Always and Never Alone, My First Book is Now Available

The full title:
Always and Never Alone: a true story of an Autistic living with Multiple Personality Disorder and how she got that way
Is Public and Available on Amazon and Kindle!!!

Days in Bed, wondering why I'm here

This past weekend I was happy, productive and full of energy and optimism.
After Monday's therapy it seems I've fallen into that old slump of unanswerable questions and chronic fatigue. I've been in bed for these two days. Can't seem to eat or drink much. I'm sleeping mostly. When I'm awake I'm just drifting away.
I don't know what to do with myself. I've become expert at isolation and my secret wish is just to pass in my sleep.
I have no purpose and can't figure out a reason to get up. For decades, I've questioned the meaning of my life and I'm no closer to an answer in this fifth decade of existence.
Why am I here? Is a haunting, hopeless question that has plagued me ever since my escape from the family of dysfunction, torture and lies.
Growing up, all my energy and effort, every waking thought and cohesive nightmare was propelling me to survive and figure out the strategies necessary to live through a nother day.
I don't know what to think or where to focus. I see no reason to try and get up or interact in a world that doesn't know my name. I don't know what to do. What drives people to function? Money, mostly I guess. Eating, drinking, going places.
I don't know why I'm here. I don't know why i should even try and get up. What's the reason? The motive? What's the goal after the war is over?
My head is empty.
I'm just existing, again, still

Sanity

There are parts of me

There are times were I believe that no one will ever have an inkling of the precarious plight I live each day. No matter how many words I write or how many hours I write each day. I am a conundrum, a mystery even onto my self.

Each step I take towards healing is like walking into a burning building and smashing into walls. Each day I'm forced to decide whether to throw myself off a ten story building in order to attempt to make myself whole as all the pieces of myself exist in a craggy ravine far, far below and ten steps removed from reality.

I'm familiar with some parts of me. I am vaguely aware of the dozen child prostitutes my father sold or gave away to his friends. I'm aware of the dozen that were neglected and physically starved. I know of the dozen that were physically beaten and of the some of the ones that were tortured.

Recently I hear the rumblings of the dozen that were brutally raped by my father. And I question whether stepping closer to this deadly storm is worth the pain of reliving the egregious wounds. Maybe there are parts of me that I will never know. Maybe that is just plain safe and rather sane.

There are parts of me that never stop scream. They live within next to the group that never stops crying, right next to the parts that tremble and shake in constant unremitting pain.

My depths are unimaginable. My layers are astounding, interlocked and watertight.

No, you truly have no idea.

Part of me prays and wants to stop this healing rollercoaster and do nothing, and do nothing but art and live within the arms of my love. This pain, immeasurable. My experiences, too many. My abuses, too numerous and yet I must find a way to make it through this night and tomorrow's day.

The mundane and trivial functionality is but a confusion and circus in which I must at least appear to be a participating member.

I live broken, parts of me scattered on this level and in those basements, behind walls, hidden in attics and entrenched in darkened alleys of my mind, my past.

I may appear a shallow shell but I am really living within a house of many walls, floors and doors. The effort to get through each day is something you will never know. The baggage I carry, you will never see.

I am the greatest of mysteries. I am the loneliest of souls. I am truly one of kind that I pray no one can ever fully relate to.

I am but a vocal one in a being of many pained parts. I've been wounded and damaged by parents, those malfunctioning units that were entrusted to care for me. 

Now, each hour I must part these heavy clouds and walk into flames. 

This is my life. Never pretend or to deceive yourself in thinking you could possibly comprehend my madness. May you never feel even a fraction of this confusion and pain.

May you understand that i am in a constant state of heavy grief, unspoken pain and carrying memories that few can ever even partially tolerate.

I cannot imagine what your life is like as you can never ever fathom mine.

I just want to go to bed

I just want to go to bed for a few days. Don't feel like sharing. Nothing's really going on. Nothing has really happened or transpired. Just don't feel like anything.
Time to sleep a dreamless sleep.

A Bitch Post, April really sucks

I can't recall a month in which so very many things have gone terribly awry. My only positive thought is that April end next week.
May may be better.
It started off with me making two egregious and self-deprecating errors with funds that put me in the negative and brought a dark cloud to all things financial. Two supremely stupid mistakes that could have easily been avoided. I mean, if I had made just one mistake I still would have been short but fine. To make two was simply unheard of and crippling.
Then the car needed repairs. My usually stellar car garage royalty messed up. It took a lot of courage on my part to confront the garage and help them see the error of their ways. Hence, another 4 days with the car in the shop but It Is Repaired and I picked her up today. To say that I am ecstatic about having her back and running like a dream is an understatement.
I messed up an appointment with a therapist which caused me to go postal for a few days. I get Autistically and Multiply irate and it's like this massive emotional blackhole that I fall into. It would be too much to try and explain myself. Hell, I can barely figure out what happened because I hit autistic meltdown And I switched into a most unpleasant, foul mouthed alter personality. So, I'm not sure where I stand or how to handle that situation.
The post office damaged severely not one but two packages I sent. I think I've only had one package damaged in two years so this was another unforeseen setback.
I struggle with my own therapist this week as, you know I can't even put that into words except to say that therapy was an epic fail.
I haven't heard from my best friend in days.
My boyfriend canceled an impending date because he was called out of town.
My neighbor died suddenly yesterday. He was six months younger than me and I had just spoken to him a few days ago.
My dog got sick so I took her to the vet. Sure, she coughed up blood all over me but the vet said she looks fine, 100$ later.
Some days, some weeks and an errant month, nothing goes right. It's raining garbage and my umbrella broke.
I plan on spending as much time as possible in bed because I have had enough of this shitstorm. Seriously. It can stop, like, right now.
Too much weird, painful, unexpected shit.
It's risky to get out of bed or answer the phone.
I am putting my self temporarily out of service.
I am so done with April. So upset, befuddled and disappointed. Currently, it is a suckfest being thrown in my honor.
I'm not attending this party anymore.

Life in AspieLand

So I've developed a new obsession with driving to my local Dutch Bros coffee house and grabbing an Americano each day.

I've learned to expect and respond to the three standard questions each Oregonian Must answer at every checkout, cashier or reception area:

1) How's your day going? A mumbled Fine, Good or Great seems to be the appropriate response that will not invite an unexpected follow-up.

2) What are you up to or doing today? This requires a little thought, so I've come up with a standard "running errands".

3) What are your plans for the afternoon, evening or weekend? Sigh. This is the toughest one. Usually I answer "grabbing dinner and kicking back" or if it's that open, nonspecific "weekend" question, I answer "nothing special" or "taking it easy".

Yikes! The Pacific Northwest is freakishly friendly compared to the stoic and sober Midweste Michigan.

This is just how they roll here, with small talk and congenial banter. I've learned not to put any weight into these exchanges. It's like, instead of a handshake as a standard nonsensical greeting, they chat. And there are no wrong answers just responses that don't beg more questions. Keep it standard, short and simple. It really doesn't mean anything.

Anyway, today as I placed my order, the Dutch Bro guy says, "Hey, what's you're name? I see you here all the time. My name's Guido."

Me, in my head, um, like No, too much info. You have just invaded my privacy and I really Don't want to answer that but I can't come up with a pseudonym fast enough.

Bleh, so I felt forced into telling him my name, secretly plotting to never get my coffee at This location again and trying to figure out how many more miles I would have to drive to a subsequent location.

Or, I could simple do a drive by, see if Guido is working and decide whether it would be safe to get my brew, in my preferred nameless fasion.

Dang. And I'd been driving there for a couple mo tha until this Mr. Friendly ruined it for me. I just don't like to call attention to myself or for strangers, even delicious coffee carrying strangers, to know such intimate details as my first name.

Well, tomorrow when the lack of caffeine propels me out the door, I'll have to decide whether to drive 1 mile or 4. Thanks so much Guido, Not.

I do love my Dutch Brothers Coffee, though. One reason I started drinking it is that on the first of every month they give away free stickers. I mean, I'm too ancient to have had teachers giving away stickers in school. And my kids always got stickers for going to the doctor. My kids made me jealous for free stickers all my own. So, I go Dutch. 

I'm bummed because a fun everyday thing just got more complicated, or rather uneasy and a little invasive. I'd rather have just been known as Hot Medium Americano, you know?

The Complexity of Simple Things

I'm hard pressed to find anything in my Autistic life to be classified as simple or easy.
I attended my son's high school choir concert last week, and it served to remind me why leaving the house was a delicate, well-thought out dance of problem solving, one after another.
The first issue was dress. What to wear in terms of social norm and comfort. I drew on my two previous concert experiences enough to know to dress casual and cool. The performance is in an auditorium and it leaned towards being too warm last time.
Next came parking at the school. Last time, there was a congested row of cars waiting to leave, so I settled on a spot far from the door and nearest the street.
Seating. This proved to be most problematic as I remember that sitting in the first half of seats seemed to intensify the sound to the point that my ears hurt, so I settled on sitting in the first row of the back half of seats.
I got all comfy, spread my coat in the seat next to me to prevent anyone getting right next to me. I looked over the program and saw that my son's group was third in line to sing, out of the seven different groups. No problem.
Then a small group of people decided to sit directly behind me. It is almost as if I could feel their knees practically bumping my head. They emanated strange, powerful smells like coconuts mixed with flowers and aftershave. It quickly became evident that they liked talking to one another, and not in soft whispers.
This was not going to work for me. I waited the prescribed few minutes, so they wouldn't think I moved my seat on their account, gathered my things and headed for the nearest restroom. Bathrooms are great places to escape to and think. I had to figure out where next to try sitting.
I opted for the back again but this time I picked a handicapped chair near the exit. This way it would be stealthier and quicker for me to leave or move again if needed.
I settled in.
The first couple of groups didn't hurt my ears as they sang. The clapping was abrasive but shirt lived enough not to severely bother. A few of their songs were sung in foreign languages and I quickly became irritated and aggitated.
Why??? Why would they sing songs with lyrics I could not understand? I had no idea what they were singing about so their voices just become nonsensical droning that made no sense. My Aspie logic was lost of this. I became irritated at feeling so confused. I hated it. I really did.
Thankfully, my kid's group appeared and sang all their songs in English. I felt like such a proud Momma as I could readily pick out my son's beautiful, bass voice from the mix. It was awesome seeing him on stage. Once his group left and the next one came on stage, I left the building.
I had figured out that I was required and pleased to hear my son sing, but I was under no obligation to continue to feel uncomfortable listening to any more drivel. Plus, I would avoid the formal choir group whose voices so bothered us last time.
I went for a walk.
Because I was in an unfamiliar area and prone to getting lost, I picked one street and walked straight down and straight back. No turning corners or crossing streets. I checked my time before I left and gauged how far I could reasonably walk so that I would return guesstimationally before the whole concert ended.
Ah, I planned it so well. As I reentered the building, the auditorium doors just swung open and throngs of people filled out. I'm grateful my kid is over 5'8" because I could readily locate him.
Mission accomplished!!
I did it! I was so proud of him and so proud of myself for navigating through the complexity of going to a relatively simple event. I unwound with a drink and some mindless television. I was quite exhausted.
Nothing is ever easy. But most things are doable.

Me, hiding out in the restroom.

All I have is this moment...

And what I feel right now. What if I learned how to put words to what is happening in the now...would it help me to put words to the past?
I'm not used to Now because it's a place I became habituated to run from.
But now, what are the images,the feels?
The image I see is of therapist as I am present and engaged in the banter of the ordinary and sublime. I'm wearing the face and body of everyday, not of "the Multiple" or "the Autistic" but the way I wear myself when I'm pretending to be normal and not those two traits that I define myself as most of the time.
I wasn't pretending but I felt weird, like a bird landing on a live wire insure of whether I'd get fried or live.
Sheepishly, I admit to studying this strange human before me as the majority of the time my gaze is on the floor, or the ceiling or turned inward.
I feel...swollen with life much like the nearby stream that has dramatically doubled in size overnight. It rushes past and I like that sound, the sound of chaos contained; the sound of rapid flux and change. Watching the creek, each second it is anew, everywhere, each drop of surface, changing, transforming, twisting and unpredictable without any fear or certainty of what it will be in the next second. Fearless.
I'm fascinated by movement, moving water, flying planes, birds cascading. Movement catches my eye and engages me in this mystical foreign place of now.
I feel anxiety free if I can stay in a moment. If...
I feel powerful in that I can shut off the part of brain that says and hears words. When I do that, all the rampant thoughts stop because thoughts are made of words. Is that normal? Can others do that?
I flip the switch by focusing on listening. I hear my footsteps. I listen for each drop of rain as it hits the puddle. The ripple sound, like wind chimes of bamboo. I count the number of birds I hear singing, laughing and praying to find a mate. I just listen so hard that I can make the words stop and it makes me feel peace and power and alive.
It rains here. Lots and lots of rain here. And I love the sound of raindrops dying and transforming, conglomeration and being absorbed. Each drop is unique and makes a signature sound as it hits. Is it willing? What bravery or stupidity or blind trust it must carry as it falls knowing it will be injured, may, transformed into something different. Does it hurt, the raindrop, as it hits the grass, the puddle, the tree, the bird? Does it feel, pain? Gladness? Or nothing at all?
There are a million mysteries that no one notices. Just listen...just listen.
I am not who I was yesterday or an hour ago. I change with each breath. Nothing is ever the same from moment to moment. I know that. Every now and then. I know that.
Dynamic.

A Dream Analyzed

I had a dream twas the other night and I thought I'd dissect it to figure out where I am in my life.
An unseemly man and I rent a boat. I'm comfortable with this guy so, though he remains unseen, I can readily surmise it is my boyfriend that I am currently cosmitten with.
We rent a boat to go out fishing. The boat is sturdy and seaworthy.
The atmosphere feels and looks like the Caribbean although I've never been there. These are brand new waters for me, which means I'm in uncharted waters, which is so true that I've never been in a healthy relationship before.
The water is calm, crystal clear, light bluish green, so clear I can readily see through the shallow few feet of water. No turbulence or choppy seas; smooth sailing, an easy ride.
It is a beautiful sunny, blue sky day. All is well.
I'm trying to figure out how to get to where the fishing is, to where the other boats are but I don't know how. Then, I notice there is a fish finder radar in the boat and on the screen I can see where the other boats are. Analysis, I'm not sure how to proceed but I find assistance on board. The other boats represent other people, and or couples, just others.
My male companion guides our boat in their direction but we stop quite short of being in the pack of boaters. I ask if we should drop anchor. He says it's okay to drift.
Analysis, we are near enough to see others but we still like our own space and a little distance from others. We don't want to "join the pack" but having them in sight is nice. I want to anchor, put down firm footing lest we inadvertently get to close to others but my male companion is comfortable and confident enough to know that we will be just fine. My BF is a calm and confident kinda guy.
Once settled, I reach for the fishing poles. There are two identical poles somewhat entangled. My companion and I easily untangle them together.
I notice the identical hooks, each baited with about seven, small, light blue beads that are set just behind the sharp hook. My BF and I are of the same ilk, both Aspies. The blue beads signify throat chakra, communication. He and I communicate in the same autistic way.
While he is still fiddling with his pole, I set mine into the water. Immediately, my line starts slowly moving away. There is something on my line but it isn't behaving as if I've caught a fish. It actually took me a few seconds to realize that there was indeed, something on my hook.
I'm on to something. There is movement of the line but it Is different.
I shout, "Hey, I've already got something!!!" All excited and surprised.
I feel in and am thrilled to find that I have caught...something unexpected and unusual in appearance. In my mind I call it a "turtlefish" because it has the head of a turtle but a squarish body with fine.
Analysis, BF and I are together in calm waters, communicating and trying to get something. I catch something. I easily get a catch but it is different than I expected. Still sought after. Still a prize, just in a form different than I thought it would be.
Then I awoke.
What a change from the usual dreams of storms, tornadoes, ice and hurricanes.
It really does feel like the waters are calm and easily seen through. I enjoy having someone kind in the boat with me.
Life is Good

Things I Learned

In therapy over the past couple of weeks, my quirky Aspie brain realized:
1) just because people hurt me decades ago does not mean people nowadays want to. Autistically I think that if something happens once or a dozen times, that it will always happen.
2) I tried to avoid hurt by refusing, blocking my ability to receive any external love, even from safe people. In a very real sense, I have never felt love because I built a wall and refused to.
3) I don't talk much not because I'm extremely private, rather I am afraid to. No one was around me that wanted to listen or try and understand my odd Aspiespeak and unusual thought processes. In addition, my autistic tics and mannerisms basically made me afraid to move, feel emotion, interact or speak, afraid my autism would show.
4) I have lived a life not just of solitude but of extreme isolation. I'm finally catching on how very different I am from others.
5) metaphorically as well as quasi figuritively, instead of staring at a blank, empty mirror in my inner world, I am starting to see the outline, some basic features of my own face.
6) I've been desperately trying to convey my confusion and difficulty with everyday life and after 2 1/2 years I finally found the words to tell therapist. Everyone says, "oh, you don't know who I really am" but my inside, my self, how I think and operate is deeper, more complex and elusive than most. The layers of me, the scattered overwhelming confusion...hell, I barely know my own self and its intricacies and there are only three people plus a therapist or two, that have even been allowed to see just below the surface.
I am a fantastical, perplexing mystery that has been desperately trying to connect from one planet to another.
I just want to find someone to hold my hand and I am separated by a mountain range both one inside and one externally.
7) I have lived a life of incredible aloneness that I believe few have ever experienced and fewer still, can even imagine. I'm gaining insight, awareness and depth perception all because I found one professional willing to listen to garbledspeak, sputtering and stuttering, autistic chaotic rambling and the tiny voice that has been crying out since forever.
Everything is changing in a dynamic way.
The road strewn with boulders has turned into manageable rocks that I can either lift or move around.
The two 20 pound weights I have carried have fallen away as this storm no longer threatens to blow me over.
The self awareness has prompted me to be oh so much kinder and gentler to my battered soul.
I live an extraordinary life and I know it more intimately and I can appreciate and accept it with much more Grace.
The small steps, the bazillion small steps have turned into sizeable, stable strides.
My rollercoaster has leveled out quite a bit.
It is a smoother ride.

The anonymous life of a hermit and how she got that way

I have been ridiculed my entire life. Being autistic and multiple means that I am a daily plethora of anomalous and odd behaviours and mannerisms. From the excessive gesturing to autistic metaphoric speech, I have been a prime target.
It isn't that I am overly sensitive, well, I am a sensitive being but to be so made fun of and laughed at for just being myself at every breath and movement has definitely helped propel me into seeking the nonthreatening safe zone of desperately seeking no company but my own. I mean, I do not think normal and I do not even speak normally with both such extreme differences. I see that.
 I get that. The times upon times when people have made fun of me have piled high and created thickthick walls all because I do not want to be further injured by ridicule.
The times when I was told, laughingly, "if you sat on your hands you wouldn't be able to talk" or, in one of my phases where I use a certain phrase too much, "you know, you know, you say that allll the time" or the down browed remarks when I was so excited about some small thing and being told to "calm down, it isn't that exciting"....the list goes on and on.
When I am in the presence of others, I am onguard and no longer free to feel what I feel, say what I'd really like to say or move as I want to move.
No, people definitely do not like pacing or jumping up and down with extreme glee. And they made sure to point out every social misstep.
I stopped being able to be me many many years ago.
I stopped being able to say what was on my mind ages and ages ago. I cannot talk in my natural, normal for me way.
I had to become anonymous, hidden and isolated, withdrawn into the only place free of possible ridicule, my own home.
No one hurts me here. No one gets to give me dirty looks or make rude remarks. No one tries to subdue, change and temper with who I am.
I've never been able to be comfortable with my differences amongst others.
Being Multiple, I am different in every single way. Being Autistic, I think, speak and behave unusually in every single way. And others, family, friends, strangers in stores and people I would live with, have forced me to stifle, subdue and quietly drown, submerged deeply within myself.
I cannot be me outside my front door.
Being a hermit is my salvation.
Now, if only I can rid myself of all the pain and humiliation that has been perpetrated upon me throughout all these years....
It's a battle to be okay with who I am since who I am has been made fun of for so veryvery long.

I am a hermit. No one can hurt me anymore.

Autistic and Frustrated

The Weeklong Shutdown

It's been a full week of being unable to properly function, scrambling and struggling just to get food in the house, failing at being a good mom and just highly frustrated at my lack of ability to do even the smallest of everyday task.
I'm angry, bitter and disillusioned that what most people take for granted, what comes easily without fail, is elusive for me. I have to pay for walking out my front door and trying something new or old or hopefully healing.
The price is so steep...I mean, I just lost seven days of my life because I walked into a new building. Seriously!?! Why, for God's sake why?
And each day, this is my dilemma. Do I walk out the front door to gain something needed, required or enjoyed or am I going to stroll into the disruptive Autistic sensory overload and lose an undetermined number of days to shutdown and loss of function?
There Is Never A Clear Answer. I never know if I'll arrive home okay or on the verge of shutdown. This is an unpredictable, chaotic life in which I roll the dice Each time I walk out my door.
Yeah, I'm angry, bitter and disillusioned, at a loss for how to make my life a bit more predictable and functional.
I've cut back on as many extraneous activities as I can. I missed my coffee with friend and boyfriend date. Hoping to make it to therapy this week.
I'm cutting out acupuncture, as much as I like it and think it benefits my health, I don't want to lose another few days or weeks of my life. The price is too high and I'm not willing to pay.
I cancelled my conferences at school that were to take place this week. It is looking doubtful I could have been able to walk that far into the building.
Still in hunter/gather mode. Hope to have enough energy to drive to grocery store, ride electric car and pick up vittles for dinner.
No, I'm not happy. I'm sure it shows.
Hope your day is well.

Finding Self-worth in the dark, autistic and disabled

I've wanted to write about this for awhile now, trying to find self-worth when seriously disabled.
Back to the beginning, it's rather amazing that any child neglected and abused by it's own parents, finds anyway to figure out how to love and care for itself when no one else does. How does one manufacture a feeling never felt or freely given? Maybe it is imagination that comes in to play as the child can only imagine what it might feel like to be loved.
What a sad, morose topic. But surely the minority of us unwanteds deserve to be heard and acknowledged.
I think I spent a number of years creating other personas that I thought maybe the parents would love. Clearly, I had some deep, undeniable flaws that caused my parents to turn away, so I frequently made other "good" children in hope that things would turn around. I had no worth or value to anyone else. How could I give a tinker's damn about myself?
Fast forward 40 years, and I am still alone. I had two children so, automatically, I have some worth and impact on two lives. If it wasn't for them, let's just say my years would have been significantly shortened.
The rest of my family, the siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, etc...I'm still distant or nonexistent too, having been autistic enough to have never been able to bond with others.
I was trying to remember the last time someone, other than my children, loved me...the last time that I had a person,not a therapist, that I could be myself and tall and be heard and be accepted and loved.
Well, that must have been about 25 years ago with my dearest friend Morgan. Sure, that time together has come and gone but I do have a memory to dwell on.
I can't say I've found much reason to stay in the present. Another autistic meltdown followed by a heavy shutdown has shown me barriers I hadn't realized before.
The meltdowns have become more frequent and hit much harder and longer than before. There are many places I can't really go and visit, knowing how easily I'm getting overwhelmed these days.
Hell, yesterday was a struggle just to get food to eat as I really want able to get to the kitchen, much less pick up some sorely needed takeout.
I need to spend more time planning and being prepared for shutdowns by keeping food stocked in the house.
I need to cut back on my outings and ventures. I need to have more "off" days and days of pure rest and isolation. I need to try and find some peace and comfort. Its proving to be a formidable task.
I've been examining my goals. Yeah, I've been believing unrealisticly. My goals need to be much smaller and shorter. I need to find meaning and value into just surviving day-to-day. It's really all I can do. Being more realistic based on experience.
I used to feel worthless being unable to work. Now I'm trying not to feel worthless being able to barely care for myself.
It's a precarious bubble I live in. Only I know how far I can push my autistic self to perform the daily tasks. Only I can judge my degree of tiredness and gauge whether or not I should venture out of the house each day.
It's a paltry existence but I was never promised a rose garden. I've got it better than some, worse than others. Just what it is. Trying to live within my limits and abilities.

Autistic Meltdown, I lose words, the ability to talk or How My Brain Turns Into Scrambled Eggs

I had a Meltdown today. My acupuncturist completely changed her office.
Meltdowns are Completely Unpredictable. I never know what will set one off.
My emotions get out of control. I lose the ability to speak in coherent sentences. And I have little control over what I can say.
It's like my brain turns into Scrambled Eggs and I am helpless to find the words I want to say And I start mumbling odd, nonsensical things.
My hands don't flap as much as they twitch and tic. Can't control that either. It's a helpless feeling. I'd be embarrassed if it had been with someone I didn't trust.
On my way home, found some really Retro 80's rock that I blasted in the car that helped to settle down my brain.
Been mumbling nonsense sounds, repeating phrases ever since. I took a xanax which does help a bit. Could have a strong drink but too early in the day.
Still don't have the words back, my usual ability to talk still compromised. I'll take my other med tonight which should further assist my nervous system in Calming itself Down.
My son is great. He understands that I get way Autistic at times and can't find the right words. Asked him to go to the store with me cause I'm still on tilt and easily prone to upset in my current state. I feel safer with him with me out in public. He's a good boy, good guy to have around.
This struggle for words...so clear. I know what words I want to use but cannot find them so theres lots of blank spots, partial sentences, brief phrases said.
When alone, I'm still mumbling and repeating things trying to get my brain back online.
I'd say It Sucks but it's just the way it is and I've always had these bouts of meltdown. Not fun but it is what it is.
Laying low. Drinking lots of water. Playing repetative video games that have patterns. Little things that help.
Yeah, I know others struggle through these meltdowns, too. Finding things that help.
Calming down. Loud, loud music. Love my car stereo, man. It's da bomb!! Had it cranked to 27 and it felt real good. Heavy bass. Awesome.
Chilling. Life goes on. Doing my best.

Shutdown, there are times when no one can help me and I can't help myself

Currently in Autistic Shutdown
A few days ago, I had a traumatic experience behind the wheel of my car. Once safe I had a meltdown. After 20 or 30 minutes I realized I had a blackout again. I can't remember what happened after I got out of my car until I was walking down the street hearing myself screaming, cursing at the top of my lungs. It took a few more minutes for me to regain control of myself. I'm still unclear whether or not my blackout is due to my Autism or my Dissociative Disorder.
Needless, either way, I've been shutting down since then. I'm very tired. I can't really think. And my functioning level is "barely". Everything is Shutdown.
If someone asked me what they could do to help, if I had the strength to speak, I'd say nothing. There is nothing that changes the trajectory of a shutdown. I just have to ride this out. Wait for my body to neutralize all the stress hormones. Get as much rest and sleep as possible and DALAP, do as little as possible. That's the quickest way back to the real world.
I don't like it. My life suddenly stopping like this and not knowing when I be up and running again. It is what it is. I can't change it.

I have Multiple Personality Disorder, let's talk

No One Asks to Become Multiple It is my belief that MPD is one of a very scant number of mental illnesses that is created by intentionally inflicting severe, interpersonal harm onto a helpless, completely innocent human being. I wasn't born Multiple. While I may have been born with a predisposition to dissociate, my Multiplicity was created by my biological father's immense capacity for cruelty. I did not ask for this. There is no accurate information available that states how many Multiples there are. Based on childhood sexual abuse statistics, there are at least 3 million of us in the US alone. Most Multiples live hidden, deeply secretive lives pretending to be normal whilst an inner struggle battles, tooth and nail, every day. Many Multiples live with their perpetrators, their parents or close family members, the people that hurt, abuse and molest them. The close family friends that stop over for coffee or sleep over on weekends, the aunts and uncles that are in charge of babysitting them. See, a Multiple isn't severely molested or beaten just once. To qualify, to "come down with" Multiplicity, the MPD individual had to have been egregiously injured more than once, often more than dozens of times. In my case, TRIGGER WARNING TALK OF SEXUAL ABUSE I was raped 3-5 times a week, living under the roof of my parent's house. MPD occurs when the child has no supportive caregiver. My mother knew full well what my father was doing. MPD means their is neglect and Co-perpetrators. Multiplicity does not occur in isolation. There are Co-perpetrators, family members and close friends that intentionally look the other way. It means a child has no safe adult to turn to for stability, care and comfort. The abuse has to start in a child whose brain is still in the highly developmental stage, before 5 years old. When I was diagnosed, conventional wisdom was that the abuse had to begin under the age of 3. Later, I read it had changed to under 5, then, later still, the abuse had to begin before 9 years of age. Pick your number. Any childhood sexual abuse is an egregious, heinous act whether the child is 3 or 10. My abuse started at or before 11 months. Knowing my father as well as I do, I find it difficult to believe that he could wait until I was 11 months old before he began sexually molesting me. I'm sure he most certainly did not wait that long, it's just that that age is my first clear memory of abuse. A perpetrator rarely has just one victim. It just goes against their very nature that molesting one child could satisfy all their sick, sadistic sexual needs. My father molested at least 7 other children that I witnessed, that I personally saw take place. Frequently, if not always, perpetrators are childhood sexual abuse survivors themselves. 1 out of 3 children who are sexually abuse grow up to sexually abuse children. 1 in 3 Childhood Sexual Abuse, CSA, survivors are at risk of offending. A paltry 1 in 3 grow up and do not molest. Think about that. Hurt people hurt people. My father assuaged some of his hurt and rage by assaulting me. If we can slow the child sexual abuse, incest epidemic, and get quick and appropriate psychological treatment for those kids, we can put a dent in this ongoing crisis. But we have to be willing to talk about this most disturbing and uncomfortable subject. We have to be willing to admit what happened to us, get treatment so we can heal, grow strong and find our voice. Then, and only then, can our sufferings have not been in vain. Once we heal ourselves, we can help others, those children currently in great pain and other adult victims burdened by unwarranted guilt, shame and great pain. Multiplicity is created. That means it can also be stopped.

The Multiple Autistic

Being Multiple with MPD, Multiple Personality Disorder,  I only am aware of a small piece of my personal history, as my extensive trauma memories are walled away from me within my alter personalities.
I only know a fraction of my life.
Being Autistic, I am unable to comprehend and interact with others outside of myself. It's like there is an invisible wall which keeps me separated from everyone outside of myself.
In addition, being Autistic is like having no reflection in the mirror. I can't see myself or how I am the same, or different than others.
Add to this the fact that my traumatic life experiences which engulfed my first 26 years,  are prevented from being shared because society cannot tolerate or stomach the true life events rampant with incest, child prostitution, torture and hideous sexual abuses. There is a wall of taboo that encircles me.
Then there is the fact that other victims, you know, the one in 5 women and 1 in 6 men, that would be potentially triggered by my stating my truth. Thus they avoid me.
Plus there are the perpetrators and coconspirators who are made uncomfortable with the mention of acts that they themselves committed in similar fashion.
I am a pariah. I am avoided, blackballed and hamstrung.
If I were to write an actual post about one of my incidents, it would be disturbing, unsettling and unpleasant due to it's very sick nature.
I cannot write my full life story as no one has the stomach or emotional stability to be able to read about the things that happened to me.
My life story is too much for anyone. It is too much for me, hence I have alter personalities whose job it is is to keep those memories out of my consciousness so that I am quasi functional.
I have wall within. There are walls with out. And there are societal walls.
My life story is about sick, depraved acts that I was forced to keep secret to protect my family and to allow me to live.
Here's the thing...even with all these walls, barriers and social taboos, I refuse to be Silent. My story, as distressing and hideous and vile as it is, will be written, read and heard.
Part of this ongoing project involves finding the words to convey the unspeakable. To that end I have started working on a glossary of terminology to help me understand myself and to inform, enlighten the public.
I've started a facebook page called Living With Multiple Personality Disorder and I have condensed definitions as well as other insights on that page.
I'm working all the time to survive, become aware, maneuver within all these walls and get my story out.
My life has revolved around pure survival and maintaining sanity after having been dealt a huge ration of the unimaginable, the most depraved of criminal, in human acts. I will write and speak about these disturbing events.
It's no wonder I feel invalidated...my story is hard to hear...but I'm real...my story is real...what happened to me happened and Is happening to others...and I Will Be Silent No More.

I don't know how to play with dolls, autistic me

I don't understand dolls. I don't know what to do with them. Never have.
As a kid, I'd watch and wonder as my sisters would ask for and receive dolls for Christmas or a birthday. It just didn't make any sense to me. I figured something must be wrong with me as television advertised dolls all the time.
Oh, I understood those green Army men, even GI Joe's, I could play with and be entertained for hours. But around girl dolls, I was clueless.
I decided to try and fix myself. Around 9 I asked for a Mrs. Beesley doll, you know, the one that Jodi had from the tv show "Family Affair. I carried her around. Took her to bed with me but for the most part, I'd set her on the floor across from me and just stared at her.
I think I expected something magical to happen or for Mrs. Beesley to tell me her worth or what I should do with her. I was perplexed, stymied and at a loss.
Maybe I asked for the wrong doll. Maybe I needed a Barbie or a baby doll. Something just wasn't right. I wasn't like other girls. I went back to playing with my brother's Army guys. Them I understood...
I think one reason this topic has come up is because I'm enamored with the new Barbie Frida Kahlo doll. I want one! I am a big fan of Frida the artist, her colors, fashion and her life.
I'm sure if I gave in to my childish whims, I'd buy a Frida and she'd sit in her box and we'd have a series of stare downs. I'm not sure she'd make it out of the box or maybe she would and then sit stoically on my shelf. I'm not sure I'd do anything more than that...but maybe it'd be a start. Maybe it's okay to have a doll just to admire.
Thinking about it...

Bad Love

There are people out there, or that you live with, that say they love you buy they surely don't mean it.
I lived with someone for a few years and she said she loved me, wanted to marry me and treated me like crap. She looked at me with cold, dead eyes, never smiled at me or asked me how I was feeling. For two years I was bedridden and couldn't even care for myself and she completely ignored me.
I had a friend who was our housekeeper. This friend would wash my hair for me as I didn't have the body strength to do it. My ex never offered to help me at all. In fact, she would leave work if the cat was sick and needed to go to the vet but when I had to go to the doctor, she couldn't leave work.
Her words said one thing; her actions said quite another.
There are people out there who will say they love you but they do not mean it.
There are people that will ignore you and walk all over your carcass; you need to recognize them and leave.
I didn't leave because I believed her, that I was nothing and nobody and totally invalid.
These are sick, sad, toxic people.
It took me years of therapy to realize that I was being treated like less than a begging mongrel dog. Years.
She thought I would be nothing without her. But she was wrong.
Be aware of the signs of disrespect and narcissism. Don't believe the words. Watch careful and analyze the actions.
There are bad love people out there. I recognize that, now.

The Grimace, My New Facial Tic

Argh, this is the first time that I've noticed my tics changing. I added a new one a couple weeks back. Completely unintentionally, mind you. It just dramatically surfaced at a therapy session.
I Grimace. More precisely, I grit my teeth and grimace as I shake my head three times. This has got to be one of the least attractive tics! I so dislike the look that I imagine I'm making. Its disturbing to my logic and sensibilities but after I do it, it feels amazingly good!
The feeling exceptionally good part after a tic is new for me, as well. Autism is proving to be a dynamic not stagnant way of being.
Sure, most of my tics have remained the same for years at a time. But at 55, to gain a new one surprises me a great deal.
Why? Is a big question I have. Why a new tic? Why a more intense pleasure factor? Why now at my age?
I have many questions. But for now I'm just enjoying And being repulsed by my new friend, Grimace.

I Bolt, Runaway without Thinking, Meltdown... and I ran, I ran so far away

I have moments wherein I'm confused and overwhelmed and I Bolt, run very fast, without thinking, banging doors, knocking over things, as I run to the nearest exit.
I don't know if this could be classified along with an Autistic Meltdown but it has similar characteristics.
For one thing...I cannot control it. Damn, it brings a tear of realization to mine eye as this is one aspect of my Autism that I need to be acutely aware. I lose my sense of time, place and space as I plow through anything in my path. I have dented walls, almost run over other people and have definitely knocked over stuff more than once.
Bolt is a blind, physically running away type of rage and confusion.
It hurts my head. I ended up bolting at therapy this week and I've been trying to analyze it. I need to know the triggers and how I handled myself because this is one of those times I become a danger to myself and others.
I remember feeling overwhelmed emotionally. I felt trapped, sad, mad, let down, disappointed, hopeless, like I'd lost. All these emotions leaked out of the corners of my eyes, and emotionally soaked words came out in sputters. I couldn't say what I wanted. I really wanted to keep repeating the same thing over and over but I felt stupid; I sounded stupid to myself.
It's like the boat overturned in deep water and no matter how much I tried, I couldn't right it.
I knew everything that I had hoped to accomplish in that therapy session had scattered in the wind and was completely lost. My agenda, my words escaped me and all I could do was cry and want to leave. When overwhelmed I just want to get somewhere safe; I need to get home, fast.
I just grew more agitated the longer I tried to make sense of things. My head swam and I was completely lost within my self.
Finally, I bolted. It felt like a cannonball being shot. Almost more of a reflex, definitely a reflexive action as I did Not plan it. Nor could I stop it once the Bolt mechanism "fired" in my head.
It felt like I needed to run for my life. It felt like an innate survival reflex. Looking back, there wasn't anyway I could stop it, but I did try to slow myself down. I was barely aware enough to try and slow my footsteps. Funny, I do remember paying attention as I opened the doors in my path. Something in me remembered all the things broken and busted from my slamming doors.
Wow, that's the first I've ever been able to write about such an emotionally charged event. It's really quite an intense experience. That would explain why I've been down and out on the couch these past two days. With meltdowns its exhausting and I'm in recovery time, sleeping for insanely long hours and having no energy.
I don't know if other Autistics Bolt or if it is considered a meltdown. Anything that is out of my control, emotionally charged and violent or potentially violent, I call meltdown.
Once I've Bolted from a place, I sometimes have a difficult time returning to that place. I'm not sure if it's because I'm ashamed or embarrassed, or if being in that same place triggers all the overwhelming feelings that precipitated the meltdown. The thought that arises as I write, maybe I avoid going back to places I've bolted from because of the survival instinct; because if I ran away like that, it means I was in danger. Yes, the theme of imminent danger keeps coming up.
Bolting, Meltdown, Survival and Danger are the four words that seem to sum it up.

I've seriously turned invisible

If there's one thing the holidays do, it is to remind me that I'm invisible and no one is missing me. That feeling has been reinforced twice now.
First, my chiropractor couldn't hear me, then his assistant couldn't see me and today, my therapist forgot me. So, three strikes and I'm out.
I can't blame others as the invisibility syndrome has happened more than thrice. Yeah, I get it. I don't matter cause I'm not really here and I have zero impact.
I'm nobody, nothing, just completely alone for zero reason.
I get it, ok.
I can't go back to those places because I'm invisible.
There's such a thing as being alone and then being completely inconsequential. I get it. Message received. Can't go back. Just alone. I get it.
It's like I write people and don't hear from them for days and that's it, ya know. I'm not waiting to hear from them anymore and I'm not looking for their replies after x number of days have gone by.
Forget I'm done. Stick a fork in it.
Don't know why I'm here but it's not to be trampled on.
Just ignore me. Move on. I'm invisible. Message received