Part of me was killed on Father's Day weekend...

It was just before Father's Day.

The kids had been getting disregulated when going into a store, so I opted to go to the store while they were gone to get a selection of Father's Day cards for them to choose from for their dad. I double checked with the manager that it was alright - as long as I returned any that were unused before noon on Saturday so that other people could purchase them. I think that I was the one who specified that as I know that making sales is very important and I really didn't want to inconvenience anyone. I'm not for sure though because I was having a hard time following through with what needed to be done for the kids.

You see, I was crying and couldn't stop the tears. Their dad had texted me mere moments before I entered the store telling me that my specificity on facts, being straightforward, and honest was really me just being black and white and anal. He also said that those traits were the reason that we didn't get along in the end and fought so very much.

I am proud of myself because despite the onslaught of memories replaying all of the pain that I endured those final years - apparently for being myself as those are all part of what I have come to find out was undiagnosed autism - I kept my urge to run from the store in check to finish my mission of getting the very person who hurt me so many times, a Father's Day card.

Why? The question kept echoing in my mind. Why was I doing this for... him?

The reason that my mind came up with at first was: because it is the right thing to do and it is what is expected of me.

The real reason finally came to me much later: because despite every reason I have to hate him - I don't. I still love him because I love so deeply and purely that I have been told that I am naive, gullible, childish. Because I want to teach our kids that we can love those who have hurt us. Because they love him. Because I love them. Because of... love. Love beats everything else.

Quick side note: Love doesn't mean that I have to tolerate getting hurt. Love means that even though part of me wants to tell him nasty things and tear his soul into the same number of pieces that he tore my soul into... that he still tears my soul into using new and unexpected methods like that text... that I won't. Love also means that I can love myself enough to have boundaries to keep myself safe for the kiddos.

Ok, so back to me completely embarrassing myself by sobbing in the store... and making pretty much everyone uncomfortable. I checked out with my cards. The cashier was sweet. She's new, but she's pretty awesome. She had worry for me written all over her face and though I wanted to tell her that I'd be okay, I couldn't make myself lie.

All I wanted to do was die. Maybe then the coldness that I've been feeling emanating from my bones would go away. Maybe then the kids wouldn't be so much like me with their autistic traits and be safer with their dad without me accidentally encouraging them to be more autistic because I was (and yes, I know that is absolutely stupid - I never said that my inner depressive voice was intelligent, now did I?!). Maybe everyone would be better off without me in their world. After all, I am the one who continues loving like a fool. I am the one who follows the rules thereby being "not fun." I am the one who needs a routine. I am the one who keeps doing so much because... if I don't do it, it simply won't get done.

But, maybe people like one of the kid's doctor's was right: if I just stopped, maybe their dad would step up. Maybe it was "just my perception" because she just knew me as schizophrenic... and schizophrenic's "reality isn't always reality, right?"

The problem is that I cannot seem to just let the kid's world fall apart just to prove a point. I cannot do that to them. I cannot use them as little weapons as apparently other parent's do with their kids. Those two little beings? They deserve the best of me. And allowing them to be in preventable pain with no good reason behind it... isn't something that I can do and look myself in the eyes when I look in the mirror.

So... maybe it would be better if I just didn't exist anymore.

I knew that I needed to shut that voice up, so I used my coping skills. I listened to my music and drove to a favorite hiking spot. Even though it was raining, I got out and went on the hike. I was having a hard time breathing because I was crying so hard with the memories playing and replaying in my head. The feelings of wishing that I was anything other than autistic because maybe then I would still have a partner and maybe he wouldn't have felt like slamming me into doors and walls.

Maybe if I wasn't autistic, I would have been the girl that he wanted me to be.

Maybe if I wasn't autistic, I would have known that it was a lie the second, the third, the tenth time that he was sorry he slapped me.

Maybe if I wasn't autistic, I wouldn't have written the definition of "hit" as exactly what he claimed it was on so many occasions: hitting would require a fist AND require leaving a bruise.

Maybe if I wasn't autistic, the child wouldn't have seen more than I thought...

Maybe if I wasn't autistic, I would have a better understanding of the difference between an "assault" and "self-defense" ... and fought back better instead of just allowing the pain to happen over and over again because I didn't want to go to jail for hurting him.

My sobs finally turned into wretching and what little I had in my stomach spilled out onto the ground.

My phone started chiming. It was 7:15 and time for me to start thinking about heading home. I could see my vehicle, so I took a deep breathe and imagined myself slamming a frying pan into my inner voice's head for the little birdies to fly around it... just like in an old cartoon. It made me feel a little bit better. I stopped crying. I had things to do - like put kids to bed!

I was back to my car at this point and went to start her up. Nothing. No clicking. No lights. Nothing.

Maybe a battery cable needed tightened? I popped the hood.

I don't remember what all I messed with - there was a lot and I was cussing by the time it was said and done because my phone had fallen a few times, the screen had cracked and it wasn't working properly. For those who don't know, I almost never cuss. The vehicle finally roared to life and I glanced at my phone. The 8 registered. Kid's get dropped off at 8pm. I was late - about 13 minutes out.

But, I hadn't gotten a call, so I didn't slow down long enough to send a text. I just focused on getting home safely because those kid's would be worried if Mommy wasn't there. I figured that the individual who had them was also running a little late and that this would all be okay...

I arrived and they weren't waiting. I breathed a sigh of relief when the text came: running late. Oh good - I hadn't inconvenienced anyone by my stupid vehicle issue!

I questioned: how late? The time was now 8:36pm. I had been home for a minute or two before I had gotten the text. The explosion from the other individual over text was completely unexpected - I won't rehash everything.

Let's just say that I was relieved when around 9:15 I finally had littles safely returned. My brother had to tell me to be nice to the cop who checked on me. I was as nice as I could manage. Was I suicidal? I asked why I would be suicidal - he looked very uncomfortable - I should apologize at some point... he was simply worried.

I wasn't suicidal - just didn't want to live anymore in this reality: being the very reason for my own abuse since autism isn't anything that I can "fix" or "repair." It just is me. I got blamed for someone else's actions, statements, and then they attempted to use my devastation to paint me as an unfit mother... so why, why would anyone think that I could possibly be suicidal when it feels like no one is doing a damn thing to stop this?!

The next morning, I told my psychiatrist that I was ready to drink that bottle. It has been sitting on the shelf for things to get bad enough for me to kill off the part of me that feels. She wasn't thrilled, but we have a good relationship with trust. She double-checked that I was sure.

I was sure that my feelings were being weaponized. That my emotions were getting in the way for me to do my job as a mom. That I wanted to kill the deep feelings that's apparently autism. The being "too much"... "too intense"... "too sensitive"... all while not showing emotion "properly" or "at the appropriate time." I wanted that part to die. Just employ logic and coldness of the other autistic part that has been mocked as "robotic."

The rule was to make sure that I still did what needed to be done to keep feeling me from intense guilt when I was done taking this medication. I agreed. I made the choice to kill a part of me - in the best interests of littles.

My counselor thinks that I still feel some... just so dulled that I can't recognize them after how intensely I am used to feeling. Why? Because I still do what I know is right by those little beings that I love. Maybe she's right. But, my ex hasn't made me cry like that since then.

I hope that he's happy with the dark side that he chose to unleash the moment that he expressed concern about the safety of our kids being with me - I had to be on something - because I refused to answer the demand of where the hell I was.

The feeling side of me isn't intended to return to the land of the living any time soon. He wants to be threatening, vindictive, and cruel? Let him. But I will not feel like it is my fault for being who I am and inconveniencing him for being brave enough to stand tall or by doing the right thing. Showing our kid's how to hold their boundaries while still showing them that they can treat others with loving kindness - even after great pain has been caused.

My ex? Can keep up with the insults that now don't devastate me. My only concern is to maintain my safety and stability for our children. Because if something happens to me? I'm scared they'll likely be made to feel like their autistic traits are wrong, learn to mask and lie, and slowly die inside like I did. I want a much better future for them. So, loving aching heart of angel-like me? That has to stay dead for now. Eventually it'll be revived. Just not until whoever the "demon-side" of me is, is finished ensuring the safety and wellbeing of our children is met...