Laying The Foundation

“When someone tells me I shouldn’t let others rent space inside my head, I just tell them, “Hey, I need the money!”

~ Catwoman=^..^= ~

© Kelly Jeanne 2022

My life ended before it even began.

I was told that as a newborn, I didn’t do any of the things newborns usually do, such as turn my head, wave my arms, kick my legs, or make gurgling noises. I didn’t smile, laugh, frown. I just didn’t do all the usual things babies do. As a result, when I was six months old, my mom took me to a pediatrician to test my motor functions. After examining me, the doctor told my mom I would be “no better than an elevator operator”.

The look on my mom’s face, as she told me this, stunned me more than the words themselves. Her eyes searched my face, hoping to find any signs of hurt; as if it were giving her an unnatural, twisted sense of amusement and pleasure. It was a mystery to me that she decided to tell me this at all. Why? What was going through her warped mind that she decided to tell me this at the age of eleven? Why tell me at all? Ultimately, I’m glad she did, because it gave me important insights into why my family treated me the way they did. As I got older, it helped me put some of the pieces together.

I had seen this look in her eyes so many times before. That she could allow herself to detach from her own flesh and blood — flesh and blood that she had carried within her own body for nine months — and relegate me to a worthless object, confused and saddened me.

She’s my mom. Isn’t she supposed to love me?

By detaching herself in such a way from me, it gave her the luxury to see me as something odd, curious, the way you would look at an animal at the zoo. I wasn’t worthy of love. She was devoid of compassion and understanding. It frightened me knowing I would be stuck with her, along with the other members of my family, for the whole of my childhood. I knew, deep inside, this was going to severely cripple my ability to survive and flourish in the world as an adult. I wasn’t being paranoid. All these thoughts had been evolving long before this, but only got stronger at age eleven and throughout my childhood. Now I knew I wasn’t being paranoid.

The way she treated me also affected how my sisters treated me. They saw how she looked at me, how she talked to me, her overall behavior toward me, so they grew up knowing something must be wrong with Kelly. As a result, they dutifully followed suit.

As my mom sat on the couch telling me this, my face remained lifeless while I looked into her cold eyes, but I didn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing how devastated I felt, and I walked away with the very clear and concrete knowledge that there was something inherently sinister about her. From that day forward, that uneasy feeling continued to haunt me, confirming what I had always suspected. Age eleven is a hard age to discover that my mom is in league with the devil.

My mom took the doctor’s word for it and ever since then, she and the rest of the family treated me as if I were mentally retarded. She never questioned anybody who had a title before their name or letters after their name. Wearing a white coat didn’t hurt either. Even if I had been properly diagnosed, it wouldn’t have mattered, because my parents weren’t loving to begin with. Let’s face it. No matter the diagnosis, they were dead set on viewing me as inferior to them.

Fast forward to the age of thirteen, I remember sitting at the kitchen table while a man administered a battery of tests to me. The whole time, he kept giving me that same strange look. as everyone else has throughout my life. When he had finished, he did something peculiar, although at the time I accepted anything anybody ever did as okay. Instead of conferring with my mom regarding the results of the tests, he simply got up, and left without saying a word, still giving me that strange look as he closed the door.

I went to my mom, who was putting away an armful of freshly washed and folded linen. When I told her the results of the tests she simply said,

“Oh, Kelly, that can’t be. That’s genius level.”

Everything inside me seemed to deflate even more, if that were at all possible. Not because I was hurt from the remark. After all, I’ve been so used to being put down by members of my own family, but more so because, after she made that statement, I thought, I really am stupid. Another nail was hammered in to confirm to my lack of intelligence. Something told me if the man who had given me the tests had been there to corroborate the results, she would have believed him.

Throughout my life I could never figure out why I was practically unresponsive as an infant with next to nil motor functions, yet at the age of thirteen I was told that I have an above average intelligence.

At the age of 61 I finally found out. I’m on the Spectrum.

Ever since I was a small child I’ve been in the business of raising people’s consciousness. Sadly, very few people listened to me. Another favorite pastime of mine is to blow people’s minds with simple truths; to shatter stereotypes by using simple common sense.

In these posts I hope to raise your consciousness; get you to think outside the box and see things in a new way. I love teaching. The fun part is watching people’s faces as I ‘blow their minds with simple truths’. My hope is that you’ll join me on this journey.

Please feel free to leave comments below. I would love your feedback, your personal experiences, and any questions you may have. At times I may feel the question is important enough to create a post for it. Don’t worry, though. You will remain anonymous.

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