michael Moore look alike comes out, sees me struggling with soda all over the place, and laughs. LAUGHS. So I launched both sodas at the Burger King, smacking what's left of the soda all over the window of the building. I get in the car. And fat ass is now in the parking lot. Walking. Laughing. So I popped the bitch in reverse, gassed it up good, aiming for him. I really was aiming for him. I never seen a fat man run so fast before in my life. Then I drove off, laughing. Pointing and laughing. He was breathing heavily and possibly might have had a heart attack, one I was totally prepared on blaming Burger King's food on.

So basically, I probably tried to hit Michael Moore with my car once. I've also been known to hit people with my grocery cart, drop cans of green beans on their feet, and things like that. I stopped with the aggression route just because I'm tired, I'm not as insulted anymore, and I definitely do not want assault charges placed upon me. I now scream random things. Like now, I'd tell Michael Moore in the soda section, really loud for the whole restaurant to hear me, "Please don't talk about your herpes in front of my child. They have a cream to help with the burning if it's bothering you that much."

Now that is definitely an old blog post... 

Fuck Bad Words, and the R-word it rode in on

I guess people are blogging about the R-word, and I had this in my notes as a blog to do eventually, so I guess now is a good time. I haven't read other people's blogs about the R-word because it usually pisses me off on many different levels.

Speaking

Notice I call it the R-word? That's because things like the R-word, the N-word, and the homosexual slurs are disrespectful to a lot of people. I prefer not to use them out of respect. If I were to use those words, I wouldn't be using them to piss people off. I'd be using them to communicate or try to be funny, and since there are people who lose the point when one of those words are used, or they lose all humor if one of those words are used, it would totally be anti-productive for my purpose to use those words. The purpose of language is to communicate, and that purpose is lost when certain words are used. If I did want to offend people, I really prefer my point I'm making offend them than my vocabulary, though I do use the fuck word a lot because it's fun to do. That's a different fucking blog post.

Anyway, I do believe in bad words, but differently than most people. You know how there's a difference between truth and the norm (majority rules)? For example, the earth is round. That's a truth. For many years, the fact is the earth was flat because that was the common belief. It was wrong, but it was right because everyone all agreed. 

To me, words are words. They have no soul, so they can't be good or bad. It's not the words, it's how you use them. That's the fact truth part. Then there's the part where the majority has decided otherwise on a somewhat ignorant level, but at least they usually have good intentions. Anyway, the majority has decided fuck is a bad word. Words like that, fuck shit ass… those are not bad words to me. They are naughty words, like farts. It's bad etiquette to use them in certain places at certain times. But now, because of this majority thing, there are words that are bad words. They are only used to demean people, like there isn't a good way to use those words because of the history of their use locked them in. At least fuck can be used as a good thing. I can say, "Mother fucker" to insult someone, but I can say, "Motherfucking awesome" to compliment someone.

There is no way to compliment someone when you use the following words…
 

Any racial slurs

Any homosexual slurs

The R-word
Fat

Listening

But, that whole concept is a double edged sword. Now, I may offend some people and for that I'm not sorry. Part of communicating is speaking, and I just discussed that. The other half of communication is listening. So how do you handle when someone else uses the R-word? Or any bad word for that matter?

Me, I look at their intentions. The context. Why?

A lot of times, people's definitions of the word is different than what it is, or what you think it is. For example, the n-bomb. It's a racial slur. A very bad one. Probably the worst word ever invented in the history of man. Look it up in the dictionary and it means ignorant. So some people use it to mean ignorant, which that's irony for you. Some subcultures have decided that it means trashy people of any race. They call white people the n-bomb, and they will point to a black man and say he is NOT the n-bomb in the same sentence. There are some people who use it as a way to take back the power, mainly black people (and white posers). Do I think they should be using that word? No, not in this world with that word's history. On another planet where it has no history, maybe, depending on the definition you give it.

But am I going to ostracize and criticize them for it's use? Depends, the intention. I do believe in God, and it's about what's in our hearts. Gotta look at the spirit and soul. Nothing physical can define morality. People try to. They try to make it tangible, and they lose a lot of the point of it in the process… The only black and white is in our hearts, not in our words or actions like most people believe (again truth vs fact).

What pisses me off with the r-word specifically… A, if you call a special needs person an R-word as a way to belittle or demean them, I'm going to be really pissed and I will hurt you one way or the other, whether it's your physical self or psychological self depending on how far you are from my reach. B, now the complicated part.

I have autism. My child has autism. We are both high functioning, which I hate that term, but anyway, that's us. People have called me the R-word because I'm weird. But I'm not an idiot. I know most of the population who uses the R-word use it to mean really stupid, low IQ that can result even with no diagnosis, and it generally has nothing to do with special needs or autism. I do not get offended when someone says, "That woman was so r-worded because she forgot the mayo." That has nothing to do with me or my autism.

What pisses me off is when people hide behind people like me to be mean to a stranger. I'm talking those situations where you are talking about the price of tea in China and someone says, "Wow, your husband did what with the tea? That is so r-word." Then out of the blue, Susie McJudgerson is on there clutching pearls damning someone to hell because they called my husband the r-word and somehow, with that, insulted Susie's kid, every special needs child, and all these people who were never part of the conversation or a subject in the conversation. It's like saying, "Fuck the man who was insulted, fuck his wife who is special needs. This is about me and my kid." I guess it's okay to call someone with autism an asshole as your means to advocate autism. See, that is DEFINITELY stupid and illogical and selfish.

Some of them then take it to the next step. They play the pity card. I mean we are talking a good cause here, and anyone who disagrees is insensitive, heartless and against the cause.
  

Criticizing people for shit they didn't actually mean is bullying. What happens is the social herding instinct comes into play with low attention spans and poor reading comprehension skills, and some level of laziness. If you criticize someone for insulting kids with special needs, everyone assumes that person just insulted someone with special needs, and the wolf pack preys on someone who never said anything about special needs.

Here's an EXTREME example to show how it works…

Erica: So I was thinking, now that Duke is dead, I have all this left over dog food. The humane society might take it. They could always use some extra food.

Susie: That is so fucked up Erica. How dare you? Do you know what the Humane Society does to these animals? They kill them, and that's after they torture them by putting them in these cages all day long. Sometimes the animals are actually abused beyond the regular neglect. That's just fucked up you'd donate to them.

Erica: Actually, I know someone at the Humane Society who is really good with animals, and they really do try to find homes for the animals so they don't have to euthanize them.

Susie: I can't believe you. Enabling that is the same as abuse. You are a dog abuser. I can't believe you don't care how they kill all those puppies with sad puppy faces. What did those dogs ever do to you?

Mildred: Hi guys. I'm too lazy to read all the comments, but wow. Erica really? You can go to hell and suck Satan's dick. The world would be a better place without animal abusers like you. You deserve ass fucked with a pitchfork fuck you. You are such an idiot. I'm going to punch you in the face if I ever see you.

Erica: Mildred really? Because I want to donate to the humane society. I miss my dead dog. I want to do something good for them. And Susie? You are insane. I don't enable dog abuse. I love dogs.

Mildred: So you killed your own dog? You are so fucked up.

Beatrice: Who killed their dog?

Mildred: Erica did. She is pro dog death. She's trying to say she's a good person because she donates to the humane society. Like that makes it okay.

Susie: Wow, Erica you are a real piece of work. Calling me insane after everything you just said. Look again hun. You are the insane one.

Mildred: She's fucked up is what she is.

In addition, the r-word doesn't refer to your kid or to me unless someone is calling us that word directly. To associate us to the r-word as a way to defend us is calling us the r-word. I don't think anyone realizes that when they do it, but seriously, how would you feel if every time someone used the word "idiot" I jumped them in how it insults all the mothers of special needs people. The parents of special needs people within an ear shot of that would be insulted if I did such a thing.  Same thing follows with the r-word. Unless they are talking about your kid, to make it about your kid is calling your kid the r-word. It's insulting.

I am a firm believer that criticism is a person not calling someone else out on something, but projecting their own insecurities, worries and fears (some valid and some not so valid)… Parents of special needs who insult people for using the r-word I think are insecure about their child's special needs, in a way they probably don't even notice. They worry so much about their child being called names for their situation...  It's common. It's natural. I know. I too am a parent of a kid with special needs. You don't think I don't do the same thing? 

I am probably most guilty with this over the word fat. Every time someone belittles a person for their weight, I see my child getting belittled, and all the sudden I'm holding her feelings right there in the palm of my hands and this person is spitting on them. To steal Insane in the Mom-brain's concept, it makes me sporky. But that's my issue. It's in my head, and it haunts me even when people don't insult people for their weight. And my issue is, I have to get over the fact that my daughter is a little overweight, and yes some people are going to call her fat, just like people call me fat. Anorexic people get called fat. Everybody gets called fat. Just because I worry it might be true for one of my kids doesn't make it about her every time someone talks about fat. This is my issue. It's my fears. It's my worries. 

So I don't ask you guys to just remove the R-word from your vocabulary, but remove it from communication. If someone uses it in a way to demean, have at it. Tear them a new one. I'll be cheering you on. But demeaning people for using the word who wasn't trying to demean anyone is using the word to demean. Reread that one slower, and then try to say it real fast five times. But it's true. If you are demeaning people, you are demeaning people. I don't care whose name you do it in, whether it's autism or God. If you want to help, if you want to advocate, uplift people. Promote acceptance and understanding when you see it lacking. Save the insults for people who are actually insulting and deserve it. 

I don't expect you to be Jesus Christ and approach everything with love. I'm just saying, don't use autism or any "disorder" to hate people on our behalf. Don't use us to call someone an idiot on our behalf. You are not doing us any service with that, not at all. Autism is not the R-word. SPECIAL NEEDS IS NOT THE R-WORD. Quit telling people we are on our behalf.

And if you are a parent of a child with special needs, go find yourself a therapist. It's a tough gig. You need a place to vent. The stress, the anxiety, the lack of time for yourself, the lack of sleep, the lack of any idea of decent hygiene.... shoot all parents should go see a therapist. I never felt like I had any special needs until I became a parent.