The musings and rants of Julie Marie Miller, Special Needs Specialist, Parenting Expert & Mental Health Caregiver
  • Julie Marie Miller

Something is wrong with me

The rest of the world (minus my small group of other parents within this two percent called caregivers) tells me I should live my life differently. The rest of the world (outside of closest friends and family) doesn't check on me because they don't want to bother me. The rest of the world (including her own father) thinks she's "fine," just a touch of dysmorphia and comparison; oh wait, everyone but all the doctors and mental health providers treating her condition(s). The rest of the world doesn't give two fucks about the time it takes to complete applications that receive denial letters so the attorneys can earn their wages filing the appeals. Everyone "knows rejection and denial are standard operating procedures." Who's "everyone" and why is this common knowledge within this system? No one cares about overdrawn bank accounts, empty cupboards, refrigerators full of spoiled food because you spent another week eating hospital cafeteria and drive-thru food. No one cares about medical history. No one cares about other doctors' opinions (we call them specialists); "they're quacks taking advantage of people like you." Why? Because you have literally one job - to prescribe more drugs?

This is what I have to do today. Actually I needed to do it yesterday but one of my other children asked me to help him through his own medical scare...

No one cares. So why the fuck do I care so much? What the actual fuck is broken in my thinking?

Ironically, my twins were candidates for adoption. I visited an adoption agency; completed all their forms. Why? I wanted the beings growing inside me to have their best possible futures. I didn't know them but I did want to serve the best interest of these future humans. Their father (unemployed at the time *ahem* fired the same day I learned I was pregnant) refused to terminate his parental rights, stating "I cannot have two children walking around this world and not take care of them." When did that belief that prevented them from having their best, stable home possible change? I now know it was just words. It's always been just words.

I now know I was meant to be their mother and that that role doesn't end because a calendar told me they're over 18. Or that their father says they're "lazy."

They have Autism. All of them. They have had a tremendous journey of feats and accomplishments I, actually we, were told never to expect. Forgetful?... ignorant due to absence? Narcissism? Or denial? I don't care anymore. There. Now I'm like everyone else.

Love is a verb, not a noun.

Love is an action, not words.

Love is a choice, not a convenience.

Love is not conditional, nor an age.

Love hurts but love wins. It always wins.

If that's what's wrong with me, then I will always be wrong.

Wrong = unconditional love.

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