There is Blood on your Aware Hands

Austin Anderson was murdered by his mother last week.

If you want to read an article that paints a pretty, sad, objectifying picture of the events and poises his mother as sad and repentant (while Austin is just a dead invalid), here you go.

If you don’t want to read that article (you don’t), I’ll give you the important cliffnotes.

  1. Austin was left in a field by his mother to become dehydrated and suffer from deprivation of critical medication.

Now for my comments:

  1. This is terrible and cruel
  2. This is not unusual
  3. The coverage of Austin as a burdensome, helpless dependant is not unusual

Now give me a moment. This is hard. This is hard.


THIS IS NOT UNUSUAL. Let me put those words in huge, non-blinking lights for a moment. Let me cleanly excavate, actually, all of the things that are not unusual about this:

  • An Autistic person was murdered
    • in a cruel and unusual way
    • by a person he trusted
    • because they thought they were saving him
  • The murderer is portrayed as pitiable
    • Or somehow not responsible (this time it was because of drugs)
    • but mostly, we need to remember:
      • Autism is hard to deal with
      • The mother LOVED her offspring
      • “Mothers know best”
      • Therefor, an Autistic must die.

I could point to examples of similar, not-unusual cases of disabled people being murdered. I won’t. Google “Disability Day of Mourning.”

But the fact that this is commonplace is not easing the burden on my heart. The fact that this is commonplace is burning inside me. It’s one more log on the fire of furious anger at the undeniable truth that people are killing us. They are killing us for being us.

I am here to tell you, without mincing words, why Austin was murdered.


No, not because Autism is hard. Not because parenting is hard. Not because of a drug-using mother.

Awareness. Awareness kills.

This is why I will tear in to you with a fervor if you try to spread awareness for Autism.

Awareness seeks to make people aware of autism. Just aware. Not educated. Not compassionate. Aware. Aware of how terrible it is to raise an autistic child. Aware of how different we are. Aware of how much we need a cure. Aware of how wrong we are.

Be aware. Parents of autistic kids, be aware.

Your kid is terrible. Your kid is a tsunami. Your kid is an epidemic. Your kid must be cured, but there is no cure. You will suffer, and there will never be enough services to help ease your suffering (because we spend all the money on awareness).

Be aware. Beware.

Beware, beware, and then go kill your child because every media outlet that you see will tell you, in between raising awareness, that you will not face penalties for fillicide of an autistic person.

Because that’s an oxymoron. There are no autistic people, just dependents with autism. Stolen souls shrouded in Autism bubbles that need to be released from their prison to be with God.

Via murder.

I see blood, I see blood all around me.

And it’s on the hands of the Aware.

3 thoughts on “There is Blood on your Aware Hands

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