the beginning

Autism.

Before we get into the twisted details of “The Evan Show”, it is important to be aware of some of the foundational blocks that my life was built upon.

I was in kindergarten the first time I heard the word. I can remember being told by my mother that I would be going to school late that day. I protested, I didn’t understand why. I wanted to be in class with the other kids. I wasn’t permitted to have friends, with the singular exception of my mother’s best friend’s daughter. I was so confused, why was I alone going into school late that day? I remember how happy my mother seemed, which I also found confusing at that age.

When I walked into the classroom, the entire class began to point at me, mock me, and call me “Autistic.” It is worth noting that around the turn of the century “Autism” and “Asperger’s” were separate diagnoses in the DSM-IV. They were thought of and treated very differently. I had never once heard the word uttered.

I became enraged. My safe place, school, was instantaneously turned into a traumatic hell that would from then-on define me in the eyes of my peers. I was ostracized to be discouraged from creating friendships, so that I would turn to a deeper reliance on my abuser.

How did this happen? I would later discover that a social worker and my mother had made the decision that it would be “in my interests” to sit my entire class down to be told that the reason I was “different” was because I had Autism. I don’t know who could possibly think five- and six-year-old children would be able to grasp such a concept. I don’t know who thought there would be any outcome besides the immediate “other”ing of me. I don’t know why I wasn’t told at all.

From that day on, the label of “Autism” defined my life.

To get any attention or nurturing in my home life, I had to comply with being this sort of living prop. I trusted my abuser because I had no other people or references to turn to, and so began this journey that has taken over two decades to truly understand and reanalyze without outside influence.

It was always framed to me as my abuser and I against the world. Anyone who dared to question my label was instantaneously vilified and removed from my life. Any doctor who advised that ADHD was the correct diagnosis over Autism was painted as evil. I trusted my abuser. Who else did I have?

Very quickly my abuser built an identity around being the righteous parent of a disabled child. Anyone with even a cursory knowledge of childhood development knows the importance of needs being fulfilled by the caretaker at specific intervals of time. My crucially important years and experiences were intentionally and meticulously staged in an attempt to create this level of disability in me. If it had not been for my grandparents helping to meet my developmental needs until I was seven, I likely would not be here to tell my story today.

Later in life I would learn that I first received the diagnosis at two-years-old and immediately began a regiment of Clonidine for sedative purposes. Clonidine was the beginning of my pharmaceutical abuse, and it would stay a part of my medication regiment for many years. At two years of age my abuser found a doctor who was willing to sign off on this diagnosis she so desperately wanted. I was kept in a complete bubble as my abuser worked to realize her vision of a cash cow, not a child.

My grandparents were told that I would never complete school or be able to work any job. Although my grandfather was the Vice President of Human Resources for OshKosh B’gosh following a thirty-year career with General Dynamics, he was told not to bother starting a college fund for me because of my “disability.”

My abuser began to collect SSI benefits, though these would quickly end once it became apparent that I was not in fact disabled in the way my abuser had portrayed. This was the beginning of a long pattern of fraud and deceit perpetrated in my name. Of course, there was child support, state insurance, and food stamp benefits also being collected. A coincidence I find noteworthy is my birth coming at a time when my grandparents were going to cut my abuser off from financial support, she was twenty-five and failing to deal with her own traumas. My birth ensured her housing and income would continue to be supplemented.

My father could not intervene, and I would later learn my abuser went to great lengths to keep him out of my life. I want to be very clear about this, my father could not have saved me. He and his wife have gone on to raise two incredible, bright, successful children. The toxicity of my life was such that I will vehemently defend their decision to keep my siblings away until my last breath.

And, after all, I would not be who I am today without the exact series of events in my life that have brought me here. I wouldn't change any of it. I have lived experiences that will serve me greatly as I move forward to help others.

I have had the opportunity to review evaluations ordered by court proceedings that would ultimately lead to me being placed on a Juvenile in need of Protective Services, or JIPS, order. In these documents my abuser presented my conception to be documented as follows:

“Mother was never married to the biological father. She says they were together only a couple of weeks. When the biological father found out she was pregnant, he went to marry her but she declined. She says currently the father is very angry with her because she had to take him to court about insurance.”

When I first read that part of my record I was absolutely baffled. There was a generally accepted story of my creation in the canon of our family, and this was not it. I have worked to ascertain the validity of this claim, but have not been able to find a single person to corroborate it. However, I have found people that can unequivocally denounce it as false.

In the last line shared above, reference is made to court action to obtain insurance for me. This makes absolutely no sense to anyone with even a limited knowledge of my history. Every doctor visit, procedure, and medication I received was paid for by the taxpayers in the great state of Wisconsin. I was always on Badgercare. It would seem few beyond my abuser had any knowledge of this.

Later, in my adult years and separated from my mother, Badgercare denied a claim citing coverage through my step-mother. I was absolutely dumbfounded. I had to reach out for an uncomfortable phone call, not understanding why after twenty plus years of life I was being just now included on their insurance.

It would still be many years before I would learn that I was always included on their insurance, unbeknownst to anyone but my abuser. I would later learn she used this false pretense to create conflict with my father over the course of my life. Calling, instigating a fight, and hanging up over insurance she never once planned to use.

Why would a mother fabricate such a falsehood? As I expand my research and knowledge of Factitious Disorder Imposed on Another (FDIA) abuse, formerly known as Munchausen by Proxy Syndrome, it became one of the many puzzle pieces that fall into place. As my abuser and her husband continue attempting to erase the blemish of my existence, I remain steadfast and motivated.