Death & Taxes (and burdons)

Recently, another family member that I mentioned early on in the YouTube days, passed away in August.

That family member was buried at the same cemetery as my grandmother, more on how and why that drama is sad is for another day.

However because the spouse and son plus the fiancee, counting my gram and nana and great grandpa, the space that claimed to hold ten, that the headstone engravers claim 8, is now down to 2 or 4 more.

Again the lone 37 year old in the lowest root of the hierarchy is feeling the emotions. The family member with a mental health now an early state dementia is unclear where they’re going to be buried. My mother wants to be buried with her mother.

My mother does not have a will yet, and my concern is that won’t happen; not that I want her inheritance but all the strings attached to my services not just my benefits. In order for that to work properly having the funds be in a trust instead, she needs three trustee types. Well those people aren’t that young either. One couple I do not trust, which is her fundamentalist friend; where her static world-view is on IDD is pretty much preset with no ability to gently challenge.

As I hear this stuff, I get anxious. Not having a disaster recovery plan a year ago, should’ve been a wakeup call. In fact loosing Gram was a disaster. I also temporarily lost benefits due to a misunderstanding on my mother’s end that caused the case to close as gram’s health was declining. Ironically, I would get a backpay of nearly two months, and screw up the Social Security, which lead that to ups and downs.

The benefits is one thing, the other was not having food to eat for a while. These were the nightmare scenarios I was freaking out several years before, fearing I wouldn’t have hands to hold when everything would crash!

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Afterthoughts From the Last Day Program (The Narcissists)

On March 13th, 2020, on my full day of my 33 years of existence at the time, would be my last scheduled day at my day program, because of the COVID pandemic. I do not know my official last day was on the books. My mother being, nice-gal had paid the program for March, even when we did not receive a monthly progress note. My preferred DSP’s last day would also be on Friday the 13th.

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Lacking Emotional Regulation (Surrounding People)

I am not allowed to be sad, not because of my autism, because it’s too-much for the people in my life.

I do not like to be depressed either, but sadly since my late teens, I have not been allowed the chance to emote properly. The highest range is happiness, and the lowest range is mildly sad. If I have long face, that sends triggers to the mama-bear who feels a need to “fix” the problem to make her feel better. Because the old woman cannot distance herself from the lower thresholds of emotion, I cannot be sad. And if I am sad, she becomes sad.

So sadly, I have been stoic for the last two years in an unique way. I am gracefully being happy while so much shit has been falling to the fan behind me. My mother prides on a quote from a no-name author with zero credentials of “Your only happy if you have the happiest child”, some random BS like that. And being the only child, just makes that pressure even worse, and the mother who can’t sympathize with the autistic child, I mean hierarchal autistic child, doesn’t get it and she refuses to understand.

I know i have a survival rate of 2 years if SHTF, but it has not been tested for a really bad recession (of which I had been calling since 2019) to follow a pandemic. I do not care how my mother wants to spin a version of reality, I want to be able to feel the way I need to feel, and my mother wants to project arrogance (masqueraded as “pride” – of everything’s chill.) At this point the ol woman is acting like a notorious abusive man.

The inability to have proper emotional control has made the situation inherently worse than like any child of any age, to have the self trademarked feelings of present events. To dismiss and project, is basically gaslighting. And if my mother is wondering why my contact has been limited, to even in some instances no-contact while living 24x7x365 for the last couple of years, her brused ego has gotten in the way for me to process the emotions I want to process.

I do not sense any level of recovery anytime soon. I think the best days of my life have passed by me by pure maternal politics and unreasonable control over autonomy and the only way to grieve is silence. Then she wonders why I am so quiet, but the moment I start talking, she goes back to the projection, unhealthy optimism and poor feedback when it comes to empathy.

As my mother would say (and I never use this personally) I cannot win.

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