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

Why people commit suicide The Bill Zeller Note

It stymies me that people can't understand why suicide happens.
In Bill Zeller's note, he makes it very clear:
I understand this. I've never found more true and impassioned words to explain the struggle.


I have the urge to declare my sanity and justify my actions, but I assume I'll never be able to convince anyone that this was the right decision. Maybe it's true that anyone who does this is insane by definition, but I can at least explain my reasoning. I considered not writing any of this because of how personal it is, but I like tying up loose ends and don't want people to wonder why I did this. Since I've never spoken to anyone about what happened to me, people would likely draw the wrong conclusions.

My first memories as a child are of being raped, repeatedly. This has affected every aspect of my life. This darkness, which is the only way I can describe it, has followed me like a fog, but at times intensified and overwhelmed me, usually triggered by a distinct situation. In kindergarten I couldn't use the bathroom and would stand petrified whenever I needed to, which started a trend of awkward and unexplained social behavior. The damage that was done to my body still prevents me from using the bathroom normally, but now it's less of a physical impediment than a daily reminder of what was done to me.

This darkness followed me as I grew up. I remember spending hours playing with legos, having my world consist of me and a box of cold, plastic blocks. Just waiting for everything to end. It's the same thing I do now, but instead of legos it's surfing the web or reading or listening to a baseball game. Most of my life has been spent feeling dead inside, waiting for my body to catch up.

At times growing up I would feel inconsolable rage, but I never connected this to what happened until puberty. I was able to keep the darkness at bay for a few hours at a time by doing things that required intense concentration, but it would always come back. Programming appealed to me for this reason. I was never particularly fond of computers or mathematically inclined, but the temporary peace it would provide was like a drug. But the darkness always returned and built up something like a tolerance, because programming has become less and less of a refuge.

The darkness is with me nearly every time I wake up. I feel like a grime is covering me. I feel like I'm trapped in a contimated body that no amount of washing will clean. Whenever I think about what happened I feel manic and itchy and can't concentrate on anything else. It manifests itself in hours of eating or staying up for days at a time or sleeping for sixteen hours straight or week long programming binges or constantly going to the gym. I'm exhausted from feeling like this every hour of every day.

Three to four nights a week I have nightmares about what happened. It makes me avoid sleep and constantly tired, because sleeping with what feels like hours of nightmares is not restful. I wake up sweaty and furious. I'm reminded every morning of what was done to me and the control it has over my life.

I've never been able to stop thinking about what happened to me and this hampered my social interactions. I would be angry and lost in thought and then be interrupted by someone saying "Hi" or making small talk, unable to understand why I seemed cold and distant. I walked around, viewing the outside world from a distant portal behind my eyes, unable to perform normal human niceties. I wondered what it would be like to take to other people without what happened constantly on my mind, and I wondered if other people had similar experiences that they were better able to mask.

Alcohol was also something that let me escape the darkness. It would always find me later, though, and it was always angry that I managed to escape and it made me pay. Many of the irresponsible things I did were the result of the darkness. Obviously I'm responsible for every decision and action, including this one, but there are reasons why things happen the way they do.

Alcohol and other drugs provided a way to ignore the realities of my situation. It was easy to spend the night drinking and forget that I had no future to look forward to. I never liked what alcohol did to me, but it was better than facing my existence honestly. I haven't touched alcohol or any other drug in over seven months (and no drugs or alcohol will be involved when I do this) and this has forced me to evaluate my life in an honest and clear way. There's no future here. The darkness will always be with me.

I used to think if I solved some problem or achieved some goal, maybe he would leave. It was comforting to identify tangible issues as the source of my problems instead of something that I'll never be able to change. I thought that if I got into to a good college, or a good grad school, or lost weight, or went to the gym nearly every day for a year, or created programs that millions of people used, or spent a summer or California or New York or published papers that I was proud of, then maybe I would feel some peace and not be constantly haunted and unhappy. But nothing I did made a dent in how depressed I was on a daily basis and nothing was in any way fulfilling. I'm not sure why I ever thought that would change anything.

I didn't realize how deep a hold he had on me and my life until my first relationship. I stupidly assumed that no matter how the darkness affected me personally, my romantic relationships would somehow be separated and protected. Growing up I viewed my future relationships as a possible escape from this thing that haunts me every day, but I began to realize how entangled it was with every aspect of my life and how it is never going to release me. Instead of being an escape, relationships and romantic contact with other people only intensified everything about him that I couldn't stand. I will never be able to have a relationship in which he is not the focus, affecting every aspect of my romantic interactions.

Relationships always started out fine and I'd be able to ignore him for a few weeks. But as we got closer emotionally the darkness would return and every night it'd be me, her and the darkness in a black and gruesome threesome. He would surround me and penetrate me and the more we did the more intense it became. It made me hate being touched, because as long as we were separated I could view her like an outsider viewing something good and kind and untainted. Once we touched, the darkness would envelope her too and take her over and the evil inside me would surround her. I always felt like I was infecting anyone I was with.

Relationships didn't work. No one I dated was the right match, and I thought that maybe if I found the right person it would overwhelm him. Part of me knew that finding the right person wouldn't help, so I became interested in girls who obviously had no interest in me. For a while I thought I was gay. I convinced myself that it wasn't the darkness at all, but rather my orientation, because this would give me control over why things didn't feel "right". The fact that the darkness affected sexual matters most intensely made this idea make some sense and I convinced myself of this for a number of years, starting in college after my first relationship ended. I told people I was gay (at Trinity, not at Princeton), even though I wasn't attracted to men and kept finding myself interested in girls. Because if being gay wasn't the answer, then what was? People thought I was avoiding my orientation, but I was actually avoiding the truth, which is that while I'm straight, I will never be content with anyone. I know now that the darkness will never leave.

Last spring I met someone who was unlike anyone else I'd ever met. Someone who showed me just how well two people could get along and how much I could care about another human being. Someone I know I could be with and love for the rest of my life, if I weren't so fucked up. Amazingly, she liked me. She liked the shell of the man the darkness had left behind. But it didn't matter because I couldn't be alone with her. It was never just the two of us, it was always the three of us: her, me and the darkness. The closer we got, the more intensely I'd feel the darkness, like some evil mirror of my emotions. All the closeness we had and I loved was complemented by agony that I couldn't stand, from him. I realized that I would never be able to give her, or anyone, all of me or only me. She could never have me without the darkness and evil inside me. I could never have just her, without the darkness being a part of all of our interactions. I will never be able to be at peace or content or in a healthy relationship. I realized the futility of the romantic part of my life. If I had never met her, I would have realized this as soon as I met someone else who I meshed similarly well with. It's likely that things wouldn't have worked out with her and we would have broken up (with our relationship ending, like the majority of relationships do) even if I didn't have this problem, since we only dated for a short time. But I will face exactly the same problems with the darkness with anyone else. Despite my hopes, love and compatability is not enough. Nothing is enough. There's no way I can fix this or even push the darkness down far enough to make a relationship or any type of intimacy feasible.

So I watched as things fell apart between us. I had put an explicit time limit on our relationship, since I knew it couldn't last because of the darkness and didn't want to hold her back, and this caused a variety of problems. She was put in an unnatural situation that she never should have been a part of. It must have been very hard for her, not knowing what was actually going on with me, but this is not something I've ever been able to talk about with anyone. Losing her was very hard for me as well. Not because of her (I got over our relationship relatively quickly), but because of the realization that I would never have another relationship and because it signified the last true, exclusive personal connection I could ever have. This wasn't apparent to other people, because I could never talk about the real reasons for my sadness. I was very sad in the summer and fall, but it was not because of her, it was because I will never escape the darkness with anyone. She was so loving and kind to me and gave me everything I could have asked for under the circumstances. I'll never forget how much happiness she brought me in those briefs moments when I could ignore the darkness. I had originally planned to kill myself last winter but never got around to it. (Parts of this letter were written over a year ago, other parts days before doing this.) It was wrong of me to involve myself in her life if this were a possibility and I should have just left her alone, even though we only dated for a few months and things ended a long time ago. She's just one more person in a long list of people I've hurt.

I could spend pages talking about the other relationships I've had that were ruined because of my problems and my confusion related to the darkness. I've hurt so many great people because of who I am and my inability to experience what needs to be experienced. All I can say is that I tried to be honest with people about what I thought was true.

I've spent my life hurting people. Today will be the last time.

I've told different people a lot of things, but I've never told anyone about what happened to me, ever, for obvious reasons. It took me a while to realize that no matter how close you are to someone or how much they claim to love you, people simply cannot keep secrets. I learned this a few years ago when I thought I was gay and told people. The more harmful the secret, the juicier the gossip and the more likely you are to be betrayed. People don't care about their word or what they've promised, they just do whatever the fuck they want and justify it later. It feels incredibly lonely to realize you can never share something with someone and have it be between just the two of you. I don't blame anyone in particular, I guess it's just how people are. Even if I felt like this is something I could have shared, I have no interest in being part of a friendship or relationship where the other person views me as the damaged and contaminated person that I am. So even if I were able to trust someone, I probably would not have told them about what happened to me. At this point I simply don't care who knows.

I feel an evil inside me. An evil that makes me want to end life. I need to stop this. I need to make sure I don't kill someone, which is not something that can be easily undone. I don't know if this is related to what happened to me or something different. I recognize the irony of killing myself to prevent myself from killing someone else, but this decision should indicate what I'm capable of.

So I've realized I will never escape the darkness or misery associated with it and I have a responsibility to stop myself from physically harming others.

I'm just a broken, miserable shell of a human being. Being molested has defined me as a person and shaped me as a human being and it has made me the monster I am and there's nothing I can do to escape it. I don't know any other existence. I don't know what life feels like where I'm apart from any of this. I actively despise the person I am. I just feel fundamentally broken, almost non-human. I feel like an animal that woke up one day in a human body, trying to make sense of a foreign world, living among creatures it doesn't understand and can't connect with.

I have accepted that the darkness will never allow me to be in a relationship. I will never go to sleep with someone in my arms, feeling the comfort of their hands around me. I will never know what uncontimated intimacy is like. I will never have an exclusive bond with someone, someone who can be the recipient of all the love I have to give. I will never have children, and I wanted to be a father so badly. I think I would have made a good dad. And even if I had fought through the darkness and married and had children all while being unable to feel intimacy, I could have never done that if suicide were a possibility. I did try to minimize pain, although I know that this decision will hurt many of you. If this hurts you, I hope that you can at least forget about me quickly.

There's no point in identifying who molested me, so I'm just going to leave it at that. I doubt the word of a dead guy with no evidence about something that happened over twenty years ago would have much sway.

You may wonder why I didn't just talk to a professional about this. I've seen a number of doctors since I was a teenager to talk about other issues and I'm positive that another doctor would not have helped. I was never given one piece of actionable advice, ever. More than a few spent a large part of the session reading their notes to remember who I was. And I have no interest in talking about being raped as a child, both because I know it wouldn't help and because I have no confidence it would remain secret. I know the legal and practical limits of doctor/patient confidentiality, growing up in a house where we'd hear stories about the various mental illnesses of famous people, stories that were passed down through generations. All it takes is one doctor who thinks my story is interesting enough to share or a doctor who thinks it's her right or responsibility to contact the authorities and have me identify the molestor (justifying her decision by telling herself that someone else might be in danger). All it takes is a single doctor who violates my trust, just like the "friends" who I told I was gay did, and everything would be made public and I'd be forced to live in a world where people would know how fucked up I am. And yes, I realize this indicates that I have severe trust issues, but they're based on a large number of experiences with people who have shown a profound disrepect for their word and the privacy of others.

People say suicide is selfish. I think it's selfish to ask people to continue living painful and miserable lives, just so you possibly won't feel sad for a week or two. Suicide may be a permanent solution to a temporary problem, but it's also a permanent solution to a ~23 year-old problem that grows more intense and overwhelming every day.

Some people are just dealt bad hands in this life. I know many people have it worse than I do, and maybe I'm just not a strong person, but I really did try to deal with this. I've tried to deal with this every day for the last 23 years and I just can't fucking take it anymore.

I often wonder what life must be like for other people. People who can feel the love from others and give it back unadulterated, people who can experience sex as an intimate and joyous experience, people who can experience the colors and happenings of this world without constant misery. I wonder who I'd be if things had been different or if I were a stronger person. It sounds pretty great.

I'm prepared for death. I'm prepared for the pain and I am ready to no longer exist. Thanks to the strictness of New Jersey gun laws this will probably be much more painful than it needs to be, but what can you do. My only fear at this point is messing something up and surviving.

—-

I'd also like to address my family, if you can call them that. I despise everything they stand for and I truly hate them, in a non-emotional, dispassionate and what I believe is a healthy way. The world will be a better place when they're dead—one with less hatred and intolerance.

If you're unfamiliar with the situation, my parents are fundamentalist Christians who kicked me out of their house and cut me off financially when I was 19 because I refused to attend seven hours of church a week.

They live in a black and white reality they've constructed for themselves. They partition the world into good and evil and survive by hating everything they fear or misunderstand and calling it love. They don't understand that good and decent people exist all around us, "saved" or not, and that evil and cruel people occupy a large percentage of their church. They take advantage of people looking for hope by teaching them to practice the same hatred they practice.

A random example:

"I am personally convinced that if a Muslim truly believes and obeys the Koran, he will be a terrorist." - George Zeller, August 24, 2010.

If you choose to follow a religion where, for example, devout Catholics who are trying to be good people are all going to Hell but child molestors go to Heaven (as long as they were "saved" at some point), that's your choice, but it's fucked up. Maybe a God who operates by those rules does exist. If so, fuck Him.

Their church was always more important than the members of their family and they happily sacrificed whatever necessary in order to satisfy their contrived beliefs about who they should be.

I grew up in a house where love was proxied through a God I could never believe in. A house where the love of music with any sort of a beat was literally beaten out of me. A house full of hatred and intolerance, run by two people who were experts at appearing kind and warm when others were around. Parents who tell an eight year old that his grandmother is going to Hell because she's Catholic. Parents who claim not to be racist but then talk about the horrors of miscegenation. I could list hundreds of other examples, but it's tiring.

Since being kicked out, I've interacted with them in relatively normal ways. I talk to them on the phone like nothing happened. I'm not sure why. Maybe because I like pretending I have a family. Maybe I like having people I can talk to about what's been going on in my life. Whatever the reason, it's not real and it feels like a sham. I should have never allowed this reconnection to happen.

I wrote the above a while ago, and I do feel like that much of the time. At other times, though, I feel less hateful. I know my parents honestly believe the crap they believe in. I know that my mom, at least, loved me very much and tried her best. One reason I put this off for so long is because I know how much pain it will cause her. She has been sad since she found out I wasn't "saved", since she believes I'm going to Hell, which is not a sadness for which I am responsible. That was never going to change, and presumably she believes the state of my physical body is much less important than the state of my soul. Still, I cannot intellectually justify this decision, knowing how much it will hurt her. Maybe my ability to take my own life, knowing how much pain it will cause, shows that I am a monster who doesn't deserve to live. All I know is that I can't deal with this pain any longer and I'm am truly sorry I couldn't wait until my family and everyone I knew died so this could be done without hurting anyone. For years I've wished that I'd be hit by a bus or die while saving a baby from drowning so my death might be more acceptable, but I was never so lucky.

—-

To those of you who have shown me love, thank you for putting up with all my shittiness and moodiness and arbitrariness. I was never the person I wanted to be. Maybe without the darkness I would have been a better person, maybe not. I did try to be a good person, but I realize I never got very far.

I'm sorry for the pain this causes. I really do wish I had another option. I hope this letter explains why I needed to do this. If you can't understand this decision, I hope you can at least forgive me.

Bill Zeller

—-

Please save this letter and repost it if gets deleted. I don't want people to wonder why I did this. I disseminated it more widely than I might have otherwise because I'm worried that my family might try to restrict access to it. I don't mind if this letter is made public. In fact, I'd prefer it be made public to people being unable to read it and drawing their own conclusions.

Feel free to republish this letter, but only if it is reproduced in its entirety.

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.