Prepare to enter the wild and wooly world of an adult with Aspergers Syndrome, a form of autism characterized by intellignce, quirks, social difficulties and downright strange and oddish behaviours.

People with Aspergers generally are high functioning in everyday life but have great difficulty connecting with others due to the inability to read faces, body language and subtle verbal clues. They also tend to take words literally and have a hard time multi-tasking.

Oversensitivity to touch (clothing has to be soft and often the tags removed), light (do not leave home without the sunglasses), sound (loud noises and noisey places are avoided), taste (many Aspies have quite a limited diet and are frequently very picky eaters) and smells makes the everyday existence more of a challenge.

Fasten your seatbelts and come on in...
To find out more about what Aspergers is..please check out my earliest blog entries

Thursday, December 18, 2014

Life the realm of the sublime

Champagne Supernova

No place to be me

I have no space to call my own in this domicile. Both boys have rooms of their own. My partner has her own enormous bedroom and a full size craft room in the basement. Thus, I have begun cleaning out my upstairs room. It's full of things I want to do, research, sell, donate and such. It has a couch which is what I typically sleep on.
 At some point, I'll think about getting a regular soft bed and maybe creating a top of some sort, as I do like taking over the lower bunk of my sons room for my naps. Actually, a bunk bed would be perfect, as I can protect, enclose the lower bunk for sleeping/ hiding and I can go sans mattress on the top bunk and just put a piece of plywood for supplies and such.
 Yeah, today I've started that rearranging process. 
 Physically being able to move is somewhat new to me, what with the many Lyme relapses and shutdowns. My body kinda forgot what it is to move around pain and exhaustion free. Taking little steps.
I don't require much in life, food, companionship, love and to be loved, and a warm, soft bed all to myself.
 I really don't have a room where I can cry. And I have many tears built up that I no longer wish to harbor. 
 Listen to music today...almost every song strikes an emotional chord.
 I don't even comprehend the idea of free to be me.
 What embellishments, decorations, artifacts, wall art do I even want to see?
 I worry about not sleeping in the living room...actually living on my couch as I have done all these years. Wonder what 11 year old will get into without supervision. 
 I'll be on the second floor. What if I get sick again and can't climb the steps?
It's going to be discerning, an odd series of sensations to feel that I can live and be myself and "own" a room to call mine.
Hmmm, reminds me of how new the feel is that my body is safe now. Weeks of repetition of telling myself that he can't hurt us anymore and I am safe, have finally took hold.
 I continue my kinship with depression, not caring much about anyone outside and craving intense isolation and lack of external demands. 
 This is a good place to be. I feel absolutely okay with myself. I'm good.

Wednesday, December 17, 2014

I have a beginning

I didn't materialize out of thin air. I wasn't born in a smoky cloud of ash or dust in some distant past.
 It's like...I had no firm footing, no grasp of where I started Or what I came from.
It's weird suddenly finding yourself standing in a desert or stymied in the middle of a crowded street.
 It's like I had no birthday...just a date that didn't seem to fit or make sense.  
 I just ran all the time, only seeing, remembering a little before I arrived.
 Argh, I know it makes little sense...trying to put words to a place you've never been or a sight you can never see...but my life has...meaning, a second birth, a Place where I can say "I started here", "I exist", "I know what I am now."
I can see my beginning. I'm not a figment of my imagination.
 Reality just got real.
 Finding my beginning puts all my ducks in a neat and tidy row! No more floundering around murky, wide open, untamed ponds scattered hither and yon. 
 I know Everything is changing...right now and it's going to take awhile to comprehend, figure it out, string together words onto these abstract emotions, sensations and experiences.
 Thanks Mary
 I can move forward, now that I have a place to start.

First Trauma....A Place to Start

At this moment, I feel a certain...contentment in remembering the first trauma, first split.
 It's like, I evolved out of just nothingness before, but now, I have a very clear Starting Point. Seeing First Trauma shows my beginning, how one person turns into two...
 My past isn't a chaotic chalkboard with lines going in all directions and no clear beginning or end, anymore.
 It verifies...what I have been through. It seriously validates: the incest; the MPD: DID; my innocence and lack of any blame; my dads definitive criminal acts and their extent. 
 Things make sense now.
 I make sense of why my life has been lived in constant terror, confusion and riddled, paralyzed with fear. Anxiety has been my ruler, even after I left home. Flashbacks are my erratic keepers.
 Anyway, just happy to find the golden key, the beginning of me.

Remembering the First Split, First Memory, First Trauma...Living with MPD, Dissociative Identity Disorder

 I guess I didn't think I'd ever find it...the first rape memory that split and fractured my mind...but I did.
 I'm reeling because its revelation calls so much into question and brings forth answers, insight, wisdom and ponderings.
 I don't know if any other Multiples remember that first split. It's akin to finding the proverbial "needle in a haystack". All that grainy and clear film of remembrances past that have been viewed, held and discussed. Reviewed and rereviewed over and over in reels and reams.
 My dad was a sadistic, vile dick who had an unhealthy fascination and need for children and sexual gratification.
 I think the best revenge is telling the truth .
I put the blame where it belongs...with my perpetrator, my rapist, my incestuous biological father. Seeing First Trauma makes me fully convinced that there was nothing, absolutely nothing that I did to cause my dad to molest me. It was him. He takes all the blame, shame, humiliation and degradation!
 I am and always have been completely innocent. 
 So, the brief memory...first off, I saw my dads a distance, like three feet away and it was like telescopic vision in that I could see only his face and then it was fuzzy and dark everywhere else.  Then he raped me. And I remembered how it felt. 
 And that was the day I split, first fully dissociated and became a Multiple. In a sense, First Trauma was a "birthday" of my internal MPD/ DID system. The day I learned how to cope and survive in this vile, painful world.
  There is so much to think about. Lots and lots to process. Trying to figure out who I am, outside of the child sex slave  and hurting, starving, neglected child.
 Yeah, I still am very much internal...the outside world is pale, trivial and remote.
Therapist suggested I take some time off from the world and allow myself to figure it all out. Three therapy sessions in two weeks and like, Mega-mega ground covered, talked about and expressed. I need about three weeks start.
 Feels kinda like a new beginning.

A Raped Child...Donald C. Cavanaugh You Suck! Fuck You!!

It's really hard to feel human, to have any worth or value, when your dad repeatedly rapes you.
 It was standard policy, from early, early childhood, for my dad, Donald C. Cavanaugh, to molest, fondle and penetrate his toddler children. 
 Yeah, I've felt fucked my whole life, because my first ten years, my dad molested me on an almost daily basis.
  I wasn't the only one, but I'm the only one that will talk about it.
 Dad was an evil, child fucking bastard!