How my combined diagnosis of ADHD, Asburgers syndrome effect me.
Background: I was born in a Camden in 1988, I was born with alcohol foetal syndrome, my mother was a alcoholic, I was exposed to many dangerous and neglectful situations, I was taken off her and placed in a foster family at around 15 months.
My foster mother allowed me to call her mummy, but I was soon adopted at the age of two by a well off couple with 4 other children all boys ranging from 11-19 years old.
I only remember meeting my new parents twice. I remember going to a pizza hut on the way to my new home, my new father was not with us…my new mother’s handbag got stolen from the back of her chair there had been a group if noisy teenagers at the table behind us and I had sat in a high chair.
I was not what my new mummy had anticipated, that night I was in my bed it was a toddler cot…I was crying…I can’t remember the emotions I must of felt… but my new mummy rushed in concerned, ready to gush love, hug me, comfort me, I was the little girl who she was to shower love attention, brush my hair, dress me up! Mummy’s here she said with outstretched arms ‘not you the other mummy’ I replied, she left red faced… throwing me back down in the cot,
She brushed my hair, I wriggled and whined, the brush hurt and scraped, the hair bands crushed my temples and gave me headaches, the pretty dresses and clothes were heavy, itchy, constraining and I could never keep clean.
I was two and throwing a tantrum, she locked me outside in the little garden area, I remember because we moved house before I turned 3, she told me the neighbour was a witch and would come and take me away if I cried. I’m not sure how long she locked me out for, I can’t remember if I begged to be let in, I don’t remember if she felt regret afterwards…
But I do remember that till I left home at 15 I had a recurring nightmare of a witch chasing me.
My mummy stopped trying to hug me, they adopted my blood brother as soon as he was available at 1 years old, he seemed more receptive to my mummy’s love, he had a more nervous deposition, ground his teeth, bed wet till 9 years old,
I remember sitting on the floor while young and seeing my mummy on the rocking chair and my little brother sitting on the futon between her legs having his hair stroked… I watched on from within a bubble but I felt something…it was yearning for love…
I would meltdown at school, I was diagnosed with Asburgers and ADHD at 8 I was given a 1-1 and kept locked in a room with her away from my friends…I had friends…I liked them…I was not educated, my school life revolved about being kept in that room and restrained if I tried to run away. I would throw chairs and objects, and growl like a animal in frustration, I would myself at walls and hit myself. I was expelled, my mummy actually told me quite nicely, I said ok, I didn’t have meltdowns at home. It hurt, but I didn’t cry…I’d learnt if you cry a witch comes, if you cry you get hit and sent to bed with no tea. If you cry no one comes to comfort you…
My chest always screamed, I went to 8 different schools from 10- 12 years old, I was physically bullied at 11, I would spend the break times trying to get the blood out my clothes with soap, I knew not to complain to my mum,
I was lonely, I would go for walks in the lunch break, out of bounds, if the six formers found me they would drag me to the lake to try throw me in, I would fight, they would give up. I would hide in the library…two boys one in my year one in year nine told me they wanted to be my friends, they told me they had a hiding place, a den. I felt proud, I went with them, we climbed over fences and I was proud I could keep up with boys! We passed a field of red flowers I always say they were poppies but I was incredibly short-sighted and no one realised till I was 12.
We stopped near a rotten log, there wasn’t much of a den, there was two boys pushing me down, giving me a slap when I tried to get up…something got taken, I was too young to know what, but I felt dirty, I died that day.
It was similar to things that had happened when I was younger…but I can’t go there…but it was painful and worse…
I did tell a teacher, the fences were harder to climb and I was slower, I trailed behind the boys on the way back, they were friendly again, they told me they’d get me pick and mix, it seemed to make it a bit better.
The boys were suspended the older one got 3 weeks the younger 2 weeks, I didn’t understand why the one who had told me it was almost over and hadn’t hit me got longer.
My mum ran me a bath and left me in it, I cried, I wanted her to come, I wanted to be told it was ok, I wanted my hair stroked. She didn’t…
They had said that the boys had said I’d agreed for pick and mix, I denied it, I felt such shame, I hadn’t agreed it, I’d promised not to tell, but I was a child sweets were a treat, I normally omit that from the story, But I’m realising I was a child, and a starved child at that, a child who stole from Lunchboxes and out of bins…I’m not ready say more in this blog…
The boys had access to social media, I went into school the next day, I was called whore and slag, my behaviour got worst, I would run out of class, I was expelled..
The next 6 schools I boarded at, they were primarily boys aged 12-19 with behavioural problems, I was locked in cupboards, thrown down a set of metal fire stairs, I was restrained facedown by 6 adults for most of the school days, they would take shifts. A boy called Alex who was 17 groped me in the minibus I pushed him in the aisle I got banned from the minibus, he then started to catch me in corridors push me against walls, grope and try and snog me…After the 8 school I was taken out of school
My dad had left my mum, my mum had yelled ‘ ITS YOUR FAULT HE LEFT HE LOVED ME, HE COULDNT DEAL WITH YOU!’ It still hurts, I hated myself….that’s never gone away.
I started having to sit in front of the Grandfather clock from when my brother went to school to after he’d finished his homework, if my mum went out I had to stay locked in the back of the car, when my mum worked I had to stay at a table or in the chair in a room next to her office, I was allowed to read sometimes write… but I was always so cold and would pass out.
I stopped being allowed breakfast, and my lunch was
Breakfast: mug of milk
a sandwich with dairy Lea or slice of wafer thin ham, apple or ski light yogurt and beaker of water or weak squash
mug of milk, sandwich with butter and banana or no banana if it was spread with jam etc
I had no snacks or drinks between
At weekends I had a hot meal for lunch
And every 2nd weekend my dad had us and I could eat whatever I wanted.
When I was at school I had sourced food, eaten out of bins…stolen from lunchboxes etc….I feel ashamed, when my dad was home he would take us all for meals…
At Christmas and special occasions I ate well.
I was not allowed to turn on light switches, choose clothes, open the car door, leave my bed even to go to the toilet from 7pm until my mum woke me up.
I was not allowed any contact with people my age, I was censored and limited in tv, I was allowed to read adult classics and fantasy, I was not allowed magazines.
If I walked with my mum, she started training for the great walk of China, she would make me walk in front, it made me nervous,
At home we had two ways to get to put my plate in the sink, I never knew which way to go, if I walked too fast and the plate and cup clattered I was shouted at, if I walked too slow I was shouted at, if I put the plate and cup in the sink and they made noise or toppled the other items….or if I was too slow deciding the best way…I was shouted at….and worse….
She would tell me I would never be pretty, my calves were too muscular, I wasn’t allowed to do my press-ups or sit ups from the age of 10 she said I was starting to look like a boy….the press-ups stopped the screaming in my chest, so I would secretly still do a few. She would sigh and tut while looking me up and down…she would weigh me, I knew I wasn’t overweight I couldn’t be, but I put weight on easily and would when I spent the weekend with my dad.
I had ran away a few times from school at 12 years old because I was scared to go home, Now thinking about what Ive written about the schools it doesn’t make sense even to me, but at school I had food, I had snacks and drinks, I could walk and play, I guess I even enjoyed being able to meltdown.
A lot of my shame is because I didn’t fight for my innocence, I lost something at 11 it’s destroyed me….but I was only slapped hard once, and pinned down…it wasn’t violent.
I used to meltdown, It used to take full grown adults too control me, it took them hours.
But at home I never melted down, didn’t even talk, no matter what she did, at first before about the age of 6 I did but I stopped.
But at school….I was wild,
That makes me a coward, those restraints didn’t hurt me particularly, it got the screaming out my chest, I would feel calm afterwards, I could scream and shout…still didn’t cry, I had something physical to fight against that I could understand and any pain caused to me was invigorating…I deserved it, I understood I had kicked off…I deserved to be punished, I didn’t complain.
But I didn’t fight those boys, I was too scared… When I needed to fight…I didn’t…
Now I fight, I make it hard, I need to hurt myself more then anyone else can, so that fear of pain won’t stop me resisting to convince myself Im not a coward…
If I get restrained now I get flashbacks of all the multiple rapes etc, I struggle or sometimes the restrained use pain which I relish, I laugh and struggle more, I tell myself I deserve everything…the pain…When I’m fighting they have there hands full, they can’t grope me, I fight until I’m exhausted, until they put me in restraints…until I need the loo. Until they realise, I cannot calm down, until maybe they stop shouting and hurting and one female speaks to me compassionately, and I’m done, I’m just scared and tired and hurt and I’m done fighting, I can’t keep it up, and I cry and I want my mum, and I don’t know who that is, who I want to hug me and tell me I am loveable, I was wanted, I am enough, I’m not dirty, it wasn’t my fault.
DAMM IT HUG ME, let me sob my fucking heart out,
Just fucking love me, fucking love me.
I need my mum, I’m 30 and I need to be loved and no one can give me a mother’s no one else’s hug will do, and no one for a long time even touched me except to hurt or grope or restrain me, like a animal except animals are loved…
But I’m autistic so apparently that’s not something anyone recognised I wanted or yearned or feel, I fucking feel….My tears are streaming down my face now I’m done,
I should have accepted that hug at two years old.