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, July 31, 2014

Living with DID, Resolving Flashbacks

Tough subject.
 When I get a flashback, my first, innate impulse is to try and avoid it, not unlike how one would jump off the tracks if a freight train was plowing their way. Secondly, I have to talk myself into some semblance of calm...find a way to "contain" the flashback so I can function till therapy day.
  Third, often the toughest stage, I talk to my Therapist about it, saying and feeling as much as I comfortably can. You'd think that would be enough, but it is not.
 I have to resolve the fback usually through visualizing an optimal conclusion.
As an example...I continue to reexperience the traumatic act of my dad. Let's say he is standing over me...oh, say, punching me. I've already talked about it, so why does it persist and how do I make it go away?
I allow the fback to "run", like I'm in a scene from a movie, then I visualize, pretend that I'm standing up and punching the shit out of him, telling him he has no power over me. In my head, I have to take control, acknowledge the memory and get some closure. I yell and punch and kick him enough to get him away from me, out of the room the incident took place in and release the memory.  Almost always I have to find personal strength and anger to get this unpleasant job done...in essence, I have to find my own personal power, take back what he stole from me, and reclaim my body as my own.
 Some fbacks do resolve with simple awareness, seeing them. Others, most probably, need to be written and/ or talked about. Been there, been doing that. And they resolve. I'm currently dealing with a more complicated field of memories and fbacks that need more intensive reactions. Somehow I'm finding the strength to do this.
 I've chosen to walk into the maelstrom, remove the scar tissue and heal. I can do this now. I'm strong enough.

More After Thoughts

After becoming aware of this latest incident..how do I feel? The first word that springs to mind is "humbled". Humbled that a part of my psyche, broke off, kinda sacrificed herself by keeping this memory hid, so I could continue to live. That's one strong-ass will to live I have, apparently.
  "Confused", by the duality of being both deeply, dearly loved by my dead and ferociously hating him for the intense physical and emotional pain that has been debilitating and robbed me of any sense of normality.
 "Honored", that he loved me most. Bizarre as that sounds. 
 "Mortified", that my dad would torture me so. My own father.
 "Saddened", knowing that if a "good, caring, God fearing father" could do this to his own daughter...somehow suddenly realizing that I'm not the only child that suffers or suffered this way.
 "Proud", of my selves for finding such a...critical, creative way to survive such intense pain.
 "Astounded", that I have found within myself, such a deep desire to live.
 I'm still pretty perplexed and trying to process. I'm not sure how to move on from this. Quite stymied, so much to take in. Not sure how to move forward, but, then again, it is a whole lot to handle. I get that.
 It's going to be awhile to get back to my "normal", as I grieve the loss of my dads love; the hatred of his betrayal and cruelty; the emotional and physical pain of his actions; this new found...wanting to live thingy. It's a lot. I know. I'm kinda overwhelmed, as would be expected.
 Not sure how to move on, yet

The Other Side of Torture

 I ended up leaving a message, at 3am, for my Therapist the other night. Since our Monday session I had been in a semi-constant state of panic. Monday we had opened an old wound and didn't have time for a secure bandage.
 Wednesday, we met and things have calmed down considerably. The words I remember most, near the end of the hour...I feel like I'm recovering from asphyxiation. Surprisingly, my Therapist said that is exactly what I'm doing.
 I won't go in to details, as some things are too gruesome and possibly triggering to others to talk about. I'm so pleased that we were able to..fairly easily, talk about this darkness to Therapist.
  Torture was a big player in my dads sexual abuse. Now I can see that he was basically repeating patterns of what was done to him. I've started remembering some of the stories he told me, about what had happened to him. Dad tried regaining some of the powerlessness he had felt by taking it out on me.
 Somehow, I managed to stop the intergenerational abuse. I always had some cognitive sense that what was being done to me was wrong, even though I had no model for what was right.
 I found that I was deeply conflicted within myself as the only person that loved me, cared about me, who would hug me, touch me, listen to me and be willing to spend time with me, was also the person who delighted in abusing me and torturing me.
 I get the whole Stockholm Syndrome thing. The prisoner falling in love with the jailer and all. If your only bread and butter comes from the jailer, you learn that it's easy to kiss ass for bread. For a long time, I loved my father with my whole heart. I was starving and he offered bread. I readily took it, like the hungry, thirsty childlike sponge that had dried out in the sun too long. Anyone would.
 So, I deal with these intense feelings of love and hate for this one, pivotal individual, who both enriched and destroyed my world and me.

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Struggling

...as I haven't struggled in a very long time.

When I read, I hear the authors voice

I caught myself doing it again today; I was reading an interesting article on the net and in my head, I heard a male voice with a cockney accent, pronouncing the words. The author had no name or photo on the page I was reading, no hint of who they were, female or male. So I searched. A few clicks later and here is a photo of the author, an older gentlemen. I don't know where he is from or even if the voice I'm hearing in my head, reading word by word, is how he speaks.
 I've yet to find a name for this phenomenon. It makes no logical sense.
 This has happened to me repeatedly, throughout my life. I pick up a book, I hear either: my own voice (which has only become the predominant reading voice in the past couple years, a male voice or a female voice. I'll hear accents, and tones that may be the authors.
 I try and test myself, at times. I'll just pick up a magazine, start reading and listen to try and describe the gender, age and accent of the writer. I haven't done this in awhile. This cockney, accent, older gentlemans writing was quite distinct and prominent, so this is really the first time I've tested it in awhile.
 Not sure what to call it...or if it even Has a name. I'm assured that I'm not making it up, as this is just too weirdy to make up.
 I remember how odd it was, a couple years back, when I heard my own voice in my head reading. I'm guessing it's just something to take for granted. But, I really couldn't find my own voice until recently. I don't know. Maybe the fact that I couldn't hear my own voice allowed me to pretend I was hearing the author read to me.
 So many questions. No answers.
 Just thought I'd mention it in hopes of finding someone else who has experienced something so distinctly odd.
 Amy

Monday, July 28, 2014

Nightmarish Therapy, Dreams, Love & Memory

I've been to the Therapists new office three times now. The transition for multiple has been much harder than for Aspie. My dreams are now filled with being lost, unable to find my phone, can't communicate and that Therapist is gone, left and unreachable.
 Where once I stood on solid footing with handrails, I now dangle from an unseen rope by my pinky.
 I'm jumbled, mixed up, shaken, easy to panic and run. I don't feel comfortable in this new office and it's giving me nightmares and day frights.
 Well, there's that and the recent series of  unsettling flashbacks. The flashbacks are more real, closer in physical proximity (as if I could reach out just a couple inches and touch them), highly intrusive and not easily packaged and saved for later.
 And they are vial, felt physically and emotionally. 
 I can sum up today's session thusly:
 If you had one person who you really loved, worshipped and adored....and you suddenly saw, discovered that they thoroughly enjoyed causing you pain and suffering via torture...it's more than heartbreak, even more than betrayal. I don't know how to put words to these feelings. I'm rather emotional with teary, intermittent seepage.
 Maybe it's the first time the part of me that loved my dad saw the awareness and pleasure in his eyes as he strangled me while...doing other things. It's like the one solid loving? connection I had with another human got broke. I remember the lostness, the devastation and being filled with the emotional and physical pain. Cast adrift. 
 And that's all I'm going to say right now. I'm still this raw, reopened wound that needs airing out and tons of bandages.

Today I Woke Up With An Attitude On