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, August 16, 2018

The Dreaded Apartment Inspection or I don't like people in my house or Dont Touch My Stuff

I endured my annual apartment inspection yesterday. Because I receive housing assistance once a year some stranger walks through my home to make sure I'm not trashing the place.
Yikes. I hate having people in my home, especially uninvited ones. Not only was I perturbed about the whole thing but, this new inspector carried around a camera With the lens cap off! To think that she may have taken photos of my stuff is a major privacy invasion.
Ugh. I know I easily passed the inspection however I spent a few days dragging my sorry, tired butt around putting away as many personal items as possible.
I am a very private person bordering on extreme.
I'm recovering from that event.
It reminds me how deep my privacy really is.
If you want to offend me, touch my stuff, my notebooks, my furniture, my clothing or anything within my house. I am very much quid pro quo, in that I dont touch things in other people's homes. It's like an unwritten code of mine.
Probably the worst offense that I can recall was when I was working at a neighbors house and this neighbor, who I later realized was an abusive narcissist, went into my car, without asking, and rolled up my windows claiming he thought it might rain.
You Never go into someone else's car!!! Hello!! That was a major violation. I felt like Rainman and wanted to get out one of my notebooks and write, "Ohoh, major violation, major violation, major violation!!
Being Aspie, from what I can gather, involves having a much greater need for privacy And Aspies tend to be more attached to their possessions.
It's like my car is part of me. My home and everything in it is sacred to me and not meant for anyone else to defile or handle. My sense of who I am is directly tied to my things. One must always ask before touching and respect the answer.
Argh, this post isn't as clearly written as I would like it to be. I get emotional when discussing this touchy subject and it's hard to stay clear and distant.
If you know an Aspie, Respect their stuff, please. It's like, one of the cardinal unwritten rules.
Thank you for reading.

Wednesday, August 15, 2018

I'm always tired. Surviving is Exhausting

I've said it so many time that I sometimes worry the words, repeated so, diminish in their quality. It's only the truth. My experience.
It's been proven that childhood abuse survivors are more easily tired, requiring rest at more frequent intervals, so I'm not alone in this. (Aspergers, also, causes exhaustion much more readily than for neurotypicals.)
Picture a small, say 5 yr old child, constantly running in fear, for days on end, being chased by a man with a whip. That's how it feels.
The man goes away but the child's brain is now programmed to Always Run. The body is hyper aroused, hyper vigilante and can find no way to slow down, to realize that the danger has passed. The survival mechanism, once activated, is at full throttle and rather helpless to find relief, slow down, a way to Express the danger and realize danger is past.
Add to that weekly therapy which reengages those early, traumatic memories and thrusts them to the surface, hoping that in their acknowledgment that they may find safety and closure.
It's just a vicious, highly emotional, perpetual roller coaster.
The body is exhausted from all the distress, the hormones and transmitters being pushed up and down. An engine that can never stop running. It is exhausting.
I'm going to start keeping track on how many days I'm exhausted.
My formula will be: exhaustion= a day whereby the simplest, every day tasks of functioning are only accomplished with great effort.
I can already count Saturday thru today, Wednesday.
I'm not sick. I'm not lazy. And I don't have a specific physical illness.
I'm a survivor. Someone who has been subjected to running from danger for a very long time.
Everyday life is exhausting. It's normal for what I experienced. It's incredibly normal.

Saturday, August 11, 2018

I have my own bed, feeling grateful

Lying in bed last night, I was overwhelmed with gratitude. I realized that my dream of having my own comfy bed, which had been unfulfilled off and on throughout my life and especially the last 20 years, had come true.
Having your own bed is kindof big. It's like it is safety and security; something as simple as having a pillow, blanket and some comfort is huge.
My mind filled with other things I'm thankful for: clean sheets, a pillowcase, a warm blanket, a room of my own, not having to worry about anyone coming into my room and bad things happening, the food in my cupboard (probably enough to last a week and the cupboards aren't full, by any means, but there's a lot), clean towels, ample toilet paper, soft towels both on the rack in the bathroom and in the closet, a warm puppy snuggled up to me, open windows and a fan quietly droning, a closet full of clothes and drawers, too. Lots and lots of things that I never thought I would ever have.
I have two jars chock full of coins. That makes me mighty rich And able to do my laundry whenever I wish.
I've got my own television with cable in my own spacious living room. I can pay for my own internet and have the old movie channel.
One of my dear Michigan friends sent me a Mondo bag of delicious Dove chocolates. Every time I have a few after dinner, I'm reminded someone cares for me.
I picked blackberries today, from my own yard. I gave half to one of my neighbors. I now have three neighbors that I frequently small talk with. That, is, huge.
I spend an hour or two painting most days. Painting soothes my soul for some reason.
I'm in a really good place. Last night I realized and affirmed that.

I am safe and I have no idea how that feels

Logically, intellectual I have been safe from perpetrators for over 30 years. And I've been free from narcissists and harm for almost 2 full years. Yes, 50 years of my life I have been in harm's way and mistreated in one way or another.
Now, I truly am safe but I can't feel it as it is a completely foreign concept. I know what it means but the words are empty as I cannot attach them to anything I know or have felt.
It's like having a key but not knowing how to turn it to open the treasure box. I've not experienced the feel, the sensation so I continue to be lost.
I will keep repeating this newfangled mantra, I feel safe, until I actually do.
I cannot conjure up any images of what it would feel like to assist me in this quest.
I am safe but lost.
I feel very, very alone.
It has been at least three weeks since I've received a hug. It seems like forever.
I'm safe just really alone. I guess that's okay for now. Hoping to know what it feels like at some point.
Yeah, up all night thinking...trying to imagine how it feels to feel safe.
And yes, I am a Jesus loving freak.

Friday, August 10, 2018

What Torture Taught Me

Torture is the intentional infliction of pain for no reason. Molestation and incest are quite different, more personal and soul injuries. I found torture to be more of a "social" crime as it affected how I viewed the outside world.
As a child that was tortured about once every month or two, by my father or his mother, I have a good deal of experience with this issue.
Being tortured taught me that people in general and those who claimed to love me, could, at any point and without warning, subject me to intense physical pain. It didn't matter if I was good or flawless; i was liable to be hurt on any given day, for absolutely no reason.
Torture meant life was a powder keg, a slippery slope, a slimy pond and my behavior, how I felt, what I thought, how well I did amounted to nothing.
All was hopeless, unpredictable and nonsensical.
Since it frequently happened I came to equate living with reoccurring intense painful events. I had no control over my life, my body and these evil people that would want to harm me.
My pain and discomfort made others happy. There always seemed to be a smile of satisfaction upon the faces of my perpetrators. It made Them feel good to make me feel bad. My only worth, the only way I could try to make people love me, make them smile, was to endure intense pain.
It taught me to turn my back to no one. It taught me to trust no one. It taught me to let no one get physically or emotionally close to me.
If I couldn't see a person's hands, I could potential be hurt. It created an incredible need for distance from all others.
It taught me that even the good, pure and innocent were subject to physical punishment. I had no value. No one would recognize my positive qualities. I was dirt under someone else's shoes, every single day.
It taught me I was nothing, a nobody and that I would never find someone that would ever care about me.
I was good and yet that amounted to nothing.