I remember being hungry

I suffered hunger on a fairly regular basis growing up. Not the casual missing of a meal here and there, rather, counting down the five days till payday when mom could go shopping.
Days are long when you have nothing to eat. And I haven't been able to forget that feeling of being hollow, empty and wanting. It was scary then and I continue to reexperience those dreaded feelings.
I haven't been able to shake the feeling that I will open the cupboards and they will be empty. As a kid I felt like I was being punished for some egregious sin. As a Catholic I was sure God was into punishing small children that didn't obey their parents. I felt punished like i had done something wrong to "earn" these hunger pains. In my little mind everything that hurt happened for a reason and I was the cause in one way or another.
It's a kindof sick funny how I refused to blame my parents for the pain that happened my way. I must have been some powerful child to be able to turn the world against me so heartily.
I spent a few days being unable to eat. Let me rephrase that, any little thing I ate gave me such a stomachache that I had to retire to bed for hours as I just couldn't stomach anything as I hurt so bad.
Hmm, in writing oft things become clear...
I felt guilty and undeserving and like I was being punished all over again this past week. It reminded me of the time I hadn't eaten in so long that I had to be highly encouraged to take in food again.
My therapy is at that unpleasant but necessary point whereby I am feeling intensely, physically the things I experienced as a kid, as previously unseen younger alters rise to the surface.
Life gets a little tricky because I can feel a pain that happened 40 years ago as acutely as if it was happening right now. Differentiating between the two time periods involves a high level of awareness and logic as the pains of the past do not require medical intervention whereas if the pains are current, and not memory related, then I need to see a doctor.
It's a terrible challenge to try and distinguish if I need a doctor or a therapist.
I think that's where I am at right now, between the past and the present and working to figure out all these body sensations.
I think the hunger issue is related to the past. I have one of two flashbacks that I've been working to suppress and it involves sitting on the porch of my childhood home and eating a sandwich. It may very well be one of the starving child alters.
Anyway, it's really been a pill this week, dealing with food issues, memories and a body that doesn't feel good at all. It's rough but it's all I got.
Later

The Avocado Dilemma, High Histamines, Food Was Making Me Ill

Food was making me ill. It didnt taste good. I felt irritable and unwell after eating. I spent most of my time trying to figure out what to eat and why I felt so bad.
My boyfriend suggested I try avocado. So I put a thin slice on a piece of toast. I loved the texture and taste but...my tongue felt like it was swelling. How weird, I thought.
An internet search of "can I be allergic to avocado?" turned up "Avocados are high in histamine and may cause an allergic reaction in under 1% of the population." Holy cow!
Then I looked up "high histamine foods" and started checking off each listed food that I have had a reaction to:
Spinach
Shellfish
Yogurt
Kefir
Cured meats
Canned fish
Fermented Soy products
Fermented grains
Tomatoes
Wines, beer, champagne
I have previously had an unpleasant reaction to Each and Every food on the list!
Searching further, I discovered that some foods whilst not high in histamines themselves, cause histamine to rise and are called "histamine liberators." They are:
Pineapples
Bananas
Citrus
Strawberries
Nuts
Cocoa
Egg Whites
Whilst I did occasionally partake of these foods, I usually could only stomach a couple bites. They just didn't agree with me yet I did not have a huge, overt dislike of them.
I've spent hours reading these past few days, discovering what foods I should avoid and which ones are histamine low.
Yesterday was the first day I was histamine low and I felt mighty strange, but in a good way.
I'm starting to learn to cook so I picked up a butternut squash which I had never tried in my life. I had to learn how to handle and prepare it. I ended up baking a few slices of bacon, then cooking the cubed squash in a little bacon fat.
In my food research I discovered bacon was a natural oil to use in cooking and that it is high in oleic acid which is the same component of olive oil that makes it heart healthy. I chose bacon over manufactured canola oil.
Trying my first bite of squash, (I only prepared about a quarter of a cup of it, as I wasn't sure my energy spent chopping it up would be worth it, especially if I found the squash unpalatable.) I loved it!!! Gobbled up my serving and ran to the kitchen to prepare More.
After eating, wow, how to describe? It was like a smooth, comforting bandaid for my stomach and everything inside. Peaceful digestion. A very new feeling that's taking some getting used to.
Not only is butternut squash low in histamine but it also helps heal leaky g*t. (I can't tolerate the g u t word!!)
I ate half a squash the first day and the other half the second. I crave it and it tastes wonderful!
Combined with my low oxalate diet, which inhibits my lichen sclerosis, I am actively working to improve my health!!!

The Autistic Parent and Parent Teacher Conferences

As any parent knows, parent-teacher conferences are mandatory events to attend at least twice a year. Being a single parent with Asperger's, conferences have been proven to be a challenge that I have had had to modify.
Via my first disastrous, panic attack riddled attempt to attend conferences the normal, neurotypical way, I needed to find a way that works for me.
The typical conference setting is having all the teachers at individual tables scattered around a single, large, echoing room like the cafeteria or gymnasium. Parents are required to stand in line and wait for their turn to come and their child's teacher to be a available.
As I stood in line eyeing the length of the line, listening to the din of the crowd grow larger as I inched my way toward the room, I broke out in a sweat, couldn't stand still and felt compelled to bolt from the building.
With age comes wisdom.
This was my son's first year at a new middle school so bolting wasn't a doable option. I ran into the office, tears streaming down my face, in full stammer/stutter mode and asked the secretary for a room to calm down.
The secretary readily read my distress and ushered me to a small office whereby I blurted out that I was autistic with PTSD and I just couldn't do it (handle going to conferences in this format).
The secretary helped me decide on a different course of action. She said that she could get my son's report card from the gym and Then she would be able to set up times and dates whereby I could meet with the teachers individually away from the maddening crowd.
This Worked!
Whereas moments before I saw no options, no way to complete this mandatory task that I wanted to do, a solution arose from the ashes of my panic attack.
Thus, every parent-teacher conference these past two years I have gone to the office, spoke with the office manager or one of the assistants, and scheduled One-on-One conferences with each of my child's teachers!!
This works for me!
Sure, I go to the school 4 or 5 different days but the sensory stimuli, the difficulty of meeting new people that each talk and use words in unique ways, it is easier for me to handle.
I did inadvertently agree to meet three teachers, back-to-back in one day and needed to shutdown and nap the remainder of the day, however, next time I will schedule no more than two in a row.
I continue to learn how to manage being an Aspie mom navigating this crazy neurotypical world.

No Friends so I Hire My Support Team

Since the act of forming friendships seems beyond me, I've learned that with the help of decent insurance coverage, I hire people to listen to me, talk to and assist me with functioning.
Currently I have a therapist, acupuncturist and a chiropractor with whom I can engage in varying degrees of conversation in order to feel kindof human. And I saw them All last week. Hence this post.
All three I have been seeing for over a year. I have a positive working relationship with them and I have something to look forward to.
Lacking friends, these relationships are far more important to me and my emotional well being than to the average person on the street.
In my empty, deeply lonely world, they are life preservers that I get to cling to for short bursts of time. They keep me floating in these ever trembling waters, like guideposts or buoys, directional arrows and rest respite stops.
Sure, each one is only an hour at a time but thems vital hours.
Just sayin
If you can't make friends, hire replacements.

Sudden System Overload, Meltdown

Omg, all I did was walk into a store that I had never been to before. In those 20 seconds inside, every system was assaulted and I bolted from the store in a panic.
The first thing that went very wrong was the smell. It reeked of syrup! Why, I have no idea but this was very wrong for a Target store.
I kept thinking back to the Target store I used to frequent in Traverse City. In Traverse the store opened up on the left with a wide doorway that led into the rest of the mall. This new place had a solid wall, so I immediately felt trapped. (Trapped is a recent issue I've been dealing with in therapy and daily life.) I didn't know where any other exits were.
The aisle I could see had things haphazardly arranged, strew apart; it looked like a mess.
Random shoppers were clustered and scattered to and fro. There didn't appear to be any order: Chaos!
I spied the checkouts and, again, it looked disorganized. No way.
I turned around and ran for the exit.
I can't think straight. My stomachs upset. My head hurts and I feel very off.
I just want to go home and crawl into bed with the covers over my head and never leave.
Sure, there are more things I was supposed to do today but forget it.
Sudden system overload. Bushwacked. Done!

Sometimes it's easier to pretend I'm normal

Lately, with the decrease in energy due to illness and a dramatic uptick in necessary activity, I'm beginning to remember why I used to just go with the flow, push myself to do unpleasant things and keep my mouth shut.
Its proving that explaining myself as to why a relatively easy NT task, like going to this place or making this phone call or addressing this problem, is more work than the struggle and stress of meeting others expectations.
I'm barely functioning and bordering on overwhelm yet I'm tired of all the thought and words that go into my explanation of why simple tasks are so difficult. Sorry, the words don't flow smoothly at the moment.
I do remember why I spent years not saying anything about the discomfort and distress I endure on a regular basis.
Maybe it's just my current predicament that is coloring my thinking. Sigh.
I guess I'm just starting that knowing the reasons for my daily challenges, autism, DID, and CPTSD makes me more inclined to defend myself in verbal ways and its wearing me down.
I'm doing my best. I know that. I just need to believe it more.

Why am I here? Escaping hurt

It seems like most of life can be boiled down to living to avoid hurt, in essence, alive to seek love.
Avoid hurt by generating income so you can eat and have a decent place to live. Dating, coupling and marrying to avoid the pain of loneliness.
Busy drowning our hurts in drinks, pills, shoveling food in our face, drowning in trivial make believe dramas of reality tv and gossiping about the neighbor down the street.
Our bodies hurt because our hearts hurt and we don't know how to feed ourselves right and feel good about who we are.
I'm odd and strange, because my pains are understood by the small majority who suffered similar crimes. We all hurt, just in different degrees.
Life doesn't make sense in that there is no joy, or feelings of happiness that I can experience on a weekly basis. I live scarce, scant and acutely aware of this emptiness in my soul because I was unlovable...rephrase that. I was entrusted to adults, to caretakers that were unable to love me.
And the counseling choir screams "you just need to love yourself more" and "love is the answer" as if they expect me to suddenly conjure up exactly what this love thing is that I never experienced.
How can I feel something that was never given to me? I know not its parameters, its width, its depth, its feel.
Like a blind man walking in a cave told to open his eyes.
Its ludicrous really, this unending game of seeking something that was never given me.
I see, I fully understand the dilemma of being Autistic and unable to find a single friend, much less an intimate one. I believe that loneliness and having the capacity to know you need someone and not being able to attain it, is the single greatest, most depressing problem facing those of us on the spectrum.
Trapped within ourselves With the knowledge of what we need And knowing we cannot attain it....sigh. Life is about figuring out how to endure this great pain...in a trivial world where others have what they require.
The emptiness...the aloneness...Life is great sadness, nothing more. Pointless, yet, I persevere.
Words of wisdom, I scoff, apply only in the neurotypical world where people live on the surface, not for the depths of the autistics.
I used to think Aspergers was a step in furthering the evolutionary process. Now I realize I'm just a caveman seeking fire and I have no flint. And I can see the glow of many distant campfires.
Life is about avoiding hurt and trying to find enough to fill the void of being unable to connect to anyone else.

I'm exhausted, helpless

When I become exhausted, I become helpless, a word I do not use lightly.
My extended, necessary social interactions these past two weeks coupled with my current bout of physical illness, shingles, has left me temporarily incapacitated.
The simplest efforts, sitting up, brushing my teeth, speaking, etc, require herculean, pain effort.
I hate this.
Thus, I must be continually diligent in self monitoring my every day activities.
Did I mention I hate this?
Don't know when I'll be functional again.
Being autistic, in sensory overload and shutdown, f*cling sucks. No one can help me. I can't help my self.

Dissociation, Living in the Now

As a child, there wasn't a compelling reason for me to stay present, in my body, in the now.
I was miserable with being raped, tortured, sold, shared. My home life, outside of the sexual abuses consisted of hunger both physical and emotional, neglect, ridicule and lack of love. I couldnt find the pros of having a body at all, much less staying in it for hours at a time.
Happiness was a brief cloudburst, like when we would play on the swings at the playground far from home and untouchable. I always knew that positive feelings were fleeting little wisps. It would hurt to leave happy to go home. It was better to avoid the positive emotions all together as it would hurt worse returning to my reality of pain.
It hurt worse to visit and know the peace of paradise and then leave, than to deny all happiness exists. I stayed away from any feel good emotions as I saw them for what they were, freaky little cruel bits of cake in a world of moldy bread crusts.
I walked out, as much as possible, those erratic small feel goods.
I'd rather pretend that they didnt exist at all. It's like, you never miss candy if you've never tasted sugar kindof mentality.
So, somewhere locked away inside, I think, is my ability to feel happy and the thick wall that encloses it.
It's strange being me. Trust me

Safe is a pretty word

Safe is a pretty word; I've often admired it from afar. In all honest, I have no idea what it feels like. I'm longing to know it intimately; its breadth and depth. It's a feeling I've only dreamed of.
Yeah, therapy was one large emotionally cathartic event today.
To minimize, the first ten years of my life was one continuous danger zone. My psych split and fractured due to lack of any love, physical and emotional hunger and ongoing, unpredictable abuses. I've never really been a whole, singular being. Never.
I live a reactionary life whereby I continually react to the people and circumstances around me. This thing called "free will" is another pretty term that I have yet to experience. Mostly, I'm avoiding pain, stress, discomfort, unpredictability events and laying low. Like I'm in a batting cage, naked and without a bat and I move, twist, duck and jump to escape the onslaught on hurling projectiles.
I'm armor. I'm embedded behind walls and bunkers fighting my forever war.
PTSD makes me feel like everyone is a potential enemy. Autism makes me feel similar including environmental factors.
It's a constant onslaught. I spend considerable energy avoiding pain.
I have these inner rooms filled with boxes of memories, feelings and thoughts I was never allowed to share. I spend tons of energy just keeping my shit together so it doesn't all spill out at once, or in the wrong place or in front of the wrong person.
This is my war, Amy's war, aka, welcome to my life. I am fathoms from normal.
I'm often jealous and feel bad that others were and are loved. I can see it on their faces and it's in the spring of their walk. Can you imagine the first ten years of your life engrossed in pain and lacking any love?
It sucks. It hurts.
Thos first years have set the pattern I live and have lived, a reactionary, dark and gloomy life.
That I made it this far with being given such sparse external resources is nothing short of remarkable.
I'm different, ok. I'm just really, really different.

Aloneness the Depths of Sorrow

From cradle to grave, it's been an iron fist
I could not make or find anyone to love me for me, my greatest sorrow
I am the ink, in the pen, held within someone else's hand
Those who say they want to hear your pain, really don't, really can't fathom tho they may try
To be worlds away from the person sitting next to me
To feel more alone in a crowded room than at 3am
Who wants to hear despair, they cannot handle the moaning ferociously blasting tone.
My funeral will be a sparse affair, a blip on no ones radar, a single leaf blowing by in a storm.
Unmissed, unloved, just twas my life undone, unsung, and oh, so mighty unhappy for that I thank the cruelty of mom and dad for destroying me so thoroughly and well. Good job Sharon and Don, you done a very good job

One Snowflake Lost

I've always been one snowflake in a drift
Missing but never missed
Drowning, struggling with no rescuer round
A spinning top, unable to stop, violently thrusting out string with loop, unable to catch anyone, any thing to hold on to
I've always been;
Crossing the finish line with no one in the stands
Walking in the desert
A glass ornament within someone else's hand
Seeking that which I can never found
Could never find someone to love me
Unable to leave my shell far enough to try and catch a ray of dying sun
Born hungry, always to starve
Cruelty is cold empty arms that push you away
Getting trapped within for safety, blessed curse
I'm noone to anyone
Always and never

Moving to Oregon, Oh the things I have seen!!

I left my small northern Michigan town of 7,000 and moved to the city of Corvallis with about 56,000 inhabitants. I have seen many new, odd, quirky and disturbing sites.
Here's a brief rundown:
I no longer pump my own gas.
The "winters" consist of maybe a dusting of snow a few days. Schools close for this and drivers generally panic.
The summers consist of 30-60 day stretches of zero rain. Most people and businesses allow their lawns to go brown. This is the norm.
You have to pay 5 cents and ask for a bag if you don't bring your own reusable grocery bag to the store.
I've seen someone passed out, spread eagle, in the middle of a busy street. My neighbors assured me it was probably someone on drugs, not a vehicular accident.
I am regularly asked for spare change or money at grocery stores, the Post Office or whilst just walking down the street.
I've seen a homeless man sit down in a pedestrian walkway, in front of traffic.
The homeless are everywhere and regularly carry signs stating their plight or asking for money.
They have tents and campsites along the roadsides, in public parks, along the river and under the freeway.
I had one deranged woman start screaming obscenities at me when I refused to give her money.
There is a "fire season" that runs during the dry summer months. Its commonplace to see and smell smoke during this time.
Bikes and bicyclists are treated with respect and given the right of way.
Cars are required to stop at all crosswalks to allow pedestrians to cross.
The city bus system is completely free.
The cashiers are over friendly. It's common to be asked three questions while purchasing: How's your day going? Did you find everything you needed? And "do you have any plans for the evening (or weekend)?"
Buying pot is legal and you can smell people smoking and toking with regularity.
People walk, bike, ride scooters and skateboards a lot.
I once saw a homeless young man with a full-sized macaw parrot on his shoulder, walking in the rain, right next to the highway.
There was once a patron at the Post Office asking everyone to state what they were mailing. It was a game, apparently. I did not play.
White supremacist are common and it is good to keep your comments to yourself.
Religion is usually kept pretty private, hush-hush.
There isn't a lot of litter. And if there is, people pick up after one another.
It's been quite a cultural shock.

I am alone

Signs You May Have Asperger's

I'm not a professional, just a woman with Asperger's and an Aspie son. Recently I started dating a man who also has Aspergers. These are a few of the things us Aspies have in common:
We love our shoes in a weird, extreme way. We only buy and wear a certain brand of shoes. My boyfriend- Doc Marten. Me-Brooks running shoes. We love our shoes in obnoxious, colorful patterns, too.
A love of shoeboxes! And the inability to throw them out.
My BF and I both have our keys on a clamp keychain attached to a belt loop on which we keep our keys handy.
We all hate talking on the phone, deplore phone calls, experts at text and email for communicating.
Require large amounts of time completely alone to regroup and recharge especially after social engagements.
We don't put a lot of time and effort into buying the latest fashions or appearing like anyone other than ourselves.
Have no interest in gossip, celebrities or the rich and famous.
Watch a sparse amount of television.
We are excellent and focused workers with an incredible work ethic. We do the very best and are devoted to whatever job we are working.
Lol, we have a difficult time opening our mail unless it's something we are excited about and expecting.
Both of us our nightowls that stay awake at all hours and often fall asleep on the couch.
We don't like being told what we have to do. If you want to set off an Aspie just tell us we must do something. We do not take orders well.
We thrive on our own independence.
We complain very little, realizing that there are things that we can't change.
Optimists to a fault. The glass is always half full even if we spill it.
Its definitely a thrill and delight to date someone that I have such commonality of spirit with.

I want to be somebody

I don't want to be simply the receptacle of repressed and tragic memories wrapped in a sack of depressed grief and pity. I'm so much more than that.
I want my life to matter.
I want what I say to be heard.
I want all the things, the intimate things about who I am and how I tick, the hidden me that I keep hidden inside for fear of ridicule and laughter, I want to be okay with letting the real me out.
I don't want to be afraid to be myself anymore.
I want people to like me, to love me, to accept me exactly as I am.
Because I am weird and wonderful.

I was sexually abused, incest.

Why I write loudly and often about incest and child sexual abuse...

Happiness Scares Me

To be honest, the thought of experiencing happiness frightens me.
I'm familiar, nay, intimate with the dank darkness that I have walked with each and every day. I know depression. Its every book and cranny. The heaviness of its feel. The musty stale smell. I know how to carry its hefty weight; how to dance and dash and hide within it.
The familiar often becomes the friend no matter how unhealthy and painful.
Change is where courage comes in.
Happiness appears as a light cloud forever out of reach. I've admired it. It looks pretty, over there. But it's so light. How could it hide me? Maybe it's weightlessness would make me feel naked, vulnerable and exposed.
The years have taught me that chasing happiness is akin to chasing rainbows. I kindof thought it was a myth.
What would that even feel like? The light, the bright, the airy and unencumbered? Surely, I cannot begin to fathom.
I wince at the thought of venturing into this brand new virginal territory of smiles and cake.
How can I explain that the thought of being happy is uncomfortable, strange and slightly bizarre?
It's like a child that has never tasted candy. Or a snail that's never felt the security of a shell.
I'm guessing the feeling would be fleeting. Why feel good for a day when all the following days are a return to darkness.
Wouldn't that be cruel then? To experience something like bliss only to have to whisked away?
It's as if I've never truly sought happiness for fear it would abandoned me and having tasted its sweet nectar I'd regret the knowledge of the absence of darkness.
To find and bathe in the light only to return to the cold seems doubly painful than never having known the light.
Yikes
I can see the issue quite clearly.
In order not to experience the thrill of victory, I've been content to stay in the place of great defeat.
Never get your hopes up and you'll never feel the whipping sting of backlashing disappointment.
I'm thinking I want to see what its like, you know, that place where sunshine and happiness dwells.
I'm sure it will feel odd and unsettling at first but maybe it will stay awhile and I'll grow used to it. I think I'm on that precipice. Happiness is closer to me than I've ever seen it.
It will take big courage to risk feeling happy, to feel completely new, odd sensations. Maybe I'll give it a go.
Yeah, the thought of happiness is scary.

Aspergers dating another Aspergers

I've started dating a very nice, kind guy. He's a college professor, positively brilliant, a leader in his field worldwide, gentle, soft spoken, tall, and easy going.
He's also on the autism spectrum and has an autistic son as well.
I easily see signs that he's on the spectrum.
A) he is honest. Something few neurotypical can pull off easily. He doesn't lie which has the potential to hamper him in his competitive field.
B) he doesn't like to see anyone hurt. He has great empathy. When a bug bit me, when I told him I'd had Lyme, he overtly displayed sadness. We've only known each other a week yet something that had hurt me hurt him. His emotions so easy to read.
C) he is gentle with his touch and soft spoken with his words.
D) he has a strong work ethic whereby he can intensely focus on whatever project is before him and he gives it a solid 100%.
E) he doesn't focus on clothes, appearance or how someone appears. What matters is what's on the inside.
F) he has a strong sense of independence, doesn't like to be told what to do and follows his own dreams best. A self-made man in a collegiate world.
G) he is his own boss in most ways. Sure, he's employed by the university, and consultant to other business and colleges but he turns down the countries he doesn't want to visit. He makes all the calls and decides where he wants to go.
H) we operate on the same wavelength. We both need time alone yet time to be together.
It's so funny in that I never thought much of Public Displays of Affection, PDA, but with him, we both are quite comfortable making out in full public view. We both care little for what others think yet we are considerate. If someone looks bothered by seeing this middle aged couple kissing in the middle of downtown, well, we take it somewhere private.
I see it in him, the softness, the vulnerability of his autism. And I feel it in him. He's really cool. I want to spend more time with him. It feels good to be with him.
He's kind.
He gives genuine compliments; words I haven't heard in twenty years. The words feel odd, rusty, newfangled...but I feel his genuineness. Holding his hand, I can feel his sincerity.
I'm going slow and enjoying this very new ride.

Kissing a Stranger in Central Park

If you were strolling through Central Park Corvallis today, you would have caught sight of me kissing a stranger.
It's a habit of mine. Seems every six months I do a little online dating and meet someone for one brief meet and greet. Inevitably there ends up to be an embrace or two. I'm both relieved and reviled.
Relieved because such a small amount of intimate contact satisfies my animalistic urges completely for months and reviled because whenever I draw near to the idea of mating or partnership, I'm reminded that my life is best lived alone.
Each encounter smartens me up. I'm less optimistic and more of a realist. My awareness that anything that feels good will quickly end returns in full.
People come with baggage, drama and stress. At half a century of age, the baggage is bound to be heavy.
I'll not carry another man's 3 piece set of imitation alligator Samsonites. I'll not open my book past the chapters that are well read. It's a game of dice and I forever shoot craps.
I actually feel less revile and dwell in the minuscule moments of relief.
For a few hours someone was nice to me and said kind words. That's a few hours I'll relish.
Until the next half year interval, sayonara dating. See you in six months.

Cooking is the most hazardous thing I have to do, I don't like to cook

Cooking is stressful and hazardous to my health. If I were to accidentally hurt myself, it would be in the kitchen trying to cook an ordinary meal.
Creating a meal is complex business. One must be completely focused and aware whenever working with things that can burn or cut.
A meal consisting of more than one item, say, cooking spaghetti in which onions and mushrooms need to be sauteed, meat requires cooking and pasta desired to boil, all involve working on a hot stove with potentially burning substances.
I detest the shock of a sudden burn. I deplore splattering grease burns or wet potholders that cause me to burn fingers. I abhor the shattering of a glass pan because I put something too cold in it. The sound of a breaking plate or glass sends my hands to my ears and my feet to a running. The actual act of cleaning up broken glass is OCD hell in that I have to ensure I locate each and every shard. I've figured out that it's best to sweep the area twice or three times, followed by wet paper towel going over the area an equal number of times. I'll wear shoes or slippers for a few days afterwards just to be sure and probably sweep and wash again the next day.
Breaking things is a nightmare for me. Not sure what is worse, broken glass or splattering oil. Both are high high distressing events.
I've burned the oil in my onion pan more than once, likewise, I've charred the meat and, most painfully, I've scalded myself on numerous occasions draining the pasta. Chopping up my veggies have caused more than one light finger cut.
Cooking is stressful. I have to carefully plan each item and try and sync their "done", fully cooked time so that everything is finished close to the same time. I have 3 different timers in my kitchen that I use to help monitor everything.
I only cook a few complete meals: spaghetti, meatloaf, salmon patties and chicken with rice. I'm fortunate, in a way, in that I don't like a wide variety of foods so I'm naturally limited in how much time I spend over a hot stove.
It isn't fun for me, cooking that is. I do it more for my son than for myself. I'd be perfectly happy to eat ham and cheese sandwiches every day but the boy should have a few decent meals a week.
I saw the strangest things when I was at my friend's party a few weeks ago. I was listening to two people discuss how they weren't at all sure of what the ingredients were of the bean salad they were eating.
I was positively horrified.
How can anyone eat something in which they don't know what the dish is composed of? I was stymied and taken aback. Yes, I had to consciously close my mouth as my chin had dropped in that perplexed, stunned gesture.
I need to know exactly what is in everything on my plate!
And yes, maybe it is because I'm gluten free and that I have a food allergy that almost killed me but do people seriously just devour foods of which they have no knowledge of?
Yes, I'm sounding pretty autistic here but I thought it was just common sense to be fully aware of what one ingests.
But I digress. The place where I am most likely to injury myself is my kitchen, so I do as little as possible in that arena.
Making meals isn't easy. I feel like I'm worlds away from most in this respect.
I eat because I have to, not because it's fun and enjoyable.
Just sayin

Aspergers, Meltdowns and Violence

As I process yesterday's meltdown in my therapist's office, it occurs to me that it may have been the first time I can recall exhibiting any type of violence or aggressive movements.
Specifically, I remember grabbing at and pulling strongly on my clothing in an aggressive manner.
I'm stymied as to why after having Aspergers all these years, am I only now showing signs of violent behavior.
One, I think it maybe because I couldn't run away or get out of the room where I was overwhelmed. Looking back, my go to thing to do whenever my emotions overwhelmed me I ran out the nearest door, to my car or to the nearest restroom. Because I was in a pain session and I walked into the appointment with a ton of things to say, I think I took a no-run option in hopes of being able to say what I intended and had planned for days.
Maybe I was partially frustrated over just that, my inability to articulate.
Could it be that I've gained some self-assurredness which, according to the following chart, relates to meltdowns?
I'm guessing it's one of these ideas.
I'm surprised buttons didn't go flying off my shirt and I didn't make any trips in my clothing.
In retrospect, all the other meltdowns I ran. Maybe that's what I need to remember to do.
I like this simple chart as it easily provides the differences between meltdowns and shutdowns.

The Autistic Meltdown, Unpredictable

I'd been seeing my therapist for 2 years, roughly 80 visits or so. She's changed the office around a bit, brought in a couple new plants, changed out one of the chairs (this did cause some distress) and even brought in a portable air purifier. No big deal. Each time she did change something I jokingly would say, "just trying to mess with the Autistic, aren't you?"
Maybe she thought I was joking. I was trying to forwarn her not to make any big unnecessary changes.
Today I walked in, sat down and noticed that the shade, which for 80 visits had always been completely closed, was open about 7 inches.
All these thoughts ran through my mind in a few seconds:
Oh, this is different.
I like this. I can see outside.
It makes it brighter in here.
Why didn't we do this sooner?
Lol, then a human walked by on the sidewalk. Then I noticed the nearby office window and realized the secretary was in my line of sight.
I flipped.
Jumped off my seat, started yammering, hid where the window couldn't see me and waited for my therapist to enter.
I was sputtering, "fix the window, fix the window, fix the window!" (I'm known for repeating certain, important or puzzling things x3.)
Therapist promptly went to the window and adjusted it back to normal.
The switch had been flipped. I was upset, crying, alternating between sitting, pacing and rocking, flapping arms, hands and fingers. I was full blown meltdown.
The agenda for my therapy session was completely overridden. I had taken hours to organize, list and line up the items that I wanted to discuss. Hours. I get one hour a week to vent, analysis and share so I'm careful to prioritize and list items in sequence of importance. And in an instant, in one unpredictable moment, when something small changed, all my work was gone.
I felt the futility as my hands flapped. I knew, once melting like this, that the entire session was as good as down. Nothing productive was going to take place. Not one of the items on my list. My insurance would pay for a lost, useless session and whatever was on my agenda was thrown to the backburner.
My therapist asked if there was anything she could do but experience has taught me there is nothing anyone can do. I needed to get away from the surprise, the shade, that room. I needed to get somewhere safe where I could flap and place and repeat nonsense words to myself.
Sigh.
I'm not even sure I can go back to that office. It doesn't feel safe anymore, like a sacred space has been violated.
I'm guessing I'll peak into the office to check the state of the shade, to make sure it isn't up, probably for a few weeks if not a few months.
I ended the session early. It was pointless.
I guess I just need to have a meltdown and behave like Rainman once every couple of months so I don't forget I'm autistic.
I'd just like a quiet, predictable, low-key, dramafree life with as little distress as possible.
Unpredictable things are always going to happen. It's best to take it easy whenever I can. There's so much that doesn't need to be done. I'm entitled to sit, unwind, process and calm down no matter how long it takes.
Thanks for reading

The Flashbacks Continue, Prostituted at 14

The flashbacks seem non-stop. No sooner do I deal with one then another surfaces to take over my life.
I was aware that my dad prostituted me from 2-10 but I didn't know that it continued until I was at least 14.
There was a Ramada Inn in town, right by the freeway. In 1978, dad bought a CB radio for the Express purpose of finding men looking for child prostitutes.
We still had the yellow station wagon. Dad bought a CB that he could remove and bring in the hotel room.
I clearly remember the floral suitcase that held a change of clothes and the CB. I remember the lobby, going to the room, the entire of the room with white bedspreads of all things. Remember the shower, too.
Dad was in business the first Saturday of the month from 4-9. He had some regular businessmen that showed up, as well as truckers he communicated with on the radio.
I made 20 or 40 dollars, depending on what I had to do.
I remember seeing the wad of cash on the bed after a shift of "working".
Yeah, there was nothing normal about my childhood. I'm working each day to wrestle with new memories and to stay functional.
It isn't easy. It just isn't easy.

Existing without love

Is difficult.
Is no way to live but it is reality.
I can't even remember the last time I heard those three little words.
I see why people stay with bad love because any love, bad, abusive, one sided, is better than no love at all.
Because living with no love at all is empty and hollow.
Maybe it's because I only used to hear those words from people that didn't mean is; people actively harming me; those who had never been loved.
I don't know.
Seems like an empty, hollow existence but then maybe that's what my life is all about. Searching for something that doesn't exist and finding meaning in the emptiness.
This isn't a life worth living

Functional Again

Life has returned back to my norm. One hour of therapy was all I required to get back on track. It was a very long week waiting for my appointment time.
I was able to get my shopping done, drive to the next city, interact with people and feel okay.
Just sayin'

The Secret Society of the Unhappily Married

I see the hypocrisy and the sadness of so many unhappily married couples. Marriages or relationships where people stay together "for the children" or because they have "invested so many years" or "they are too afraid, too old or unwilling to start over".
I feel sad for these people. Life is so short, yet they are consciously choosing to remain unhappy, miserable, with someone they no longer love or even like.
From my completely amateur estimation, based on couples I know, there are about 75% of pairings in which at least one person is not getting their needs meet.
When the affection, the intimacy and the smiles are gone, why stay?
When you grow older and wiser, when you blossom emotionally and realize that the love has faded to the point that you're merely friends, or worse yet, two people honoring vows that can barely tolerate the others presence, why stay?
Why deprive yourself of happiness, contentment and the possibility of finding a new spark?
It's like so many choose the stability and security of emptiness over the risk of taking a step forward. So many prefer the trap of routine rather than taking a step forward.
I just dont understand it. I really don't.
Maybe it's just me, but the unhappily couples are easy to spot. They never mention their significant other. They aren't sharing photos of the two of them on social media. In private they freely speak of the difficulty, the emptiness. They don't seem to smile much. They are half-empty, living a lie, feeling unloved and alone in their partnership.
What a waste.
How tragic to be unloved and resigned to a sad fate of their own choosing.
I'll never understand it.
I'm not in a relationship but at least I'm not in a dead, a using and unfulfilling one. I'm no longer living a lie and living with someone just to make ends meet. I wasn't afraid to end a decade long relationship that was nothing but an extinguished flame that was secure and financially comfortable.
I refused to live the lie.
I had the emotional intelligence to know I was unfulfilled.
And I was brave enough to walk away.
It's your life. Use it well.

An Aggravated Egregious Dissociative State, AEDS or When All Hell Breaks Loose

I am currently in an Aggravated Egregious Dissociative State or AEDS, as I like to call it. I haven't had an episode such as this in many years.
It basically began as I was in the middle of the painting pictured. Slowly, over the past couple of weeks, more and more flashbacks, body memories, audio memories and awareness of this highly traumatic incident has surfaced. This memory is in my top 3 as most intense and disturbing. There were many, many alters involved so this is classified as a Highly Intense and Complex event memory.
So, what does an AEDS feel like? You'd probably recognize it as the "all Hell's broken loose" feeling.
For me, it feels like this:
Highly dissociative- very spacey, disoriented as to time and space, unable to focus and feel my body, headachy at times.
I see and hear and feel things from the past, in my present, at any time.
It's so miserable and uncomfortable, like being in a congested, crowded, stifling room and you can't see your feet or find a way out.
Late Saturday I was able to find a handheld. In my haze I heard one small phrase from a cd I've been listening to all month. I turned on my cd player, located the song (I couldn't remember the title, just the one little snippet.) And I started playing that song, put my player on repeat so that it would continuously play.
There was my lifeline, my connection back to reality. As I listened to the words, the rhythm and started singing along, I merged back into a semi-solid reality. The song has been playing my every waking moment. That must be hundreds, if not hundreds and hundreds of times.
Now, I wait for therapy. That's all. I put all my effort into just taking care of my pup and getting myself fed. One reason this memory, along with the others, has been allowed to surface is because we have a regular therapist. Our controller, kindof higher consciousness, knows that memories have a place to be processed. Less energy goes into keeping memories submerged and locked up. Granted, it's highly unpleasant but this is my brain and my body working to heal.
I don't just have a dissociative disorder, I have a severe dissociative disorder. I'm not kidding. While there are others like me, there's a small percentage in the top tier. That's me. That's us. Repetative, frequent, multi-perpetrator, heinous, sadistic abuses.
Whilst each and every day is challenging, I'm grateful that few are as bad as this current spell.
It's funny...a multiple in and of her/his self is more than a handful. Add in Autism and you get full blown bonkers with added repetative, erratic physical tics and movements, enhanced verbal difficulties and a whole host of symptoms that can't easily be distinguishable as to whether or not this is autistic, memory related or due to a specific alter personality.
I'm kinda thrilled that I've become coherent enough to write about such a bizarre and unique phenomenon. Just being able to find words to describe this chaos is so remarkable.
I haven't left the house except to take the dog out And this morning I drove to get coffee. I had to check myself at the door to make sure i could drive. I'd been in the house so long that i wanted to get coffee and drive to a nearby park to just get out and take some pictures. After i picked up the drink, i checked in with my "people on the inside", my alters, to see if they were okay to go to the park.
Nope. Everyone wanted to go home. It was like being in a car full of kids, not like siblings or friends but like scared, crying, hungry, miserable kids. I asked if they wanted ice cream as it's Sunday and the one day we usually have an ice cream sundae.
Nope. Then, I'm not sure which one of them, saw the Burger King sign and said "we want fries!!!!" Then others chimed in. We have a small order of fries about once every three or four months, no one had had breakfast yet, I had the money and it would buy me some temporary happiness, so I pulled into BK and bought a fry.
Happy to be home. Everyone is feeling much better since we are home, safe in familiar territory.
I've been managing to paint a little. A few dishes have gotten done and I'm feeling just okay in the subdued chaos. It's like sitting in a small liferaft as the seas churn, lightning bursts and hail pummels. It's ok. Therapy is only days away and I have my raft.

What Destabilizing Means, the Multiple Autistic

Or why I can't leave the house for days.
Haven't destabilized like this in years. New, pretty awful memory surfaced and is unresolved at the moment.
Have been nonfunctional for over a week.
The symptoms: extremely tired, unable to focus, deer-in-the-headlights look, can't talk right with stammering, stuttering and losing words and train of thought, inability to engage with anyone, my hands make very odd movements, most times I can't write words that make sense. Can't focus enough to read, clean, paint or get dressed, changed.
It's beyond unpleasant.
It's a life on hold until therapy, or a really good switch to an alter unaffected by this memory, or we can somehow write it all out and pick up our own pieces.
A life on hold.
At some point, resolution.

Mine, a poem of loneliness

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.

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.

Random True Thoughts

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.

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.

How do you explain something you can't quantify?

I know my life is different than others. I'm at a loss as to by how much, in what way or to what degree.
I live clueless but it's not by choice.

It's very difficult for me to identify what I feel, put words to what I experience and compare my existence to anyone else's.

I'm staring at a mirror while standing behind the wall.

I can barely see me let alone you.

More afraid of living than of dying

I believe that I have always been much more afraid of living than if dying.
Living has been an excruciatingly painful experience. I've been afraid of being hungry, being cold, being beaten, molested, and hurt.
I picture death as being painfree, worryfree, finally.
I have no fear of death...its the living that scares me.
I don't know that I will ever be loved. I mean, I have few family and some dear friends, but I don't know that a love relationship will ever be mine.
I'm safe now. I have food, shelter and I'm free from anyone actively trying to hurt me. I should feel good, no?

Trigger Warning Writing about torture, again

The past few days have been a blur as I've worked through the latest flashback regarding the time I was 8 years old and tortured by my dad.
You are under no obligation to read this. It is disturbing.
One evening, after everyone else in the house was asleep, my dad led me down to his workbenches in our basement. It was going to be a new game called, One Two Three Cookie.
In order to "win" a cookie I had to endure 3 seconds of my dad burning a spot on my back.
I heard him light up the blow torch. The sound of gas hissing followed by the sound of his lighter flipping open.
Okay, ready, he would say as he pressed the red hot eating end of a spoon into the flesh of my upper left back. If I didn't flinch or cry, I earned a cookie.
I ate 5 cookies that night.
I'm not sure what happened as I tried to get the sixth. I don't know if I switched or I couldn't handle the pain anymore but as the sixth burn hit someone cried out because I distinctly remember my dad's right hand quickly, firmly covering my mouth and I was in tears.
Recalling this i had an image, a couple actually. The first thing i saw was excess candle wax dripping. The second image was of that horrid Indiana Jones scene where the bad guys started melting. Yeah, that's how i felt these past days off and on, like i was on fire and the skin of my back was melting off.
I couldn't find relief from the body memory. I just had to acknowledge it and feel it.
I remember when i went to school the next day. I couldn't sit all the way back in my seat because it would hit the lower burn spot. At recess I parked myself with my back to the school wall so I wouldn't accidentally get touched on my back. I was highly cautious to avoid suspicion and getting touched on the upper back.
When I got home from school I used the bathroom mirror to see what the burn looked like. Mostly it was one hand-size area of bright pink, like a sunburn. It wasn't until the next day that the angry red crescent shaped burns emerged. Like if you pressed just the tip of your spoon into ice cream or something. Five crescents and one half of a crescent clustered in the area of my shoulder blade.
Recounting this in therapy, it just made no sense. There wasnt anyway I could have guessed or predicted that my dad would decide to heat up a spoon and burn me repeatedly. There was no reason for it. I never knew if he would do it again. He tended to do things more than once, and I remember nights lying awake staring at the doorway waiting and watching.
From what I can gather, torture sessions with either my dad or grandmother probably amounted to once every month or two, based on the evidence and memories I currently have.
Being tortured is, rather different, from being beaten or molested or starved in that, here is someone, someone who claims to love you no less, who is purposefully inflicting intense physical pain for Absolutely No Reason At All.
How do you escape that? How do you escape the thought pattern that people who love you or not, enjoy inflicting pain on you at random?
It kinda makes one suspicious and leery of anyone who gets within two feet of me, you know?
It probably contributes greatly to my fear of people; being touched unexpectedly and anyone who gets near my back.
Sad but true..my boys quickly learned not to hug me from behind. They'd jump on my back to play and I would lose my fricking mind. Gently and safely throwing them off in a panic with a stern warning to never do that again. They learned and I learned to be very gently with them when they forgot. They didn't know. How could they know? How could anyone know?
Enough.
Yeah, things are starting to make sense.
Why my back was numb. Why I'd get upset when people would pay me on the back.
Yeah. I get it now.
Yeah, that was vicious. That was torture. That was my dad.

Agony Screams, it's kinda rough right now

This painting I did yesterday, is about all I remember from yesterday as the remainder of the day is lost in a dissociative flashback fog.
It epitomizes how I often feel.
I'm exhausted and can't really explain that either. Maybe time will clear things up.
Anyway, Agony's Scream (or the brutal rape of Benjamin at 5. Don't ask me to explain the secondary title that spoke to me as I finishing the painting. I'm sure there's a horrific story, memory to it. Words, a sentence like that, does not pop into my head without reason.)
Riding the Multiple rollercoaster.

I'm not sure the painting is finished, hence the lack of signature.

Living in an Apartment Complex...taking out the garbage, ah Nope

Living in an apartment complex has its pluses and negatives. One of the negatives is that there frequently are people outside. Tonight I went out to take out the garbage and check my mail when I was assaulted by the sight of more than 15 people, half adults, half kids. Instead of going through them to take out the garbage, I walked the other way to the parking lot where I put my garbage bag in my car until the coast is clear. Probably sometime after 10 or 11pm.
Attempting to walk around and through such a crowd was more than I could even fathom.
Somethings can wait. I'll put off emotional distress whenever possible. Thank you very much.
After dark tends to be the time when I can experience a little comfort outdoors. By that time the kids tend to be in bed, the teens blaring music from their rooms and the adults parked in their lounge chairs, in front of the tv with their chips and beer.
Nighttime is peaceful. The stars are quite quiet.
I'd go outside more often, but, you know, People.

Don't Judge Me

Matter painting, My Reality

I do believe my life is unique in this respect. To be completely alone is both terrifying and pure freedom.

I'm Cranky and Irritable and I don't know why

My particular brand of Autism means that I have a difficult time identifying how I am feeling, physically and emotionally.
I've learned that it's easier to tell if I'm cranky or irritable if someone else is around. If my son, or even my dog is in my presence, I'm quicker to realize that something is askew and off kilter. I hear it in my tone of voice when speaking mostly.
If I'm feeling this way, I've narrowed down the possibilities as to the cause:
A) I could be tired.
B) I could be in physical pain. It seems that back pain is difficult for me to be aware of, but pain anywhere in my body, hand, foot, neck, shoulder, isn't recognized unless it's a 9 or 10 on that archaic pain scale.
C) I might be hungry. I don't eat regular meals or enjoy eating in particular. If I go too many hours the hunger may only register as feeling grumpy.
D) I could be overwhelmed. Maybe I spent a few hours out in public the day before or I ran multiple errands for a few days in a row. Maybe I just haven't had enough downtime or time alone.
The internal barometers for pain and hunger don't work very well. It can be challenging to feel "off" and not know why. I have to be vigilant and work to analyze how I feel. If I fail to recognize that my low level activities are adding up, I could end up in full-blown exhausted shutdown and be unable to speak or get out of bed for a couple days.
People erroneously accuse Autistics of "overthinking" failing to realize that overthinking is mandatory if your Aspie.
I've stopped beating myself up for my frequent analyzing and examining. Its necessary.