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

Friday, January 29, 2016

Perpetual Misunderstanding

I'm hoping this week of frequent misunderstandings is over and done so that I can move out of this fret and worry storm. Three different incidents in which I felt embarrassed, pushed away and discarded plagued me like cloaks of locust.
My usual, come near me/ go away temperament is in full swing. At least once a month someone will inquire as to whether or not I'm upset with them. My moody Aspie/ DID persona, which has always run hot and cold, has been prevalent and, no, I'm not bothered by anyone or what they've said...I'm just seriously moody and dissociative.
One minute I'm chatty, the next I retreat and feel highly introspective. I'm guessing I'll continually be fielding this question as my behavior runs deep and true. Hence, this is the number one reason Amy has no friends. Some things I can't change even when I want to.
Thanks for reading and sticking around.

Quell

I love this word

Original Art Love

Sunday, January 24, 2016

Tuesday, January 19, 2016

Winter Boredom Doldrums

The grey clouds hang stoicly, heavy, burden laden and happiness sucking. Ain't no sunshine.
My days spent reanalyzing revelations, picking up the new found puzzle pieced strewn haphazardly across the floor, now that the rug is removed and the lights are on. Trying to make sense of the puzzle piece I hold as it morphs and shifts within my hand. To comprehend, to acknowledge, breathe into it and make it real and fit it into the correct sequence. At times...hours upon hours gazing at this transfiguring wonder...pondering, doubting, realizing...eventually accepting.
  I'm not "lost" in thought...I'm engrossed, intrigued and focused. There isn't anyone who can put me back together but me. Sure, I have an astute and caring therapist but I'm the one deciding to do the work. I'm the one with the chain cutters venturing into the scary dark places...digging up...long buried painful feelings and not turning away but holding them close. I am an incredibly strong person. I'm open, honest and acutely aware of my oneness, my aloneness, my complete reliance upon myself to provide for all my needs. I get it and I'm okay with it.
I've learned.
  I'm tired of trying to fix my broken with someone else's putty. There's a contamination, a cost with that...and I'm unwilling to pay.
  I can't remember the last memorable dream. I'm searching for answers and night sleep dreamtime often provides.
I've been receiving cranio-sacral therapy which has seriously calmed down body and head. It's miraculous, massage, cranio, acupuncture, and therapy...all the modalities that genuinely heal me in one way or another. I'm thoroughly dedicated to my healing. Damn, I have become a great advocate for myself. I'm not taking leftovers anymore. I realize that I deserve better. I deserve to be first and well cared for.
  It's not a storm so much as its a depressing lull between squalls. Boredom reigns. The wallpaper reeks of staleness and age. The carpets grown dusty and worn. There is no bright effervescent spark except when I close my eyes and drift far, far away.
I get it. I get that no one will ever truly understand another person's story, their pain and experiences but at least I'm honest with myself and acknowledge my struggles, emotions and triumphs. I share them.
I make myself real
Be real!

Tuesday, January 12, 2016

I Believe...

Truth is stranger than fiction.
Few can handle the truth.
I have no regrets for all I've done and said as I was doing my best, at the time, with the knowledge I had.
I choose to forgive everyone...even myself.
I wouldn't change my past because those experiences made me who I am today...and I like me.
It's all good.

Sunday, January 10, 2016

Just converse with me

Love....

Writing Heals Me, Journaling

I have lingering moments where I feel I could heal myself of every ailment, by endlessly writing, and stumbling upon the key words, subconscious thoughts and darkened memories that have contributed or caused my malicious maladies.
Thus I scribe, first the obvious, the overflow, the jetsam floating everywhere clouding my vision and thinking. Over brush clearing tends to take awhile, like the yard unmowed grows knarly and thick without regular cutting. Semi-weekly journaling maintains a bit of order.
  It would probably astound you, if you had the ability to comprehend the enormous amounts of thoughts, questions, scenerios, hypotheticals and potential answers the average Aspie produces and consumes each and every hour...hundreds of different thoughts sometimes. Oh, each day is different and nighttime seems to accelerate the thoughts, but it's safe to say that hundreds of varying thoughts are pondered within any given day.
Sure, I look like a "space case", at times...the lights are on but no one's at home to answer the door, but, trust me, I'm in a more familiar, pleasanter place...inside myself, thank you very much. I chuckle, naw, few can truly grasp the concept.
  In an ideal world, I would have one or two friends to sit and talk with weekly about this mental energy and tidings. However, being the good Aspie that I am, friends are scarce to nowhere. I seem to burn any "friend" off, in under six months on average. I have therapy once a week and prioritize the erratic thoughts in order of importance...what needs to be heard..what needs to be brought out in the open and examined in brighter light, into a one hour time frame. Yeah, that's how I spend the day before therapy, prioritizing issues. Yum.
Ain't no big thing, just the truth. Writing weekly, daily becomes more essential when the possibility of external venting and sharing is null. No pity please, you just learn to live with what you can get and you search for other avenues to meet needs, wishes, wants, whatever.
  There are various avenues of writing. Facebook is good for generalized statements, brief non-personal interactions, basically small talk. It's also of benefit in airing out grievances, political speak and yeah, the occasional bit of dirty laundry.
Then there is blogging, which allows you the freedom to write large or small amounts of personal revelation to share with everyone and no one at the same time. Cyberspace is an empty, cold hearted mistress and you get nothing back, no receipt, no sign you've been heard unless someone leaves an anonymous comment. It's a great way to feel heard, listened to and ignored simultaneously...but, it does air things out.
See, the more thoughts that are stuck inside, the larger the chaos, possible confusion and ability to make sense to the outer world...yeah, sometimes that's advisable, being able to communicate to others.
Then you have probably the most freeing, yet dangerous, writing of all. Journaling, writing long-hand, spontaneously, voraciously, without rules or deep thought...you know, the stuff that comes pouring out of you after reading a heart touching poem, or how you feel upon awaking free from the nightmare but still able to recall, write and drip with the fear, the palatable sensations. Keeping a journal, a diary is probably the cheapest, healthiest thing a person can easily do. Thoughts and feelings tend to become clearer and easier to understand written out. When I lived alone, I relished the freedom of leaving my journal sitting out in the open, on my coffee table. The key words being, "when I lived alone."
Now that I live amongst others, the idea of a real live journal is impossible. Too many people; too much curiosity; too little trust; too much personal info for anyone but meself.
Thus, I resort to mostly blogging. Publishing only the ones deemed "not too personal".
Writing is important and quite healthy.
At some point I'll have journals again. At some point.

Wednesday, January 6, 2016

Monday, January 4, 2016

Shit Just Got Real

....give me a few days...or a few weeks...processing

Sunday, January 3, 2016

Yes, she does smile

Unglued

Spinning

Odd Autistic Observations about Going to Church

I enjoy going to my church. It's a warm, friendly welcoming place, plus I get a lot of hugs there😊.
A few things strike me as nonsensical. 1) Everyone is handed a bulletin with an outline, the songs and readings all written out. I understand that we need the songs...but, why on earth is everyone reading the readings out of the bulletin instead of watching the live, in-person speaker? It makes sense, to little ol autistic me, to watch the speakers and the preacher instead of reading it along with them. I don't get it and it bothers me.
2) There are "attendance cards", I kid you not, which ask for your name, are you a member, will you be receiving communion????? Um, like, why do they need that information? The ushers do a headcount and I'm sure God knows if I'm there or not. I refuse to fill out cards. It makes no sense and I'm not in school or needing an attendance record.
3) In a similar, kinda, vein, I refuse to put my weekly offering in an envelope with my name printed on it. Granted, some people may need that for tax purposes but I certainly do not. No one needs to know how much I tith but me. I'm an anonymous donor, thank you very much.
4) This item doesn't apply only at church. I abhor coat racks. Seriously? Coats are left unattended and out-of-line-of-sight and no one is concerned that their pockets will be rifled through or stolen? Maybe this is my "autistic and more attached to personal belongings than humans" thingy, but it creeps me out. It is not a requirement that I leave my coat. No one bugs me if I wear or carry it in. My coat does not leave me side as all its pockets contain goodies and important stuff, bottled water, gum, wintergreens, emergency inhaler, emer. anti-anxiety meds, important notes, keys, snacks, all kinds of items I want near me and unpilfered.
Anyway, I had to get that off my chest...the four biggest, oddest things this AspieGirl just doesn't understand. 😊