The Darkness swallowed me whole this week...

For those of you who suffer from depression like me – true depression, the kind that fucks up your life – I want to warn you this might be a trigger.

Imagine you open your eyes to find yourself standing knee deep in brackish water. You’re completely alone. The silence is deafening to the point that it creates its own kind of buzz. If you listen hard enough, you can almost make out words in that buzz, but the words are dark and angry, so you do your best not to listen too closely.

As you let your gaze travel the landscape, you realize that in every direction, all there is murky water periodically choked with thick reeds. Above you, the sky is a pale, grayish blue and the sun a sharp white light, both blinding and dim.

Something slides along your calf, and you feel the sharp edge of razor teeth. As you look down at the water that enfolds your lower legs, you notice odd, dark objects moving just below the surface. Whatever they are, these shapes are writhing and slithering nearer and nearer.

As you stand there, you can feel the mud seeping into your shoes, sucking at them and pulling you deeper down. You know you have to move.

You shade your eyes and look for safer ground. Far off in the distance, you can see the shape of a dead tree, its gnarled bare branches jutting up from the marsh. That has to be better than where you are now. But to get there, you must move in water that’s so dark you have no idea what lies beneath your feet.

You take a step. Your shoes squelch and threaten to abandon your feet, but you manage to keep them on. Unfortunately, as you move, the shapes beneath the water move along with you. One bumps against you, and again you feel teeth nibbling at your exposed skin. You let out a shout for help, hoping that someone will hear you, but your voice is carried off in the wind and it’s as if you never spoke.

You move again. One step. Two. The sun beats down on you. It should be comforting, that light, but instead it just reminds you how exposed you are. How alone. But you keep moving because standing still isn’t an option.

Your next step plunges you into a deeper patch of water. You drop down and the water surges up to your waist. The reeds slap at your face and for a moment you think you’ll plunge beneath the water. But you use those same reeds to keep your balance, grasping them in sweaty hands and righting yourself. The shapes beneath the water are twisting around your legs in a frenzy. For the first time, you feel the true power of their teeth as they tear at your flesh, ripping away pieces of you.

The tree is closer now, but it seems farther away. You’re frozen in place, waiting for the creatures beneath the water to stop feeding. And they do, though they continue to brush against your skin. The sensation is both painful and propelling. You can’t stay here.

As you lurch forward, breath coming in sharp gasps, heart pounding, they surge with you. With each step the water gets deeper. The mud sucks away your shoes. The reeds slap and scrape and tear at you. The sharp teeth bite deeper and deeper, sinking into bone.

And still you keep moving, taking steps as you can. Fear is your constant companion. Fear of motion. Fear of standing still. Fear of being devoured by the things that lurk beneath the water.

Eventually, night falls. In the darkness, chest deep in the muck, you stand and wait. You’re exhausted, physically and mentally. You can no longer see where you’re going and those things beneath the water have multiplied. They’re hungrier than ever.

The fear of taking a step that will send you completely underwater in the dark overwhelms the need to find safe ground.

You wait.

When the sun rises, you can see the tree. It doesn’t seem to be any closer. It sits on a small island of marshy moss. You work your way to it, determined to reach it before you’re devoured by the creatures below. So you take another step.

Only somehow, the marsh water has thickened. It’s like walking through molasses or hardening cement. Worse, the creatures are trying to herd you from the safety of that mossy little plot of land. And the sun beats down, searing your skin. The reeds slice and cut your hands as you use them to propel yourself along.

You’re cold. You’re tired. You’re in constant, unrelenting pain.

As much as you want to reach that tree, you find yourself wishing that you would just step in a spot so deep that you would drop under the water. It would be so much easier to just let the mud inside. It would be a relief to not come up again. It would be over.

But you push on. Time has no meaning. The sun rises and blisters and sets. The mud coats you, so that you don’t resemble yourself so much as you resemble a swamp creature. And still the things beneath the surface feed on you, bite by bite.

Time loses meaning. The sun rises, sets and rises again and again. And always the tree is there just a little too far to reach.

Sometimes you see groups of people running through the marsh like it’s a playground. They’re unaffected by its dangers - immune to it even - as they follow a path that you can’t see. Their feet dance across the water. Their laughter fills the air. You call out to them for help, but more often than not your voice is drowned by the swamp. Occasionally one of them will pause and make their way to you. They’ll pull you free of the mud with an ease you resent as much as you appreciate it. You ask them to wait, to show you the way out. But they race away across the water, leaving you behind exhausted and struggling to gain your feet.

It’s as if they were born lighter than you.

Sometimes you don’t call out to them at all because you know they can’t help you. It’s easier to stay buried, devoured and shredded, than to start over on a path you can’t see and plunge off again into the murk.

Sometimes you see others like you, plodding and pushing through the marsh. Sometimes you get close enough to reach out to them and pull them to a safer spot. Sometimes they do the same for you. Sometimes you watch them go under. More often, you just acknowledge each others journey with a weary look of understanding before continuing on. Each encounter leaves a heavy weight on you that burrows deep inside your chest.

You’re determined not to slip beneath the water despite carrying that extra weight of those that didn’t make it.

Eventually, you do make it to the little island, rising from the swamp, your body weighted by the sludge of your journey, battered, bleeding, but alive. You stand on that tiny piece of land, barefoot and flayed, not sure who you are anymore. So many pieces of you are lost to the swamp. You should be happy. You should be relieved. You made it.

Only there is no sustenance here. The tree is dead and withered. The moss sinks where you stand on it. You may be above the mud for the moment, but you’re alone, exposed, and there is no respite for you. It’s just a way station on your journey. A place to catch your breath before you plunge back down into the mire.

There is no end to this swamp.

The last few weeks, I’ve been fighting like hell to keep my head above water. Everything seems to be a trigger for both my depression and anxiety. I don’t have a good reason why - maybe it’s a moon phase thing or a seasonal thing or just a general weariness from being alone and isolated for so long. Whatever the reason, I found that every time I logged onto Facebook or Twitter and interacted with anyone, I was overwhelmed by panic attacks that had me head-between-my-legs freaking out.

My brain tells me things that I know are lies. That if I died, no one would notice or care. That those few people I do interact with on social media sites likely consider me a freak. That no one wants to talk to me.

I’m a fringe person.

I’m invisible.

I don’t belong anywhere.

Depression lies, I know this.

But sometimes it carries painful truths.

The truth is I am alone.
I am isolated.

My social interaction on a daily basis includes listening to my son expound upon various computer related topics, most of which I don’t understand and rarely am able to comment on. My husband never wants to talk about anything – and often will go off by himself when he is home. I’m pretty sure he can’t stand me. I know he struggles to deal with our son. But he’s too good of a person to actually bail on us.

I am largely a silent person. Sometimes I go an entire day without speaking other than saying “un hunh” a thousand times. Other than that, it’s brief conversations with cashiers at the grocery store and my Twitter feed that remind me I still exist on some level.
Some days I just want to start screaming and never stop just to hear my voice.

All of my friends and most of my family deserted me over the years because they couldn’t relate to my life. They have normal lives. They didn’t have to deal with therapies and doctors and special education services and all the things that come along with a child with special needs. He’s an adult now. They're still gone.

Some of them did it quietly and gradually. They slipped away without me noticing because I was too busy dealing with one disaster after another. Others broke away with hurtful words or ignorant statements. Some I was forced to walk away from or lose a piece of what’s left of my soul and sanity.

When my son was four, someone I love dearly said she was sick of listening to mothers like me complaining about their brats, and that if I just disciplined him and started doing my job, my son would be normal. She said that I wasn’t fit to be a mother. That’s the kindest version of what was said. The truth is it was much more ugly and hurtful. And that wasn’t even the worst thing that has been said to me over the years by friends, family and strangers alike.

Whatever.

I’m alive. I’m here. Alone. Freak. Loser. Dragging myself through the muck, buried chest deep. And oh so tired. But I’ll get to that stupid little plot of moss and gather myself up and keep on going because I don’t have a choice.

The swamp doesn’t get to win.

I’ll still be on social media, though for now it’s probably going to be limited to quick posts about what I’m reading or maybe some pics of my art. I can't handle the panic that interactions bring. I hope those who follow me will keep following me, though I’ll understand if you don’t. It’s okay.

You don’t have to pretend to be interested.
I get it.
 

Bitcoin for Dummies

There's a lot of talk in my house about Bitcoins these days. Kiddo is absolutely fascinated with them & has even tried his hand at 'mining' them. I have a rudimentary understanding of them, which is slightly better than Hubs understanding, so I attempted to explain them to him after Kiddo got so frustrated the conversation between them had dissolved to insult slinging.

Annnnyway....here is my explanation of Bitcoins for dummies.

In order for it to work you first need a 'bank'. This bank has actual money that is converted into a Bitcoin. You also need a buyer, a seller and a Paypal like system of middlemen for the transaction to go through.

For my explanation, assume a bitcoin is equivalent to a $10 coin made up of 1000 pennies. In reality, because it is cybermoney it is made up of 1000 strings of code (numbers/letters/symbols) called 'hashes'. Its kind of like being handed 1000 promissory notes, each with its own secret code to identify it as a legitimate penny. Individually, these strings are as worthless as pennies, but combined they make up a single $10 note of spendable money. The bank is very careful to not only keep a record of each and every penny of code it has created, but where every one of those pennies are presently located.

Now, you have a person - for my purposes, I'm going to use a character from one of my favorite series - Jane Yellowrock. Jane is shopping on Overstock (which in reality accepts bitcoins as payment) and sees this incredible tunsten steel/silver collar which she absolutely needs to protect her throat from vampire bites. The collar costs $20, but can also be paid for with 2 Bitcoins. It turns out Jane has a very clever computer kid working for her. He uses his computers to help out the bitcoin bank in processing transactions and so Jane has bitcoins to spend.

Jane pays for the collar using 2 bitcoins. What happens next? The middlemen take over.

There is a collective pool of computer geeks or 'miners' have set up their computers to help the bank process transactions - kind of like Paypal plays the middleman between people when they're buying and selling things on ebay.

Now, if you were to walk into a store and try to pay for something with pennies, what happens? The poor person at the counter has to count each and every penny, right? It's the same thing with bitcoins. Each of the 1000 pieces of the bitcoin have to be individually examined to make sure they're real. To look at each of the 1000 takes time. Because the bank doesn't have the time to process each and every hash of code (it would need a giant supercomputer), the middlemen computers step in.

 These thousands of computers all over the world are presented with Jane's 2000 strings of code for the 2 bitcoins Jane uses. In other words, each individual string of code is examined by a number of different computers, and those computers determine collectively (based on the information the bank provides) if   it is a legitimate code created by the bank and if it actually belongs to Jane (because the bank is fastidious about keeping track). When the collective is finished and has determined that the each and every hash/penny is really a hash/penny, which means the bitcoin is legitimate, the transaction goes through to Overstock and Jane gets her collar.

Now, the bank needs to pay these middlemen for the work they do, because its time & electricity consuming. So, for every transaction they're involved in they get a paid a couple of hashes - in other words a piece of a bitcoin. Sometimes its just one hash, sometimes it's more. Eventually, if the middlemen computers check the hash codes on enough transactions they will have 1000 hashes (or 1000 pennies) and have their own bitcoin, which they can then spend.

Does that make sense now? The reality is bitcoin is the promissory note or payment of the future. Whether it sticks around or not remains to be seen, but we accepted paper money so the likelihood as we go into a more computer oriented society is that bitcoin (or something similar) is here to stay.

 TO MY SON

A Poem

You say,

No -

You demand

I allow you to be

An adult.

You rail and yell

And curse

Everything that I am,

Everything I believe in,

Everything I have given of myself for you

To prepare you

To be an adult.

You’re missing the point

In your need to be free

That I want nothing more

Than for you to be

The man you want to be.

You say you want

To fly and be free.

I want that too.

No,

No I don’t.

I want you to stand

On your own two feet,

Strong

And rock solid,

With strength in your convictions

And a moral compass

That you’re willing to ignore

Sometimes

In order to do the right thing.

I want you to be able

To move forward

And make your choices,

Whether they’re choices

I would make

Or not,

And not need backup

Even if it is always there.

I want you to see

The future

And use the past

To make it better.

I want you to teach

And be teachable,

To never accept

Without questioning,

To give generously

Of your time

And your money

And your heart -

Because it is your best feature -

That heart,

With your perseverance

A close second,

I don’t want you to fly

Because in flying

You can’t always see

The ground falling away beneath you.

I want you to walk.

No,

I want you to run

And embrace the world,

To love

And be loved.

I want you to surge forward

And not be afraid

Or unwilling

To look back.

I want you to do new things

And explore new places,

Whether they exist

On this earth

Or in your imagination.

I want you to hope

And dream,

And tie yourself up in knots

Over someone

Who makes you feel like

You’re invincible

And vulnerable.

But don’t be invincible.

Be vulnerable.

And allow yourself

To get lost sometimes,

And to be found

And discovered

And explored.

I want you to live,

To grow,

To thrive,

To find a place that is

Uniquely yours

And let it enfold you.

I want you to be you -

Only you -

The man you are,

The man I see

Who is demanding I acknowledge him,

Which I do.

You just don’t see it yet

Because you don’t see

Your self.

Commitment..Or Why I'm The Go-To Girl

I have a problem with commitment. I understand the importance of it. 

Last weekend, my husband's family had a get together. This is a regular occurrence at this point, because his father is 88 and in failing health. Every month, my sister-in-law makes the roundtrip flight from Florida and we have a family dinner night. I endure these nights with a smile firmly in place. I say that because I've been married to my husband for 21 years and we have been a couple for 26 years. His family is important to him. I, however, have put up with....lets say less than acceptable treatment from his mother regularly and his siblings on multiple occasions. 

I won't go into the details. I'll just say that I tolerate my mother-in-law with gritted teeth because she is my husband's mother. She gets credit for that. But it doesn't excuse her. In order to get through these events, I need to either take anti-anxiety medication or drink. Because its that unpleasant for me.

As a preface to this story, you need to know a few things. I don't have a job - not because I don't want one. I'd love nothing better than to get out of this house and work. My work is here at home, caring for my almost 19 yr old son who has Aspergers Syndrome and suffers from depression and anxiety. He's struggling with everything and leaving him alone for even an hour makes me incredibly nervous. He doesn't handle being alone well. Also, I might come home to find he's disassembled his computer, or done something equally irrepairable. (This has happened!)

Kiddo is on a weird schedule, where he often stays up all night with insomnia. Because I don't like him being alone, I'll stay up until 1-2am, to keep him company. My husband usually gets up around 4am. And I drag myself out of bed at 7-8am, so I'm often exhausted. 

At one point during the family get together, I asked my sister-in-law how she was getting to the airport since she was flying out on Monday. I knew my husband had meetings that day and would be unable to do it. My father-in-law is no longer well enough to drive and my mother-in-law doesn't drive. I knew (from years of experience) that the rest of the family would not offer to take her. She replied that her friend was taking her. That was the extent of the conversation. I didn't actually offer to take her. But I would have to take the burden off my husband. For some reason, they all seem to think he can just leave work and do whatever they demand. He does so, but at this point its at the risk of being fired. (Because he's had to take a lot of days off to deal with these family issues.)

At this weekend's dinner, I happened to overhear a conversation between my sisters-in-law. I was walking into the kitchen where they were talking in soft voices. I heard one say, "I just don't feel like doing it." The other replied, "So let Karen do it. She sits home all day doing nothing and she offered to take me to the airport. She can take some responsibility." Now, I never offered to take her to the airport, but I would have if she didn't have a ride. 

At this point, I want to interject that my in-laws have 4 children. One works evenings and could easily step in and help out, but doesn't. Their daughter who lives in Florida. The oldest works out of his house on his own schedule - again, available but unwilling. His wife (who was the first voice I heard), who is a visiting nurse & she does go to the in-laws every week to make sure their multiple meds are organized. They have two adult children. One of those children works part time when work is available, so he is also available. Then there is my husband, who works 60-70 hrs. a week. And me, with the full time job of caring for my son.

On Monday afternoon, my husband called. My mother-in-law had called frantic because her ride to her doctor's appointment on Tuesday had cancelled. This was obviously the conversation I'd overheard looking back on it. My husband said there was no way he could take her because of what is going on at work. So, as nervous as it made me to leave my kid & as much as it pained me to be stuck with her, I agreed to take her to her appointment. On Tuesday, I got up at 6am, despite having been up until 1:30. I drove the 45 mins to my in-laws, picked up my mother-in-law and took her to her appointment. It ended up being a 5 hour ordeal. Because she's 87, and partially deaf, I kept track of what the doctor said because she can't. Thankfully, my son slept through the time I was gone. 

I hoped that would be the end of it. I did my good deed. I'm not opposed to helping out, mind you. I was raised by my parents to believe that its important to help out. When I married my husband, I married his family. But, I don't like being taken advantage of and I know that's what his sisters-in-law did. 

This morning, I read my emails. There's one there from my mother-in-law. In it is a list of next week's doctor appointments (plural) and when I need to pick them up to get them to these appointments on time. Apparently, someone has decided that I'm the go-to girl. Without consulting me. Because I don't have anything else to do. And the worst part? I'll end up doing it. Because I made a commitment to my husband to take the good and the bad. And I'll be panicking the entire time about the commitment I'm not keeping to my son, to take care of him. 

I didn't tell my husband about the conversation I overheard. And I'm not going to. He has enough to deal with. But it makes me angry that their own children - who can take them to their appointments - are dumping the responsibilty on me. And I'm angrier at myself that I can't say no. 

A Very Depressed Post...Just An FYI, Okay?

Today I feel like talking about depression. I guess that's because today I'm in a pretty severely depressed state. There's no rhyme or reason why - it is what it is. I have issues.

I don't know what set it off. Well, that's kind of a lie. In part its because its September. Kiddo should be just starting his college adventure this year. Instead, he's here at home, lost and alone. I'll save you the trouble of wondering why this is bothersome and explain...

Kiddo was bullied throughout school. Not just by other kids, which was bad enough. He was also bullied by adults - from his kindergarten/first grade bus driver to his school appointed occupational therapist, teachers, special needs bus drivers and finally his health ed teacher in 10th grade. For whatever reason (probably because kiddo doesn't tolerate misinformation and questions everything) this teacher decided to go after him. On Sept. 27th two years ago, he called kiddo a "stupid useless waste of space", involved the entire class in pointing out that kiddo didn't belong and shouldn't exist. Kiddo, who was having massive panic attacks already, stopped attending school.

We fought the school to allow him to move to a smaller high school, but they refused to allow him to leave. Their solution was to place him in the "behaviorally challenged classroom" which is an isolated classroom where kids who have shanked other kids (or in one case used a hammer to beat another kid over the head). We were threatened with being reported to authorities for not forcing him to attend school. They refused to take any action against this teacher because "that's just how he motivates students". Yeah.

Kiddo is not violent in any way. He struggles with aspergers syndrome, anxiety and depression. Putting him a classroom of violent kids, manned by a counselor and a police officer, was not the solution.

I cannot begin to describe how helpless and frustrated I felt - but I can say my depression became so profound I had to go on medication to even function.

Eventually we accepted that no one was going to help us. Kiddo dropped out of school on his 16th birthday with my permission. We couldn't take anymore.

Last year I didn't have time to think about all of this because we were going through kiddo's cancer scare. On the 30th of this month we have his first annual checkup to make sure there's no sign of the tumor returning.

On top of those things weighing on me, my father hasn't been well this year. He's undergone several surgeries. And my father in law, a quiet gentle man, has reached that end of life stage where he's decided its his time. This is causing my husband incredible stress and he's breaking under the weight of it, coupled with the weight of my son's struggles and the pressures of his job.

So...yeah...I guess I understand where my depression is coming from. It's made worse because I don't have any social outlets. Over the years, I've lost contact with all of my friends. Most of them didn't know how to deal with a person whose kid wasn't cookie cutter and dumped me. Some just drifted away with time and distance. I am house bound with no one to talk to all day but the dog and the cat. Without a schedule kiddo has become nocturnal - he sleeps most days until 3 or 4 in the afternoon. Hubs is gone when I get up and doesn't get home until 7ish most nights. And while kiddo is 18 technically, I'm loath to leave him alone except for short periods of time to run to the grocery store.

There's all this empty space in my life where I have nothing but my iPad, my computer, books and my depression. Sometimes I'm okay with that - I surf the web. I go on Twitter and read tweets from the people I follow or I tweet myself. I read. I play games. It's not fulfilling and its lonely, but I can shut that out and just exist most of the time.

It's hard to be so isolated. And on days like today, I start reading the tweets and I can't help it. I feel even more alone. The people I follow have lives. They have friends. They have stories to tell or pictures to share. They joke with each other. When I tweet a reply to one of them (which is rare because I know I'm a voyeur and I don't want to be intrusive), I think they must wonder "who is this freak that's following me thinking she has the right to tweet at me"? I want to tweet at them that I'm not a creepy stalker, just a very lonely person. But maybe I am a creepy stalker person by the fact that I follow them and read their tweets...

I have...well, I have nothing. I haven't held a job in 19 years. I haven't hung out with friends in 18 years. I haven't gone out to dinner with my husband in 18 years. I haven't been on a vacation in 12 years. I haven't been home to visit my parents in 10 months. I'm one month short of my 51st birthday and almost half of my life has been lived in this shit house in the middle of nowhere, with no one to talk to.

This house is my prison. It's Hell.

So this is what depression tells me - and yes, I know depression lies: No one knows I exist. No one gives a shit that I exist. On days like this I'm not sure I want to exist.

I'm pretty sure life isn't supposed to be this way.

I'm sorry for this shitty post. I just needed to get it out. Now I'm going to go lock myself in the bathroom and have a good cry. And then I'm going to put on my big girl pants and deal.

FYI: Its Suicide Prevention month. If you need help, there are places to turn. Suicide is never the answer. It is final and it leaves behind broken people who will never recover from your decision. It doesn't solve anything. Life has its ups and downs. It's messy, it's heartbreaking and it's beautiful. Sometimes, like now for me, it seems like it will never get better. But it does. It has to.

So reach out and ask for help if you need it. You are not alone.

There's No Such Thing As Can't

First of all, I have to say as a parent of an 18 yr. old on the spectrum, there is no cure for autism or aspergers. It is a difference in the wiring in the brain. You can't change that. 

I just lost half the people who wandered to this blog....

Okay. You can't cure it. That doesn't mean that you can't find ways to deal with some of the challenges that aspergers presents (and autism for that matter). But to do that you have to abandon the word CAN'T. 

Can't kills. It kills dreams and hopes. It kills opportunities and chances. So erase it from your vocabulary right now because I can promise you this: you are going to hear that word a lot and you CAN'T buy into it. Your kid doesn't know he can't speak. He doesn't know he can't ride a bike. He doesn't know he can't make friends. Its a bullshit word.

That being said, what can you do? First, you have to toss out "normal" expectations. Those baby books where you record everything? Useless. Make your own with goals that your kid achieves.

My son wanted to learn to ride a bike from the age of four. We tried everything. From the age of seven until he turned thirteen! I tried to teach him. My husband tried to teach him. The neighbor tried to teach him. A family friend tried to teach him. Three separate occupational therapists tried to teach him. When he was thirteen, we began a new round of physical therapy to help him with some motor skills issues. The therapist, a man named Alan, asked my son what he wanted to learn. Ride a bike, J replied. I explained we'd been trying every technique available for years with no luck. When he looked at his feet, he could go forward briefly, but would fall over. If he looked up, he could only go in a tight circle to the left briefly before falling. 

Alan said to leave it up to him. First step? Spinning fast while lying on his side.  This was to improve his balance. They worked on this for several visits. Next, he brought out a bike with HUGE wheels and no pedals. He took him outside and had him just sit on the bike and steer while Alan ran holding the bike upright. When he was able to steer, they added in the brakes. Stop. Go. Stop. Go. Finally, Alan put the pedals back on, but only to get the feel of the pedals under his feet. 

Twice a week for an hour each time, Alan ran around the building with my kid on that bike, as he added in the steps to success. And then they reached the pedalling stage. I stood and watched as they disappeared around the building. And then waited for them to come back around. And when they did J was riding the bike! Six years. 7 adults. Countless techniques...

Alan managed to do it in 2 months.

We never assumed "can't". We just had to find the person who knew the way. It's what you have to do with everything. Our kids can learn, they just need us to find the way. 

So, if you're here reading this and your kid is struggling with something (or you are a person on the spectrum struggling with something), what is it? How can I help? I have 18 years of experience finding new ways to do things. 

Karen

Advice for Parents of Children Newly Diagnosed with Autism/Aspergers

I've vented a lot on this blog. Today, I want to try to offer some advice for parents of kids who are newly diagnosed. My son was diagnosed just short of his 7th birthday. We knew something was wrong & had even had him tested at 4 yrs. old, but no one could pinpoint what was going on with him. Once he started kindergarten, his differences became painfully clear.

It was a scary time for us. Here's this child who we love, who we've imagined a future for...and wham. Suddenly that future is something very different. A future that was very uncertain.

First, I want to say, pick up your child and hold them. Love them. They are the same child you held in your arms yesterday. Nothing about that has changed except now you have a word to explain why they are struggling. This word gives you options. It gives you opportunities. I know that it feels like a death. You're questioning if they will ever graduate from school, have a family, have a job, be a contributing member of society. So take the time to grieve the future of the child you thought you had, but don't take too long. You have a lot to do.

You are about to embark on an odyssey.

I want to warn you that not everyone is accepting of a child who is different. You need to grow a hard shell. You need to be prepared to let go of people who you expected to be a part of your lives forever. You cannot predict who will be there for you, but I can promise it may not be the people you expect. Other people will do everything they can to help you. Some of them will be complete strangers who will become integral to your lives. Embrace them. Take what they have to offer. You will need the support.

You need to find a pediatrician who understands autism. My pediatrician ignored all the warning signs and told me for years that I was being an over-reactive first time mother. When presented with letters from the kindergarten teacher, the guidance counselor, and my list of things I'd been telling him for years, he finally listened. I knew my son had autism before he did.

You may also need someone trained in ABA in the beginning. Kids on the spectrum don't learn like their typical peers. They can't sequence, so simple tasks like brushing their teeth are confusing. My son used to get angry with me when I told him to put his shoes and socks on. It would lead to incredible meltdowns. Then one day he told me that you can't put your shoes on before your socks. By asking him to do that, I caused him to shut down.

For your own sake, break down tasks. You'll be amazed how many steps there are in getting dressed, brushing teeth, taking a bath...anything you do, really. Teach things in steps. Maybe they can learn to put toothpaste on their toothbrush first. That's a number of steps in and of itself. A person trained in ABA will be like gold to help you with this.

The next thing you need is an occupational therapist to deal with any fine and gross motor skill deficits. Kids on the spectrum often have uneven development. They have issues with proprioreception and motor planning. An occupational therapist will not only work with them, they are down to earth and priceless fountains of information.

You're also going to want an occupational therapist skilled in working with sensory integration dysfunction. My son had issues with sound, motion and touch. Our OT worked endlessly with him to help him develop coping skills and to improve his sensory function. I can recommend a swimming pool and/or a trampoline. Both are amazing at helping with sensory integration. And while we never used it, people swear by horse-riding therapy.

You're going to want someone (a psychologist) skilled in cognitive behavioral therapy. This helps work on understanding theory of mind, executive brain fuction, and general thinking skills. My son's psychologist was the most important person in his life from the age of 10 until 17. He gave him the social skills to cope with a world that isn't always user friendly.

I'm going to throw this out there. The doctor who diagnosed my son said to us to remember that it may take him 2 times to learn something, it may take him 20 times to learn something, but assume that its going to take him 200 times to learn something and then we won't be frustrated. This is maybe the best piece of advice I received in the beginning.

The next thing I want to tell you is you have to HAVE TO make time for yourself. You're going to be tired, depressed, frustrated, discouraged, and worse. Whatever you have to do to get it, there needs to be a portion of your day that's "Me Time". During that time, you have to do something you love - read, blog, craft, dance, exercise...whatever it is, it has to make you happy. You have to do it. It will keep you sane on days when sanity is iffy.

Find yourself a community of other parents with children on the spectrum. There are organizations out there (more than when my son was young). Contact them. I spent a lot of time trading information with other moms on delphi forums because when my son was diagnosed, there wasn't a lot of information out there. No question is stupid. Plus, they get it. All of our kids are different, but in some ways they are all the same. And no one will understand the challenges you face better than other parents facing the same challenges.

Don't sell your kid short. Everyone kept telling me what my son would not be able to do. They were all wrong. Why? Because I didn't accept that. I follow a woman on twitter whose daughter is a little older than my son. She's non-verbal and just got a therapy dog, and she's freaking amazing.

There will be many challenges to come, but there is hope. If you don't give up on them, you will find that your child will be teaching you about perseverence, strength, courage and the power of love.

Stay strong. Stay positive. Take care of yourself. Build a team to help you. Read everything and anything you can get your hands on. Educate yourself. Question things. And feel free to ask me anything. I'm here.

Karen