Swan Song, a poem about child abuses

I often write about my traumatic childhood openly. The following may be upsetting or disturbing. Trigger Warning. 

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Swan Song, a poem of child abuses

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Brother, how have you forgotten

the man that held you down

teaching you adult manly things

when you were but just a boy

*

Sister remembers and talks about

what Brother dare not say

(No one can silence me any more

I have not forgotten father's ways)

*

Sister, how had you forgotten

the secret parties on the West Side of town

dad's pals, food and strange men with cash

two sisters too young to be working girls

*

Sister remembers and talks about

what younger sister can no longer say

(No one can silence me any more

I have not forgotten father's ways)

*

Brother, I know you remember 

the crimes dad disguised as games

he wanted a witness, silent and mute

and that was your part to play

*

Sister remembers you standing there

and respects your wounded right not to say

(Yet no one will silence me now

I speak loud, fierce and free)

*

Sister, why have you forgotten

the hitting, the bruising and blood

you didn't want the truth to be real

daddy loves you, beatings lie

*

Sister loves you and remembers 

how much his fists hurt you

(No one can silence me any more

father abused you, and me too)

*

Sister, how you work to stuff yourself

hiding the hurt under layers of eats

Insulating and pretending it will all go away

what father did pains you deeply inside

*

Sister knows your pain

and prays you seek counsel help

Be like her, Silent No More

You too, know father's sins

*

Brother, what story do you tell yourself

when you see the crescent scar by your eye

do you remember one of dad's fits of rage 

or do you choose to believe one of mom's lines

*

Sister saw it all go down

little brother struck in the hall

mother shrieking

"never in the face, Don,

try not to ever hit them in the face"

(mother's makeup can only cover so much)

I'm sorry you were wounded

I wonder if you know the truth

Sister loves you

and is Silent No More

*

Amy Cavanaugh Murphy 12/28/23

Only the 2nd original joke I have ever created, lol

I don't talk much. I don't know what to say.

Living in extreme isolation suits me. It's easy for me to go days without speaking a single word.

When I find my self in the company of others, whether it be on the city bus or at the store, I will use the customary small talk pleasantries but only if provoked, prompted, backed into a corner or feeling like engaging in light banter.

People, when they talk, they talk about things that don't interest me. I don't watch much television or go to the movies often. I don't follow celebrities or engage in gossip about the neighbors. I'm not interested in hearing sad stories as I have enough of my own, which are quite private. I don't want to talk politics cause that's a sh*tshow and it's controversial and it does not impact me, nor I it. I don't talk religion because God is good no matter what practice is followed. I don't, I recoil and try and protect myself from the news, guns and violence because it hurts me deeply that people viciously hurt people, both those they know and complete strangers.

All around it seems like a madness along with a great deal of nonsense.

I don't like talking about myself.

I deplore it, mostly. 

My children are grown and moved away. Mentioning them brings the grief of missing them, and usually tears.

My biological family consists of a hugh percentage of child abusers and intergenerational incest. I'll talk about that when I damn well please, but, few want to hear That.

I don't know what to say to others.

This is quite true.

I am probably the quietest person you will ever know.

I am all alone; this could be good, positive

Alone can mean many things. Often we can readily identify the negative connotations such as sadness, loneliness and depression.

What we frequently overlook are the possible positive and beneficial qualities of being completely alone.

Alone can mean freedom, a personal freedom impossible when one has to answer to family obligations or friends invitations. Freedom to be exactly who you are without external influences, opinions and pressures.

Alone means I do not have to constantly consider how my actions within my own home, may affect those I live with. I can leave the dirty dishes in the sink until I feel compelled to do them not when my partner expects it or my kid makes a snarky comment.

Alone allows me to understand this new concept called "inertia" wherein a property of matter by which it continues in its existing state of rest or uniform motion in a straight line, unless that state is changed by an external force. I put my open journal of private thoughts and musings upon the living room table. It will not move from that location unless I choose to move it. No one will read or comment on my private personal notes. I have gained the freedoms of inertia as well as new found privacy.

The open bag of pretzels will remain exactly where I leave it. Not a single additional pretzel will be removed until I choose to do so.

I have freedom to choose if and when I do something.

I am free to lay upon the couch and bingewatch Star Treks for days at a time while eating nuts and drinking soda. No harm. No foul. No sin. No one cares. But I may have a fantastic time doing just that.

Alone allows me to discover who I really am.

Without a partner, without raising children, I am someone completely different and new. Me.

I really don't know who I am, yet, but each day alone gives me some small clues.

Alone can be necessary in order to discover who you are and what makes you tick.

Do that. Be you.

Riding the Bus

Realizing the Insignificance Is Freedom

Once you realize that your puny little life is just that, a puny little life, it is actually extremely freeing because you can now cast away all the frivolous bullsh*t like competition, gossip, what others think of you, pushing boundaries, breaking glass ceilings and earning employee of the month. 

Let's not forget the garbage notion that my only worth in life is how much I can help others because that is extreme BS as a drowning man cannot help anyone else except the bottom feeders by stopping his fight to survive. I was force fed that garbage ever since I can remember. It must have been practiced by people who weren't drowning, starving, being beaten or raped. Yeah, you go girl. You go save and help others because you are not drowning and can.

Now, without anyone else's interference or wishes or demands or needs getting in my way, maybe just maybe I can figure out a way to get out of these deep, churning waters. There has been no life raft, no self-sacrificing sailors weathering this ferocious storm to try and save my as*. And I have been drowning for decades. Forgive me if I somehow miraculously find the strength and energy to help you get across the street while I choke and gag on the water clear past my head.

FY

Clarity. Letting go of the forced, idiotic ideology of those saints few with no sins and open arms who have never strode into these deep waters, allows me to finally focus on Saving Myself. Even though they never deemed me salvageable, I'm still here and I'm still fighting for my life all by myself.

Priorities have shifted. Sure, Me Too and Me First because a drowning man has to fight for himself when he is alone out there.

Reincarnation or the Insignificance of it all

I'm guessing this current life is as insignificant and inconsequential as the previous ones have been since they are having been lived and now completely forgotten.

There is little I find that has matter or is of any importance. 

I once thought I would create great works or write memorable and worthy things yet all those grand, puffed chest worthy ideals that I breathed and fed on for days and weeks turned into nothing but boondoggles due to my faulty, lofty, Aspergian misreality thinking.

Hours spent heartily engaged now dust on the shelf; paper doves alighted then flamed.

I have no one around me so the implications of my own actions or inactions affect none. I have done nothing today but sustain enough to say I lived through it.

I'm the paint on the wallpaper you pass by without notice.

I'm the drive through customer you forget the moment I leave.

I'm the client, client number 5 of the day and number 167 of the year, in the endless line of revolving items.

I wonder what my past lives involved. Was I tinker, tailor, soldie, mom? Was my presence noted by those around me? Were there many who knew my name, smiled each day and hoped to see me?

Was I a slave in a dirty coal mine, a laundress scrubbing clothes in a cold river, a servant maid or mighty worker of the cattle barn? So many possibilities.

I wonder if I've always worn chains, been enslaved, forced to work for others in unpleasant and cruel conditions. If so, then my lives have a repeating theme.

One who is enslaved. That fits like a well worn sackcloth covered in muck.

My life has little value and no worth to anyone but me. Not so much sad as true. It's what I've got.

I keep a window open a little at all times lest my decaying rotten flesh stink the place up for days and days and my little dog left without fresh air or someone to be able to feed her and let her out.

This is my life. I do it each day without vim or vigor or want of anything more.

I am well aware of the thick wall that prevents me from ever getting close to anyone else. It's impenetrable and I know it because I've been beating my head against it for over 50 years. Some call it autism. I call it extreme loneliness, depression and sadness. But, alas, it is what it is and all that I have.

This is my life. I continue to live it. And I'm sure it matters not a tinker's dam.

I know this and it saves me the heartache of trying, hoping and pie-in-the-sky dreaming.

I am but one small insignificant dot on an extremely large piece of paper. Life.

The Salmon Patties Looked Really Pretty

Solstice Haiku Poetry

Morning a poem

I live. It's cold.

It's running cold for the Willamette Valley as the house says 60° at midnight. Winter here isn't bathed in white and fluff. Foggy mist that freezes whatever it kisses, grass, limbs, and the dead flower pot on the porch, will all be covered in the frozen misted frost by morn.

Today was full a football as the post-season plays out eliminating and raising teams right and left. I was privileged, enthralled really, to watch three glorious games of worthy contenders vie for Victor. It was fun and sparkly and sometimes sad when the hits were too hard and violent and the fallen would fail to rise within the preordained, non-injured time.

The ball flew, was grappled, kicked, booted, punched but mostly fondled and held close.

That pretty much was my day.

As it oft is every year at post-season playtime.

It's okay. The aloneness was lessened. My burdens a bit lighter at moments.

A few times I articulated audible joy and awe at seemingly impossible plays. It always surprises me when I get an unexpected emotion that makes a verbal sound.

I had enough good food. I am grateful.

My house kept me warm. All is well.

I am here and I made it through the day

Even though few know, I continue to breathe.

With little value to society, still I exist.

Being estranged from all family, I continue to be a worthy human being even when no one knows it or acknowledges it.

But for the grace of God, I am what I am

Jumpin' Guy or A Visit to the Chiropractor

 I miss Jumpin' Guy, the affectionate and respectable nickname that I gave to my previous Chiropractor who miraculously cured me of the chronic neck pain that I had been suffering with for years.

He got that moniker because he was a young guy [I'm 60 and old. Anyone less than 40 is young to thee.] and looked like he could easily do a 'dead jump' more popularly known as a 'standing jump' which is a jump performed from a stationary position without running previous to the jump. I could readily picture Jumpin' Guy suddenly leaping from the floor to atop the chiropractic table effortlessly at any given moment when he was in the room. Yes, he had that much youth and energy exuding from his babyface pores.

I had suffered with neck pain for as long as I could remember. It hurt to carry a purse or backpack so those accessories were curtailed. Even when I wore a standard winter coat, it tugged and pulled and hurt the base of my neck. After approximately 5 or 6 months of bimonthly adjustments, the neck and shoulder pain dramatically disappeared overnight following a treatment. Relief, omg, relief is an understatement. I was overjoyed to discover that chronic nagging to severe neck pain was not a normal part of the everyday human experience. Truly, I did not know that I was in chronic pain until the pain was gone. It feels like that misery was a coconspirator that had always lived with me.

Life was suddenly grand. Then Jumpin' Guy abruptly decided to leave the state. He said something about how he had some news and I wasn't going to like it, followed by he was moving for a better opportunity. Sigh. First off, I did not like or dislike the news and it was presumptuous of him to predict my emotional response to his personal behaviors and choices. I took his statement at face value. Good riddance and good luck. I do not pretend to know the best course of action for a professional stranger nor do I feel any emotional response one way or another would be appropriate for the choice he made regarding his personal life. Okay. We had a great time. It's over. It's life. Thanks and don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.

He seemed perplexed by my calm impersonal demeanor. People make choices. They are allowed to do that as they see fit. I'm good.

 So, after his departure, I was left with his business partner, a well-respected, highly touted, chiro with oodles of experience and well standing within the community. Okay. This is where it is at.

The new guy, who is actually kindof an old guy and over 40, maybe,  I nicknamed Andre the Giant, Andre for short because physically he was huge compared to little Jumpin' Guy. The first time I met him for an adjustment, well, not the greatest of first meetings but memorable as Hell.

We had our initial small talk chat. I stated my issues. He performed some adjustments. Then he took a step back, arms out to the sides as if he was a magician who had just performed a trick and amazed the whole audience so he was taking his bow before he left...and I said, well, it still hurts here, as I pointed to the sore spot on my neck that I had walked into the office with and mentioned to him just moments previous.

He looked stupefied and lost, unsure of what to do next. He thought a bit and then went to stand behind me as I sat on the table edge. As he put one hand onto the front of my neck, my back pressed against his belly, and he was manipulating my head, with his other hand, I freaked out with a body memory slash flashback of one of my childhood sexual abuse incidents. I jumped off the table in tears and spew those unfortunate words that I have shouted aloud way too much, "back away; I'm a sexual abuse survivor; it's not you, you've done nothing wrong..." and I'm throwing up my hands in defense as I back away to the far wall sobbing.

Yikes. Composure does not come easily to me in those moments when the pain of the past suddenly bites me in the ass or, in this case, in the neck. 

Andre appeared to keep his calm . He said that he had had this happen before. And that's really all I remember him saying before I gathered my flailing dignity, reached out to shake his hand in my universal gesture for "it's not you, it's me and all is well, you've done nothing wrong". It was a gesture of apology for my ruckus and a symbol that I did not hold him personally responsible for my traumatic childhood abuses. Okay. I made another appointment and spent the day at home, in bed, recovering.

Fast forward three months to today, I saw Andre for the third time. I'm recognizing his chiropractic performance pattern. Whereas Jumpin' Guy would listen to me explain my symptoms, perform the adjustments, ask me how I felt, and when I was still experiencing discomfort, he would try alternative forms of manipulation via feeling where the muscles and tendons were tight. Andre handles treatments differently.

Andre appears to be listening to me. Then he executes chiro moves 1, 2 and 3 followed by me flipping over on the table and doing moves 4 and 5, whereupon he does that magician move each and every time. He takes a step back, does that imaginary bow waiting for the applause and I, well, I tell him that I am still in pain which is his cue to look befuddled and vacant and a little bit annoyed around the corners of his eyes and the downward edges of his lips. He doesn't know what to do. Apparently no one ever questions the magician? Is this only me that gets the exact same repeated, ineffective treatment week after week and dares to confess the trick didn't work? Because he does look majorly confused when I ask for his additional professional help.

He does not repalpate the area to feel where the muscles are still tightened and bent out of shape. He looks at me as if it is my fault, my bad that the treatment didn't work and I'm giving him grief. Really? No one else ever questions the man behind the curtain cause he gets the adjustments right the very first time, no need to revisit the affected, injured area to see how well or how poorly the adjustment performed? I'm stymied here.

I left the appointment sooooooo dissatisfied and annoyed, dismayed and let down. The pain I had put up with for over a week and thought I would be leaving at Andre's office was still with me as I walked to my car and drove home. I'm actually highly frustrated and rather furious about this. Granted, I'm sore and I get pretty crabby and unreasonable when I'm hurting but I really do not know how to remedy this near-drowning, painful and irritating condition.

I have tried on three occasions to attempt to get Andre to reexamine and retreat the area. He does not. I see his pattern is reoccurring and unwavering. I cannot win with his form of treatment. There is no way out as my insurance covers him and trying to change to another chiropractor may be denied or there may be someone even more ineffective [plus, who wants to go through that whole almost mandatory first visit flashback fiasco anyway?] The one positive aspect that does help mitigate Andre's behavior is that my insurance does cover a monthly massage therapy treatment. These massages have reduced my overall discomfort and pain. This is true. It takes the edge off enough that I can continue to function close to normal properly adjusted or not.

I dare not or, rather, I know not how to address Andre the magician. The upfront, Aspie honest part of me wants to tell him that he isn't as effect as his former partner and give him the reasons why I believe that to be the case. I think he should do more thorough physical exams before and after treatment and compare and notice what manipulations are working and which are not. My Autistic nature really wants to prevail and be honest and get pain free by stating this. But, the rational part of my brain says that addressing someone in that manner, telling them they are ineffective and relaying our non-professional opinion about what needs to change feels wrong, too in-your-face, risky and possibly insulting to him.

I am now trapped in a bad, not-as-healthy-as-it-could-be professional relationship with my chiropractor who has this new moniker of 'magician'. I can see no way out. Somehow, I have to figure out how to endure or say small things to promote positive changes with his half-ass treatments. I hate this. I suffer. A professional is employed to assist and he fails miserably at his task and I am the one paying the fare.

Yes, I miss Jumpin' Guy. I'll always be grateful for his miraculous, highly professional help in diagnosing and relieving me of my chronic condition. His moving has forced me into an unexpected and uncomfortable situation which I need to work on fixing.

The Chiro and Me, or supposed to be getting help but getting only frustration. 

Decisions

I had planned out a bus ride, errands and a long walk home but my feet hurt. I don't want to make this decision but I need to listen to what my body is saying. A 5 mile walk would really make my body feel more painful. Making the unpopular but probably sound and healthy decision to take the car. We can always go for a walk as soon as the feet stop constantly hurting.

Okay body feet, I'm listening. 

1:27am so begins rain

And the rain starts to fall

Someone's turned on the tap

Refreshing as breeze blows in

Nostrils flare awake

Clouds falling petals

Beckon a more open window

As the thought of sleep surpassed by

The need for this harmony, 

This balm for my brain

Gentle rhythmic waves

To soothe my agitated soul

As a new old memory takes shape,

Takes over 

And plunges me into the dark places

I work to avoid

The rain, a temporary respite, 

A place I find peace

I lay awake to stay free and present

Another Positive Bus and Walk Day

Decided to take our packages to the fowntown post office via the fareless, talking bus with the 4.7 mile walk home today. The weather was mostly rain less and cool bordering on cold.

The bus driver must have been new because he made a wrong turn and we started to panic. We were thinking of which wrong bus we might have accidentally gotten on, or since it was the weekend and we'd never ridden on the weekend, maybe this was a normal Saturday route. Then, we wonder if we should get off at the next stop to find our right bus. Lots of anxiety ridden thoughts until...we heard the bus driver pickup his talking thingy and notify base that he had made a wrong turn.

Whew!

We calmed back down as the bus made a few turns to get back on the route. Dang, that hadn't happened before and we were totally unprepared for the possibility that the bus would do that. Silly new bus driver man.

We made it to our stop and walked to the post office.

Our packages shipped; our goal complete. Off to get our congratulatory as well as mandatory, Dutch Bro coffee.

We were contemplating whether or not to make any additional stops on our 4 mile return trek. I remembered a couple of small items not necessary but to-be-needed-soon so we decided to stop at the grocery store for that reason and to use a nice, warm and clean restroom.

We procured our goods but the "manager turned cashier because the place was super busy" person messed up our food stamps card and said it was declined for lack of funds, which it indeed was not. So, I had to use my account to be able to take my groceries home. It made me nervous thinking that maybe I had overspent or miscalculated my food stamp allotment. 

[When I returned home, I checked and I did still have funds!]

The walk home was pleasant and uneventful save the blisters forming on two little toes and one big one. I had to wear my waterproof black walking shoes due to the possibility of rain and my feet were not used to them.

It was nice to get home and cook up some salmon patties with canned salmon, bread crumbs, cheese, celery, onion and egg. I sure do get hungry and eat more on the long walk, cold weather days like today.

I had fun. I do like to walk. And I am getting less and less nervous on the free talking bus.

Going to the Movies Alone

In order to maintain my low-level, social functionality, I must do things that are varying in discomfort. Going to the movies by myself is one of those tasks. If I don't do an uncomfortable task for a period of time, my anxiety will continue to grow to the point where I can't complete simple issues. 

I found a movie that interested me. I rarely find subjects or stories that peak my interest and lure me to the cinema.

Napoleon. I liked the idea of learning a little history. I bought my ticket for the less expensive, less crowded early afternoon matinee.  There were only two other couples in attendance. 

Being inside the theater is really another world in that the external world is completely shutout. No traffic or crowds or rain or lights, just a big screen to focus on.

I liked Watchung all the previews of upcoming movies. I rarely read newspapers or magazines regarding current events so it kinda gave me a glimpse into what society is doing and thinking these days.

I felt at ease, alone, up in the back row, unencumbered, no worries, no expectations, no chatter or questions, just off and solo with myself.

I brought my ear plugs. Then promptly lost one within the first few minutes. Luckily, the movie wasn't an action adventure type with constant loud noises. The battle scenes were scattered throughout the film but not long in duration.

I learned that not having anyone sitting next to me allowed me to easily and simply look away from all the violent battle scenes. At the end of those, I'd find out who won. I did not require the gory details. Something new I learned today.

I did really well, in that I did not get overly anxious or leave before the movie ended. That's what frequently would happen. I would either get overwhelmed, socially uncomfortable, or unable to stay sitting for the length of a movie.

Sure, I only caught about 50% of the dialog due to my verbal processing delay but I could still follow the theme of the action and storyline.

Was it enjoyable? Um, yeah, it was okay. Could have lived without it, yet I gained a little historical insight, did something different and got myself out of my house for a couple hours.

I did good.

A Positive Day, buying a new coat

I was thrilled to be able to walk four miles from downtown to home today. I hadn't gone for a walk since developing metatarsalalgia last week from new, too tight shoes. The pain was pretty awful and debilitating. I wasn't sure how many weeks it would be before that healed.

The metatarsal foot pads from walmart proved to be the cure. I'm so grateful.

I love walking.

I have been trying to figure out how to buy a raincoat so that I can stay dry on my rainy, Oregon winter multitude of days. With my therapist's help, I figured out which type of jacket to look for.

Jackets can be water-resistant yet Not waterproof, which boggles my mind and is nonsense. A raincoat, in my mind,should repeal the rain. So, I had to be wary and check the wording close.

Then, because it gets dark here around 4 pm, I wasn't sure if I should get a high visibility coat, with reflective, safety colors like neon orange and yellow. I mean, I like the idea of cars being able to readily see me yet I worried others might think I looked ridiculous. I feared comments voiced at me. Sigh.

But, what did I want in a raincoat? I had to think about it, a lot. Another one of those easy tasks most neurotypicals never worry about.

So, I decided I wanted a waterproof coat, first and foremost. Secondly, I wanted glow-in-the-dark, reflective, high-visibilty colors.

So, on my walk home, I stopped at a new store I had never been in before. [This is huge in and of itself!] And I tried on a couple different coats after carefully screening their labels. I found the one I thought might work best, and I bought it!

This is now my new rain, walk, Winter, wear on the bus coat. It is mostly bright, neon yellow. I'm going to try wearing it the next time I rain walk.

It's exciting. It's a big purchase as coats tend to last for years. I hope it works for me.

I like the idea of being safer as well as staying dry. Oregon winters are very wet.

I did new things today.

And I did good!

I'm not doing Christmas this year, opting for Self-care instead

I am struggling with sadness, grief, depression, and the aloneness of it all, to a great extent.

I have to be my own priority. 

I hate this place...

The place where everything I touch or try to do turns to sh*t.

I'm drowning in sadness.

A Productive Day

Being alone, we plan an activity for most every day. Our little dog makes sure that we get up before noon so she can go out. Then, I have some coffee and usually get right into whatever task has been set the night before. Every night before falling asleep, we have at least one plan for the next day. Often times, there are a few items on the agenda that we have to put into the order we want to get them done.

Today, laundry at the laundromat was the main goal. On the way to the laundromat, I stopped for coffee and then to the bottle return shop to turn in 4 grocery bags of diet pepsi bottles.

We did something unconventional and risky, in our book. We knew we had more than 75 bottles but the only bottle machine open was the one that said "under 75 only". Two other machines were broken. There was only one person standing in line with, like, about the same amount of bottles as me. Each bag holds about 25, so 100 bottles total. Only 25 over the limit.

Yeah, I decided to push it to the limit, extend my comfort zone and consciously break a written rule. 

I kept waiting for one of the workers to come over and castigate me. I was ready for the reprimand but it never showed up. Ha.

That was kinda fun.

Anyway, after that and the laundromat, I had to stop at the store for apples, bananas, cream cheese, pop and corn, popcorn. So, I'm saying these items aloud in my car so I wouldn't forget. I liked the way it was pretty alphabetical and that I need both pop and corn and could string them together.

After the grocery store, I made chicken livers and onions to go with homemade biscuits. Then after a brief respite, I've started the weekly chore of cooking up dog food for my 9 year old, 12 lb Boston puppy dog. I always make brown rice in the oven, add a protein source, today it is left over roast beef; and additional 3 cans of no salt veggies. The vegetables are a combo of either green beans, cooked carrots, corn or peas. The rice and carrots are cooking right now so I get to rest a few minutes and watch my favorite show Port Protection. 

PP is about a small community of residents in a remote Alaskan town. It's fantastic. I love it. No violence. No drama. No game show or competition. Just a group of people who like to do their own thing and have their own space. They are living a simple, isolated, self serving lifestyle just working to survive each day and often coming together to help each other out.

Cool how.

Yeah, my anger and wrath at all things autism has cooled and tempered. I'm getting back down to basics figuring out how to live my life, my way, each day.

Be well

Aspergers and the Alien free ebook promotion going on now

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Aspie and still angry about it, Autism Sucks

I still wish...the one friend theory

I still hold onto that stupid wish

That there is one person in the world

That wants to be my friend

That supports me

That gives me good advice in nice ways

That cares about me

That I can turn to at anytime, and when I am sad and despondent 

That one person

Who can help pick me up off the floor

Unconditionally 

I hope

I wonder

I wish

Just one

One person

For me

I can't trust my own thinking, Autism Sucks

Because I keep thinking I can do normal things. But, I cannot. And therefore I need to question myself, my purchases, goals and plans. I never know if a goal is reasonable or reachable until I fall flat on my face.

I get embarrassed easy, Autism Sucks

I think I get embarrassed easier than most. Mostly due to I'm stupid as to social clues, feeling insignificant and not knowing if what I'm asking is ridiculously stupid or not.

I feel I've played the fool all my life. It's really easy to make fun of someone when they can't understand what the teacher is saying, the directions, or what the words on the chalkboard mean.

I've lived with an invisible reality, a separation from what others around me have been experiencing. And I'm hard pressed to find the words to explain my difficulties. 

It's like, I'm walking alone in a vast, empty desert and others stride beside me within these colorful individual bubbles that can readily interact with other colorful bubbles and they are all seeing and experiencing the same thing. Yet, I am not. And I cannot fathom their world. And they are completely oblivious that my separate world even exists.

It's strange, so very strange to be this differently wired in a world streaming mostly as one.

I, the erratically broken sparking wire that only I can see and feel.

Ah, back to embarrassment, I've lived an easily ridiculed life both within the family home and also in schooling. Embarrassment was born within me so long ago and has been a weekly occurrence ever since.

My skin has grown thinner with each passing faux pas and mistake I have made. People laugh so easily and they sure enjoy having someone else to put down and made fun of.

Maybe my scars have just gotten too heavy. 

Maybe the quiet, isolated world of my own is just the best place for me to be.

I get embarrassed really easily. Staying in is often best.

When People Talk to Me, I jerk, twitch and spaz, Autism Sucks

One thing that I noticed at the event yesterday was that whenever someone approached and started talking to me, I'd start wringing me hands, jerking back and forth my left arm, clenching and unclenching my fists, all different and uncontrolled manner of movements would take place.

I'm was relative okay and normal looking in appearance and manner until another person, a stranger drew near.

Aspergers and People

I'm not anti-social; my nervous system just goes nuts if anyone else is around.

Angry Aspie Alien

At a Public Event, Being Autistic Sucks

I'm rarely around people, Autistic and not. Today, I sat at a 6 hour event amongst others, half sitting, half walking by.

At first, I kept thinking they were all friends, all relatives or even that they all went to the same church.

They had a familiarity like I picture a large extended family would. But I don't think they were any of those things. They were just not Aspies. They interacted easily with many words, similar questions and in an easy back-and-forth motion. It was truly a bizarre scene to witness for all those hours.

Me, this quiet, nonverbal ogre in the corner could only observe this communicative feast taking place before me, all around me. Cousins greeting cousins, long lost and those from next door exchanging pleasantries, opinions and advice. 

When the few would speak to me, I'd tumble over haphazard words in nonsensical, unrhyming patter. 

Do you know, has this happened to you, whereby someone is speaking to you and you can find no words so they turn and walk away? (Rightly so, mind you) Yeah, this happened to me today. It's like a slap in the face without that knee jerk reaction to duck. No open hand visibly flying towards me, but same effect. 

I do not have the social skills to do simple things like being a vendor at a craft fair. The only thing that kept me from running out the door after Hell's first hour was the resounding thought that I never ever have to do it again, in my lifetime, like neverevermore. The promise made to myself that kept me somewhat sane and able to complete my 6 hour sentence.

I have moments of raging infuriation that my ideas of doing normal things are smashed, deranged and ridiculous And I Do Not Know Those Ideas Are Well Away From My Actual Aspergian Abilities.

I'm mad at the people around me, when I was growing up, telling me I "just wasn't trying hard enough" and castigating me for undiagnosed autism traits.

"You can do anything you set your mind to" is pure non-autistic bullsh*t that I ate for breakfast, lunch and dinner everyday because all my other siblings, all the other kids in my class could all do simple, everyday things that I Could Not Do. I paid a price Every Day because I was undiagnosed, slow, learned differently, excelled in some areas and spectacularly failed in others.

I'm mad. And I'm hurt. And I tried my best. And I spectacularly failed at what an entire room of people could easily do.

Autism Sucks often and hard and don't let anyone, any non-Autistic tell you otherwise.

I don't know how to do this

I can't talk to people

I don't have the ability to engage in simple, everyday conversation.

And the inability to talk gets worse, more difficult, with each day I don't speak. Like falling into the familiar dense, dark hole I was spat out of the earth from.

I ain't right.

The girl ain't right because she can't talk like most.

I don't understand why people talk so much. I don't know or care about the things they talk about. Seems like  nonsense but nonsense they want to say, like common threads that bind them together and leave me, as always, left out.

It hurts worse those times I want in, to their clique, their mass of normality.

Whoever heard of someone, a grown up, who can't even make words and out loud them?

I'm alone. In deafening silence. And I can't talk. Again.

Aspergers and the Difficult Act of Talking

Shutdown is

A shutdown is when my neurochemistry is flooded due to stress or over stimulation. In response, in order to hide and heal, the body falls heavily, irrevocably into deep sleep. My breathing slows down to the point that, even though my eyes are open and I appear present, my body is if asleep.

My appetite and thirst go away. It feels like hibernation or light coma. It's unique. Surreal. And I have absolutely no control over when it will abate and I will be awake, alert and in control of my body, my life, again.

I went to a friend's house for dinner for the first time. New friend. New house. New everything for about two hours.

I came home. Walked the dog. And fell asleep for twenty hours.

That is Autistic Shutdown in a nutshell, at its finest.

Autistic Shutdown or the fear of it occurring, controls my life.

I am Aspie.

Going to the Store & Dealing with the Maddening Crowds

It's Autumn. Autism is high. Hypersensitivity is constantly teetering on overload. Managing functionality by prioritizing what needs to be done and what can wait. That decision aline is stressful.

I found myself shopping at the nearby store amidst a chaotic throng of congested aisles and coughing peoples. The way through the madness was to pretend I was alone. I imagined the others just disappeared.

It was like I put up a 6 inch shield and stepped more inside of myself. The protective, invisible cocoon allowed me to pick up and purchase the necessary items. My imagination felt strong, protective and necessary. Cause I just couldn't deal.

Too many people. Too crowded. Too much.

Done.

Staying indoors or in the wide open out of doors.

Not feeling peopley these days.

Building shields. Staying away.

Letting Go of the Past, Dead People in my Chest

It feels like I've been carrying dead people in my chest.

I grew up with many brothers and sisters. My older brother and I practically raised the younger ones as mom always had her hands full with a baby or two. We fed them, bathed them, babysat, took them out to play or to run errands.

I loved and cared for my siblings very deeply.

Then in my mid 20's I left them all, abandoned and without warning, in order to save myself from my incestuous father.

The hardest part, easily, was leaving my brothers and sisters. By far, the most painful part of my escape.

Approximately ten years later, I would return for brief visits, for funerals mostly, as the grandparents started dying and required ceremony.

And somewhere along the way, or maybe it's always been there, I have harbored a small flicker of flame, a hope that my constant, though submerged and hidden way in the back, love for them would be requited, returned and reunited.

It felt like I was standing in a rainstorm, atop the greatest hill, amidst a lightning storm and praying for a bolt from the blue to strike my perpetually outstretched, pleading hand. The odds of that happening dwindled with each passing year. The yearning for days of old when I loved them and they loved me were completely gone. Rainstorm after rainstorm, year after year, and decade after decade proved, I was completely alone atop the hill.

And I have been faithfully standing there, until now.

It feels like I have been ferociously clinging on to dead people that live in my chest, in the place where all that former love and current hope lived. How can I ever move on if my chest is full of the dead, the gone, the ones who have chosen to move on without me?

Thus, I have made a choice. I'm going to let the dead people, the hopes and the dreams go.

One by one, I have acknowledged the great love I have shared with each sibling. I have expressed my great gratitude for having been a part of their lives for those many years. I have forgiven them for forsaking me as I ask for their forgiveness in abandoning them. I was truly blessed to have loved and been a part of each one of their early lives. It is over now.

They have moved on. And I respect that.

I'm not going to hold onto that hope anymore. It just takes up too much space, space that can better be used for loving and being loved in the present.

I do thank them. I did love them so. I am grateful. 

This sister is moving on. No more dead people in my chest, only life and love.

Mantra Me

Don't we all need a mantra, a prayer, a chant 

Rhythmic patterns of words to calm, soothe 

And be able to always call upon

Even in the deepest of distresses?

I have the catholic prayers of my youth to comfort me, even though I am no longer of that trained faith.

Sporadically, I search for others, more rhythmic, more in line with who I am these days.

Like a lucky coin in pocket

I believe in having a prayer to always count on.

Notes to self

I keep trying the same thing and get the same result, mildly disastrous. Stop it, please.

*

When I was young, I thought the ideal job would be to be able to touch people and heal them. I did that, in a way. I trained as a certified massage therapist and was really good at it until I couldn't work anymore.

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God loves me even if I do not do any work. I have value even without having a job, working on myself, or doing productive chores.

*

There's this thing called Unconditional Love that I seek to find. No strings.

*

I do not understand why people fly kites. Heck, I fail to understand the reason kites exist. 

*

I can't help but wonder if my dad had been better at holding a job if he still would have sold me for money to those men.

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I am grateful for good food that tastes good. 

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I realize the idea of having neurotypical friends is impossible and ridiculous. I have chosen to no longer pursue that option.

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I will slightly be on the lookout for my people, fellow Aspies. I could benefit from having a nother of my kind to interact with sporadically. 

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I had a friend once who knew a lot about Autism. The friendship didn't last but she was a raging alcoholic so I don't take all the blame. I wonder if she ever did decide to address her issues and get help. I think of her now and then and wish her well, even though I will never understand why she left.

*

The only true peace I will ever have, is through living completely alone and mostly isolated. It's not a bad thing. It's not a negative thing. It's the least painful option of existence. Kinda logical.

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I wonder how many Autistics get Burnouts Shutdowns and just think they are being lazy or physically sick.

*

The temperature will take a sudden dramatic turn from 60's to 80's tomorrow. Dress accordingly. 

Autistic Burnout often feels...

Autistic Burnout, wait there's more!

Today's Burnout Symptoms

I can get a good indication of how heavy my daily burnout is by how my feet feel when I first wake up. I can't do a 1 to 10 scale. I can only determine firstly, if my feet hurt, yes or no.

Next question that follows is how far up my foot is the pain. Sometimes if it is only the sole, the bottom part of my foot that hurts, I can be close to huhh functioning with minor modifications. If the pain is in the ankle or above, my activities are much more limited.

This morning my legs hurt heavy clear past my knee. This is the most serious type of indicator. Not only does it hurt but it means I am mostly in bed or on the couch for the day. All activities are restricted to the most basic functional ones of eating and caring for the doggie.

I did take an ibuprofen and an acetaminophen to help combat the pain, the raging pain. Sometime late afternoon, around dinner 6 or 7 pm, I was feeling better and able to empty the dishwasher and take doggie for a very short walk. It was a relief to feel even a little, well, relief.

I had to remind myself not to do much because that part of me that likes a clean kitchen, baking biscuits and doing dishes wanted to do all those things. Had that occurred, I would have had another morning of waking up in heavy leg pain shutdown style.

I made it through the day.

I was able to paint for a total of ten or fifteen minutes. Made it to the kitchen to heat up food 3x which was great. The lessening of the pain and discomfort near evening was such a blessing. It reminds me Burnout does not last forever. It's a lifelong condition, true, but it isn't every day and I can still manage enough functionality to call my life Good.

Always hopeful that I'll wake up tomorrow and be able to go for a short walk or run an errand.

Sleep well

The Battle of the Burnout saga continues

I hate fighting battles that I cannot win, or slow down or subdue even a little. Shutdown Burnouts are like that, formidable enemies which leave me weaponless and run my life.

I hate that too, not having any control over my life and what I choose to do. Shutdown says "you are down for the count; you're only option is rest; stay in bed." And I have no say in the matter.

Part of me thinks Shutdown is like a failsafe, a kill switch, a self-preservation mechanism that forces me to retreat from external stimuli kindof like how your hand feels the heat of an open flame before actually touching it.

Shutdown is an early warning system screaming in muted colors of red and blue, stop, stop, stop, you are doing too much and have hit overload.

It bothers me that I cannot shorten it, mute it, end its mad, unforeseen end. I do not like being prisoner to it.

One difficult challenge is making peace and trying to accept this bothersome thing called Exhaustion, Burnout or Shutdown. Take your pick. They all mean the same thing. Knockout. Down for the count. Unable to physically get up and out of bed. Fatigue beyond belief. Tiredness without sane reason.

It's Autism, baby. Yeah, one of the parts, one if the main players, actually, that few people know about and fewer still understand.

Sigh.

Autistic Burnout, too tired to move

I continue imprisoned by an Autistic Burnout Shutdown, with extreme exhaustion and fatigue.

It's like, my Burnout is a 20 pound brick. If I try to remove it via acupuncture, massage, reiki, supplements, it gets heavier, more solid and stubborn and states even more firmly "I am a brick, unmoving, unyielding. You must rest."

It boggles me that a physiological condition cannot be treated or helped or speeded up or removed.

Rest is the only answer.

It isn't that I don't want to go for a nice leisurely stroll at the park, it's that I physically cannot move that much or that far.

Any physical activity increase the weight and length and breadth of the Shutdown.

The only remedy, really, is prevention, closely monitoring all physical activities. It's like I have to "check in" with my body each morning to try and determine how many steps I will be able to take that day. What's in my fuel tank? How much energy is available to me. Then I have to prioritize the chores and activities.

The biggest, easiest, well it's actually the only indicator I can read, is do my feet hurt? And how far up my lower leg does it hurt? That pain is what tells me whether I should stay in bed or go for a walk. I have no other clear physical clue.

I cannot plan outings or activities, chores or hobbies to engage in each day. I merely have a "suggestion" list prioritized with the things I would like to do. There is no given, no surety.

I live each day on a whim, wondering how far my body can take me. I cannot make set plans. I do the best I can with what I've got.

I'm not lazy, depressed, physically ill or unmotivated.

I am Autistic.

Sometimes my body gets overwhelmed and shuts down.

Right now, I'm a 150 lb brick.

A Documentary about Adults with Aspergers Autism; Too Sane For This World

I watched this movie the other night. I have oppossing viewpoints. 

At first glance, I was thrilled to see a show full of Adult Autistics. They did a good job of representing the whole range of the Spectrum from the "normal" appearing Aspies to the mildly verbal ones. I shared a little commonality with this one and that one, and i thoroughly could relate to the entire film. That is anomalous. 

Usually, I turn on a tv or watch a movie and it is all neurotypical. Here, here was something completely different, a show about others like me. 

Then, about halfway through, tears. I found myself crying. The individuals were describing how they only discovered they were Autistic when a spouse or partner pointed out their odd behaviors.

Aspies cannot self-see that they are Aspies; that they are quite different in a majority of subtle ways. But I saw it. I saw the deficiency. I saw the slow on the uptake, confused lostness, and naivete. I saw the challenges of holding a job, being in a relationship, going to school, and getting through an ordinary day.

It's like people run a marathon, uphill, carrying motorized scooters and not realizing there was an easier way. Not seeing their own struggle. Mistaking it for normal.

I looked it the rare uncovered mirror and I was saddened to my core. If I ever ventured out of my isolated existence, that is how I might appear to others, stupid, slow, with a glaze of perpetual confusion plastered on my face.

I continue to walk around, in the dark, holding a burned out candle and having no clue how to ask for a match.

Grief. I felt grief.

The movie is well done in presenting a wide variety of Autistics in their own words. My feelings are a mixed bag of trash and treasure.

Talking and Public Speaking

I was watching this lecture series on tv. It was unusual in that it was a full 50 minutes of one person speaking the entire time without a break.

Carefully I studied each lecture to see if I could detect breaks wherein the camera stopped, the speaker took a break, and then the filming resumed.

A few of the lectures, I could detect zero breaks which brings me to my query:

Can a person speak, non-stop, for 50 minutes and not be completely and utterly exhausted?

Even at the end of the talk, the speaker did not appear tired. Their speeches did not start to slow down or trail off near the end.

My question:

How????

I am stymied by this. Especially given that, say, a college professor may give more than one lecture in a day. I think about grade and high school teachers who spend the majority of their working day talking, day after day.

Clearly, this is an accomplishable feat, for many people.

Aspie me has difficulty managing a ten-minute conversation. The idea of speaking aloud for an hour perplexes, intruiges, and enrages me.

Why them and not me?

The normal, everyday sundries of verbalizations are like stars dotting the nighttime sky. They exist. They are real but just completely out of my reach. A mystery, yet I marvel at them.

Speaking and Autism are uneasy friends in the world of all things on the spectrum.

This is yet another shining example where the everyday and mundane of the neurotypical, is nothing short of a small miracle fraught with extreme effort for the Autistic.

Incest Happens, Surviving

Where I am, a poem by me

The window is open

I hear a distant river rushing

Outside

The brown-green narrow pathway

Meets tall and short, slender grey woods

Over the silent, soon-to-be stream, now Puddle

Up the hill to flowery, grassy knoll

Abrupt against scrabble, pebbled sidewalk

Curving gently downward, concrete yellow curb

Sharp against angry, blackened, vast asphalt

Stretching curiously into cement topped by beige rectangles stacked two by two

Surrounded by soft meadow housing orchard renegades

Contrasting mightily against the rich green forest wall

Sequestered by spit split rocky boundaries 

Asphalt strip spotted yellow, sandwiched white

Up on which flows the erratically noisy river

Forms of plastic-metal conglomerates careening 

Miles away

Yet visible to my ears

I opened my window

And heard where I am

In space and place

Aspergers, Small Talk and How are You?

Do you think it might be possible, that the reason so many Aspies cringe and dislike the phrase "How are you?" is not necessarily because we do not like small talk but rather we have no idea how to answer because we cannot quantify what it is that we Are feeling?

I continue to hypothesis that one of the greatest challenges of being Aspergian is the inability to find words to express how we feel and think.

Then, in addition, I do have to add that "How are you?" is an open-ended, abstract question in which the Autistic cannot directly ascertain exactly what it is the inquirer is asking about.

Are you asking about my health? How I'm physically feeling today? As opposed to yesterday? Or is it my mental health and emotional wellbeing?

Are you asking because you want an answer? Or is this a platitude like "Hello" or "Have a good day"?

One many occasions it is anticipated that I actually do not answer that specific question, instead I am supposed to "parrot it back" simply repeat the question back to the asker, no response needed on my part. The number of times that this has happened are great.

How are you, the question, it stymies me because I can rarely put words to how I am.

Sand and the Beach

I have strived to avoid sand in all its gravel, grit and ability to sneak into places it should not be for as long as I can remember.  More than one pair of shoes and socks have been lost to the trash after a many fateful encounter at a beach.

I moved to the Pacific Northwest about seven years ago and found myself about an hours drive from the Mighty Pacif. On the dozen various trips to the Ocean, Autistic me ran in to a number of unexpected problems, sand being one of them. (Loud Ocean waves, fear of stinging danger water thingies, and a new terror called "sneaker waves" that can sneak up and steal you stealthily into the sea for drowning are some of the others.)

I would eagerly anticipate a romp at the beach only to get there, be filled with hypervigilance and anxiety, and leave in an uncomfortable, nervous, disappointed mess.

Then, this past Tuesday happened. I've been living a solitary life for about a year now. The kids are grown and away. I had spent 12 of the past 14 days under quarantine, in house, due to hazardous air quality. Tuesday, I decided to take off.

I drove the hour to Newport, a city I had visited probably a couple dozen times. Familiarity breeds less anxiety and more enjoyment so it felt good to go there. I stopped first at the Marina as my primary objective was to see oceanic fishing boats up close. Whilst I was walking the docks and taking pictures of the many vessels, I realized that I had not been to the ocean in months and that it was a very short distance away from my location. I was risking burnout and exhaustion because I hadn't ventured out in so long but i couldn't pass up the opportunity to at least view the Ocean from my car.

I pulled into the Nye Beach parking lot. It's apparently referred to as the "Historic Nye Beach", or so the signage states. (Why? Well, I have no idea but I digress...)

This was a new location for me. My previous beach ventures had been to smaller, out-of-the-way parks, however as I stood downtown I noticed the Yaquina Bridge in the distance. Man, that thing looks high, so high. I could remember if my fear of heights and bridges was a constant or intermittent but it certainly did make me take pause when I saw it. Nye is this side of the bridge so I wouldn't have to wager on panic attack or no panic attack. Nye it was!

It was a long winding path till my feet touched sand. I noticed the young couple that had preceded me had slipped off their shoes. I realized, well, I remembered how much sand in shoes freaks me out so I carefully removed both shoes and socks, managed to actually effectively tie the laces together and swung the shoes over my camera strap. Now, to see what it is like to walk barefoot, on sand.

Gingerly I started to step. I could seeby the darker coloring that some of the top layer was wet while under that the sand was dry. I took step after step noting my direction, toward the water, and being observant to each footfall so that I didn't step on anything sharp or potentially painful. Step by step, I strode.

The entire bottom surface of my feet made contact with layer after layer of wet dry sand. The ground molded around each foot like a slipper that only covered the foot to below the ankle. I could sense the various foot/ankle/lower leg muscles working and straining in new ways, positions they hadn't encountered in hard soled shoe. It was okay, though. Felt different and new but not alarming.

I observed the other humans to determine what was and what was not protocol at the beach since I was such a sand virgin. I wanted to touch the ocean with my feet but I wasn't sure how close I could get to the waves so I watched and made note of the others and their positions.

My theory was to get closer to the water but to make sure others were closer as well as performing this feat with others in the near area lest I run into trouble.

So I did.

It took a couple attempts before both feet became covered in the cool water but it did happen, and I have the photos to prove it.

I walked the beach for about an hour or do marveling at the near invisible horizon line between white water and cloudy sky. I was amazed at the Vast of it all. The infinite toward the horizon and to my right and to my left. The sky was immense and hung High.

I didn't want to leave, but my doggie was at home and needed me.

It was the first time that I ever enjoyed the beach without fear and without concern for sand. My tolerances are probably shifting. The beach was fun. The sand, no problem. 

Clarity

And all of a sudden everything stopped,

 the race was over, 

the war was done,

 the clouds parted 

and she found herself still standing

solid, like steel,

 no longer cheap wooden stilts

All the hassles, appointments, stuff we were working to get through or done on time

Stopped

These moments are so precious

When I can see clearly where I am

Unobstructed 

And I am free to pick and choose a direction 

Instead of it already being decided for me by circumstances, date, obligation or time

Deep breathing

In 

This 

Eye of the Storm place

I know the upcoming storm

Draws near

I know it must pass through me

To finally disperse and no longer harm

I stand

And I am so grateful

For this moment

I put the telescope down to my side

I drop the luggage

And pull out the backpack. 

I take a good long drink

I Am