Neglect and Being a Disappointment

 First, apologies for neglecting my blog.  I've been kind of nuts over my latest Asperger's fueled obsession: C25K.  Trying hard to build up my stamina (and pare down my fat ass) with the goal of eventually running a 5K.  It's exciting and terrifying.  I'm using a very cool iPhone/iPod Touch app that guides you though the program, while letting you make playlists of your own music.  The "coach" gives you cues to walk or run (or in my case, walk slightly faster) and lets you know when you are halfway done.  I think I might be better motivated if the cue was something along the lines of "Oh my god, he's behind you!  And he has a machete!  Run!"


I have had a few mornings where I've gotten up at 5AM to walk, which I never expected to like.  I am not a morning person.  Surprise, surprise...I loved it.  There is no one up and about in my neighborhood at that time of day.  It's like I own the morning.  I don't have to look strangers in the eye and give them a polite greeting.  I don't have to feel self-conscious about the way I look.  I don't have to deal with any external stimuli, except for the weather and the bugs.  Starting my day like that helps me find my anchoring point for the day.  I can go to work after that and feel ten times more focused and calm.  Sure, it means going to bed at 9PM, but it's worth it to me.  That time of day is Aspie heaven.

Now to the main event -- being a disappointment.  I have said for years that I am the family screw up.  Though I have been told by my family that this is not the case, I disagree.  My mother and sister are responsible adults who get things done, while I struggle to keep my priorities in order.  Give me a task and I will probably fuck it up in some way, even with written instructions.  While it's a relief to know that my screwed up way of doing things is Asperger's related, it is important to add that I do not think I deserve a free pass.  Asperger's is an explanation, not an excuse.

In Kindergarten, I forged my mother's signature to try to get out of doing assignments.  A little older, I decided I couldn't eat bologna sandwiches anymore.  So I hid them in my closet.

When I took Home Ec, we had an assignment to cook a meal for our families.  Recipe and ingredients in hand, I set about making one of my favorite dishes.  I missed a step and everyone ended up eating bone dry chicken casserole.  It's become a running joke what a horrible child I was, but I'm no better as an adult.

When I was (and I've never told anyone about this) about 20, I got pulled over for a burnt out headlight.  It's a gimme ticket.  You get the light fixed, you go to the courthouse, you show them it's fixed and you pay a $4.00 fine.  What did I do?  I got the headlight fixed, forgot about the courthouse, went on my merry way and got a notice in the mail some months later that my driver's license had been suspended.

I won't go into detail about my latest screw up.  Suffice it to say that I, once again, incorrectly perceived a task as "not a big deal" when, in fact, it is a very big deal.  I had already settled on a date to take care of it, but that is beside the point because it's something I should have done two years ago.  No question of guilt, no excuses, just me screwing up.  Again.

I'm responsible for paying the utility bills where I live and the power has been shut off three times.  Granted, not within the last three years, but it was my responsibility and I failed.

I spent the afternoon yesterday in some pretty intense mental self-flagellation.  I am a disappointment.  Maybe not to anyone else, but to me.  I hate that I do this stuff and I hate that I never seem to learn.  More importantly, I usually make it worse by saying the absolute wrong thing when trying to apologize.  It seems so simple.  Receive a task, do it, move on.  It should be easy.  In a world of amazing technological advancements, most of the things I screw up are completely inexcusable.  All I can do is try harder.  I don't want to be the family screw up anymore.

On Weight and Fear of Intimacy

Now this is the kind of marriage that would work or me.

This might be the hardest thing for me to write because it is full of thoughts that I don’t like to admit exist. The subject came up in therapy last week when we finally connected my binge disorder to my Asperger’s. Deep down, I’ve always known that my binging was about padding myself with fat to keep people away. I just never knew why.

My nature is to be attracted to men who I know, at least on a subconscious level, will never want me. Either they’re gay or in a serious relationship or maybe I’m just not their type – ultimately, I know nothing will ever come of it. I don’t make friends easily. I don’t like small talk. Actually, I loathe small talk. I simply don’t do well with people.

As with many visible disabilities, obesity has the effect of causing people to look away because they don’t want to stare. It works for me, because it means I don’t have to engage with people. If they won’t look at me, I don’t have to make eye contact. If they won’t get close, I never have to worry about them touching me.

I know there are a lot of Aspies who are happy to be single for their whole lives. I am not one of them. I don’t want to be alone. I like men. Quite a bit, actually. I just don’t know how to properly interact with them. My physical encounters have been rare and incredibly awkward. My last actual “date” was over a decade ago and a complete disaster.

The fact is, I’m totally fucking terrified of relationships. I know what I want. At least, I think I know what I want. I just haven’t a clue how to get it. The perfect marriage for me (or long term relationship, since I’m not sure I’m the marrying kind) is one where we live in a duplex, so I have my own bedroom, bathroom, living room and kitchen (or at least where we have separate bedrooms and bathrooms) and we only get together every other day or so. Yeah, good luck finding a relationship like that.

The very idea of dating makes no sense to me and the awkwardness of it all makes it doubly confusing to my Aspie brain. I know I’m a long way from being ready to date. I have a lot of work to do in the meantime. I have to learn to accept myself as I am before I can expect anyone else to do the same. In the meantime, the fat suit has got to go. Sure, I’ve got a shit ton of weight to lose, but I also have a lot of emotional baggage to shed at the same time. Oh, goody. More therapy.