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

Tuesday, February 9, 2016

I don't like winter

I can't fool or distract myself any more. I'm no fan of winters dark and gloomy days. There is no redeeming value, no inspiration staring into the bleak, dismal, stark winter's day. I'm not suffering from Seasonal Affective Disorder or depression...I'm unhappy, very unhappy, disgruntled and crabby staring at the same blank canvas day after day after day.
I've spent all my life in Michigan. Each year the winters get longer, the days drag and the cold bites harder at my bones. There is no place to drive for stimulation or excitement. The nearest city with attractions is over 2 hours away and I grew up there. Even if I decided to visit the same ol venues, road conditions need to be considered. I've seen all there is to see there.
I could keep the drapes drawn all day and be a smidgen happier then with them open. There is no reason to look out the window. All the birds have flown the coop, equally ill-suited and unhappy in this grey rolling hills.
  Living on disability, I always have an income no matter what state I live in. Sure, it's a meager, humble sum but I'm grateful for an income and I don't require much...just give me deep, lush green forests, flowers of various hues and museums, new places to visit and I will thrive.
Winter has gotten old. Just sayin'

Monday, February 8, 2016

Living with PTSD

I am bothered that I spend so much time living in fear of the shadows of my past. I'm a grown, middle aged woman, who carries a primal fear that someone is going to haul off and smack me for no reason whatsoever.
It happened with great frequency as a kid, so much so that the fear is rather entrenched, automatic and unconscious. Even people that I know who would never strike me, family members, close friends...some days I'm most illogical afraid they will hit me.
It's maddening because logically I Know that the people around me don't even think of doing that. I haven't been hit in over 30 years but I continue the hypervigilance and constant state of alert. I talked with a couple friends. One can fall asleep in public places and the other can wear earphones without concern. Me, I don't dare to fall asleep on planes, trains or buses. I always need to be aware of my surroundings especially if someone draws near. What if I feel asleep and someone just tapped me on the shoulder? Would I awaken and punch them? Scream in fright? I don't know and it's a chance I won't take.
I can wear earphones but I need to be able to hear footsteps so my music is of low volume.
I live in semi perpetual fear that someone may sneak up on me, touch me and hurt me. That's part of living PTSD.
I'm not sure this pattern can be changed...I'd like to think so. Not sure how realistic it is. I can always hope. Picture living with a beaten, small child always at your side, constantly scared. That's me and my PTSD. Abused child don't escape their past..you just find the best way to deal.
Good night my friends.
May your day be pleasant and bright.

Saturday, February 6, 2016

You Can't Change the Past...but sometimes you get to relive it..flashbacks

I can't change the past...I try and make peace with it. Then there are the times, a momentary trigger, a word, sight, or smell and Pow, flashback. A flashback is when a segment of the past comes rushing like a Mack truck, out-of-control, speeding and you find yourself emeshed in all the sights, feels and thoughts of a time long ago. Picture an iterate time traveler, stepping into a wormhole or...falling into a pit with the monsters you wanted to forget.
Sigh.
  Flashbacks remind me about every week, that I have PTSD, Dissociative Identity Disorder and that I was heavily abused. It's the reason sleep often eludes me. It's the reason I wake up terrified. And it's the main culprit in my ongoing affair with panic attacks.
When you cry is there ever someone to hold you? Tell you it's going to be okay? Reassure you that it happened a longlong time ago and you are safe now? I don't think I've ever had that kind of someone. It's not easy to comfort yourself when engulfed in fear. Maybe...at some point in my life...just maybe.
I can "put the past behind me" and "get over it" all I want but it doesn't stop the flashbacks. I have yet to find anything that does. I think flbcks happen in the minds attempt to heal it's fractures. And it does work. I no longer push them away. It gets easier to deal and handle them with practice and I've Had a lot of Practice.
It's the life I live. It's mine and I'm okay with it these days.
I don't deny, hide or run from my past. There are a few that I can speak freely with. Those brave, compassionate souls who don't recoil at a tear or raw truth that gushes forth. Depending on my circumstances, I can put flashbacks in temporary holding patterns until I'm with someone safe but it takes tremendous energy. I'm simply grateful that there are people I can share my most painful experiences with.
I dare say flashbacks and DID cannot be healed in a vacuum or alone. I've often detested them for that fact. Memories need to be talked about in order to stop pestering. DID is like a twirling kaleidoscope and someone not trapped in the kaleidoscope needs to be there to orient and ground the wildly spinning apparatus. Or you just keep spinning your wheels mucked deep in the mud.
If you have PTSD...get a therapist. If you have DID, MPD....get a therapist. The pain and madness needn't continue.
  It was time to share a little insight into my world.
Be well friends

Trying Something New

Thursday, February 4, 2016

Wednesday, February 3, 2016

For the Love of Mother, Lies She Taught Me

A mother is the most influential person in her child's life. The good, the bad, the ugly..everything she thinks, feels and has experienced she projects unwittingly and overtly onto her offspring.
I had an older brother and a younger one. They were treated quite differently than l. Mom loved her boys and they could do no wrong. Her daughters, on the other hand, received some very skewed messages.
Things my mother taught me:
A girl is nothing without a man, a husband.
The man is the one who makes all the rules, is in charge, makes all the decisions and is to always be forgiven for whatever indiscretions he commits.
Girls are weak. Men are strong.
Girls are wrong. Men are always right.
  Pain. My mother was happiest when I was in pain, as it made her smile and assuaged her own feelings of inadequacy. She consistently needed someone she could hurt and make more miserable than herself.
  Girls were hysterical and prone to lying, needing to be punished with greater frequency.
  A weak woman brought out the bedt, heroic features on men, so wear weakness at all times. Feign ignorance and stupidity to catch a man and make him feel superior, always. He is the boss. Treat him like it. Wait on him, hand and foot.
A girl's needs are secondary.
(See, I practiced these "principles" religiously, hence ending up with egomaniacle partners and carrying no sense of esteem myself. Thanks Mommie  Dearest)
Interesting to note that all of Mommies daughter ended up in abusive relationships at some point in their lives. She taught us well.
Girls do everything wrong, inadequately. Men are always right.
Girls are servants. Men have "needs" that women are ordained by God to meet.
She was so very wrong. Mother lived a long suffering life as a martyr to her husband's needs and deeds. Each daughter so thoroughly indoctrinated to her beliefs...there was no way to escape them. Ingrained and beat in so that they subconsciously became second nature and practiced without a second thought.
Some women should never be a mother. It should be an honor and privilege to those capable of love. We carry our mothers sins and shortcomings...and this brings her happiness. Who does not want their mother happy?
She laid out all the criteria, as stated above and dutifully her daughters followed...and yet...she still could not love them. The glass was perpetually empty and cracked.
Funny, in her eyes all her sons are successful. And her daughters, well, they do okay.
Thanks Mom. You heartless, cold, bitch. Lessons learned.

Feet Hurt, Life and All

Yikes! I continue to suffer with extremely painful feet. The less I walk, the better but I dislike it so. Taking turns gobbling motrin or pain pills just to stay sane. You can see the mighty bruise on Mr. Left Foot. For some reason, Mr. Right Foot feels almost as bad. I really banged and twisted them when I fell Last Monday. Yeah, it's been over a week now. I was hoping for much improved pain relief and mobility.
I had cranio work done this Monday and I have acupuncture tomorrow, so I'm trying all the tricks and techniques to heal up. I'm a wee bit frustrated.
Another snow day, so my 12 yr old is home again. My cleaning lady friend is cleaning out an upstairs room so I have a place to lay down, rest and sleep. Yeah, climbing the stairs will exacerbate my feet but I have no other options. All the downstairs rooms have no vacancy.
Our television gave off a sudden small "pop" and promptly died. Argh. Now, we have a new one that is making my eyes hurt, giving me headaches and making me nauseous. Hence, the immediate need for a safe, non-toxic room. So sick last night, that I had to wake up my 12, get him to move to the top bunk and ask if I could sleep on the bottom bunk. I hated to do it but I had no other options.
I did sleep very well and went to bed way early to get away from the sick living room.
So, my friend recognizes my "environmental illness", as my doctor calls it, but makes fun of me when she talks about it to others. Note to self: Get better, kinder friends.
Another revealing therapy session this week. Like last week's appointment, highly relevant issues surface. Lots to process and sort out. Therapy feels like a full time job without a paycheck. I've been half-ass monitoring the effects of my abuse and how often it plays a part in my everyday life. The simple answers: daily and too much. Sigh. I wish someone, other than my therapist understood this. My DID/ MPD friends are the only ones that can truly get it.
The only place I switch is at therapy, seriously, the one place where it is okay to be me or whoever, and talk about all the various thoughts, feelings and memories is the Office. Hmmm. One entire hour a week I get to be myself. All the other hours I'm just a fraction of self. I feel cheated writing that, like, most people can be themselves to a much larger degree than myself. Doesn't seem fair, does it?