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 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.

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