A month ago,
my mom came down to Texas for a week-long visit. I love it when she comes but
it’s also stressful in a weird way. I spend days cleaning my apartment, trying
to make it look respectable for her, but never quite get there. I finally
admitted something to her that I only recently admitted to myself. I keep my
apartment messy on purpose. I hate always feeling alone and if I keep my
apartment messy and full, I can pretend that I have someone else living there,
they’re just never home when I am. It sounds crazy but it makes me feel like I’m
not alone. While she reiterated that there are better ways to pretend someone
else is living there, she began to show signs of understanding. It’s not that I
don’t try to clean up; there’s something in my brain that’s fundamentally
against it. I’m not a hoarder by definition, but I keep things around (that
could be thrown away) simply because I like the feeling I get when my apartment
looks “lived in”.
The other
stressful thing about my mom (or anyone from home) coming for a visit is my
unending desire to prove that I’m making it on my own. I want to show her that
I keep a well stocked kitchen (complete with healthy options), that I properly
ration out my money, that I am thoughtful in making decisions, and that I can
take care of myself. Of course, it’s very easy to revert back to my old ways
when my mommy is back by my side.
After
putting off going to an adult ballet class at the local civic ballet since the
day I moved here in January of 2013, I asked my mom if she would go with me. I
didn’t want her to know that I was scared, so I called her up with a simple
request. I told her that the most important day of my life had happened when I
was just two years old and I had no memory of it. I then asked her if she would
take me to my first ballet class (as a 24 year old) and give me a memory to
hold onto. Of course she said yes. I think she knew that I was frightened to go
alone; she was just too considerate of my feelings to say anything.
The day of
the ballet class was insane. I was running around my apartment trying different
hair styles and outfits, trying to make myself look like a “betty bunhead” when
I’ve always been a “tip top tapper”. I wanted so badly to fit in with the image
I had in my head of what the other girls would be like. Mom wasn’t worried in
the least, but I made her go a whole hour before class started, so we could
warm up and I could size-up the place.
Of course
being me, I had some interesting thoughts during the class that didn’t go
through a filter (because I don’t have one) and instead came right out my
mouth. I kept talking about how much I hated the floor in the studio because I
was used to turning on hardwood and we were using floors with marley (for the
girls who were en pointe). I asked way too many questions and steered the group
off topic several times. At one point, I even made a nasty comment that no one
seemed to understand that I weighed (AND I ACTUALLY SAID MY WEIGHT OUT LOUD)! I
had planned on talking to the teacher at the end of the class so that he
understood about my Aspergers, but as mommies always do, mine was worried and
pulled me aside, asking if it would be okay to tell him. Actually, it was more
a discussion of it being unfair not to tell him... but either way, the point
is, I had evolved to the level where I was going to disclose about my Aspergers
on my own, but with my mom around, I let her take over and do it for me.
Later in the
week, we went to a movie and I saw firsthand how different things are now that
I have my diagnosis. First and foremost I want to say that I am in NO WAY upset
with my mother or wishing my mother had acted differently in ANY of the
situations in this post. I am so glad she was here and miss her so much every
day that she’s back home. That said, things have changed and I would be remiss
to avoid the topic.
We went to
see an R-rated movie on a weeknight. I go into a movie like that with certain
expectations; the biggest one being that I will be in a theatre full of
age-appropriate viewers. I was sitting with my mom in the theatre, creating my
bubble of space around me, when the previews started. It was already dark when
the people in front of us chose their seats. It looked like four adults and I
had no reason to believe it wasn’t. The beginning of the movie was fine. About
an hour in, the person in front of me began shaking. At first I thought she was
having a seizure, but no one with her was worried, or even noticed what was
happening. After my initial worries subsided, I became increasingly irritated.
She began flinging herself against her chair-back, as hard as possible, then
looking up at me and grinning (as if wondering to herself, “Is she mad yet?”).
I held my tongue for about 40 minutes then finally asked her to stop because it
was annoying. All of a sudden, everyone’s mad at me. Come to find out the woman
who was banging into her chair was actually a kid and her mother was really
angry that I got irritated and asked her to stop banging. When I realized it
was a kid, I got so upset I was shaking and crying and couldn’t think of anything
else. The mother was demanding an apology after the movie, but in my mind, I
was afraid things would get worse once the lights were up.
That’s when
mom stepped in. She told me to stay put and stay quiet. She went down and told
the woman about my Aspergers, my lack of filter, my inability to properly
modulate my tone of voice, and basically “got me out of trouble”... but
something was still bothering me. After we got home and she explained to me how
I could have better handled the situation, I was still wondering whether
everything would have been different if I hadn’t had my diagnosis yet. I love
my mom; she’s my best friend and I trust her more than anything, but I don’t
know that I can believe her reply that she would have handled things the same
way regardless of diagnosis. I feel like she would have been angry with me
before we got the diagnosis and she certainly would have made me go apologize.
I am so grateful to have a mom who wants to take care of me, but when you live
on your own, halfway across the country from your family, you sort of need to
sink or swim on your own.
I finally
understand why my mom has been so against my desire to move back home and has
firmly stated that if I return to the area, I need to maintain my own
residence. We are creatures of habit. We resort back to the ways we’ve always
done things. I’ve always relied on my mom. She’s always been the one to
intervene. She doesn’t want me to lose all of the amazing gains I’ve had in the
last year and a half just because we’re creatures of habit.
(I promise the next blog will have all the great memories from my mom's trip)
