Pain and Unwinnable Battles

There are so many kinds of pain.  There’s physical pain, emotional pain, pain that comes from love and loss and dreams that were never meant to be.  There are broken bones, broken hearts, broken promises…there’s pain you think you’ll never forget and pain that never goes away and pain that you wonder where it came from in the first place.

The bully who tormented me in Junior high.  The busted knee from slipping on a wet bridge.  The stupid break-up that seemed like the world was ending.  The time I face-planted into a marble windowsill.  The day I realized the man I loved would never love me.  The pain of an auto-immune disease that may eventually cripple me and will almost definitely kill me by age 60.  The days I found out my friends had died.  The broken finger and broken toes I got being stupid.  The friendship destroyed over rumors.

And now there’s this new pain.  Not new, exactly.  It’s always been there.  That feeling, knowing I’ll never be the person I dreamed of becoming.  That I’ll never fit in.  That parties and crowds will always make me miserable.  That I’m still single because I don’t know how to act with people.  That I’m forgettable because I hide in the shadows.

It’s not really new.  It just has a name.  I thought being able to call it what it is would make things better.  In some ways it has.  Many people are more gentle with me and understanding about my social fears.  I can’t say enough how grateful I am for them.  Some just ignore it and continue giving me a hard time about not being social enough.  I can handle that.  What I can’t take is being called a liar.

Once upon a time, I told my father I thought I had an eating disorder.  He proceeded to tell me I was making it all up to add drama to my life.  Years later, diagnosis in hand, I still feel those words like a punch in the gut.  Here I am again, Asperger’s diagnosis in hand, and I’m still being called a liar.  Not by my father this time…we don’t talk anymore, thank God.  This time it’s a co-worker.  I shouldn't care, but I do.

I know I don’t fit in at work.  I don’t fit in anywhere.  I expect to be on the edge of things and it’s worse at work because I’m the only woman in an industry that seems to live by the “You don’t have a penis so you must be an idiot” philosophy.  I take a lot of disrespect.  I suck it up and deal with it.

So here I go again, pounding my head against the wall.  One of the only people I thought I could talk to made me feel so small.  It came out of left field and it hurt.  He made a crack about how I don’t come out of my office.  I laughed it off.  No, I don’t come out of my office.  I’ve explained to him before why I stay in there and I thought he understood.  I was wrong.

He wouldn‘t even let me defend myself.  Every time I opened my mouth to speak, he cut me off.  “Why are you always in there with your door closed?” turned into, “You’re stuck up,” and “You’re just making excuses,” and “You could be social if you really wanted to.”  I gave up and left.  I don’t have it in me to keep fighting battles I can’t win.

3...2...1...Meltdown...

Let's do a little math exercise:


Sinuses full of gunk.
+
Door with "Keep Door Closed" sign propped open.
+
Indoor humidity (thanks to open door) leaving everything damp and sticky.
+
Rude person on the other end of the phone.
+
Loud male coworker singing Katy Perry's "Firework" at the top of his lungs.
+
Filthy work gloves on the floor, indicating that a man has been using the LADIES room.
+
Fruit flies buzzing around...that open door again.
+
Heavy equipment being used outside that is making the walls shake.
+
Less than restful sleep last night.
=
Meltdown imminent. 

I advise everyone to take cover.

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.

Sensory Deja Vu

I’ve spent a lot of time lately thinking about all the negative ways being hypersensitive to sounds, sights, textures, tastes and smells affect me. That really isn’t fair. There are so many good things I can associate with my senses that haven’t been getting enough attention lately.

Smells, especially, have such a powerful ability to awake emotions and memories in me. The smell of donuts and coffee reminds me of the Sunday morning drive to church. Roasted turkey legs (the big ass ones they sell at theme parks) remind me of my first Halloween Horror Nights when I worked at Universal. Cool Water cologne reminds me of my show choir days in high school. Sheep shit (yes, I said sheep shit – it smells like old cheese) reminds me of climbing all over castle ruins in Wales. There’s a certain brand of hairspray that reminds me of being in Rome. Orange blossoms make me feel relaxed. Jasmine makes me feel flirty. Amarige by Givenchy makes me feel more attractive. Vanilla makes me feel content.

It’s the same with all my senses. Hearing a certain song can instantly transport me to a particular place and time in my life, down to a specific moment. Live For Loving You by Gloria Estefan takes me back to standing in line for the ferry at the Magic Kingdom my Junior year of high school. Lean On Me takes me to a lipsync contest at church camp. Lady Marmalade reminds me of driving my first car, listening to a mix tape my best friend made me when I moved away.

I hate that there are things that can attack my senses and send me into a tailspin, but I refuse to see my sensitivity to them as a curse. If not for my amped up senses, I wouldn’t have the powerful connection I have with the good feelings and memories that they can provide. You have to take the bad with the good.

Now pardon me while I crank up some Oingo Boingo and duct tape this scented candle to my face.

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.

Stimming

Yes, I stim. I can do it very subtly when I am around others, because I know it can freak people out. When I am alone, it’s a different story. I rock, I flick, I tap. I’m actually rocking as I type this. To neurotypical people, this is “weird”. I don’t particularly give a damn.

The world is an overwhelming place for an Aspie and stimming provides some relief. I rock myself to sleep at night because it helps my brain to straighten out some of the jumbled thoughts in my head. It feels good, even if it is “weird”.

I can’t just sit and watch TV. Either I’m tapping or flicking or I’m using a computer game to help me stay in the moment. It gives me a chance to spend some time with my roommates, while still doing what I need to quiet my brain.

So if you see me on an imaginary rocking horse, don’t be weirded out. Just be glad you have a friend who literally rocks.

Understanding Why I've Never Understood the Things I Don't Understand

Since my diagnosis, I sometimes feel like Alice after falling down the rabbit hole. The world around me looks so different. It is all too big, too loud, too bright, too everything. I’m chasing my own white rabbit, knowledge about living with Asperger’s, while seeking guidance from my therapist, the caterpillar. My fellow Aspies, diagnosed much earlier than I, are happily enjoying their tea party, content in the ways that they differ from the rest of the world. At the same time, I fear society, or the Queen of Hearts and her court, judging my differences and declaring that it must be off with my head. Like Alice and the “Eat Me”/“Drink Me” potions, I am constantly adjusting to fit my new world, not knowing what the end result will be or if I will find myself “going out altogether, like a candle.”

There are so many things I’ve never understood. What’s more, I’ve never understood exactly why I don’t understand. At least now I’m gaining some understanding about my lack of understanding. Things are very black and white for me, very logical. If you and I have a misunderstanding that leads to an argument, I feel like we should explain our positions, clear up the misunderstanding and end the argument. I don’t understand the need to keep talking about how we felt because we’ve already established that it was all just an error in communication. If I see a clear solution to a problem you have, I want you to take action and solve it, not talk about how the problem makes you feel.

This is not to say I am incapable of empathy. On the contrary, I feel enormous empathy. Perhaps too much, on occasion. My problem comes in expressing it. If you are hurting and there is no clear way to fix it, then I hurt for you. I just don’t have the capacity to give voice to that feeling. I have learned to say, “I’m sorry you’re hurting and I wish I knew how to help.” but that is rarely enough to make the point that I really, truly do care about what you’re going through.

I know I’m not the only one making adjustments and learning new things. I am accepting that this is permanent, because it is who I am. I am the Mad Aspie. Pass the hookah and pour me a cup of tea. I’m not leaving Wonderland.