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.

Goodwill and a Good Deal of Public Embarrassment

There are reasons I hesitate to go shopping. I frequent my local Goodwill store at least once a week. On occasion I have been known to small talk with a couple of the employees. Well, that policy of chitchat has stopped. Here's why...
There isn't any way that I could have predicted and avoided the public embarrassment I suffered a couple months ago. As a good Autistic, I spend hours upon hours analyzing various scenarios, reenacting potential situations, for the avoidance of pain and shame.
The employee, as he was restocking the shelves in my aisle, gets down on bended knee in front of me And in full view of other customers, opens a cheap jewelry box and shows me a fake, gaudy, diamond ring.
I was petrified and shocked. I'm sure I used my customary polite smile but inside it was like all the animals had been let out of the zoo.
I wanted to run but I resisted. I needed to temper this scene not enhance it. I stood my ground, pretended everything was fine and attempted to go on shopping, waiting for the perfect moment to slow run to the door and leave.
Meanwhile, said employee starts chatting about his wife. I'm guessing this was some attempt to nullify his behavior? To make sure I knew he was joking? I so did not appreciate it!
I waited until I'd gotten a couple aisles away before I walkran to the door.
I was speechless and shaken.
I didn't go back to that store for over a month. And I completely stopped interacting with this employee. I am always aware of where he is and I avoid him or pretend he doesn't exist. I find his behavior upsetting and unprofessional.
Part of it is the unexpectedness of it that is distressing. I was caught off guard, a place I work to never go.
It took me awhile to write about. I'm guessing it's the shame or humiliating or public embarrassment; I'm not sure which.
Going to the store, heck, going out my front door often carries risk.
If only others could realize how brave and courageous we are in our every day lives!!!

A Visit to the Vet or 35 minutes of autistic miscommunication hell

My visit to the veterinarian with my sick puppy today, epitomized the angst and discomfort of trying to communicate in a neurotypical world.
I walk in and shown to an exam room with the comment, "the vet will be right in." Moments later a woman in green enters. Must be the vet, I'm thinking.
The woman starts asking for information, symptoms and whatnots. I answer to the best of my ability. I realize that I have no idea who this woman is. "And your name is..." and she answers, "Ann". Okay, I've got a name but I don't think shes the vet as a vet would have said "Dr. Soandso." I work to remember back to my previous visit there about a year ago.
"Oh, you are the vet tech?"
"Yes," she answers.
Okay, strike one for me, in my head anyway.
After the initial intake in walks the vet. Even though I'd never met her before, she doesn't introduce herself. Now begins the stress and confusion.
I seem to be unable to clarify that my dog isn't eating anything at all. She spouts suggestions I already know and have tried. She suggests something called "omni diet" or the like, to see whether my dog has allergies and sensitivities, at 57$ dollars a bag for 8 weeks. First off, it took us about 20 minutes to get to the fact that omni diet is a specific brand of dog food. I couldn't tell whether she was suggesting a diet that I cook and feed her, or whether it was a series of lab tests. No, it ended up being a brand of dry dog food.
As I'm asking her about this omni diet, I'm not understanding which of the different things it is. Is it something I cook myself or lab tests. I kept trying to get answers by repeatedly asking what it was and she repeatedly gave me looks like "I have no idea what you are talking about? Or "Why aren't you understanding this?"
Yep, she looked at me like I was the idiot girl who just crawled out of the woods. The look on her face, hurt. I couldn't make her understand that I had no idea what she meant. She couldn't believe I wasn't able to get it.
Sigh.
I wanted to bawl. I felt the frustration tears coming but I managed to hold them in. I free elr terrible; i mean, i was doing everything possible to help my sick puppy but i was sounding my wheels in a puddle of scum.
I couldn't give up.
The vet prescribed two different meds. After she had told me to give no food to my dog until morning, the vet tech is showing me the meds and stressing how they Both Need to Be Taken with Food!!!
Um, HELLO, I'm confused as Hell. After saying it aloud a few times, "okay, vet said no food, meds say with food, after tonight", I start repeating it in my head because such a blatant contradiction caused this Aspie to put everything else on hold and fixate on this egregious, nonsensical anomaly.
I get the tech to demonstrate administration of both meds as one, some freaking adjustable syringe, is a brand new contraption.
I continue to ask questions hoping to clarify the vet's instructions. I stop asking when the look on the tech's face matches the "she's an idiot" look of the vet. I want my dog to get well but I'll just have to do the best I can with the information I can remember.
I can only endure feeling humiliated and stupid for so long.
I left.
Sigh.
Why yes, i am emotionally compromised and self medicating. I have no intention of leaving the house anymore today. I've had enough. I've had enough.
Some days are like this. Minor autistic hells were by the wish to communicate far outweighs the actual ability to do so.
I'm just, like, going to bed, covers over my head. Sigh

Unbroken, I get it now

My last therapist said that I reminded her of the main character in Unbroken.
I just watched the movie.
I'm starting to understand.
I've lived within a very different world than most. My mindset has been geared to figuring out how to survive each day and get through each night. There wasn't anything normal. I'm not like others, in a profound way.
The things I value are the little things that are taken for granted.
A decent meal, food in the cupboard, clean clothes, my own toothbrush, a clean towel of my very own, a bed with sheets, blanket and pillow, the ability to turn on the furnace, hot water, no one yelling at me, no one laughing at me, no one hitting me, shoes, pocket change, fresh fruit once a week,
I'm a once battered child trying to learn that it's okay not to be beaten.
It's a whole new world.