A Poetic Journey Through My Chakras

From the Ground Up

Working in the Crimson Mine

Swinging hammer

Slinging slime

Hot, Dusty and Baked

Twirling in the Orange Haze

Eyes open, Hands extended

Trying to understand

Gentle, Swirling Feels

Yellow Standing, in my own Sun

Stunned Mostly

Trying to separate me

From the walls, the veils, the tails

Walking, carefree, hands in pocket

Smiling in my Emerald Forest

Amongst happy whispers,

Passion Pink Clouds and Lite Purple Rain

Lightly Blue, I stand staring

At the mysterious aqua blue sea

That I fail to understand

How and why it ebbs and flows

Midnight Blue covered in stars

And I

Intricately bound

In complete, total communion

Deep Purple Vortex Spins

Before me

Ready to swallow me whole

There is no fear in life nor death

Celestial White where Angel Sing

Stars form and problems absolved

Stairways and Songs

Beauty unmatched

The Chakras Called Lesser

No small feet

One wide open

The other half closed

See, she saw the teeter-totter

Hands...handcuffed at the wrist

Can only reach, beg, so far

Fingers twist, attempting grasp

To break free, allowed to be

Navel of middle Earth

Knows not where to go

Left? Right? Forward Back

Pleading for Direction

My ears scream, Bleed for cease

For silence, for Cover

Much, much Too large open

For Outer Speak

My Eyes Brilliant

Seeing every Tiny Spark and Flinch

Wary and Wonderous

Visualize that which dwells behind every mountain

My Shoulders Struggle to discard

Wondering what to keep

What to toss

Uncertainty? Proceed?

My throat Contemptuosly Bitter

Choking on uncertainty

And pain, Angst, Confusion

Word Out? Or Lock it In?

My Chest heaves in Heavy Sighs

Bearing many sorrows, wounds

Beneath it all

Shining Bright Light Warmth

My Heart is

Completely Healthy, mine

The swaying has stopped

Steady is my Pulse

Fun Lyme disease facts

Seriously...you have got to be kidding me!

In 2009, the last year of completed statistics, in my home state of Michigan, according to the CDC, there were...81... Reported cases of Lyme disease...in the Entire State!

The odds of getting the disease is 1 in 18,100

If I had removed bad boy tick within the first twenty four hours, I'd probably not have the disease.

70-80 % of affected individuals, have a tell-tale bullseye rash. I fell in to the 30% with no rash.

I think I should start buying lottery tickets.

Sometimes...all afternoon, really, I think You are Fucking Kidding Me!

Lyme Disease...hmm, that explains things...but really?

I saw my doctor this Tuesday, a few days ago. I hadn't been feeling right. All my glands/ lymph nodes had swollen. I suddenly came down with some painful arthritis in my knees and other joints. I never get headaches, but I was getting them with frequency. I was tired a lot! Even in the morning, when I knew I was supposed to be up, I could barely drag my self out of bed. Everything hurt, ached and was sore.

So my Nurse Practitioner ordered some blood work. The test results came back today. She said I tested positive for Lyme Disease. Honestly, I know very little about Lyme. Seems there are some horror stories out there but most cases resolve completely, especially when diagnosed early, as mine was.

I pulled a tick off my belly about three to four weeks ago. I did not get the common ( in 70-80%) red ring rash.

I now know two people who had Lyme and they both fully recovered.

Please don't leave comments of fear or horror or worst case scenarios.

I started a three week course of antibiotics. I will be feeling better quite soon. I'm just really tired and want to get some rest.

Even with not feeling well, I have been quite busy and productive. I continued to get things/ chores done in and around the house. I pushed myself and kept telling myself, "Yeah, I don't feel well, but I can get this done...or I can fold clothes for five minutes and take a break." I don't quit and nothing can keep me down.

My body is a fighting machine. This is just a little piddley thingy compared to other stuff I have endured and triumphed over.

Maybe I was too busy this summer. It's just time to slow down a bit and take a well deserved, short break:)

Be Well, Smile:), Thanks for reading!

Sleep problems, from the abuse

Aspies don't sleep well, as a rule. Lately, I have been unable to sleep until dawn shines. I wasn't quite sure why, until last night. As soon as I was tired enough to close my eyes, I had terrible, disgusting visual memories...in the first person...quite upsetting to see things I hadn't experienced in over 45 years.

I really hadn't seen what my father looked like, all those years back. Now I know his face and other parts of him. Not at all pleasant.

I haven't found a solution to this problem yet, except more meds and sleeping in the daytime, which I do quite well, daytime sleeping that is.

It's weird. In my twenties, I first started realizing that I had been more than physically abused. In my thirties, I began gaining awareness of the sexual abuse. In my now forties...I'm down to the nitty-gritty, recalling all the deeply hidden intricate details of the various incestuous experiences.

I am working out the very core of the experiences, feelings, emotions and thoughts that have heavily affected me my entire life. These remembrances are the ones that will finally free me.

Funny, about the time I get freed, my Eldest will be getting released from his prison sentence.

This level....this core of the onion...is proving to be requiring great strength. I am surely challenged. But I've gotten this far...dammit....I've made it through all the road blocks, boulders, mountains and land mines. I'm gonna get there.

I'll keep you informed. There is a finish line celebration you don't want to miss.

Gentle Spring Rain

Beautiful Audio and Video of the Tufted Titmouse

I tricked a tufted titmouse to come near by playing her song off my iPad. You hear two birds, as one is the computer.

Boy, this birdie looks so confused.

I was thrilled birdie came so close! To see him sing! Such a clear picture! Love it!!

Who do you tell that you have Aspergers?

I only found out about my Aspergers in the past five years or so. The most important people, that I shared my diagnosis with were:

My Partner of 18 years. She doesn't always understand or comprehend my challenges, but she is willing to learn and listen.

My children. As my Eldest is the one whose formal testing enlightened our family into the whole realm of Autusm Aspergers, I readily shared my Aspergers. My youngest, at eight years old, understands that momma has autism and that sometimes she has difficulty with social situations, being unable to verbalize and sometimes needs a lot of rest.

The rest of my extended family, parents, siblings and such, I am rather estranged from. They have heard it probably through the grapevine. Due to the lack if closeness, it didn't matter to me whether they knew or not.

My doctor/ nurse practitioner Needed to know. My autism causes me to have great difficulty relaying symptoms and putting words to how my body feels. I am forgetful. I am very sensitive to meds, so we often start with children's size doses. I sometimes have a delay in processing her questions, so she gives me time to answer. I audibly process slowly, at times, and I need things, instructions spoken repeatedly or even better, written down. Having a practitioner who understands my autism and it's challenges is vitally important.

Health Care Providers can help me more effectively, is they are aware of my autism. I talked to my optometrist, who doesn't think I look like Rainman, but he listens. It's important that he knows because with my eye exam, he asks multiple questions and I have that delay in understanding thingy going on. I frequently ask him to repeat his questions, often more than once....now is this clearer or this? As he flips lenses.

Employers...I don't have an opinion on this topic, as I work for no one but myself. Each and every nt can be different in their understandings and opinions of an autistic employee.

At school. My grade school sons teachers need to know about my Aspergers. My slightly physically different, Younglink, requires me to interact and problem solve with his teachers due to his physical difference and....hmm, high energy nature. I feel it important that the teachers know that I'm not going to be the classroom volunteer mom...for anything. But I am always available to meet and talk about my son in the classroom.

My friends and neighbors. I like that they know because I have moments of high stress in which my autism sometimes breaks out. Nope, I'm not a drug addict in withdrawal and no, I don't have alcohol or psychiatric issues. It makes my life easier and it's easier to be me, walking around my yard, talking to myself and pointing to "fairies" in the air, at times.

This is my list of people who I am Glad know about my autism:)

I am my story...releasing the past

I am a compilation of all the events, experiences, thoughts and beliefs from my entire life. To know me, read my story, hear my tales.

It's time to release...dark shadows from my past

I release the fear of doors opening, in the night

I release the fear that whenever someone touches my back, I will be sexually assaulted

I release old, untrue beliefs....

That I was born into this world only to give and give and give

That my body is here to be used and abused

That if someone gives me something, I must give back...that people are trying to bribe me, manipulate and trick me

That all fathers molest their daughters

That all men are unstable, unsafe and untrustworthy

That people want to willfully hurt and harm me

That genitals are bad, dirty things

I release the beliefs...

That I have no value, no voice, no say

That no one believes me

I love it when things make sense

After writing my recent post about the molestation, a number of behaviors and aversions I have, suddenly made sense....more than I thought possible by the revelation of a single series of occurrence in my childhood. (keeping in mind the molestation happened 3-4 times a week, every week for at least two years from 5-7 years of age)

1) I learned why it's hard to trust people...why I look for deceit and hidden motives in gifts, words and actions. I was repeatedly tricked into doing something that was quite unhealthy and detrimental to me.

2) it makes sense now, that I disliked and disassociated from the lower part of my body. The abuse made me hate my own physical being.

3) I understand why I don't like "if you do this for me, I will give you that" and other certain phrases.

4) it explains my distrust of men, in general.

5) I understand why I think that every father is molesting his own daughter. Remember, I was told it was normal and the way things work, at five years old. My little brain believed this.

6) I'm not positive, but these incidents may explain why I can't have people, even my own kids, come up from behind and touch my back or hug me from behind. Hmmm, emotion signals a bingo. Yeah.

7) I blame my frail physical health and string of maladys on this molestation when I was so young. The intermittent feelings of being sick inside for "no reason" actually have a damn good reason.

8) I'm not as crazy as I thought, once again. My past shows me that my behaviors, trusts and distrusts have validation. Isn't it amazing how one adult can so, pardon me, fuck up the life of a child?

My adult behaviors are not...random...or even quirky, but based in childhood experiences, beliefs and thinking. These events had a huge impact on my life. It's healthy to talk and work them out of the closet, out of my everyday, automatic way of acting and reacting.

By calling out, by naming and claiming these wretched experiences, I examine and analyze all those experiences that make me, Me. I now have the power...to change the way my abuse effected me.

The words still do not come easy. There is so much here to ponder, digest and process. Maybe after a few days, or a few weeks, it will be easier to write about. There is a lot here.

Be well. Thanks for reading:)

Childhood sexual abuse

Definitions Childhood sexual abuse can be defined as any exposure to sexual acts imposed on children who inherently lack the emotional, maturational, and cognitive development to understand or to consent to such acts. These acts do not always involve sexual intercourse or physical force; rather, they involve manipulation and trickery. Authority and power enable the perpetrator to coerce the child into compliance. Characteristics and motivations of perpetrators of childhood sexual abuse vary: some may act out sexually to exert dominance over another individual; others may initiate the abuse for their own sexual gratification (5, 6). Although specific legal definitions may vary among states, there is widespread agreement that abusive sexual contact can include breast and genital fondling, oral and anal sex, and vaginal intercourse. Definitions have been expanded to include noncontact events such as coercion to watch sexual acts or posing in child pornography (7). Prevalence The prevalence of childhood sexual abuse in the United States is unknown. Because of the shame and stigma associated with abuse, many victims never disclose such experiences. Incest was once thought to be so rare that its occurrence was inconsequential. However, in the past 25 years there has been increased recognition that incest and other forms of childhood sexual abuse occur with alarming frequency (8). Researchers have found that victims come from all cultural, racial, and economic groups (9). Current estimates of incest and other childhood sexual abuse range from 12% to 40% depending on settings and population. Most studies have found that among women, approximately 20% - or 1 in 5 - have experienced childhood sexual abuse (9). Consistent with this range, studies have revealed that: Among girls who had sex before they were 13 years old, 22% reported that first sex was nonvoluntary (10). Twelve percent of girls in grades 9 through 12 reported they had been sexually abused; 7% of girls in grades 5 through 8 also reported sexual abuse. Of all the girls who experienced sexual abuse, 65% reported the abuse occurred more than once, 57% reported the abuser was a family member, and 53% reported the abuse occurred at home (11). Approximately 40% of the women surveyed in a primary care setting had experienced some form of childhood sexual contact; of those, 1 in 6 had been raped as a child (12). A national telephone survey on violence against women conducted by the National Institute of Justice and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention found that 18% of 8,000 women surveyed had experienced a completed or attempted rape at some time in their lives. Of this number, 22% were younger than 12 years and 32% were between 12 and 17 years old when they were first raped (9). Common Symptoms in Adult Survivors of Childhood Sexual Abuse: Physical Presentations Chronic pelvic pain Gastrointestinal symptoms/distress Musculoskeletal complaints Obesity, eating disorders Insomnia, sleep disorders Pseudocyesis Sexual dysfunction Asthma, respiratory ailments Addiction Chronic headache Chronic back pain Psychologic and Behavioral Presentations Depression and anxiety Posttraumatic stress disorder symptoms Dissociative states Repeated self-injury Suicide attempts Lying, stealing, truancy, running away Poor contraceptive practices Compulsive sexual behaviors Sexual dysfunction Somatizing disorders Eating disorders Poor adherence to medical recommendations Intolerance of or constant search for intimacy Expectation of early death Although there is no single syndrome that is universally present in adult survivors of childhood sexual abuse, there is an extensive body of research that documents adverse short- and long-term effects of such abuse. To appropriately treat and manage survivors of CSA, it is useful to understand that survivors' symptoms or behavioral sequelae often represent coping strategies employed in response to abnormal, traumatic events. These coping mechanisms are used for protection during the abuse or later to guard against feelings of overwhelming helplessness and terror. Although some of these coping strategies may eventually lead to health problems, if symptoms are evaluated outside their original context, survivors may be misdiagnosed or mislabeled (5). In addition to the psychologic distress that may potentiate survivors' symptoms, there is evidence that abuse may result in biophysical changes. For example, one study found that, after controlling for history of psychiatric disturbance, adult survivors had lowered thresholds for pain (13). It also has been suggested that chronic or traumatic stimulation (especially in the pelvic or abdominal region) heightens sensitivity, resulting in persistent pain such as abdominal and pelvic pain or other bowel symptoms (14, 15). Although responses to sexual abuse vary, there is remarkable consistency in mental health symptoms, especially depression and anxiety. These mental health symptoms may be found alone or more often in tandem with physical and behavioral symptoms. More extreme symptoms are associated with abuse onset at an early age, extended or frequent abuse, incest by a parent, or use of force (4). Responses may be mitigated by such factors as inherent resiliency or supportive responses from individuals who are important to the victim (4). Even without therapeutic intervention, some survivors maintain the outward appearance of being unaffected by their abuse. Most, however, experience pervasive and deleterious consequences (4). The primary aftereffects of childhood sexual abuse have been divided into seven distinct, but overlapping categories (16): Emotional reactions Symptoms of posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) Self-perceptions Physical and biomedical effects Sexual effects Interpersonal effects Social functioning Responses can be greatly variable and idiosyncratic within the seven categories. Also, survivors may fluctuate between being highly symptomatic and relatively symptom free. Health care providers should be aware that such variability is normal. References McCauley J, Kern DE, Kolodner K, Schroeder AF, DeChant HK, Ryden J, et al. Clinical characteristics of women with a history of childhood abuse: unhealed wounds. JAMA 1997;277:1362-1368 Koss MP, Koss PG, Woodruff WJ. Deleterious effects of criminal victimization on women's health and medical utilization. Arch Intern Med 1991;151:342-347 Drossman DA, Leserman J, Nachman G, Li ZM, Gluck H, Toomey TC, et al. Sexual and physical abuse in women with functional or organic gastrointestinal disorders. Ann Intern Med 1990;113:828-833 American Medical Association. Diagnostic and treatment guidelines on mental health effects of family violence. Chicago: AMA, 1995 Hendricks-Matthews M. Long-term consequences of childhood sexual abuse. In: Rosenfeld J, Alley N, Acheson LS, Admire JB, eds. Women's health in primary care. Baltimore: Williams & Wilkins, 1997:267-276 Britton H, Hansen K. Sexual abuse. Clin Obstet Gynecol 1997;40:226-240 Maltz W. Adult survivors of incest: how to help them overcome the trauma. Med Aspects Hum Sex 1990;24:42-47 Hendricks-Matthews MK. Caring for victims of childhood sexual abuse. J Fam Pract 1992;35:501-502 Tjaden P, Thoennes N. Prevalence, incidence, and consequences of violence against women: findings from the National Violence Against Women Survey. Research in Brief. Washington, DC: U.S. Dept of Justice, Office of Justice Programs, November 1998, NCJ 172837 Moore KA, Driscoll A. Partners, predators, peers, protectors: males and teen pregnancy. New data analysis of the 1995 National Survey of Family Growth. In: Not just for girls: the roles of boys and men in teen pregnancy. Washington, DC: The National Campaign to Prevent Teen Pregnancy, 1997: 7-12 Schoen C, Davis K, Collins KS, Greenberg L, Des Roches C, Abrams M. The Commonwealth Fund survey of the health of adolescent girls. New York: The Commonwealth Fund, 1997 Walker EA, Torkelson N, Katon WJ, Koss MP. The prevalence rate of sexual trauma in a primary care clinic. J Am Board Fam Pract 1993;6:465-471 Scarinci IC, McDonald-Haile J, Bradley LA, Richter JE. Altered pain perception and psychosocial features among women with gastrointestinal disorders and history of abuse: a preliminary model. Am J Med 1994:97:108-118 Cervero F, Janig W. Visceral nociceptors: a new world order? Trends Neurosci 1992;15:374-378 Drossman DA. Physical and sexual abuse and gastrointestinal illness: what is the link? Am J Med 1994;97:105-107 Courtois CA. Adult survivors of sexual abuse. Prim Care 1993;20:433-446

Early sexual abuse....how it felt *STRONG ADULT CONTENT" True, unpleasant, life experiences

I wrote this post and seriously debated whether to share it or not. It is not pretty. It is horrendous and 100% true.

You don't have to read it.

You are under no obligation to read about the crime of incest and childhood sexual abuse....but these experiences are another chapter of my life. These events profoundly affect who I am.

In the retelling of my tale, my healing continues.

You may join, if you wish.

Be forwarned, it is completely graphic, highly criminal and highly disturbing

I remember being five years old, when my father would sneak into my bedroom and slide his hand up under my nightgown. He would talk softly, sweetly, lovingly as his hand molested my genitals. His hand rough, big, dirty..stroking and assaulting my little body.

It felt so very wrong. It made that area of my body feel very dirty, unclean and sometimes raw. Dad very much enjoyed this activity, masterbating with one hand, molesting me with the other. Oh and the strange, disgusting noises he made really creeped me out. At first I thought he was in some kind of death throes. Only later did I realize it was ecstasy.

He assaulted me so many times. I wanted him to stop...I always wanted him to stop cause it made me feel bad and dirty.

Oh, and I'd get paid for it...a sucker, 2cent bazooka gum, a quarter...if I was really, really good, I got a whole pack of five flavor lifesavers. Yup, a paid sex toy at five. If that isn't disgusting and revolting...

Well, I had to do "other" things to get the lifesavers. Didn't like it, but bribery and all.

I remember asking him why he was doing this to me. His response was something like this is how fathers love their daughters, and how daughters show they love their dads.

The things he did...really? Gross

Sex games. Ways to get a child to play with his penis. And That felt so disgustingly gross between my legs or in my hands. Talk about foul, smelly and gross. Five year olds should not be exposed to grown penises...ever.

I hated it when he got naked in bed with me...laid behind me and thrust his penis between my legs until he exploded. That sickly, sticky feel of ick. Talk about a rancid smell. I wanted to vomit. I actually did at least once during oral sex. Gagging and choking. It made me sick.

I remember how sick I felt, inside my body...always wanting to puke. Yeah, I had "the flu" an awful lot in kindergarten and first grade. The sexual games, the molestation made me sick inside, quivering, shaking, upset, puking. I felt diseased. My body made ill....night after night..the sensations of being sick and filthy sometimes felt for days at a time.

I remember getting dressed for school, struggling against the ill feelings inside. I stopped before I got my socks on, went to my mother, told her I was sick and puked all over her feet. I can still hear the sound of the splatters. Funny, how I had no fever as she put her hand to my forehead. I'd grab my blanket, wrap it tightly around myself and lay down on the couch.

Yeah, physically I felt it most in my stomach and intestional track, on the inside. Externally, well, that's probably pretty obvious what parts of me felt worstest.

Such a big, rough hand on my little girl parts, rubbing, poking, prodding. It made me crazy and sick...fucking bastard.

I started feeling really bad about my self and my body. I constantly felt dirty and defiled. In a way,I stopped being a child, a daughter,a being and just became this thing that was used. My self esteem left. The only value I had...was in "servicing" my father, which made me feel sick, inside and out.

I reread this post. I noted how many times I used the words "sick" and "ill"....a whole lot. Even now, decades later, that old feeling of being sick returns. It's kinda unusual to describe because it transcends mere physical symptoms, which, by the way,I could make a extensive list of that which I am experiencing.

It's like the core of my being is a tree trunk and the abuse was someone grabbing the tree trunk and violently, vehemently shaking it. The molestation rattled and disturbed the core of who I am. And it explains a ton regarding my persistent, sometimes fragile state of health. I spent so much damn time in physical and emotional sickness from rampant parental abuse!

I chose to empty my closet, my body, my memories of the garbage I endured and kept hidden. I have no shame in revealing the truth. I was a completely innocent child, one of thousands upon thousands, that was molested by a parent. I choose to speak out.

I choose not to hide or look the other way.

No one has any power over me, but me...these days

I am a survivor

Finding the right words

If something takes me four posts to figure out, obviously I have a serious blockage/ issue. As I lay awake till four am, puzzled...searching. Root chakra, accepting. I try again.

Every being who is born is given a universe that will meet all of their needs, love, acceptance, nurturing, security and stability, plus everything they need to grow and thrive. The only analogy I could find, each person is born a ten gallon full can of gas. As life progressed, I started using up the fuel, until I became nothing but an empty ten gallon can.

So I stand looking at this old gas pump, built in 1963. It is choke full with an endless supply of gas, but I have never figured out how to use it....I didn't even know it was there, quite honestly. It is foreign, strange, a perplexing oddity.

I think that I have always been pretty good about giving to others. I never realized the world had anything to give me free of charge and with no strings attached.

Can we say "root chakra issues?" The most basic, fundamental aspect f living, and I have been closed off and clueless.

The gas pump is endless...says so right on the front, in big letters. All I have to do is figure out how to make it work.

New, brand new things, always come with a little trepidation. Hmmm...yeah, I do know this is one of those huge, life altering moments.

I just need to take a couple of steps...

The pump is a bit rusty, from sitting out in the elements, unused all this time. It's red with a round thingy at top where it usually says, "GAS", instead this one says "AMY". Hmmm ...it is meant for me.

So I bring over my long empty gas can, you know, the one that sits at my feet. I reach for the handle...holding it like a foreign object that has never been touched. I open...I open the cap on the gas can. I slowly, cautiously, insert nozzle. Shit, do I really want to try this? I can see nothing but fear-at-the-new and strange feeling positives.....deep breath...okay.

I am committed.

I reach for the ON lever.....I flip it up.

Hesitant, hesitant, rapid breathing....all I have to do is squeeze.....close my hand...grasp what is mine...that which was promised, given freely..to me.

I close my eyes, deep breath....and squeeze

I hear the hollow sound, of the empty can, virginally being filled, ever, ever so slowly as I don't want this new momentum to knock me over flat.

Give me a minute.....

It smells nothing like real gas...this is something quite different....it smells like a bountiful garden, in sweet liquid form. It is soft, milky smooth, translucent yet filling. Reminds me of icing on a cake. This is what I was promised. This is everything I need...I just didn't know how to accept it before...my mechanism was so broke.

The can transforms into this beautiful crystal clear vase. All I smell is roses. The color is a healthy pinkish red. The vase grows and transforms until it is 5 feet 6 and 1/2 inches tall. I watch mesmerized at the swirling, warm fluid twirls.

I walk in to it.

It's not liquid at all. It is energy. I stand amongst the warm swirling...little bubbles tickle here and there.

I set the pumps flow to CONSTANT and the nozzle is at my root....the feed line is connected directly to the main, never ending tank, buried deeply within the great earth.

I lean back, close my eyes and absorb these new sensations.

Learning to accept a kindness

I don't know if accepting and receiving a kindness, hand up or love comes naturally or not. Logic tells me that it is probably a necessary survival skill. But I heartily refused. I really haven't known how to accept and receive. See, in my dysfunctional family, and maybe with my autism, I learned that a kindness, in word or deed, was nothing more than an open and holding a small sharp knife.

If someone was nice to me, they wanted something. If there was a compliment, well, they only said that because they wanted one back or it was said to trick me. I had not a lot of trust or faith in those people's around me. I'm not being paranoid as I had ample examples and dozens of experiences to prove my distrust.

Hmm, so I never learned or found the mechanism that says, " I am being nice to you because you are a nice person, and I like you". I rarely found anyone genuine, who wanted to give to me, that didn't want something back. Scoundrels!

Now, in my forties, I am trying to learn this new thingy called accepting and receiving. Methinks my soul tells me that I was born into a world aflush with an abundance of love, kindness, energy and prosperity.

Hard to silence the mistrust, the experiences, the sinisters I mingles with for so long. It's difficult to change that visual of the open and concealing a weapon. Changing this old, deeply ingrained thought pattern is quite the challenge, I kid you not.

I believe life actually has some positives that it freely gives. I will e exploring this further.

Pondering the Soul

I've been thinking about my soul, my spirit, as of late. I believe my soul is my eternal spirit that always is, has been and will be. I wonder about all the knowledge soul holds, the wisdom of the ages, lifetimes and heaven.

It's like soul is the part of me that is Gods breath. I've been thinking about when I was born, how I was completely perfect ad fully equipped to deal with this life.

Soul is what you always have that is you, whilst life is what happens to your physical, emotional being. Success in life, is learning how to slough off the unhealthy and unwarranted. Soul seeks to find that purity of birth absent those meddlesome life events.

Soul seeks a form of expression. Each person has a soul purpose, something that naturally, happily flows. To get closer to ones own soul, stop and listen, feel.

Hmmm, I'm supposed to be here. I am wanted and have value. I wasn't born to be used, beaten and abused...no, that was just life happening. I came here, like everyone else, to love and be loved, to experience, to seek and use knowledge, to share and to overcome. My autism isn't in the way, just one facet of who I am. Sure makes life interesting being able to examine things and people so closely, experiencing things most miss.

I don't know...seems like I thought I was born only to give, put out, as it were...now, I'm learning that the world, the earth, peoples and nature...are gifts that give to me. My energetic systems that were built in to bring inward, were completely unused, broken, as it were. I am aware of that. My thinking was broken as well. I'm starting to accept...from others, from the world. I came in to this world to receive, as well as to give. It really has been a one way street. Hmmm, time to fix that.

Awareness is the first step towards changing.

I open both hands, turn them up....and out. I accept all the positives the world has to give, I matter, I am wanted, I belong here.

The outside world is a myriad, a kaleidoscope...if I can narrow my focus, I see amazing things.

I can feel so deeply and experience events fully, whilst others walk thru life, half-undressed and partially asleep. To be awake, ahhhh, the Aspie truly experiences life...much, much more, and tremendously more rich than the average nt.

Don't ever forget...the very positives aspects...of being autistic:)

Sinking Ships, friendships, relationships

If time and repitition are any indication, I sink ships, friend ships, relation ships, by opening my mouth and pouring forth truth. Things are very...different in my aspieworld, but I will surely tell you how I feel when need be. I don't believe in lies, half truths or sins of omission, which I believe are overly used and practiced in the outside. People grow up believing in hiding and holding everything in.

Well, I surely don't. But people frequently, can't handle what I say. My words, like my emotions, like who I am, are intense and highly charged.

I don't even know why I'm writing this...not sure where I am as of late. Shivering in a cloud of worry, senseless, unable to decide whether to walk in to the flames, ignore the heat or put it out.

Sometimes there is no such thing as free will. Times I think it would be most ideal to live alone, completely unplugged and disconnected.

Sometimes truth Is sad....she says as she realizes her recent happy respite was not reality and just a a small ray of sunshine in the ever present storm.

God sometimes I hate this life, this corner that I live in. I hate the feeling of being a child standing in times square during rush hour. Hate the lostness, out of place, invisible singularity feeling where to speak up would hurt someone else whilst I drown with the stone life jacket wrapped tightly round my neck.

Hate the return on anxiety, that little beastie that has completely disappeared only to return a small, constantly roaring lion cub that has grown in size, strength and ferocity right before my very eyes.the never ending growling of snake like shivers and quavers of fear and uncertainty. My temple of peace, she be shaking and I, I stand, hands in pocket, eyes cast downward....unable to decide...what to do. Been here before, hated it then also.

I got lost again. I strayed from the plateau, the pleasant valley...not sure when or if I can ever find my way back there.

Footsteps

It doesn't matter who is beside me, when I walk I only hear my own footsteps

Dejection...sigh...it's always going to be a roller coaster

I guess it's always going to be like this..small intervals of calm and happiness in betwixt times of everyday, stress of an Aspie existence fighting amongst the nt world. That's a depressing thought. It's like I have been on the ideal summer vacation and school starts up next week.

I want to shut all the doors and windows in a feeble attempt to eliminate this struggling strife. Really, I had no idea my mood could shift so quickly and in the opposite direction. Now I'm just whining.

I keep having to tell myself, trying to convince me, that not wanting to go isn't being bad. I'm not resisting because I'm selfish, rude or mean spirited....I just really don't want to put myself through the unnerving stress of such a gauntlet. When you see the flood waters rising, do you not head for high ground? Damn, I struggle here. This is so suddenly so upsetting. To write about something, yet again brings to surface all that I have held submerged, and held under foot, pushing it deep into the sand, denying it was there.

I stand with fists clenched together, gritting teeth.

I don't even leave for a week but I've already cut my feet on this razors edge.

IDK

Somehow have to find a way back away from this edge, back to a more comfortable spot, plateau. I have been in this position, prepping to go to places I dread, before. Didn't like it then, surely don't like it now.

Whine, whine and more whine. Yup, feeling sorry for myself. Trying to figure it all out. Venting frustration. Writing about that which I dare not say too loudly or at all. Invalidating my self, again. My thoughts and feelings Do matter, but so do those of peoples I care for.

No win, no win, no way

Preanticipatory Anxiety...traveling and new people

Like a wildfire on the distant horizon, I smell the smoke and know it is headed my way, a trip away from home to visit inlaws. I have become so heavily ensconced in my own fortified, happy acre of comfort, happiness and self, that the mere mention of the impending trip sets off alarms and aches of anxiety.

This is one of those pieces of time that the outer nt world and my autism crash and clash. Like a four year old, my first response is "I don't wanna go!" Then the rational, logical adult part of me says, "I do not want to go...but it is proper, the right move and I see the logical reason why I am being asked to do this." Sigh. The four year old part of my thinking is now throwing a tantrum....loudly.

Sometimes you can't win. If I go, I'm screwed and stressed. If I don't go, I'm screwed, rude and guilt ridden. I have a natural disdain for no win scenarios.

I've been attempting to break down and analyze this upcoming event, in hopes of finding coping skills and strategies to keep me level. First off, the fourteen hour drive is not a problem. I actually enjoy long drives, new scenery and the companionship of my Partner and youngest.

The overnighters...we will be staying in a hotel I have been to two or three times before. It's a pleasant location on the outskirts of town. There is a pool so Partner will corral Younglink and amuse him for an hour each day.

The actual town is small with about 5,000 residents or so. The "main street" is a minor collection of old town stores. I almost forgot, there is a very nice movie theater, a book store and small train museum to amuse me.

We will arrive during the high, holy time of whatever festival takes place once a year, so there will be an influx of tourists and out of towners like ourselves. Yippee...sigh.

The inlaws...I have nothing against them. They are far from mean or rude, being very polite, soft spoken, courteous...just the usual run of the mill peoples that make me uncomfortable and on edge. Walking into a room of strangers is akin to strolling into a lions den or room full of barrels of dynamite. Not really, but that's just how it feels to aspieme.

I have grown so comfortable in my reticents. I wander not easily out of myself and my familiar.

I just don't know what to say to people, what to talk about, or what I'm willing to share. I shan't display or revel in a discussion of my autism and all discussion regarding the imprisonment of my Eldest is forbidden. I must start training myself to lie about where he is and what he is doing with his life. Sigh. Another aspect of nt life that brings discomfort and loathing. (in a perfect world, there would be no secrets, nothing hidden and people would say what they mean and mean what they say...don't get me started....argh)

The food...probably the biggest pebble in my shoe, is the ritualistic, high and holy requirement of a "family meal" with everyone at the table eating together. I have food allergies and odd preferences that others try and go out of their way to cater to and it is unnerving. I rarely can tolerate eating with others. I rarely trust that any food, other than what I cook myself, is safe. I have great disdain and contempt for this insane, insidious rite. I have yet to find a solution for this one.

Enough already. My anxiety level has reached a point....that's it for now. I'll have to work on figuring this all out after some calm time. Later

Shellbeeds

The seashells are mostly from our vacation in North Carolina a number of years back. Lots of hot glue, minor burns, glass beads, buttons and other pretties...for the garden or the home

Arting

This is a clay pot that is about 18 inches tall.

I finally have the big computer up and running. Time to upload some photos of the art I have been creating...

This started out as a rock, plain and simple. Its about seven inches by, maybe four and a half. I used hot glue, glass beads and baubles.

To Sharon One Sm. Sq

Hi Sharon! I wish I could receive email on my iPad. I have enjoyed your recent posts! God disappointed Is Amazing! I completely agree. Love the poppies and the....bird. Cool! I keep wondering how you are doing with all the recent going ons in your life. Any chance you are on fb? So I can send messages or comments? I worried about you for many days when there were no new posts. I wish you and the fan health, love and happiness! Amy

The Latest News

(Lake Superior at Baraga)

Not much happening in my little corner of the world:) I like it like that! I continue to spend my days enjoying the beauty of summer. I can usually be found in my gardens during the day, napping in the afternoon and up most of the night arting, contemplating my existence and pondering.

I've been playing in the social realm, seems I've found some likely friends here and there. I actually have been known to seek others out for friendly conversation....Whoa!

I continue to explore this whole more skin exposure thingy by wearing shorts and going shoeless. I still feel a bit naked, but I am cooler. Funny how something as simply as wearing them short clothes, sleeves and pants along with having naked feet is like, an extremely big deal for me. Hmm, you'd think I was autistic or something:)

For days on end, I have forgotten my autism. Tucked away in my little, controlled acre, I rule as just a regular alien in my person disguise. Without a schedule, meetings, appointments and parties to get all rankled up about, I am actually enjoying just being who I am. I highly enjoy anxiety free living!

It's nice to be just me, not the autistic.

Whilst new experiences enlighten and teach me, sometimes it's plain pleasant to not feel the need to concure and figure things out.

I like that there are people that like me. I like not having to be anybody but me.

Love and Incest...

The past couple nights, lying awake at two a.m., unpleasant yet truthful thoughts that need telling. I have to say. Even though the words be bitter, full of anxiety and resisting to the max. I need to free my soul.

I loved my father.

As a child wants love, to be loved by their parents no matter how hideous the adults behavior, I loved my dad. He was, for about twenty years, my best friend, confidante, trusted...the only one I could talk to. We understood each other. I met his needs in every way...and in some ways...he met mine. It seems so Wrong to think or say. I don't approve of his behavior...but I understand it...a bit..from this very great distance, on the film, in the mirror that was always in the room, as I shine a bright, glowing light into that darkness.

Incest was really the only time anyone touched me...that anyone ever wanted to touch me. For a child with such a high need fr physical contact...there were times I didn't protest much. When you don't even feel real, without human contact, one becomes very desperate for attention and intimacy...Any contact, Any intimacy.....how can I impress the desperate need for touch?

I was often, mostly so cold, distant, drifting off into space, unnoticeable, unremarkable, out of touch and off the radar. No one knew, acknowledged my existence, I matter to no one, but I was real with my father. I was special to him...for gods sake he was the only person who would e near me, by choice!! Can you fucking hear me Now? Can you understand the depth and breadth. My depravity?

My god, I was so alone, tightly wound within my self and my autism. Fair say, I was ninety percent "not there" and off in my own little world because of the constant bombardment of confusion, anxiety and fear. I was lost Onto my self. I was lost onto the outside.

Most days I felt like I was poison and everyone was afraid to touch me...the way they seemed to avoid me so. I just wanted someone to hold me.....I was so needy..no, I just had basic needs that were unmet. Maybe my needs were higher than most...I don't know.

My dad, again, was the only one who wanted to spend time alone with me. He was the only one who would listen. I didn't feel like a pyrrha when I was with him.

He was the first person I ever loved. He was the first person that ever loved me. I get that the whole incestuous liaison was wrong, illegal and highly immoral. I fully understand and comprehendo. My next task, after this reveal, is to separate the immoral from the right...to somehow take apart the relationship with him...it is all a bundle of confusion with right, needs, attention, good love, bad love...well, not really love but abuse and rape, wrong and such. Arrrgh.

I loved my dad for good, right loving me...for pure, clean, healthy physical contact, affection and listening,sharing.

I don't like my dad for the incest, sexual encounters, physical abuse, physical neglect and immoral behavior.

Damn, part of me is grateful for him, and part of me hates him and wants to beat the shit out of him.

I'm just thinking out loud...trying to figure it all out....

Art is my Life

Well, arting, creating, finding and caring for Younglink and Partner, in addition to passionate gardening, lawn care with a minor in friendly socialization.

The aforementioned have been my constant source of pleasure and joy.

I've befriended a hot glue gun...we be going steady for hours on end. However, there have been a number of "incidents" in which we were much too close. Here's the thing about hot glue guns.....if you have a dog...at some point, it will bark. Using a hot glue gun, one will get burned. Last night, I was using the hot glue gun the dumbwrong way. Some nasty burns have taught me to use it, the smart way. That, plus I need a new aloe plant. I went out and bought some healing burn cream, as I realize that it be a requirement to have it on hand...pun intended.

Anyway, my life is at a happy plateau....just wanted to share...smile :)

Original photo A.M. Murphy

Bare feet and Dirty Knees

My knees were dirty today. Anyone who knows me is well aware that the venture into summer and the "wearing of the shorts" is no mundane adventure. I rarely wear shorts. Last year, I think, was the first time that I wore them three or four times all season.

I actually had to go to the store and buy shorts, as I had none in my clothing closet. I am no fan of trying on clothes in stores. Used to be I felt it was time consuming, anxiety ridden and awkward. Now I realize that it is just something that needs doing. So I grabbed a few pairs off the shelf, took a number of deep breaths, slowed my self down and entered the dressing room.

I bought two pair. When I returned to the house, I further walked into unfamiliar territory, outside my zone of comfort, and changed into a pair Without even washing them first. Bold? Stupid? I was just plain hot.

Thus my story of why I am wearing dirty kneeS. I haven't even washed them off, don't plan to, it's a badge of courage:)

The other item of new adventures....I decided to walk barefoot allll the way around the yard, down the driveway and into the street. Rarely can I be found sans socks, much less minus me shoes. It felt incredibly strange. Grass is moist....kinda sticky. I could feel the very uneven texture of the lawn, the little divots here and there, along with remnants of buried acorns. Moss, plain dirt, thick and thin grass, all had a certain feel.

I walk very slow, as if on brand new, uncertain footing...only because it is a virginal experience for me. It's like buying new feet and a thousand new neurons. Oh, the feel of it all. The driveway was exceptionally rough and into the street, well, I was even slower as the loose pebbles poked, prodded and threw me off.

I can only imagine how strange I look to others, walking on these brand new feet. Too early to tell if I like it, but it seemed to be the right thing for me to do....experiencing the ground. Must process all the odd and strange sensations.

I'm doing a little work, putting some effort into being outside the box...trying new things:)

What Happiness Feels Like

No, you haven't come to the wrong blog.

Happiness feels like standing on a lushly grassy knoll, overlooking the flowering valley and the thatched-roofed cottages with small whisps of plushy smoke far below. The sky is the lightest, fairest of sunny blues with hints of clouds in the distance. It is perfectly warm with a casual breeze. My arms at my sides, fingers splayed, palms wide open facing forward. I wear my untucked paint shirt, jeans and stocking feet...still not used to that whole "barefooted" thingy.

My eyes are radiant, my heart filled with love and passion, my body warm, inviting and all mine.

My thoughts, ideas and feelings are my own. I carry a mental list of the various projects, steps, inventory and store list. All around my immediate self, I glow the prettiest of soft pinks.

I take off my socks....living dangerously, I feel the earth.

I am calm. I can hear and smell the ocean in the distance...not a storm in sight...clear skies:)

Passion, Art and such

I can't remember the last time I danced or even played music, for that matter. The cosmos have shifted and I have changed. The gritty details, well, not really necessary. The results are amazing.

I have again found my passion, the thing I do that makes my soul sing, my heart dance and sends me all atwitter...creating art. Many months have passed since I have gotten in touch with my creative spirit.

I was up till about four am last night, arting. My dining room table, parts of the living room and quite a bit of the floor, are covered in knickknacks, beads, baubles, pretty shinys, parts of toys and games and paint bottles. I am in heaven.

I'll have to put up some photos, when I get the big ol computer running. There is beauty and life all over the place.

Finding ones passion Is the road to riches. I am in my element, everything flows smoothly, all worries evaporate and my health and outlook dramatically improve. Truly, it is the best medicine in the world.

I know people who are passionate about their work, church, family, physical fitness, boating, sports, etc....creating art is mine:) It makes me smile, happy and downright joyous. One of my projects I found on the Internet. I took that idea, moved it into a new, original and unique realm, and that makes me happier. I do not relish copying or borrowing someone else's idea. I feel the best when the creation is my own.

So much has transpired in past couple of weeks. I know that therapy has been quite beneficial, that and my own hours of working on my myself, my body and memories, have helped cater me to this new place. I'm sure that some I know may feel neglected, but sometimes you just have to make yourself happy.

I did a strange thing today. It was one of those rarities that may come naturally to some but not I. I created a piece of art exclusively for me. I'm not sure that I have ever done this. Usually, I art for gifts or the yearly art show, but not this time. It feels very odd, bizarre even to have allotted myself the opportunity...to make something just for me...I gifted My Self. What a curious and unusual sensation, my the center of my chest. Hmmmm, maybe this cleansing and separating of the love/ hate intertwination be working. Yeah, methinks I be on to something here. The girl is alright and doing well:)

Find your passion....

I don't believe in psychics...just different levels of awareness

an original photo:)

The Journey

(original photo A.M. Murphy)

Each person journeys through life on their own, following their soul. Sometimes ones journey requires them to be far from home.

Respect each individuals life. Allow them to walk their walk unencumbered. Their road shows them which way to go.

Be Yourself

So I caught a few moments of Wayne Dyers show on PBS tonight. The healing guru was talking with a woman who had a near death experience. She said that the two most important things she learned from the other side were, "Be Yourself" and "Live Fearlessly". Her words resonated with my soul. Now, to try and figure out what exactly that means.

I have had countless...somewhat frightening moments were I suddenly questioned my existence and purpose, within the past few weeks. I talked often with God and my physical body. I laid hands upon different bodily areas that were hurting or congested. I left my hands in place for ten minutes- two hours. I focused on the area...and listened. I knew when a buried truth surfaced by a sudden emotional response. I felt and released the repressed pain and emotion. I let it flow and did not deny it or try to change it. I got honest with myself.

One of the theories I had been working with is that Ian mostly made up of the stories myths and lies that others have heaped upon me. I was a stupid kid...I listened and believed my parents. I stored those memories within. I honestly felt that I was only 5% me and 95% myth.

The picture is getting clearer. I have been removing the dust from the mirror.

Who am I? I am a very kind, caring soul who just wants to be loved and to love. I am naive, playful, highly childish, amusing, sensitive, emotional, incredibly talented and beautiful. I enjoy so many things; silence and solitude, hanging out with my peeps, writing and creating, designing and working in my garden, mowing my lawn, going for walks, making silent videos, taking pictures, observing peoples, playing with Legos and action figures (I think Thor is my fav), watching and rewatching "Firefly", chatting with friends and neighbors, reading dictionaries, coloring outside the lines, making someone smile, playing on playgrounds, identifying plants, flowers and birds, talking with God, analyzing dreams, being in my own little world.

I guess the hardest part about living as you are, is in trying to figure out how much effort should go into satisfying the social etiquette clause. How much do I have to restrain and change in order to fit in and not get ridiculed. Hmm, it be a toughie.

Living fearlessly sounds intriguing. No clue as to what exactly that is, but I am willing to explore.

Be well children of Aut! Live Long and Prosperous:)

(original photo at Oak Grove Cemetery A. M. Murphy)

A Contemptuous Week

Well, I've made it through the extreme unpleasantness called last week. With disdain, angry outbursts, torrid humiliation, aggravation, intense emotional upheaval, the previous days were heavily marred in one egregious sin or another.

Anger hath heavy boots, an iron fist and savage voice. Anger helps propel one to take action, to stop doormatting and find ones own voice amongst the everyday, average carrying ons and overlooks.

I mean really? Screw me once, okay....screw me twice and I will surely tell you exactly how I feel, no holds barred.

The majority of days was spent working on handling this most unexpected overload from the least likely of sources. I'm still working on recovering back down to smoldering instead of on fire. When the first words from my mouth would like to be a hurling mass of obscenities, surely I am not fully calmed down. I know this to be true, so I haven't much to say.

The previous posts tell where else I have spent time dwelling, fighting and reassembling. It has been rather busy.

I don't desire to vent or spew any more, at the moment. Trying to find a semblance of order, a plan and project that I will work on next.

I guess I really don't have much to say