Is it me or is Will losing his skills he learned from therapy?
I was on my couch just dosing off, when Will's voice suddenly shocked me out of the daydream.
"Alec says he can go out today," he said with his face about 6 inches from mine. He came with no warning, no tapping on my shoulder, no clearing his throat. He just spoke directly into my ears. It was like we were in the middle of the conversation. Well, for him, we must have been.
"Will, you scared me," I snapped at him. He backed away and apologized. Then I repeated the same repetitive lecture that I've given him for days. I warned him that he should not encroach the personal space. To make it more vivid in his mind, I told him to keep everyone at an arm's length. I also told him to make a sound or look at someone in the eyes to clearly indicate that he was approaching that person. I don't know how to make it more clear, but I was met by his blank stare into thin air.
Yet again, he did not meet my eyes as I sat there giving him the one-sided speech. I gave in and gave him an okay for him to go out. But it prompted me to blog because I was overcome with the nagging suspicion that he was reverting back to his old habits. Everybody moved forward except for him.
Later that day, I dropped him off at the theater hoping he was really meeting his friends. I know that I sound paranoid and overly suspicious. But in my defense, I have my reasons. There were times when he was supposedly with his friends when he was reading his books at Borders. Books about disasters which was his obsession. Thankfully, he did meet his friends. I saw them with my own eyes.
I came home and took a good sweep of his room. I have given him a lot of room to be more independent and wasn't checking his room once a day. Boy, I was wrong. His closet was in disarray, his bags were just horrendous, and things were everywhere, to say the least. I would have left it alone too if I hadn't been too angry. His room only has a bed. There's nothing besides his bed and his closet. So there's no reason to be looking the way it did. I hate use the word regression, but that's the initial word that popped into my head.
He's doing great at school and has regular therapy. He's high-functioning, I tell others, but there's a reason. It's me. I'm behind calculating everything and every move. I count the times he takes a walk, I check his homework, I check his phone and email messages. I'm not paranoid; I'm suspicious. With or without his Asperger, he is a teenager. Every teenager lies and breaks rules. I should know; I was one of them. So, I'll go on lurking around his room, his school, or wherever he likes to hang out, with my spy glasses... because I'm a mom.