You don't have to read this...physical abuse

My blog belongs to me. I choose to share. You choose to read. And let me tell you, it can get redundant, sad and downright ugly. I write to free myself, my soul and to convey all the truths, the ugly, life sucking truths that I have experienced. This blog is my friend, my outlet, my voice. Choose to read or don't.

Physical abuse is damaging, humiliating, degrading, and demoralizing, pure and simple.

I didn't like it when: my dad would grab my upper arm, dig in, yell and spit at my face; when I would sit at the kitchen table and he would ruthlessly, without warning and ceremony, pull me out of my seat by my hair...scary, frightening, dehumanizing, betrayal, pain. In front of the rest of the family...the looks on their faces, in their eyes, when I flew into the air...the shock and horror. That was so, so very wrong. And for the life of me I cannot even imagine what horrendous thing I had done to deserve such malfeasance. Trust me, I was never That bad. I never, ever deserved that.

My mother always said no one would ever love me as much as my family. I don't want no part of that kind of love. Never. Nope. My family loved me so bad...

God, and somewhere within this tangled mess was little Aspie me who was born innocent, pure, highly impressionable, easily hurt and extremely confused. Fuck. Please, don't anyone love me like thems. I'd rather live in a hole with fire ants than be loved by thems, like that.

I didn't like my hands being hit with spatulas, brushes and big spoons. God, I hated that.

Those people, so wicked mean, still deny to this day...that they ever hurt or injured me.

I grew up hypervigilant, always on point, because I never knew when I would be struck. Usually, when my father raised his voice, everyone in the house would tense...it was like a hot sickly gust blew in and everyone ran for the farthest wall. Whomever was nearest him, usually felt his wrath. Worse yet, was when he didn't say anything at all and just lashed out without warning. I never knew. Always on high alert.

My body, held on to the pain lest they see me cry and do it more. Trust me, that's how it worked. Just keep it all in, hidden dark and deep.....till body starts breaking from the weight.

They had no right but no one stopped them. What goes on in the "family" home, stays there. Those walls hold a multitude, layer upon weeping layer, of secrets and lies.

I don't want to suffer, forgive me. I don't want to be this very small, brilliant light surrounded by the darkness they spewed and inflicted. Somewhere...under this mess they perpetrated and gave, is me. Under the long faded bruises, beneath the layers of scar, behind the lie, past the silence on the right....I am in here

(original photo A.M. Murphy)

A Little Skewed on the way to love

Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me if I really don't know what love is and if the idea that someone could love me is frightening.

See, I got a little skewed up...my parents, who, by moral law, we're supposed to love me, had a very bizarre, sadistic way of showing it. Love means hit me hard please. If that isn't awkward, forgive me. I don't want to be loved the way they loved me.

Step back, turn left.

Somehow, I have to convince myself, the beatings have stopped. You know, you live with something long enough...and all that.

I'm confused, another go figure. In my heart love meant, was taught to mean something mean, sinister, almost evil and decrepit. Usually, I have been pretty good about trying to avoid That. I back away so smooth and abrupt. God, I just want to stop hurting. Ask a lot? I want to get the meanings right...untwist the wreckage and remove all the lies and untruths. God, what does that leave me with?

It's like love is one hand, hate, the other and the fingers are tightly intertwined. That's a scary picture. I have to figure out how to undo...all this..residual damage that I ave been carrying like an overflowing, weighted suitcase that as worn out my arms.

Funny, I can love...my boys, partner and such....it's just the other way around that is scary. I work on loving myself, but that's still rather messed up. IDK....just thinking with my heart...trying to get things straight. I'd rather not carry around misbegotten and skewed emotions. Hmpf, wonder what it's like to be an emotionally healthy being...and how long will it take to get there? I certainly don't like being messed up. Looks like a full plate, again. Wish me luck.

Physical Abuse..what it feels like being hit

You would think that someone punching you would be a simple, physical pain that would hurt and then go away....methinks not. Each punch, blow, strike whilst surely causing physical pain, also carried an emotional component. Like an invisible scar, the cells remember, the body feels the emotion of the blow.

If my father was angry when he punched me, my body felt his anger. If he was afraid, scared, my body felt it too. When my mother, who preferred to hit with objects in hand, struck, it was all frustration and desperation.

To be hit, is morally devastating. Physical abuse causes deep distrust, heavy shame and embarrassment, coupled with extreme worthlessness. It damages self-esteem and is rife with betrayal. I know this to be my truth.

I couldn't count the number if times, my poor, helpless body was hit. I can't count that high. But they left a heavy toll. Hitting a child once, is one time too many. And Aspies tend to feel more deeply as a rule anyway...go figure. I don't now if my body knows its safe..or that the beatings have ended. That's a helluva lot of stored pain, emotional and physical. Forgive me if I am not a happy, carefree, productive being but instead, I spend hours and days wallowing in my shit Trying to save myself and be free from the past and it's ugly remnants. It's a full time job.

My body hurts...go figure. I'm busy working on healing. Sometimes nobody is home.

I Dread Making Mistakes

I must say that I spend a fair amount of time zigging, zagging and plotting, in the futile effort of avoiding making mistakes. I failed again, earlier this week. Oh, I had some help, as the err was not mine alone, but I took the fall.

When I make a mistake, there is a plethora of both diffuse and intense emotion that engulfs me. That old saying, "she could turn on a dime", meaning an abrupt, quick change...well, I get the human/alien version. Every thing else, every thought, previous feeling and path ceases to exist. I am trapped, face first against a twelve foot brick wall...and the howling is quite intense and multi-directional. I am surrounded by broken plates being thrown and hurling insults. I wrap my hands to ears but then it just gets louder, closer, and I have nowhere to run to, nor hide. I am at the mercy, of the man beating me with his fists.....

So I looked up "basic emotions" and horror plus misery resonated. I can't tell you if, in the past a man did beat me repeatedly with his fists or if it's my metaphoric version of how it feels. Some visions are unclear.

Making a mistake is a crushing blow to the very center, the solar plexus, the pit of the stomach in physical terms. It's shame, eyes downward; embarrassment, coat over head; horror, because I don't want to be hit or beaten anymore; misery, because being hit hurts. Oh, I see a theme.

I equate mistakes with great physical pain and the emotional pain of being rejected, cast off, not good enough, undeserving, unworthy...love turns away. It's a hollow empty place, when turns away...never knowing if it be coming back...or ever was. Hmpf

I've wrestled with this mistaking as long as I can remember. I've written, analyzed, been psychoanalyzed, more than once....I haven't found the solution. But, methinks, this is the very first time that I have been able to disassemble it into its components. See them strew across the floor? Instead of in one big heap. Time to play with progress, for once disassembled the pieces never go ack again the same, kinda what happens when I get a hankering to take the vacuum apart.

Hmmm

Time for a long walk in the dark woods. Reevaluation on a number of fronts. Later

Sometimes I Like Having Aspergers

There are moments, minutes, sometimes even hours, when I revel in the amusement of my Aspergers. I mean, how many peoples can thoroughly enjoy imaginary relationships and find comfort and care in mythical, personal interactions without another physical body present? I can take vacations without ever leaving the house.

The other day I was at the grocstore (a neologism for grocery store, thank you Bob) and I was mesmerized by this little bird flitting around the produce section. I mean, no one else there was able to capture and observe this very small detail. I very much enjoyed just standing there and watching birdie fly from ceiling perch to ceiling light and tritze over, most casually, to the fresh parsley and snag a few bites. The rest of my shopping experience was spent trying to locate little birdie and see what he was up to.

I hate to think that it is us against them, the nts, because we are all in this together. Everyone struggles in one way or another.

Sometimes I worry that I divulge too much "inside information" regarding my inner mechanisms and workings, but then I remember I am trying to enlighten nts and find support among fellow Aspies.

I think about the absolutely fascinating inner world, with it's multitude of rooms full of volumes and the series of doors, windows, defenses and moots. If an nt walked in to my main library, they would be stymied, because all the books are in a foreign language, mine, AspieSpeak.

Everyday I muddle thru, manage to maneuver whilst keeping myself balanced between inside and outside...but sometimes it's quite delightful. I have a richness, a vibrancy that cannot be touched or measured. I am my own person and I cater not to societal norms, fads and crazes. I am free, in that way.

What was it some wiseman said, "if you care what other people think, they own you." See, no one owns me, but me.

I walk my talk and talk my walk. A more honest person you would be hard-pressed to find. I pride my self on always giving my best, trying my hardest.....and I know that, now. I am quite remarkable, my Aspergers makes me so:)

Comfort is a Very Thin Line, Daily Life with Aspergers

Finding comfort...a daily struggle. Trying to find the clothes to match the mood, weather and events of the day. Schedules, appointments all need monitoring, writing out on slips of paper on bulletin boards on the outside and inside, as well.

Eating is a ritual of finding the foods that will actually taste "right" for any given meal. Cause lord knows, if it isn't right, the food will have no taste, it won't sync and the body goes hungry for lack of want. Gathering the food everything has to look just so...lettuce without blemishes, burger properly cooked, bread toasted to the correct color and texture, just the right amount of ketchup or butter...making sure the portions are accurate. I tend to eat a little bit of everything in each bite, so I try and put just enough on my plate, everything in equal amounts.

Chores, deciding what needs doing and what I want to do. It's a balancing, juggling guessing game that I play everyday. Watching for those appointments and wagering as to how much time I need to prep and drive to arrive on time, which for me is about five minutes before the actual time. I like a little slack.

The arrival of Younglink on the bus home. I tend to set at least one alarm so that I am awake, alert and looking for the bus. If I am off doing errands or appointments in the afternoon, I constantly watch the clock and have an inner dialog that continually reminds me to be home on time.

Younglink arrives home. Homework, snack, asking him about his day.

Supper and so on.

Comfort is a rare place indeed...a very, very thin line amongst the woods and stones. A narrow pathway that is extremely difficult to find. A small island in the middle of raging seas. Most days are a series of anxiety and stressors. To escape into comfort, I nap, cease activity and try and forget everything that needs doing, hence the alarm clocks. If I get my chores done, or decide that I have worked enough, I can set an alarm, sit or lay down and immerse my self in the comfort of my own self, my mind and wanderings.

I don't know if most people experience comfort on a daily or semi-weekly basis. I have no clue. How would I know? Comfort is a mighty fine rarity that I thoroughly enjoy.

Happy in a Fantasy

Sometimes my imagination is a wonderful thing. I found myself smiling and happy that past couple of days, and it has nothing to do with the real world. There are times I feel positively blessed to be able to create elaborate fantasies in my head, my world.

See, I have the ability to conger up an image...facsimile of a person; past or present friend, deceased friend or relative, Jesus or my image of God. Then I carry on extensive, hours long, back and forth conversations. I find it very rewarding, others may find it sad, but these inner dialogues meet and fulfill a number of needs....mostly I get to talk about everything that interests me, the mundane and trivial, the facts and the fiction...whatever I so desire. Ahh, that's why it's a fantasy...it's all my desire:)

One fundamental concretion of my fantasies is that they feel just as real as your reality. I can touch a person, hug, as if they were directly before me. The sound of fantasy P voice is as clear as day. It is very much just another....very real dimension of My reality.

Anyway, these mythical interactions can feel like medicine, a tall cool one...it's relaxing....like a day at the beach minus the sand between my toes and sunburn. I enjoy it. Its like having a personal sounding board, a positive mental outlet. Hey, if it brings a smile to my face, it definitely has redeeming qualities.

This is how I entertain myself, how I feel less alone. It's like remembering the last time, a person you cared about, hugged you, sat at the same table and looked and listened. The interaction lasts as long as I want it to....okay, sometimes I have a hard time reintegrating into this reality thingy...but it's just a small lag. It's completely within my control and I only selective fantasy friends that I really, really like.

Just another day in this Aspie life. Shedding light into the brilliancy of my inner matrix.

Privacy and Anonymity

I have noticed that many Aspies, my self and son included, have a need for extreme privacy. At first, I thought it was just me who was escaping the dreaded biological family of insanity and abuse, but my son was never abused. My online Aspie friends were not all abused either. There is a passion for privacy that goes beyond any reason. I thoroughly respect each individuals privacy on their level.

I don't let just anyone into my house or my yard...they are both extensions of me, mine, no one enters without a security check or invite. Ok, kinda joking about the security check, but I am quite selective in who I let in.

I used to use a post office box instead of my street address...for years. I have used aliases from time to time. I have purposely....misled peoples on forms, the phone and in person, to protect this sacred thing called privacy, mine and personal space.

I do not touch other peoples belongings, from the knickkacks on their table to their coats or cars without express permission. I decorated a friends office for her birthday last year. The biggest mighty challenge was in actually touching and moving her office belongings. I had to repeatedly, repeatedly ask her best friend if it was okay to touch or move this or that. Even with permission, I felt like I was doing something terribly wrong. I had to keep convincing myself that I had permission and it was okay to do. Dang, gives me palpitations of wrongdoing just to think about it. Yikes.

Eldest and Meself have both gotten extremely agitated and angered when someone has touched or slightly moved one of our prized gewgaws. I wasn't sure I could handle having a cleaning lady come in and clean because she would be touching all my stuff. Cleaning lady turned out to be a remarkable kind, caring and trustworthy being...whew...,cause a housekeeping goddess, I ain't.

Honestly, it took me years to get somewhat comfortable in the house that Partner paid for and built. I think for the first few years, I minded my p's and q's and secured little spaces that I felt at ease using. I said nothing but agreement whenever she wanted to do this or that, paint this color or buy that couch...because the house did not belong to me. I had no rights, in my own head.

Because I value anonymity, I rarely use anyone's real name. My Partner, Eldest and Younglink are my mate of 17 years, my oldest son and my littlest son, respectively. It took Partner quite awhile to understand and respect my privacy in regards to touching and moving my belongings. Of course, it didn't help that I was unable to Verbalize my needs and wishes. She has learned, mostly.

As Partner respects my things, thus and so I respect hers. It's just common sense and an innate part of who I am.

The most egregious event, that comes to mind, is when I was working for an elderly neighbor couple. I was indoors working with the Mrs. and Mr. went outside, Into My Car to roll up the windows on the pretense that it might rain. I was beyond livid when he said this and quit the job within the week. I felt totally violated and ceased trusting the Mr., like, Forever. You just Do Not ever get into my car or touch anything of mine, Ever. Yeah, I still carry some ire and resentment on that front.

I've noticed that few Aspies use photos of themselves on Facebook, preferring an anonymous scene or pretty picture. When I first started fb, I did the exact same thing. It's just the way we operate. As a member of the Aspergers community (in good standing, I hope) I ask that you take special care with your Aspie friends and their need for discretion and privacy. Please respect their boundaries, even though you may not understand them. In our heads, extreme privacy makes good sense.

Doing the Social Thingy

I had occasion to get together with a group of friends today. I hadn't attended a friendly social gathering since February, Grammas funeral. These peoples, well, they are like my second family, a pair of sisters that Partner and I care for.

Even though I love and adore my sisters, I still felt the old stirrings and bristling of Social Anxiety and took some meds. Just the thought of being in a house full of people's, even ones I adore, sets my flight or fight mechanism all atwitter.

To add to my anxiety, the gathering was taking place in a new setting, a new house. Change and uncertainty are sure fire triggers for stress. Ahhh, in addition, there were two brand new little peoples that would be attending, two new months old tiny human babies. So, I was a bit on edge, unknowing what to expect or how I would react to so much new.

I ended up having a wonderful time. I hadn't seen my friends in over a year, but we all gelled and congealed as if we hadn't been apart. That's what family friends are supposed to be like. That's when you know the affection and caring is mutual.

It will take awhile to get used to this new venue. I really didn't scope out the new house as I found the greatest joy and comfort in rocking and holding the little, bright, brilliant beings. I settled into my little niche, sat back and observed, thoroughly enjoying myself all the while.

I struggled to get into my social mode, but I am glad I did:)

The Very Polite Aspie

Sometime around the age of ten or so, I started calling all adults "Mr. or Mrs." I have always harbored intense respect for my elders. There were a couple of elderly widows who lived on my block. I'm not sure how it came to pass, but I ended up working for and with them, doing chores in the house and yard.

Mrs. Barber, who lived on the corner, was of hardy, peasant stock and could be found raking and weeding her yard almost everyday. She and I spent our time working outdoors.

Directly behind my parents house lived another widow. For the life of me, I cannot remember her name. I can picture her, as clear as day with her petite frame, pretty white styled hair and glasses. She had me helping her with strange and odd tasks, some of which I had never heard of. In particular, I recall helping her clean cupboards and wiping the dust off the tops of cans. I found it extremely odd that anyone would have a can of food in the cupboard long enough to gather dust.

Both women were extremely kind and patient. They didn't seem to mind that it took me a while to learn how to do these very new assignments. Oft times they would have to repeat the directions or repeatedly show me how to do a task. I was quite slow to learn, even then but they never seemed to mind.

Frequently, we would take breaks from working and sit and enjoy lemonade and cookies. I very much enjoyed spending time with these women. I thought it pleasantly odd how they spent so much time smiling and appearing....happy.

Any person in a position of authority; doctors, nurses, policemen, firemen, principals and teachers, all I treated with the utmost respect due to their title and position. It's just automatic for me to think this way.

I have to laugh....I think one of the reasons I was excused from jury duty, a few years back, is because I answered every question from Mr. Prosecutor with, "Yes Sir" or "No Sir".

It used to be that anyone older than myself, was Mr. Miss or Mrs., but as I have aged that has changed. I frequently give my boys the title of Mr. No longer are titles exclusively for older people, but I have been know to address children as Mr. or Miss.

I recall the first time, that I saw an envelope addressed to "Master So and So"... It was a card for my brother from my great uncle. I was impressed with that. As I enjoy using titles, I am also pleased when others use them as well.

I was an extremely complacent child. I tried extremely hard top please my parents, listening and believing their every word, trying to anticipate their wants and needs, figuring out what made them apply, trying to make their lives easier.

I felt so sad at times. I saw my mother struggling, ashamed, hungry, beaten, so very much afraid of her husband at times. I didn't like lying to the bill collectors on the phone, but I did it because mom asked me to. She seemed so helpless at times, my mother. She was so sad and overwhelmed, frightened, locked in very odd, painfully antiquicated beliefs. Anyway...she was so full of emotion...I digress.

I honored and respected my parents at all costs and at every turn...I was such a tool, such a mark, so easy to take advantage of. Dang, this post seems to have a life of its own and is taking many twists and turns as I amble down those dirty, dusty roads of the past.

You know...part of me would love to know why my father did what he did to me. I know it is Not because I asked for it, deserved it or had done anything wrong. I don't know...I used to want to figure out all of life's mysteries but I am less curious these days and more willing to let some things remain unknown...but this, the abuse and incest, I wish I knew why. I'd love an apology. I no longer need it for validation...already have enough of that...but wouldn't it be nice...an acknowledgement, an apology? IDK just flipping channels, writing about whatever surfaces.

I mean, my parents were in sooo much pain, the house reeked of misery. The walls weeped, the doors creaked, the table trembled and shuddered..it was a mess.

I felt their pain and h o p e l e s s n e s s. and I just wanted to take it all away. To fix the poverty, misery and sadness. I tried everything, everything to make them happy. At such a tender young age, I failed to realize that one chooses how one lives and I was trying to erase all their pain and of course, I could not.

I absorbed and took on, a much more formidable challenge than I could have ever hoped to win...at ten.Enough already....enough

Being a Parent

More than anything else, I want to be a good parent. I have no models, no experience in this endeavor. An Aspie cannot take parenting classes...it just doesn't work that way. I only know how to do, that which I have previously experienced. I have no family to sit and observe or ask questions of. I'm not looking for pat answers. I love and adore my boys, but that isn't enough. I need parenting smarts and intelligence, role models and askable peoples.

Fear of Being trapped

I feel that I spend a lot of time trying not to get trapped. Trapped in rooms, walls, words, promises, false hopes, crazy ideals, societal norms and customs, unreal explanations, and such.

I don't want to be locked down, chained in or restricted. I fight mindless conformity at every turn. I abhor idiotic, nonsensical rules and regulations, even when forced to adhere to them. I have often refused to color between the lines, much to teachers and parents dismay.There is not a single holiday that excites, moves or entices me. I fail to understand their meaning and would be just as happy if they would all go away.

I'm trying to figure out my mood here. I feel like I have a lot to say, release, point out and vent. I'm somewhat raging, frustrated, perplexed, disappointed and happily enthusiastic....heck, maybe I just need to write, get words out, play and juggle them about until they all fall down, onto the ground and spell out the secret key.

Okay,thus I shall ramble......

I am frustrated that my little guy has been quite sick with allergies all week, to the point that he cannot go outside. The pollen is at its heartiest and he just can't tolerate it. I am furious at two different pharmacies, that have dropped the ball and been unable to produce one of his medications. There will be hell to pay. Now, I just have to figure out who gets my wrath tomorrow. I'm guessing I'll have to pay to secure his meds out of my own pocket.

When my boys get sick, I always question my self and my autistic mind....am I getting all the info I need? Am I making the right appointments and talkingtonthe correct people? Can I trust the doctors? Or do I need second and third opinions. I hate it when boys are ailing! I question my abilities to handle and deal to the bestest of my abilities and resources. It's one of the few times that I damn my Aspergian thinking, and seriously doubt and question my self. Aarrggghhhhh.

Okay, that issue seemed foremost.

I am bothered by people that lie fora living. I abhor deception in all it's snarly, bitey forms...but when law enforcement lies...it seems even worse. They have to do it, for their job to keep peoples calm and cooperative. I can only guess at Eldests confusion and angst over the tremendous volume of little white lies he has been told with all the time behind bars.

I know how gullible, naive and stupi I felt...when the sheriffs showed up to take me away...that time, long ago. Like an idiot, I believed every word, the men with badges said.....and every single thing they had said and promised was lies...to keep me complacent. I had no clue that badgemen ever, ever told untruths....well I learned rather quickly. I guess Eldest will have some serious readjustments and venting to do...when he gets out.

It's hurtful, to be lied to.....it's embarrassing to be naive, gullible and taken advantage of....I know...been there...didn't like that.

I don't like commercials. Not only are they too loud and invasive....but the biggest reason, I turn them off...tough to admit...is that I tend to believe whatever they say. My innate, honest nature hears, "this snake oil will cure your every pain", and my first, natural impulse is to believe it. I am honest by nature. I literally have to talk to myself so that I do not buy into every products false and lofty claim. It's easier to just mute and turn off commercials than to have to wrestle with logic and morals at commercial time. Sad but true.

I need a break...later

Gameplay, of Relationships

Relationships, those two headed monsters where one person seeks another adult person for strange and mandatory mating rituals....are nothing more than a complicated game. Not "game" in haha, let's have fun, I have nothing better to do...no, rather a per functionary game sometimes necessary and sought after whereby one seeks and entices another for companionship, love and such.

A relationship is a game of strategy, knowing and learning rules, boundaries, preferences, positives, slight manipulation and such....one must vehemently learn all there is to know about the other in order to find the right person. Each relationship is a time-consuming complexity of observation, questioning and, horror of horrors guessing and trying to figure the other person out.

For the Aspie, its also a game of figuring out how much to share about autism and our inner workings and worlds.

It's a terribly risky game....that most of us seek

I wish I had answers or a magic wand so that everyone who wanted a partner, magically received one.

Before I met my Partner, I behaved much like a privet investigator, gathering as much background information as I could. It really took many months before I felt even somewhat comfortable sharing what lives and lurks underneath my surface. It was years before I comprehend, connected and understood Partners needs and behaviors. Years till I felt a comfortable stability and inner and outer security. Even now, I continue to be vigilante....no...astute...no, learning and observing. Interactions and relationships are foreign substances that stymie and confuse. Like everything else, I have to work at maintaining a semblance of a healthy relationship.

I am aware that I am fortunate.

I wish you all the best in your questing.

Love Hurts...nah, not really

Awhile back, I wrote about "love hurts" and eluded to the hurt of not having a loved one living near. Today, a small epiphany in the middle of mowing the lawn:

Love doesn't hurt...it's the longing that hurts

Love is a separate experience. Longing is the part that pains.

For some reason, the universe, myself, IDK, I have suddenly been able to separate out my emotions from the large globulous mass. The ability to compartmentalize has...materialized. Not only emotions are effected, but the way I handle my daily chores also.

I have 5 or six gardens in my yard. I used to be overwhelmed when gardening needed doing because I pictured all the gardens together in one overwhelming large and chaotic mass.....hmmm, as I write, once again, extreme clarity. Now, I can venture from one garden to the next and focus on one at a time. I am much calmer and know exactly how I want to work and design each one.

I swear, I have accomplished more planting, weeding and arranging in one week, than I did all of last summer.

Ahhh, the universe is smiling upon me. There is sunshine behind and sneaking through the clouds.

My emotions are becoming clearer. My everyday life...a bit easier and making more sense.

I can accept that:)

More Emotions From the Sponge

Anger, for me,is the easiest emotion to feel, sense and see in another person. My experiences of being the recipient of my fathers anger, as taught me, put me on hyper alert. I avoid angry people. And it doesn't have to just be overt anger either. Many people walk around with "hidden", surpressed and seething anger from long-ago infractions and resentments. Those who are unable to forgive, turn their anger inward.

I think it would be fair to say, that I have only gotten in touch with my anger in the past five or six years. And trust me, I had a helluva lot of anger built up. I have gotten to the point where I am quite comfortable dealing and expressing anger. It is a great impetus for change and getting things done.

What does anger feel and look like, in another person? I can tell someone is angry by their eyes. That's a no-brainier for me. I grew up with that at least a few times a week, seeing those eyes. Their lip....form tightly together. Being around an angry person, it feels like fists are being thrown, at me and I must dodge and put up shields. They are like porcupines, with projecting quills, waiting to strike whoever gets near.mthey pollute the air with a certain hot, dense, sickly stench. I feel as if I am being attacked and I will run from angry people...usually physically.....if not with my body, at least with my mind. I try and be me slippery, allowing all that hatred to slide over my force fields. It's exhausting...so much self-protection. Walking at the grocery store, the mall, people of anger carry themselves slightly hunched over with tightened fists and minds.

Enough about that unpleasant emotion...I cannot dwell there anymore. Dont care to. Now

Why on earth would I ever draw attention to myself by "overreacting"? I am the perennial wallflower, avoider of any undo attention. Sorry, I continue to beat that old dead horse. Accuse, accuse, accusation after accusation...all my life...I have been the Accussed...guilty of not being meurotypical. Still want to curse and swear about that one. I continue to vent and release aaalllllllllllllllll the frustration and angst that I have carried with me because of That! $&@#%>€^£+¥#}_*+*

I need a more positive topic, for balance and to clear my head

It's weird...I can sense negative emotions with others but it is so much harder to tell when the positive emotions are being expressed by others. Seems I have very little experience, in that arena. It is no stretch of the imagination that I have a much more difficult time telling when someone is being genuine and caring. It be such a rarity all through those early, teen and young adult years.

Open arms, are one sign that I look for. In my arms, with my hands, I can feel what is real, good and right. Agh, it was so hard when Eldest was behind glass...I couldn't feel his honesty, his intentions...if he still loved me. Seperation.....I lose the ability to gauge and wager and feel and sense..if I am physically separated from someone. The phone, conversations long distance, tell me nothing. They are stall, stagnant, empty and mostly futile. I cannot even guess what the person on the receiving end even possibly thinks and feels about what I'm saying. Are they listening...doodling...praying to God that I hang up? I just don't know. I get no info!

Now eyes, love, Gramma, I look at her picture and I am looking at her. Her eyes light up with bright lights...he'll, her whole body lit up. Pink bubbles flow, rainbows arch, bend, reach. Frail hands warm, soft, caring, comfort, a pillow, warmth, genuine, real love...Real Love is positively amazing!

When my Grandpa held me, as a toddler, I felt safe, warm, understood, comforted, real, accepted and quite loved. Greens and pinks flow in gentle waves. Tightness relaxes, let's go...nothing to hide, hinder or deny. Acceptance...an open hand, open arms, soft eyes, slight smile, a welcoming.

Anyway....calmer now. Peacefulness fills me from head to toe. Heavy sigh of relief, of release.....yes, I can feel love. I am loved.

Emotions, Eye Contact, Rethinking, the Emotional Sponge Speaks

I love the phrase, "Emotional Sponge" in describing myself. I can't take credit for it, as aa Aspie friend first mentioned it. I find it quite true and believe it contributes to my anti social behavior.

"You are only as clean as the water you wash in." Now that one, I thought of. It's not as sycinct as the former, but tries to say the same thing.

Aspies have more nerves, neurons, basically sensors turned on than the average NT. When my grandfather held me, and I was around three years old, I felt his love and empathy, through my whole body. Back when I was seven, my grandmother, who didn't care for me much, looked at me from across the table and cribbage board, and her eyes said, "Now that was a smart move. I like you!"

I am rethinking this whole, I don't have the ability to read eyes or understand emotion. Rather, maybe I have just learned to turn both off...because they were too intense. Maybe I was born reading eyes but I grew weary and afraid of seeing inside the depths of others souls. Maybe I no longer wanted to view my fathers hatred and anger. Maybe every time I looked into my mothers eyes, I was reminded of the time she tried drowning me. The woman was full of pity, victimization, remorse, guilt and a sorry excuse for love. Her eyes....she was the one drowning.

A hateful, hurtful glance once.....does make a terrible pain. Rarely did I ever see any love, comfort or acceptance on family's faces....so I stopped looking. Funny, as I write that, I had no problem looking at the faces of y siblings. I adored gazing and admiring the beauty of my littlest siblings. Even when sibs became teenagers and rather emotional, I still had no issues with looking and making eye contact.

Hmmm, this issue is more complex than I first believed....processing.

The adults who shot and stabbed me with their evil glances of I'm not good enough and completely disposable....yeah, I lost any respect for them. Eye contact stopped. I do believe it was a conditioned response to keep me sane.

As I feel eye contact allows me to stare into someone's depths, I thought the same was true of me....that someone could....look into my eyes and view the hideous nightmare of my waking life. And I wanted no part of that.

Sometimes, it seems, I can read part of a persons past, if I stare at them long enough. I feel I am invading their privacy with too much eye contact. Somehow all this info meshes together, even though it seems rather disjointed at the moment.

It's possible, nothing but a remote theory, that I turned off my emotions..rather started hiding and shoving them into the room in the back...way, way back because every little thing hurt so intensly. Of course, being routinely ridiculed for "Overreacting" will cause that as well.

See, I have never overreacted In My Life! I have always felt things two, three, four times as intensly as any NT. Stop telling me I overreact, because I react absolutely perfectly for who I am and how my brain works.

Okay, that would be a little anger and venom releasing from alllllll, allllll, the times I Have Been Accussed of being something I was/ am not. I am not Dramatic, OverBlown, Overreacting, Trying to get attention or pity, I am just being who I am...An Extremely Sensitive Being who works vehemently to try and protect my sensitive feelings and state of mind.

There is nothing wrong with me.

My Aspergian friend was talking about how someone made fun of her for having more tears than most over an event. Duh, this is the story of our lives. If we show how we feel....if we allow ourselves to show what is real, true and honest about how we feel, we are ridiculed. We should know...it has happened our entire lives, over and over and over and over again. So we shun, we shovel and hide what we really feel....because the outside world does not comprehend. Well, fuck you. I am damn tired of hiding my true and honest self, my feelings and emotions that are all of who I am. Fuck You outside world for making me feel embarrassed and ashamed for being sensitive. Fuck you for making me feel that most of who I am, isn't good or appropriate enough to be shown. Yeah, fuck, you

Maybe I'm damn sick and tired of hiding...fuck you and deal

If you can't handle who I am, You turn around, walk away and lock your fucking self in a closet for twenty years and see how you like it. Back off, look away and get the fuck away. I will not hide no more!

Your Comments

One of the things that I enjoy most about writing my blog is readers comments. I so need to be heard and understood,so when someone writes about similar feelings or experiences, it does my heart good!

It has been so beneficial to connect with other Aspies and kind peoples. It makes me feel much less alone and crazy. The validation is beneficial beyond belief. As you know, I don't spend much time talking with others, so every little comment is cherished. Whilst I can't always reach out to the outside world, my blog provides a very nice bridge of safe and easy communication.

I really want to thank all my readers and commenters. I love hearing your stories, experiences and feelings. I am very grateful! Many, many Thanks:)

PS Sharon One Square, How are you doing?

Emotional vs Physical Pain

Lots going on...so here's a start.

Somehow, someway unbeknownst to my conscious brain, I have been able to separate emotional from physical pain, at least in this one instance.

Last weekend, after spending hours doing yard work, I pulled a muscle in my low back. It makes sense, as I was mostly curled in a ball the majority of the winter. Then one day last weekend, I walked outside and the air had changed. It was warm thru and thru with the richness of Spring sensations. Immediately, without any forethought, I started vehemently and joyfully working in my gardens. It was so engrossing that I completely missed lunch and barely remembered dinner.

Anyway, I digress, so I injured my back. Funny thing is, I have had this injury a couple of times before and in both instances, I was completely laid up and unable to do the simplest of physical tasks. This time, whilst the pain was still quite there, I was able to....understand the pain, why it was there and work with it. I figured that I could go about my daily chores and just be slightly vigilante regarding bending and certain movements. Somehow, I had extrapolated the usual fear, worry and emotionality from the physical injury.

At first, all I knew was this owwie was different somehow. It wasn't until a week later, when I spoke to my therapist that she was able to put new found experience into words. As soon as she said that I had separated emotional from physical, a big ol lightbulb went off. I immediately recognized my truth in someone else's words.

Damn, it continues to be nothing short of miraculous when I can communicate with an NT and be understood! This is yet another incident of my great difficulty with putting feelings and sensations into words.

Back to my awakening. I think that when I wrote about it, became aware of how my everyday and every event was a convoluted mixture of emotional and physical pain, it registered. Somehow the awareness broke the chain....or caused the two to become compartmentalized....and they never had been two distinct entities before.

My back pain is highly manageable. Minus the emotional component, I am damn functional. This must be what most NTs experience with a physical malady. It is an extreme, far cry from how I experienced a similar injury before. It's like...I can see daytime, as well as the night. Grey separated into white and black. It feels like a whole new world...inside part of my head.

Looking back....I can understand why others could not comprehend my pain. Sometimes it was highly, through the roof emotional, mixed with a drop of physical. I can see that now. I don't hare myself or feel that I ever did anything near being deceptive. I understand that it's just the way my brain works....and I'm okay with that:)

Be Well

Driving, Intersections and Traffic Difficulties

I am one of the Aspies who can drive, but many cannot. For awhile, I was quite stymied why some people with Aspergers are unable to drive...then I tried teaching Eldest. My son is 19, and does not drive. Granted, the last two years have been spent in prison preventing all vehicular use. I did work with him when he was 16 and 17 years of age, in a large empty parking lot.

He was absolutely terrified to simply sit behind the wheel. For me, it was an exercise in patience and positive reinforforcment. I kept my voice to a monotone, low and calm. It must have been 30-40 minutes before he gathered the courage to start the car. We traveled a good 10-15 miles per hour that day, making turns and using lots of brakes.

I can see now, why driving can be difficult and sometimes impossible. First off, a vehicle is a powerful, complex beasty. There are a dozen subtle steps to actually start and move a car. Things most dont even think about. The seat is odd, unusual and adjustable. It takes a bit to find the "sweet spot", the position which fits "right".

Once moving, the feel of moving without ones own body and volition, is quite unsettling and feels somewhat out of control. It seems like the car is in control. There is a certain amount of time that needs to take place before driver and car can feel as one, or at least on the same side working together. I believe that took me many, many moons.

The sensations of a car running, can be intense. The feel of the gas and brake pedals, plus the intensity with which to appropriately use them appropriately takes time. Engine noises and the subtle changes in motor sound keep hearing on alert. The smell of the heater and air conditioner, in addition to environmental odors, vie with smells of the engine burning up or breaking down...okay, the latter is due to owning nothing but junk, barely running cars most of my life. I smell for radiator or brake fluid, excess gas and exhaust, or the burning rubber of a belt gone bad.

The way that the engine sounds and vibrates changes with speed, road conditions and weather. When the windows are down, the side view mirrors make a variety of whistling sounds.

Tires change their vocalist ion depend on whether the road surface is bumpy, wet, covered with leaves or snow.

On the road, on streets shared with other cars, apprehension and anxiety grow within, with each passing car. The factor of unpredictability, for oneself is multiplied by every car on the road, because they, the other cars, are each an unpredictable variables. There are no clear cut parameters, each driver is different and a possible threat.

Intersections are a challenge, because each has it's own rules. Traffic lights change at different times. One is allowed to turn right at a red light at certain intersections, as long as the negative sign is not present, that negative sign, hat says do not turn on red, can be anywhere within the busy, congested intersection filled with posts, lights, peoples and other distractions. There is no uniformity as to where these signs may be. It might be eye level or it could be higher on a sign post. Intersections are sources of consternation and confusion.

Being a visual person, my eyes try and capture all movement. At intersections I can get very distracted. As I drive, and objects, peoples and signs whizz by, my brain is unable to put on blinders, or filter out the unnecessary. It becomes very tiring and quite stressful quickly. Over the decades, I have learned to put "soft blindes" on, in the sense that I try and unfocuse from the scenery and sights. I keep my main focus on the road I am on, and keep in mind my destination ad route. Everything else, the beautiful blossoms on the apple trees, the cute doggie, the flock of starlings...all those distracting sights I have to ignore. I remind myself quite frequently when I am driving to pay attention to the task at hand. You will never find me with cell phone in hand, behind the wheel....neither texting or talking be I.

Frequently, I do talk to myself to remember where I am going. I've learned that post it notes are grand and tend to write out destinations, if there are more than one. You really don't want to know how many times I have driven right past the store I needed to stop at.

I often drive in silence,without the distraction of radio. My boys have learned to talk little and not at all when I say, "Hush, Mommas driving and needs to focus." They understand and usually needn't be told twice.

I grew up in a large metropolis and experienced anxiety te majority of time that I drove. Now, living in this small town with four streetlights, I am much more at ease. Driving is easier here, on these streets I have patrolled for lo these 17 years. I am mighty fortunate.

Driving is very complex and complicated. It can cause great anxiety and uncertainty. When Eldest is released, I am prepared to teach him how to drive on the road. I am extremely qualified to be his driving instructor...I know how he feels.

Time Travel, living in a memory

I don't know how most people remember things, if they view it rather detached on a screen. All I know is that when I remember, I travel back in time and I am there.

The memory of being a toddler and embraced in my grandfathers arms, I feel his arms around me. I see his smile and can touch the collar of his white cotton shirt. I smell his scent. Most importantly and quite oddly, I can feel the love radiating from him to me...as if it were happening in this very moment. Not only do I feel love...but something else...I'm not sure what it's called but he feels sorry that my body is broken. Somehow he conveys that feeling to me. He feels such sadness that I have had such a troubling time with my hips, legs and feet. I sense this from him.

I have taken refuge in this memory quite often today. To feel such comfort, warmth and love astounds me.

Somewhere, in my head, I was so sure that I had never been loved...that I was absolutely, positively unlovable. And I remember this moment....and false beliefs simply shatter. Everything changes. Forgive me for not wanting to leave this inner world of remembrance for it is pure and utter joy.

Game changer

All of my memories involve time travel. If I think back to high school and eating lunch in the open space, I am sitting cross legged on the floor, tasting the mixture of white and chocolate milk. I see all the bodies moving to and fro, in constant motion. I smell the staleness of no open windows and too any students. I feel stuffy and claustrophobic.

I guess this type of memory is good when there are positive things I want to remember, but it works both ways. Sometimes I expend considerable effort running and hiding from remembrances that hurt. Quite suddenly, I realize how rich is my inner world. So much going on. Survival tactics and planning, avoiding and comforting, wanting to stay yet being forced to the outside for things that need doing. You know, those obnoxious and mandatory routines of eating, maintaining and family interaction. I like those sparse times, when I get to decide which world my mind rests in. Too few are the hours...too few. The demands of daily life..,so damn high they be.

More Early Memory

It's funny what I remember regarding that aforementioned memory when I was 28 months. I only recall my grandparents faces from the nose down. I don't know what their eyes or hair looked like, but I am aware of the exact shapes of their mouth and teeth. The clothes they wore, I easily remember the areas around the shoulders.

Grandpa had on a white buttoned shirt with stiff pointed collar. Grandmother wore a dress with small black and white, very fine stripes. Her collars were rounded with intricate black lace around the edges.

Somehow this memory brought up old, long hidden feelings. The resentment and irritation of my grandmother resurfaced right alongside the warmth and love of my Grandpa.

It's so odd to recall feeling forgotten love and adoration. I mean, Gramps was so thrilled and delighted to have me in his arms. Who would have thought?

I am also struck by the fact that my very first memory of someone carries so very much weight...for years and years. Hmmm, someone loved me...how cool is that?

Early First Memories, my Grandparents

As I was on the receiving end, of a most luxurious massage, memories surfaced of my first encounter with my paternal grandparents.

I must have been 2-3 years old. I sat on the living room floor, nestled amongst the thick, dark brown carpet fibers at my grandparents house. I had been busy observing the couch with that funny, pushed-down lavender weave dotted with the most fabulous speckles of tiny reds and blues. The carpet was somewhat delightful in its thick coarseness. I played with the shag fibers, pulling on them and wrapping one or two around my fingers. It was a strange, new place but I had something to play with and my brother was on the floor with me. He was smiling and if Guido was smiling, than everything must be okay.

Out of the back room comes this tall woman. Without warning, she bends over, puts her hands under my arms and lifts me up with a start and a jolt. I went into wide-eyed shock mode as this strange person dug her hands into my ribs, brought me close to her face close enough that I could count every tooth had I been able to count. She spoke harsh and raspy and very loud. Her breath hot and smelling like garlic and sausage.

Me, being my normal Aspie toddler self promptly broke out into wailing and tears. This highly infuriated the woman. Her words became sharper. The hands holding me grew offended and she handed me off to my mother for consolation. Since that moment, it would be very fair to say that I never liked her again and she most certainly expressed the same sentiments to me. We were unable to ever connect and kept each other at a respectable distance.

My Grandpa, on the other hand, Gramps who had opened the door to let us in, was a most different story. My father had handed me to him and everything about him was warm and soft. His voice was quiet, with small squeals of delight and his hands were large and more gentle. He held me like a china doll whereas Grandmother held me as if I was a rag.

Grandpas soft voice sounded like a melody and I thoroughly enjoyed being held in his arms. Little did I know at the time, how very much we had in common, both being carriers of the autism gene. My paternal grandparents were like night and day.

My Mid-Life Crisis..as Aspies age

Another birthday draws near. I look back at my Aspergian Grandfather and father and see how their autism changed with age. Every year they talked less and showed diminishing affect. It was like watching a glacier retreat, slowly withdrawing into cold silence.

Grandpa became quite engrossed in his special interests. He would engineer and build things. Throughout his life, there was always that one close friend from Poland, who marginally spoke English, whom he palled around with. Gramps was friendly with his neighbors but spent most of his time out fishing or inside inventing. He adored his grand kids and oft one or two of them would spend weekends at their house.

My father, had one close friend for awhile. Then something nefarious and secretive transpired and he was alone....with his wife and all them damn kids. I don't recall him ever having a close friend again. Every year, I watched him grow quiet, sullen, distant and more intolerable of the outside world. He rarely speaks these days.

I sometimes wish all the incest, sexual and physical abuse never happened. We could sit and compare notes about our autism, how crazy the nts are and how we cope. But it will never happen. I see him and am flooded with painful remembrances and hurt feelings. I have little tolerance of being in the same room with him anymore.

I don't hate him. I hate no one. I have forgiven and moved on. But I wish not for the memories...so I don't go there.

Having Aspergers so rich in my biological family...gives me insight and pictures into possibilities for me. It is what it is.

No Apologies, Hypersensitivity

Like the man born with one hand, I make no apologies for the way I was born, I am hypersensitive, more emotional and reactive, than most people. I always have been and I always will be.

My tears and outward displays of emotion are not to seek attention or pity. I have no wish to be obvious or dramatic. It's fair to say that a substantial amount of energy goes into maintaining my emotions so that I appear stoic and robotic. I sequester feelings in the back corner, of the farthest room, with the most complicated locks, in the nether regions of my mind.

Since my appearance lacks affect, most assume that I do not feel. Quite the opposite is true. My emotions are thick, heavy, volital and hyper reactive. For the majority of my early years, I endured round after round of embarrassment and ridicule whenever I became outwardly upset. The only symptom that was allowed "out" was tears, whether I was angry, frustrated, ashamed, or riddled with anxiety, the leaking was all that shown.

I was unable to yell and scream to express anger or out rage, when others hurt me physically or with words. My fear turned deeply inward, as well, lest someone sense or smell it and use it against me. The first time that I ever raised my voice in outrage, was when I was 16 year old. Every feeling was kept within.

I remember sitting with my Gramma, in her living room as she read the paper. She was crying and I asked her why. She said it was because she was reading a story about a lost dog. She stated that maybe she should stop reading the paper because so many articles made her cry.

I'm a lot like her.

I've pretty much given up watching the news, as the sad stories outnumber the happy ones 10 to 1. I have no tolerance for tv or movies where people are screaming or experiencing pain...it hurts me too much. I avoid angry people with a vengeance. When I hear or see parents being unkind to their children in the grocery store, I hurt. I cannot look at animals or people in pain for very long, because I feel it too.

My physical state of health is directly related to my emotional well being. My emotions can be far more intense than most and I make no apologies. I deal with it the bestest that I can.

Just as my pain can be as deep as the ocean, so can my caring and love. I love fiercely, just ask my boys.

Maybe, someday, I'll grow to be more accepting of my emotions. Maybe I'll drag them out of the closet, one at a time if possible (problem is when I feel one emotation, I feel all of them..it's a cluster f***) and air them out in the sun and reclaim the part of myself that has always been unacceptable and forbidden for public fodder. It's like I was born with three legs but had to cut one off lest I offend someone. Deny, deny and hide. I've heard that tune before.

The great "cure" for hypersensitivity is low stimuli and managed stress, otherwise known as being a recluse or a monk. I always thought I'd make a great monk, naturally talented and all...go figure.

I am a very sensitive being...get used to it

Amy and Aspergers...how it feels

A Warm Pleasant Moment

Today, I had a wonderful altercation. As I stopped by the school to pick up my Younglink for his dental appointment, a mutual friend was getting into her car. Instead of just waving and taking off, she got out of her car and asked how I was doing.

She could have drove off, never saying a word or she might have asked about my son, but no, she actually asked how I was doing.

And it was the way that she said it, as if she cared and was genuinely interested in my welfare. I was touched and felt warmth. Little moments such as this are rare gems. I savor each and every one:)

My Struggle with Aspergers, Identification and Verbalization

In my fourth decade, I can look back and see that I have been walking, stumbling in a fog of confusion, anxiety and frustration. I knew that something was wrong and I didn't feel healthy, mentally and physically. ..but I could not identify what was going on. I was unable to find words to explain the chaotic circus that was incessantly playing in my head.

I struggled, fell and kept banging my head against the concrete walls. I sought help with psychologist, therapist and a multitude of social workers. No One Could Help Me because I Could Not Verbalize What the Hell was going on! I, myself, was completely unable to make sense of my inner or outer world.

In order for someone to help me, I needed to tell them what I needed....and I could not.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, screwed and skewed but none of those words were descriptive enough to solve my problems. When you cannot locate the communicator, it's impossible to call for help. When the phone is broke...you just can't call and connect.

I kept picking up the phone, but the numbers were missing.

I needed help but was locked in a box and had no way to signal for someone to bring me the box cutter.

I was upset and in pain, but I couldn't tell where it hurt. I failed to realize I was confused because it was all I knew. Emotions were one giant ball of interwoven twine twelve feet tall. When someone asked me how I felt it was either good or not good, as I could not identify and separate the emotional entanglement.

I was afraid...of everything and had no way to separate my fears into neat little, discernible boxes with labels. I lived in an almost constant panic but I couldn't tell if it was real, emotional, physical or mental.

All I knew was that I desperately, on my knees begging, wanting help, but I knew not what for.

My life has been a sick, surreal testament to complete, utter, frustration, consternation and inescapable torment....at times. I continue to work, daily, on clarifying what is in my head, in hopes of making sense to my self. And in hopes of being able to teach others about me and get the assistance, the kindness that I need.

To sum it all up....AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Problems at the Voting Booth, Aspergers and Elections

I just returned from voting. There was one, single question on the ballot:

"Shall the limitation on the amount of taxes which may be assessed against all property in Manistee Area Public Schools, Manistee and Mason Counties, Michigan, be increased by and the board of education be authorized to levy not to exceed .95 mills ($0.95 on each 1,000 of taxable valuation) for a period of 3 years, 2012, 2013 and 2014, to create a sinking fund for the construction or repair of school buildings and other purposes authorized by law; the estimate of the revenue the school district will collect if the mileage is approved and levied in 2012 is approximately $$488, 063?"

Really, this is the exact wording. I was positively stymied. Usually, Partner and I go over ballot proposals together, before voting day, so that I know which ballot box to check. With our recent weekend of traveling, we never got around to actually discussing election day.

I was in quite the quandary. I sat and read and retread the proposal, first quickly, then slowly, then one sentence at a time. I didn't understand. There was an oscillating between, "okay, I'm pretty sure this is what it means, so I vote this way", to "omg, every vote counts and what if I am wrong?"

Of course, this inner dialogue was peppered with, "Can I ask someone, one of the election workers, to clarify for me...and how would I word my question so they would understand my dilemma?"

Yup, I sat at the voting booth for a number of minutes, trying to figure it all out. I was wagering whether I should gamble and guess my vote or take the ridicule risk of asking someone to clarify. I finally decided on the latter.

So I formulated my introduction and question. "I am slightly autistic and I don't understand this ballot. Does voting yes mean that taxes will go up and more money will go to the schools?" The election worker was visually stunned. I'm quite sure that she had never had a question clse to this one. She took me aside and started reading me the proposal verbatim, word for word. About half-way through, I stopped her and said that I have read all the words, but I do not understand them. Then I repeated my question about taxes and school money. She had to think a minute, probably regarding the morals and ethics of her election job duties and rules. Finally, she answered my questions. Whew.

I returned to the voting booth and voted my conscious. Now I will spending various parts of my day rewinding this whole election fiasco to figure out how to prevent such stress again. I will look at ways that would have made the situation easier, ie, talking to someone beforehand and reading a copy of the proposal before election day.

Sigh, this is just one example of the everyday stressers that take place in my Aspielife. I feel better now that I can put words to some of my challenges. Little things are big things. Be kind to your local Aspie.

I Cry When I Talk..

As long as I can remember, I am quite easily moved to tears. I feel things more intensely than most, of that I am quite confident. From the time that I was five and had the incorrect change for popcorn day to the time I overflowed with tears at the softball game because I was so frustrated at not being able to hit the ball, my life is a series of remembrances of embarrassment with my easy seepage of tears.

Oh how I would vehemently try to hold, stuff and hide my tears. I'd seek out bathrooms, dark corners, empty rooms, bolting to a place of anonymity and safety so no one would see. Honestly,it really has only been in the past couple of years that I have become somewhat comfortable with my own sadness and destressing tear mechanism. No longer do I feel ashamed or like a crocodile. Hell, I beat myself up something fierce for my displays, moreso than any outside person ever could have.

Finally, somehow, I realized that this is just me. This is how my highly emotional, Aspieself operates. As I became more comfortable with my expression, it became easier to say and vent so very much more. No longer do I pound away emotion into a dark closet or rarely. My emotions do not have the opportunity to build to such intensity, anymore. I cry when I talk and I can still talk and make some damn good sense. I'm almost ...happy that I can because it prevents those massive self implosions.

No longer am I embarrassed or ashamed. This is how I operate. I'm good.

Self-Injury and Aspergers

I can only surmise from my own personal experience and truths told by Aspie friends, but self-injury appears to be very common with Aspies. I have to wonder if it is due to our difficulty in clarifying and expressing our emotions. It seems that as we repress and surpress our intense feelings, that a catalyst triggers a mini-explosion of strong, intense emotion that we deal with through self-injury.

Having practiced self-injury for many years, I can say that it would occur when the chamber in which I stuffed the emotions, overflowed and overwhelmed me to the point that self-injury was a most viable and appealing option. It seemed to happen, frequently when I lived alone and had no one to talk to and confide in. No outlet means more opportunity. Since that dark period of time, I have learned to vent my emotions in less painful ways.

I began writing, in most graphic words and terms, about things, peoples ad situations that upset me. I started teaching my self curse words and how to swear. One of the more challenging aspects that needed learning...I had to figure out how to yell and raise my voice. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, it is completely unnatural and foreign to raise my voice to a shout. It's as if I had to give myself permission to do so. Once that skill was learned, it became so much easier to vent and release some of the anger and hurt.

The other aspect that was helpful, was finding my Partner and a couple of friends with whom I could genuinely express how I felt, good or bad, through tears or screams. Like a soft pillow of comfort, my emotions went from raging and rampant to manageable and okay. Relationships softened the emotional blows and allowed me to get in touch with the chaos of my feelings.

Outsiders freak out when one talks about self-abuse. It's not the end of the world and it can be challenging to control. I learned, taught myself ways to avoid it, so I know it can be done. Emotional pain can lead to self-injury. Treat the source of the pain and self-injury stops.

Be good to yourself.

The Confusion of having Aspergers...a simple statement

I have surmised that Aspergers is ruled by two specific feelings, Confusion and Anxiety. In trying to figure out a way to explain some of the everyday confusion, I found an example in a very simple text message that my friend sent me.

I had mentioned that we should get together. She texted back, "We will talk tomorrow." This one little sentence, had multiple possible meanings and I am still unsure of which one is correct.

I sometimes run into this friend, whom I will call "Shakira" for anonymity sake, at school in the morning when we drop off our boys. Did she want me to meet her there, to talk? Should I look for her at school or wait in the parking lot for her vehicle?

Was she planning on calling or texting me, sometime during the day? Or was I supposed to contact her? Did she plan on stopping over, to my house after school? Or after dinner? Need I clear my schedule, just in case?

Little things are big things. The majority of my days are spent searching for the best possible answer for small questions and statements. It's my Aspielife. Just wanted to share one tiny piece.

Walking Alone

For many months

I have walked

In the dark, scary forest

Beasties around every bend

Breathing with bared teeth

Behind every tree

Half-walk, half-run

Crouched in fear

My feet bled

From sharp sticks

And stones

I reach out my hand

He puts his hand in mine

We breath as one

No longer do I

Walk alone

More Aspergers Friendship

Aspies are very responsible people. In a strong sense, I feel responsible for every thing in and around my life. Case in point, the sacred friendships I spoke of earlier.

I took a huge chance and let someone in to my inner sanctum of being a friend....then I never heard from them for three months. I spoke with her on the phone, once a couple weeks ago. I no longer recognized her voice. The magic was gone. It was "my bad", my fault, not hers, because I made the mistake of letting her in.

It's like a true friendship quickly turns in to a small, incessant loop...a constant, small sphere in my world. I mean really, I actually had to defriend her on fb and erase her from my phone because she was part of my autopilot, my daily routine, and the friendship had died. I kept trying to revive the proverbial dead horse.

I became beyond frustrated. I'm not sure how to disengage. I can no longer fill that space she occupied. There is this place of emptiness, now and forever. There is a reason I rarely allow anyone in so close. I burn my bridges to avoid this sort of painful frustration. There is a reason I cannot sit on the fence and see a "friend" once every few months....everything changes. Faces, voices, memories, words said, promises broken.

Once again, I am reminded that there are two dictionaries that are completely different, the Aspiedictionary and that of the NT.

A friendship means one thing to the NT, and one extremely different thing to me. I remember. Now I learn.

In thinking..now...after holding my own hand and feeling my other pulse....I cannot remove the inner friendships after they have died...unless I also remove every single memory that the person is connected to. An impossible task due to the chain of events and the way people, places and experiences are woven.

Tread not lightly into these deep waters.

Once I allow someone...a place so close to my heart....

When I let someone in...to the secret that is me...

When I truly trust...believe and have faith

In some one...

It is really hard to let go

It is loss

I made a mistake...now I live with the scar

The Wisdom of the Imprisoned, Friendship

I forgot how wonderful it was to bond with the only other one of my species. I had forgotten that there is one other person, in this entire alien world, who can finish my sentences and put my thoughts and feelings into words. My Eldest, my imprisoned conjoined twin, is wise beyond his 19 years.

He spoke of the sacred inner circle of true and few friendships...how a friendship involves very frequent contact because people change...how once in the highly selective inner circle, the friendship cannot ever dissolve, such is the loyalty and bond of true Aspie friendship. We are so extremely selective about who we let in because it is not easily disbanded. True friends are let in to the inner sanctum where secrets and souls are bared. It's like a highly-held covenent. It's an unwritten pact. I can count on maybe two hands, the amount of peoples that I have "let in" during my forty plus years. It is an arrangement not to be taken lightly...because true friendships exposé our very fragile, delicate underbelly leaving us extremely vulnerable to pain and deceit.

The wager and risk of true friendships are great and deep. Rarely is a bond more sacred in this Aspielife.

Visiting Eldest in Prison

For the second time, in 18 months, Younglink has had the opportunity to visit and interact with his older Brother. I cringe as I contemplate the fact that my eight year old has to endure "pat-downs" in order to visit. It's both highly wonderful and depressingly sad, simultaneously, to have my family fixed and together.

Eldest is doing okay. He seems more depressed and melancholy than previously. It feels like "home" just to sit next to him, smell him and hold his soft hand. I don't know how other mothers do this...it is emotionally challenging.

I'm exhausted from the eight hour journey and emotional four hours of visiting. I think it be time for bed.

Hi

How are you doing? I'm doing ok, continuing to struggle and trudge my way through everyday. From the outside, I probably look pensive and deep in thought, aloof. As the outer world slowly drifts away and fades, my inner workings flow into overtime, traveling many different avenues.

It feels like the majority of my day, subsists of maneuvering and navigating through the daily routines, trying to keep my stress and confusion as negligible as possible. I monitor my every step, try and foresee consequences and dance around stressors.

There is a lot on my mind. I'm gathering fruit from the tree, collecting ideas that I would like to write and expound upon. I feel fortunate in that I have found another Aspie that I can exchange words and thoughts with! She has been very validating and insightful. I see the helpfulness and wonder of communicating with other Aspies. I must further explore the potential of meeting or writing others of my species.

I don't know...some moments the struggle is so overwhelming. I do the best I can. Hanging in there:)

Not much really

It's been rather down and low. Seems it was time for me to reevaluate most of the relationships in my life. Lots of changes. Friendships that constantly perplexed and confused me...gone. Aggravation and frustration hang out with dreaded confusion. I simply was unwilling to handle, juggle and play roller coaster with some ones. Must say, I feel lonelier but much less stressful...it's a trade off. Everything is a trade off...who am I kidding?

My verbal interactions have tanked, dropped and rolled off the cliff. Like any learned second language, if you don't use it...my use of verbiage is quite compromised. It's much more challenging to find things to say or want to say.

My dream world is rich and fantastic. For a few moments after I awake...I am full of happiness and joy. Then reality and all it's worries rears its ugly head and I am once again, subjected to the humdrum, strategic planning of everyday life. At least there is the night.

I'm trying to get myself motivated...searching for projects that will give me a semblance of peace, happiness and okayness. Still working on that.

In many ways i feel like I did a couple years ago. Seems last year was a "high" with social activities and interaction. That, obviously, was an anomaly...not real or sustainable. Oh well. Time to stop feeling sorry for myself. I have to try and remember how I did this before...life without interaction. Relearning how to live with and enjoy my own company. Listening, searching for what makes me tick...and maybe feel...good