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, January 22, 2017

House Afire

My family's house was a deathtrap. If those walls could talk....I'm astounding anyone can walk into that place without having to cover their ears for the cries and screams of the hungry, beaten, raped children that lived there.
Those walls always felt impenetrable, thick, like razor wire wound so tight that even air could not escape out. Windows were my only refuge. Looking out made me forget, took me away for moments, hours at a stretch from the unbarable stench that I had to call my everyday waking life.
There was never a break. If I wasn't hungry I was trying to stay out of dad's grasp and away from mom's hurling, spewing, cutting words. Daytime meant fighting for clean clothes, food, milk and attention. Nighttime meant dealing with dad's needs, fighting over blankets and bed space with my two sisters and frustratingly, incessant, cold sweat insomnia.
Nightmares were day and night.
I continue to race with anxiety just thinking about what a single day was like back then.
Yeah, my childhood haunts me. Seems like I'm allowed only brief respites here and there where I'm not jostling the baggage of my youth.
I want to cry. I want to scream. I want a break. It all feels like to much...bitterness like acid rain knowing I've been singled out, someway, somehow, into dealing with the tragic trauma called my life. Really.
I look at all I've exposed and revealed in therapy....and I'm astounded. How could anyone live through that without an army of dedicated soldiers of the highest caliber?
And then, I get glimpses of the swampy quagmires, the thickened brambles that I still have to slog through. It'd be so easy to throw up my hands and call me beaten, give it all up. But, that's not for me.
I know...how hard..this next segment of therapy may very well be. Sure, part of me wants to pull the plug and stop it all right here but...the system, my intuitive path propels me forward much to my distress.
I stand alond. I walk alone. This is my battle. Oh, I'll allow therapist along for the ride. The journey wouldn't be doable without her.

Saturday, January 21, 2017

Born to Run, Cosmic Patterns

So, a thousand atoms were standing around the ball room. Unpartnered, each danced to its own rhythm, in quiet harmony. External events, a stranger enters the room, a negative phrase, overbearing influence...let's call them X. X strides in and grabs atom 1, removing it from the waltz, dragging it into darkened corner. No one really notices the slight shift until X, another, another and another parade in, capturing, sequestering and overpowering atom after atom till only a fraction of the original, undisturbed atomic group remains.
Ha, it's like walking into a hall and having someone steal your clothes, one thread at a time until you are standing there, naked, shivering and so desperate for warmth that you start stealing threads from the X's. This exchange continues slowly, day after day, till you realize you have no idea of who you are because you are clothed in everything but who you started out with.
The ballroom, once full of innocent, fluffy sheep has turned into a sheep or two surrounded by snarling, drooling wolves.
I was born to run. I've been trying, with varying amounts of success, to leave this earthly, painful body ever since I can remember. Mostly, I found the magical mastery of dissociation, withdrawing deeply into my own inner sanctum of psyche to escape a world of grabbing, invasive hands, objects being thrown at me and words that cut and made me bleed.
I've never found any sense of sanctuary or safety in someone else's arms. My ability to form even the simplest of friendships, is severely compromised. I get that. I haven't the means or resources to change that. Forgive Me For Who I Am And What I'm Made Of...a phrase no one should have to utter...or admit.
There are the exemplary 4. Those select few who have been given invites into my inner world, my sanctum. Three be therapists and one be Dearest Friend. I treasure/ treasured these for inquiring, proving trustworthiness and entering my domain, the only place I am truly safe and myself.
It's like...what percentage of you, is you? I think of all the events that shaped/ warped/ stole/ changed me. Is there even a small percentage still salvageable?
All the times I stopped being me to not get hurt. The jokes I laughed at, that I didn't agree with. The words directed at me that I deflected or silently absorbed, pretending they didn't hurt. All the things I agreed to do willingly, because being forced caused the wound to deepen. The events I went to because I felt obligated only to end up crying and wounded on the inside, never knowing Exactly what was wrong but dealing with the uncomfortable, unpleasant feelings anyway because I couldn't put words to my distress....and I felt obligation like a spike, held by an anvil and my, the hammer striking myself....a deep, moral sense of obligation to be places and do things for others and the depths of confusion and self-loathing at why I felt so...bad and sad that I was unable to do the simplest things with anything resembling ease.
These crazy people around me who can Easily, Without thought; walk out the door, go to a restaurant, see a movie, talk with strangers, clerks, cashiers and friends, shop at the store, drive in traffic, attend appointments and deal with the unexpected....I will never understand.
The only people I can relate to are the ones crying into their pillows at night, standing alone beating their proverbial heads against the wall and those carrying around the overwhelming pain of a thousand hurts. I Get Those People.
I guess I'm sensing all the unhealthy patterns that I've subscribed to.
I just want to find out who Me is, you know?

Sunday, January 15, 2017

Acknowledging, Writing and Talking Are the Only Things That Will Save Me

Because I've lived with the screaming silence so long. You know, the place where all the unspoken things have been shoved, walled up and locked away. Maybe, certainly I will offend and expose as I routinely put everyone's feelings above my own. For I am but a pawn in a game where everyone else is king.
Maybe I'll just write in whispers that only attentive listeners can hear.
Maybe no one's reading these rants anyway but I cannot sit comfortably with all these unsaids.
Lest I offend, I have failed miserably as a mother. When your kid ends up in prison and no longer speaks to you, clearly I have  not been the most virtuous or able bodied, sound minded parent.
It's lies when we think we are self-made when 18 years have been spent indoctrinated overtly, subtly, falsely with whatever beliefs our parents lived by.
I learned to become a thief. Stealing a glass of water while pretending to not be thirsty, for if they knew my real motive, they would have taken it from me for want, for...dare I say need, was a weapon, a tool, a threat and bargaining chip.
We read about wars, famine and animal abuses and our eyes tear up as we outrage but I do not. For I was the beaten, hungry dog in the street and there were no ads or posts moving others to help.
The injustices you revolt against...I lived. Forgive me for a heart hardened by personal suffering and torture. I am somewhat blind to these newsworthy maladies. No one tried to save me thus all my energy goes in to saving myself.
I'm too broken, beaten and damaged to give a tinker's damn about anything other then my selfish desire to figure out how to forgive, like myself and regain an ounce of self-worth within a body that spent years being raped and within a mind being tormented.
I wasn't allowed the gift of having the basic needs of a secure, safe home, enough to eat and a loving adult, so I'm a bit parched inside...and I'm always thirsty and pretending not to be.
I don't know if it will ever come to pass that my needs will even be marginally fulfilled. I've denied them so long, denying they exist that I'm guessing my first order of business would be daring to acknowledge that I have any. Inaudible, loud gasp. Not sure I can do that.
Based on experience, if I reach out seeking like, I'll be ostracized and pushed away into a corner. How does one undo the routines that were repeated daily? Weekly? How to change the emotional patterns and controls that were so vehemently drilled into my brain? How can I ever ask for anything when I was taught I deserved nothing? How do I pick myself off the floor when boots drag their heels on my head? When offenders still feel such righteous indignation that I would dare to question my use as their doormat.
There have never been apologies because I have always deserved their boots. I'm a liar for calling the mighty kettle black and no amount of words will ever allow me to be seen as a real person. They call me a liar, a manipulator, an attention seeker when all I've asked for is common respect, an opportunity to be heard and seen. My words are fodder for deaf ears, so I write hoping someone hears or cares..
I'm alone within these walls. I'm alone with all the events that took place because no one has ever been willing to hear. I've been reluctant to speak for fear of damaging the listener...I laugh because no one even hesitated to damage me. I've been the tinker's damn. I've been giving courtesy to heathens. I've been such a fool.
Enough with this keeping shit inside.
God, I wished someone had cared about me. I had like 10 aunts and uncles...why couldn't just one of them taken a special interest in the withdrawn, quiet, kind child? Really? Not one? So much for family always being there for you. And they wonder why I left. I felt unwanted and quite hurt.
See, I'm sure someone loves the fact that I hurt...twisted family thinking rears it's ugly head. Oh, how they loved to pick on and make fun of someone. Always in need of a scapegoat...baahhhh.
Taught that I deserved pain and suffering...for what? Being alive, breathing and Don and Sharon's daughter. The two of them carried so much pain and torment of their own that they really needed to offload onto someone. Does the fact that they had suffered given them any right to inflict on me? How is it I can see, understand and forgive then when I can't forgive myself? Why am I so goddamn nice, respectful and forgiving that I no longer hate them? How can I absorb both their pain and mine...and still be breathing?
How can I be such a good person
Yet be so alone, untouchable and unloved
I haven't made any friends here yet, but to clarify, I've only been here 5 months.
Processing...
It's got to be kind of amazing, right? that I'm like taking the high road with people that tied me to railroad tracks and drove the engine full tilt.
I don't know. Sometimes I feel like I deserve a crowd of applause, angels singing and the heavens opening up, giving me abundance because I'm still fucking standing, forgiving and so goddamn fucking kind.
Maybe that's why I'm here
I keep wanting my life to not be what it is. I want love, happiness, rainbows and I'm just a storm girl, you know?
I'd probably burn in the sun. I wouldn't recognize love if it hit me in the heart. Rainbows are illusions, fog and mirrors.
You know...this is just what I am...battling soldier trying to find the barbed wire to crawl under that will make me bleed the least.
I need to stop running from my fate
I need to stop wishing for things meant only for others.
It seems so twisted yet calming to say. This is just me.

Saturday, January 14, 2017

Sitting at urgent care

Trying to decide if getting my painful, dizzying sinus infection is worth it as I listen to all these people flu coughing like death. Ugh. Decisions

Friday, January 13, 2017

Sinus infection

I figured out why I've been feeling so miserable, cold and exceptionally tired. I have a roaring sinus infection. I feel better knowing the reason instead of just attributing it to memories and autistic hypersensitivities.
So, I've dragged out my neti pot and bathrobe. I'm downing motrin and taking it easy. Hopefully in a few days I'll be feeling somewhat normal. If not, I'll give my doctor a call and meet her for the second time.

I want one

Or two caring arms and a forever hug