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