The Rules.

There are a lot of rules in our house. Everything must be done in a certain way. Things must be in certain places, at certain times. Certain words must be used, or not used.

We don’t make the rules. Autism does. If we don’t follow the rules, it takes hold of our beautiful, intelligent, funny daughter, and reduces her to a screaming, crying, mess.

My husband and I walk around on egg shells, constantly on edge. We snap and argue at each other, because we can’t fight with Autism. I get frustrated and angry at Milla, then hate myself, because I know it’s not her fault.

I don’t know if I’m strong enough. I know I don’t have the patience. I make so many mistakes. Sometimes I hate this life, and I’m terrified that it will always be like this.

It feels like we are alone, the three of us. Trapped in this crazy world, with it’s crazy rules. With a ticking time bomb, just waiting for an excuse to explode and take us all down.

Strong Enough.