It’s 12:30 AM – the middle of the night. She just now fell asleep.
After anxious boredom, a shower to remove all traces of shit that she can’t seem to recognize is happening in her pants, and quite a bit of yelling and screaming by both of us.
My eyes are tired and I feel the tension in my neck from my body trying to shut down.
Her autism won’t let her go to sleep, my body won’t let me stay awake much longer.
The whole situation makes me want to cry. It makes her want to cry.
It’s been years since she wanted to call her daddy during a fit – tonight was the night to start again.
It didn’t help.
The walk at 11pm didn’t help either, she was still angry and without answers to my questions. Which way do you want to go? Should we keep going or cut through to our house?
Grunt, angry wave of her arm at my face.
She hates herself, says she so stupid – no matter how much I tell her she’s not, she says it anyway.
She’s at war with her own body and mind, and she’s smart enough to know it.
So am I, but that doesn’t make it any easier at 12:30 in the morning.