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

Sunday, March 1, 2015


I hurt

Depth Perception, the world is flat, can't 3D, dioramas building models

 I don't know if it's my Aspergers, but the world is flat and I'm unable to sense flat objects, drawings, as three dimensional.
Maybe that's why I adore making art, models and kits that bring dimension to life.
 A circle, on a paper is just flat and round, whereas I take a wooden sphere and can understand its dimensions.
 I am studying neurons, made a drawing but can't figure out how to comprehend their true form unless I can create or buy a model.
 Hence, one of my previous purchases is a life-size model of the spinal column, so I could figure out the pain and misalignment in my neck.
 Do any other Aspies share this? If really like to know.

Saturday, February 28, 2015

48 posts in February

48 posts in a month with 28 days and only two hours of therapy.
I guess I've had a lot to say.
 I wonder if anyone has heard

My body broken

Trying to capture some of the thoughts revolving around a body this beaten. Yeah, being raped even once is a traumatic, horrifying event. My abuses were weekly, sometimes daily.
 I can't blame my body for being as sick as it is...quite frankly, I'm enormously surprised that I've lived this long. I give it credit, great credit.
 I've been reading about how traumatic events, and their frequency, determines a persons overall health. The body under constant daily stress and hypervigilance
starts breaking down. And I lived with that never abating fear of the next hit, the next rape and without food or affection.
Maybe I have good reason to perpetually ask, "Why am I here?" Or maybe I've spent so much time pondering the question that I haven't had time to really try and live.
 So tell me, how can anyone recover from such a childhood? How can the day upon day travesties of beatings, sexual molestation, unabated hungry and cruel emotional abuse and neglect Ever really heal? Am I bound, and I mean bound, to be tethered to such rakish acts, somatic remembrances and emotional turmoils till kingdom come and a final peace?
 Maybe, in brief moments when the storm clouds break, and I sense a blue sky and that omnipotent sunshine, up there somewhere, I can sense a little mending, a salve for this wound or that one. Helping to heal the hurts, one small, transparent bandage at a time.
 It frequently overwhelms me, so I try to think of it in little bites. My fractured mind has been my greatest survival tool but it's weird, when your thoughts and feelings seem to belong to someone else. And in order to heal, I have to acknowledge the very things that were so traumatic that my mind splintered off and hid deep pain.
 I'm not gathering rosebuds but searching for thorns and intentionally picking them up, squeezing tightly in hand and making myself bleed to heal.
 Sometimes I amuse myself and regale in thoughts that my previous life was a cakewalk and my next one I'll be nothing more than a loving angel spirit, never again forced to walk this broken glass existence among men with spears and swords. 
 They let me down, each and every one. My father raped me; my mother neglected and taunted; my siblings deny their truth and point fingers at their sister slut who tells lies; my neighbors closed ears and doors; my teachers looked the other way and extended family members, knowing full well my fathers crimes, turned away.
 I am a starving, half-naked, crying little girl stuck in an ever present rainstorm with no shoes walking on broken glass and clutching handfuls of thorns.
  Why am I here...I don't really care, anymore.
 Sometimes there are no answers.
 I pray, at some near find some peace.


It's so easy to follow the crowd, float on shallow waters and simply drift never submerging below the surface to find out who you truly are.
 It takes a brave, courageous soul to bear, to express their very soul.

Friday, February 27, 2015