HUNGER and Aspergers

My hunger barometer, you know that ability to feel a little hunger, then more hungry, then even more, is nonexistent.
I go from having zero hunger to being famished without so much as a hint that I may be ravenous in the next minute.
I don't have the luxury of taking my time and putting together a thoughtful lunch or casually cooking dinner. My brain goes from zero to ten and I'm overwhelmingly consumed (pun intended) with hunger.
I've learned to keep precooked meals in both the refrigerator and freezer. The ferocious need to eat stops me cold in my tracks from whatever task or chore I'm doing. The sensation is all encompassing and cannot be placed on the backburner, even for a few minutes. When I am hungry I Must Eat Now.
Part of me feels almost like a Neanderthal, primal and desperate in this highly focused need to eat. I must admit, I probably do look a little cavewomanish as I'm standing at the counter with a spoon snarfing cold spaghetti and hoping no one is watching.
There have been times where I have attempted to have regular meals at set times. It didn't really help because if I'm not hungry I'd just skip a meal. Who eats when they are not hungry? Illogical.
My ability to feel hunger is similar to my ability to acknowledge pain. Either I don't hurt at all or I'm like a 10, you know, top of the pain scale. There isn't any real inbetween.
My neurological system operates differently than most. I'm learning that. I have to keep telling myself I'm not crazy, flawed or broken, just Autistic.

Taking a Breath

This is really the first moment I've had in months, to calm myself down and try and catch my breath.
The last month and a half revolved around the Neo therapist dilema. First the ensuing panic of her leaving and trying to figure out how to make it through each day, followed by the consternation regarding whether to keep her or leave, followed by the frantic search for someone to talk to, a new therapist, then onto meeting the new one and formally firing Neo, till now, an uneasy peace.
The two months previous to this, was consumed with digging to the first split, the first trauma. Neo was exceptional in dealing with the littles, the youngest parts of me, gaining their trust and allow them to express the deep hidden darkness they harbored.
In a perfect world, I'd have two therapist. One for the memory world and another to help me navigate the external world. I really do continually have one foot in each.
Sigh.
The waters are calm. I can see my long absent reflection. Small droplets fall creating expanding rings. Once again I am alone at the deep water's edge. Yet again I am in touch with myself and can feel the raw scars of recent remembrances. I see how wounded I am.
I've been catapulting around the most trivial of arenas, swept up in tornadic maelstroms and violently thrown about.
I'm so very beaten. I am beyond exhausted and exasperated. I want nothing more than a canvass board, a brush and blue paint.
My life is a mockery, a game full of pitfalls and go to jail cards. The dice keep rolling off the table. Under the rug is dust and dreams. The clouds no longer sing sunshine but rain tears. Sleep is but a far away dream.
My aloneness is a conundrum of a captor  both saving my from overwhelming overload and prohibiting me from human contact...human contact, the one item that being a Multiple cannot self-supply. My kryptonite. My forever unfulfilled need that reminds me I am human and not just one large gaping wound.
The need I cannot fulfill looms large, as it always has, as it ever will.
I have been wasting time on things of no consequence worrying about making money, cleaning house, appearing presentable and just plain worrying too much. These things matter not. My soul needs to be acknowledged and fed. With the finalizing of the Neo drama, I feel I can start to take tiny steps in my direction as my mind is no longer actively engaged in overdrive...way, way overdrive has been the mantra these past few months.
Ah, but for moments of peace and internal communion. Ah, for an easel and brush. Ah, for the ability to write words from within, without the chaotic need to vent and make sense and answer to...I answer to no one but myself.
Peace has found me. And here I will dwell as long as I possibly can.
Be well my friends

Low Gear, too many changes, too busy

I'm definitely running in Low Gear working to keep my cookies and prevent shutdown and overload. Within the past 2 days I've had 4 appointment changes/rescheduling and each and every day this week has at least one appointment or have-to-do.
Both my son and myself started seeing new therapists which means two healthy packets of paperwork that require filling out and visits to 2 totally new offices. That, in and of itself, can cause Autistic overload. Add the appointment to get the car fixed, acupuncture treatment, my 1 1/2 new survivor group and post office mailings and I'm trying to pilot a full boat without any relief.
I usually work it so that I have at least one, preferably two, full days off during the week. This week is anomalous and distress in the making.
Sure, laundry needs doing, the floor could stand a vacuuming and dishes are piling up, however, I am conscious of the fact that weeks like this readily produce exhaustion and shutdown, therefore all unnecessary tasks are suspended and put on hold, deemed extravaganzas, if you will.
It Is a personal challenge to listen to my body, my mind and recuperate instead of chores. I've learned to let things lie when my days are this full one after another. Maybe this weekend I'll catch up or maybe it won't be until sometime next week.
I am learning how much stress I can handle and how to deal with these everyday tasks.
Low Gear is where I am at and where I will stay until I manuvuer through this most hectic week.
Nice and Slow
Easy as she goes
Take Care

Life isn't easy

Passengers, the movie, aloneness and my life

I'm watching the movie Passengers, for the second time. I'm drawn to these scant few movies of isolation and desperation that offer brief glimpses of my own journey.
There is a connection, a mirror, if you will, whereby I don't feel quite so alone and wrapped up in my own stockings. To see one's life...a semblance of one anyway, subtle connections, fingertips touch then quickly turn away.
I'm but an awesomely small percentage of this waking, walking, incessant chattering, drama filled world of families, relationships, friendships deep and shallow. These, all of these occupy around 90-95% of the movies, the books, and the people around me.
I am miniscule, an atom spinning on its own access watching those around me connect, mate and intermingle.
I am but an obscure, isolated, wounded fraction that rarely finds another thus so. My interactions are brief, short-lived and mostly tragic or hopeless or silly girl wishes...daydreams carried out an open window, yet another thing that will never be. Dreams and wishes are for unicorns and good little girls whose fathers don't rape them and sell them. Connections are for people whose mothers can love them, not repeatedly look the other way, turn around and walk out the door as fathers molest them, beat them bloody, bruise and starve.
My world is double closed and mine alone.
You watch Passengers you get a wee bit of a view into my waking dream

My other blog

Is dealingwithdissociativeidentity@blogspot.com

Distraught

Having to make the worst, heart wrenching decision....i hate this.