Never mess with an Aspie

I didn’t know I had Asperger’s when I was young, nor did I know I could genetically pass it on to my children. They say if you’ve met one person with Asperger’s, you’ve met one person with Asperger’s. I’ve noticed lately that the trans activists have stolen that slogan and stuck Trans on it instead, thinking nobody will notice. I noticed.

I grew up with a feeling in my body similar to what would be labeled gender dysphoria today, but I never called it that. I loathed my breasts to the point of panic attack. I felt like everyone was staring at them everywhere I went. I was genuinely angry at women’s clothing not fitting women the way men’s clothes fit men. I remember buying a big men’s jacket at Melbourne Markets to make myself look like I had a huge boyfriend. I didn’t have a boyfriend. My Nan saw me wearing it and asked my Mum if I was a lesbian. I wasn’t a lesbian. My behavior had nothing to do with sexuality. I felt vulnerable and hated it.

Feeling alien in my body and socially awkward made me behave in ways that got me ridiculed, even by my teachers, and made me both sensitive and angry. I made my special interest fashion design. It was a way to cope with making my clothes cover and fit my sensory needs comfortably. It gave me an outlet for my quirky creativity to be acceptable and gave me a way to mask with others and fit in. In my heart I felt like a big faker. It was exhausting to try to keep up with disguising the fact that I didn’t often understand what was being talked about in conversations. Nor could I follow multiple instructions or learn new concepts easily. I was also terrified of making a faux par with a comment that might get me laughed at. I did have a good sense of humor, but I was never brave enough to have a conversation much less make a joke. I was hyper agreeable, had a strong sense of idealism, denied my needs, had no idea what a boundary was and was incredibly emotionally sensitive. All this to say I was a mixture of angry confusion for not fitting in and normal teenage girl.

Asperger’s plus adolescence can be a lonely, anxious and depressing process of development when there isn’t a diagnosis. It would have helped me a great deal to have an early diagnosis to understand myself. To stay undiagnosed has a way of making a young person hugely vulnerable. We have little ability to know what someone else is really thinking or what their intentions might be. Confidence looks indistinguishable from competence to us. At 21 years old, it was so easy for me to be led into a relationship with a man who didn’t have my best interest at heart. I wanted to be loved so badly and believe absolutely everything that charming, narcissistic con man told me. When our marriage ended 12 years and two daughters later in a very long emotional and psychological train wreck, I was bullied into never speaking about it to anyone. Least of all our daughters. Today I say, no thank you.

The same Asperger’s that made me vulnerable in my youth has shown me patterns of psychology and given me some wisdom with time. It has been the one immutable part of my identity that has been the biggest curse as well as the greatest blessing of my life. If I was in my late teens today, I would easily be convinced I was trans.

There still aren’t many professionals who really understand Asperger’s in girls. For my own Aspie daughter, diagnosis came about two years after peers and other adults convinced her that she was trans at school, totally without my knowledge. She, like me, was intoxicated by all the love bombing to buy into the shared fantasy of becoming someone other than her Aspie female self. I remember her phoning me early in 2020, crying over the phone that she had to start taking testosterone. I begged her not to, that she was perfect just the way she was, and didn’t NEED to do anything. She never explained why. It’s still a tell-tale sign that she was never in the driver’s seat of the decision. Four years later and her mental health has deteriorated terribly. She has moved away, made bad “friends” who don’t have her best interest at heart and have stolen her money. She has been homeless, in debt, has difficulty keeping a simple job, gets “sick” often, is on government benefit, living in government housing, doesn’t want to have any face to face contact with anyone, has told tall stories about what a horrible non-affirming mother I am to anyone who will listen, has blocked me on all social media, and refuses to have anything to do with me. I have tried creative ways to show her my love, like sending groceries, care packages and birthday presents but nothing worked to bring our previously close relationship back.

Today, she has chosen complete alienation from me. It’s entirely possible that the alienation may have been encouraged by a “glitter family” in order to hurt me and make me genuflect to the coercion, but actually the one who will be hurt the most by the alienation is my daughter. I have to remember that she is in survival mode. Perhaps watching me do the same things when she was little has made her subconscious familiar with this flavour of abuse. I’m not angry with her. I’m broken- hearted for her.

I lived this hell for 12 years. It took me a long time to come to grips with the level of abuse because it was packaged as a beautiful invitation to buy into a fantasy of a future that never ever came close to being realised. It was so hard for me to believe that someone I cared for could use me so callously. Every disagreement was appeased with an empty promise to bring love back as it was in the beginning by just trusting his judgement and allowing him to do whatever he needed to do for whatever reason he saw fit, including multiple affairs. My ex would show me a few crumbs of affection to give me hope and then justified every part of his self-centered behaviour as altruism to others. It seemed everybody adored him and he could never be anything less than a pillar of virtue. My own sense of conscientiousness, sensitivity and wanting to understand social norms, my naiveite and wanting so badly to be a family was his playground to paint a reality that didn’t exist. In short, he used my Asperger’s as a weapon against me to the point that I doubted every selfish thing I watched him do as if he was the normal one. He insisted that he was my source of truth and for a while I believed it. All the while he was deliberately destroying my very soul. I found out later, he was so proud of his abusive behaviour, he knew it was wrong, but he refused to stop because he absolutely adored the power he had over me.

So it is with the Trans cult.

Like many other parents walking this path, I have developed a deep mistrust for family members who have cheered my daughter on. I have no trust in Government, Public school teachers, Doctors or so-called Therapists. I can see a Dark Triad personality a mile away and avoid them like they wear their crazy on the outside.  I’m very grateful to Michael Schellenberger for the release of the WPATH files and to Hillary Cass for her report, which has exposed the truth we suspected all along. Their efforts are seemingly all over the news and yet I, like many others, are still the outcast scapegoat in our families and social circles. I am happy that the truth has made itself known but I feel it’s not quite enough. Instead, I find my heart remembering all the times when I felt sure the truth would have to be acknowledged yet wasn’t. Instead, the familiar trans activist types find gaslighting excuses that that keep our children held hostage in a Stockholm syndrome state. Make no mistake - trans activists have zero conscience. The WPATH files prove that every one of them knows full well the cross-sex hormones are not safe, and they do not care. They sadistically enjoy the fact that our children will become sterile, devoid of sexual function and medically dependent for life. They celebrate their right to experiment with our children’s bodies in a way that Joseph Mengale could have only dreamed of. I find this hard to forgive, because they do know what they’re doing. We non-affirming parents pray for justice like Nuremburg.

It took me years to heal. It will take our children a long time to deal with the reality of their abuse too. I can promise you they will see it; the denial of reality will break eventually. Then the slander will come, and our children will be full of doubt and depression. We need to tell them that the reason the Trans activists slander our children is because, if anyone found out the truth about them, they would have no power over anyone. They slander out of their own fear of exposure. But the exposure they fear is inevitable and will come quickly. They will reap what they have sown.  

Our children will need life coach style therapy to heal from this abuse. For me it was Alanon family groups that allowed me to end my co-dependency and have a spiritual awakening. Parents, please know, our children are going to be some of the most spiritual people in living memory when this is all over. Look out Trans activists, your days are numbered.