The Boy is struggling again at the moment. I'll save his blushes by not giving too much away, but something isn't right in his world. The frustrating thing is trying to figure out what.
Sometimes it feels like we're playing the most painstaking game of 'Guess Who', trying to eliminate options and rule out anything that might have changed. Combing the crime scene that is his life to see if there's any clues, anything that might give the slightest hint at what is distressing him.
It's this not knowing that makes helping so difficult. For someone who's so eloquent much of the time, when it comes down to the stuff that matters, the words just aren't there. All that exists is anger and frustration and fear. I'll ask him what's wrong, and I'll just get a shrug of the shoulders as if to say 'nothing'. But those big blue eyes don't lie, and underneath the surface his whole mind is screaming back out at me, 'everything'.
It will pass, I'm sure, as it always does. And in weeks, months, even years down the line he'll eventually find the words to say what was wrong. It could be the most trivial of things, it could be of mindblowing importance, there's no way of knowing. It'll just be another lesson we'll both have learnt, something else we can chalk down to experience... another page we can add to the manual called 'Life'.
This blog is about bringing up The Boy. He's 12 years old and autistic. It's written by The Dad. It's my words, my view. Other people will think differently and have different opinions. Good.