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Anonymous Mom: I Have 2 Autistic Kids And I Fear I Might Be Pregnant With Another
There is no cure. If there were, those with far greater incomes than us would have found it, discussed it and made it known. There is no reason.
For me, every day there is less and less hope as I live with this young person. This young person who exhausts me, who sometimes frightens me, who breaks my heart and yet who depends solely on my husband and I for every aspect of his care.
I love him dearly, but I rarely love living with him and I am deathly afraid he knows it on some level.
I will learn the sex of this unexpected blessing in the next couple weeks. If it has a penis, I will lay on that table in the front room of our home and my husband and I will cry. Autism affects boys far more than girls. Three out of four children with autism are boys. Even now, does another autistic child wiggle and jump in my womb?
So while there are parents and mothers with connections, friends, support groups and programs, there are also those of us hanging by that thread. We are among those who eagerly bounded out on that high wire of parenting with high hopes and great ambitions to better the world and give our children their own joyous place in it. But after a time, we’re still here, wondering how we got lost on such a narrow course while the rest of our generation of parents happily and obliviously pass us by.
Killing a child isn’t excusable. But for all those who’ve never been in such a dark corner of their soul, scratching at the walls and desperate to find a way to the light at the end of the tunnel, I do hope they know how lucky they are because there are some of us who doubt we ever will.
I know I need help. I am in therapy every other week and sometimes every week, particularly during the summer when it is just the kids and I during that never-ending hell ironically referred to as summer break. My older son was receiving help, too. That is until the man who came to see him once or twice a month during school decided to go to a private practice and not tell us. Good thing we called to schedule summer appointments at our older son’s request or how else would we have known?
As a result, I’m also trying again to get him help through our community mental health program. We applied last year but because our son, at age 10, hadn’t had any run-ins with the law yet or severely injured himself, he didn’t qualify. Less than a year later now, he’s expressed a renewed interest in setting fires and has even mentioned killing himself after getting in trouble.
“I want to find where the most blood is in my body so I can stab it with something sharp and make it all come out,” he once told me.
I hope that he will at last qualify for a minimal bit of help because we have run out of options.