116 - A God, Tidy

Lin

Today I realised something about how I'd been keeping my room, and how I have viewed tidiness and cleanliness up until now.

Because the voldys didn't hold me in high value as a living being, they used my room as storage, and then when my room wasn't tidy as a result of that, blamed me for the room being 'like a pig sty', or some other insult of that nature.

Now they were no paragons of cleanliness themselves - mrs voldy deliberately forewent mass avoidance measures with regards to cleaning in an attempt to push mr voldy into pitching in with regards to the chores.

The living room, up until I was about 12 or 13, was an absolute tip, full of lots of different objects piled one on top of the other - quite a lot of them being toys.

It was one of the main reasons why mrs voldy never wanted to have visitors.

Ironically, most of the blame for the mess went onto me, when in reality, I was being forced to share a room with an older sibling who hogged most of the room. I was also the only one who ever actually did regular chores, such as the dishes, laundry and cleaning the bathroom, without so much as a complaint.

Not once was I ever actually acknowledged for these things aside from 'being given pocket money' (which was meagre), and if I even made the slightest misstep or showed signs of being tired, I was berated to no end.

And the blame was always shifted onto me and my PDD diagnosis.

Here is the interesting part.

When I decided to try out a specific productivity subliminal yesterday that could help me manage some of my struggles with things like executive dysfunction, time management and other things that I've struggled with all my life due to said berating, do you know how my mind justified me not listening to it?

"I still want to be seen as autistic."

My mind has officially acquainted all of the difficulties I've had, more due to a lack of teaching, deliberate sabotaging of opportunities to learn and outright abuse than anything else, to my having a diagnosis that I didn't even fucking ask for.

Imagine being taken from your real parents, who love you and know how to look after you, having a huge family network who can help raise you, by a bunch of arrogant half-wits who couldn't stand to see you succeed, and so raised you to fail, only for you to find out that maybe, just maybe, you could have been treated with dignity.

How fucking sick does a person have to be to take a child out of a perfectly safe, loving home, just because they intend to cause suffering to said child to further themselves in life?

I am a God. I didn't deserve that shit, and frankly, I still don't.

Even if my diagnosis came with these difficulties, why was I never properly helped to face these difficulties in the first place, when all I ever asked for was to be able to?

It's simple: they didn't want to.

Because then that would mean that I would no longer rely on them.

Oh wait, I left anyway. 

And I'm doing just fine without them.

Take today, for instance. I mentioned some of my struggles to my caseworker, including the idea of my space not being respected, and how I often made a mess as a way of establishing space as being mine. 

They helped me to clean up the more taxing parts of my room within about twenty minutes tops.

Had the voldys had any say, they would've either shamed me for not doing it myself, or patronised me for not thinking of asking for help sooner.

Keep in mind that when I did ask for help, I was basically brushed off with 'later' or 'I'm busy', and there was no consideration at all for when my schedule was full or empty. For anything. Chores took up most of my free time, making me a glorified slave. My needing help was never going to be within their top priorities.

Knowing what I know now, I understand that the entire situation was far from normal.

It's almost as if I was insidiously demonised.

I'd agree with ye on that one.

Manny trudges in, ruffling my hair as he takes a seat next to me.

From what I can tell, they had sour grapes over you being someone of importance whilst they didn't have anything, and they wanted to somehow take advantage of that.

I nod. Something still weighs on my mind, though. It's not really something to talk to Manny about, though.

Aye, what you're thinking about would be for ye Maman to handle.

Did someone mention me?

Speak of the Gods. Maman appears from out of the kitchen with a smile. Manny nods.

I think I'll leave this conversation to be between you two. But take care of yerself, aye?

I will. Gura mie ayd, Manny.

He gives me a soft smile, ruffles my hair again and leaves. Maman sits beside me now.

What do you want to talk about? 

I pause for a minute, trying to think of how to phrase it, but she catches on before I can respond.

The bloods.

I nod.

You cast a spell.

Nodding again, I wrap my throw around me.

I didn't realise the implications of it.

She shakes her head, and pulls me closer to her.

Listen to me. No one is hurt or in danger because of your actions. However, it is important to be careful of these things when you use certain symbolism. Luckily for all of us, you had access to the right people, and so nothing unsavoury happened. Usually it will turn out that way, but it's always important to have protection from anything that might harm you or anyone else through you.

You called for something relating to our bloodlines, which can now be mentioned because it's already been put into action, and sometimes those things can have unforeseen circumstances, like putting you in alignment with other people, sometimes in a very physical way. It's important to always have the possibility of those things happening to you or others of us in mind whilst doing these kinds of rituals. You're very good at making them safe, but please prioritise your health, ma mor. Mat eo din?

I nod.

Mat eo din.

She opens up her arms, and I snuggle up to her as she hands me a tub of creme egg ice cream and a spoon. Then, she takes a tub and spoon of the same for herself. I beam.

You remembered.

She smiles.

Of course I did. You're my child, my firstborn. I'd never forget.

We both grin, and raise our tubs in some form of toast.

Yec'hed mat!