525,600 Minutes.

I know I'm a little late with this but, it's January. The year 2014. Happy New Year. I feel like I skipped right over the "changing of the year", and I guess I did. It feels weird because it's supposed to be a big deal or something, but I guess it's not really a big deal at all. What is a big deal is that a whole year has passed in what feels like a blink of an eye. How does that happen?

It was a year ago, almost exactly, that I brought up the subject of Jack and Aspergers, (for the third time in his life). It was a year ago that I set out to read everything I could get my hands on to educate myself on the condition. To date I've read at least 20 books, countless blogs,  watched movies, documentaries, TED talks, and set up camp at YouTube. I even branched off, learning more about Introverts, gifted children, and the HSP.  I'd say I covered my bases.  And it was nearly a year ago that I stumbled upon what seemed like a tribe of women who's experiences and difficulties were mirror images of my own. Many of whom had children with Asperger Syndrome and later received the diagnosis themselves. This discovery sent me off on another quest for information and I suppose you could say it became a special interest. 

It's been a long, and mostly solitary, journey.  A journey that initially started out of worry and fear, but eventually evolved into a journey of self discovery, self-acceptance, and self regulation. The journey is far from over, but I can say with certainty that I no longer feel the same sense of dread that I did a year ago.  I still fear some things, but I'm no longer afraid  for my child.  I'm no longer afraid that he may have Aspergers. I've gained a much better understanding of him and myself, and while I know that he will struggle, I know that he will be okay too. I haven't said too much here about Jack's father, but if I had any money at all I would wager it all that he, himself, is also an Aspie. I have no doubts. In fact, I believe that was what initially attracted me to him in the first place. I had an overwhelming feeling that I had  "found my people." Even years before we got together, I remember his then girlfriend telling me, "he's just like you. he's like the male version of you". And it was true in many ways. Not all, but many. It wasn't enough, obviously, to sustain a relationship, but even now, I know he "gets it", when so many other people don't. In spite of all of this knowing, none of us has received a formal diagnosis at this point. My doctor, through my own therapy and the information I've shared about Jack, has taken to referring to us as neurodiverse.  (You can read John Elder Robinson's take on Neurodiversity here.) That's as formal as we've gotten, and so long as there are no major problems or services needed, that may be as formal as we get. Time will tell. I've gotten more comfortable with ignoring the "early diagnosis is crucial" cries from the Medical Profession. Throughout this process I've found more helpful advice from Autistic individuals themselves than I did from any Medical Professional that does not have Autism. And lets face it, it's too late for an early diagnosis. It's too late for the no eye contact, flappy, toe walking diagnosis. That stuff doesn't happen anymore. Not often anyway so they would never be able to see it. 

So where do we go from here? I don't know. I guess we keep learning, keep discovering, keep accepting and most importantly we keep self regulating. We treat the comorbid symptoms. Primarily the anxiety, OCD tendencies, and rigid thinking. While I'm still having some difficulty with all of those things, my son, is learning quickly, but then again, he's not an Old Dog like me.  

I feel good about where he is today versus where he was a year ago. I find it funny sometimes when someone makes a comment about his behavior, like..."is that healthy for him to spend so much time doing that?"  I know it's usually out of concern, but what's funny is it's always from the same people that don't really accept Aspergers as the reasoning behind it. It reminds me of when I was a child and I would hear... there's nothing wrong with her...along with the conflicting...that's not normal. People are funny. And sometimes infuriating. 

So, a year after this blog post , what is Jack like today?

Jack...

Is obsessed with LEGO'S and is determined to become a Lego Designer.

Is more adventurous with trying new foods, but will latch onto a certain food for weeks. Occasionally he will drop a food from his diet and not want it again. Ever.

I don't see much toe walking but have noticed the flapping returns sometimes. 

Still a nail peeler, but has started using a stress ball, especially when angry.

Still constantly singing and humming movie theme songs or T.V. jingles or making sound effects. Constantly. Did I mention it was Constantly? He also nails the tune.

When he draws it's not just one picture...he goes through 10 or more pages making one after the other. He also draws with detail and perspective.

Still prefers video games and electronics and Lego's to playing outside or with other people. At nine he still does not know how to ride a bike and has no interest in learning.

If he's not playing a video game he has Lego's in hands (constantly) making sound effects. 

Doesn't like to have to go anywhere. Would rather stay home. Doesn't like his routine interrupted, but can sometimes deal with it without tears.

Rarely has to be disciplined. Once he knows the rules he sticks to them and would like for everyone else to as well.

Is heartbroken if he does happen to do something wrong.

Has minimal anxiety about going to school. Usually only on Mondays or after a vacation. (routine interuptus) The rest of the week, though, he dives into his routine and has been all smiles. He sets his alarm for 5:30am so he does not have to rush and has time to play in the morning. He has also become a multi-tasker by using his bus ride to do homework. These are things he's initiated on his own with no help from me.

He still would like things to be perfect but, is more accepting of making mistakes than he ever was. Only breaks down occasionally.

Seems to have a lot of empathy/sympathy and cries easily over real or imaginary sadness

Has developed an obsession with watching YouTube videos. Mostly of other people playing video games. He will also watch Sponge Bob in Spanish.

Is very honest! Loves animals.

Quotes lines from movies or shows while playing.

Has taken to info-dumping, which basically means, when allowed, he will talk non-stop to me about a favorite subject, video game, Lego's or a world in his head. He could do this for an hour straight if I don't stop him.

Can be very literal and often looks to me for clarification. (was he joking?) He has learned to DO some sarcasm, but still doesn't know what it is. :)

Has started requiring alone time.

Has strabismus...little to no depth perception and is color blind.

Expresses his love for his immediate family often and easily.

Enjoys other children, laughs, is silly, but will often just watch them play and only engage in his own personal interests. Needs down time after playing with other kids for long periods of time. He's also starting to collect, and become more possessive with his "things."

Doesn't like sports. Doesn't want to be blamed for doing something wrong. Is only competitive against himself.

Will now only wear comfy pants. No jeans. No buttons. No zippers. Would stay in PJ's forever. :)

And there you have it. There is a lot that hasn't changed and some new behaviors that might be considered obsessive, especially by people with no attention span...but...and this is the most important part...if you read the previous list from last year, the changes that have occurred are all positive. Reduced Anxiety. Self-discovery. Self-acceptance. Self-regulation. 

Diagnosis or not, it's working. 

Hope, who would have appreciated more support when she started this journey, but knows now that she really didn't need it. Trust your instincts.

. 

99 Problems...#3...Social Interaction

After the Holiday madness festivities, I felt this was a fitting third problem. I know there has been a rather long gap, but rest assured, I have not run out of problems. I'm pretty sure I never will. 

This particular problem has been life long for me. If you're at all introverted you probably have it as well. It's not that I don't like social interaction per se. Sometimes I really do.  Sometimes I even look forward to it. Sometimes I even *gasp* enjoy it!  But I have rules. Not rules that are written out on a blackboard for all the world to see, but internal rules that I have to live by to maintain a psychological, emotional, and physical balance. If the rules are broken, I am broken as well. There is no "getting used to it". There is no adapting. There is no learning to like it, and certainly no "going with the flow". I've tried. Believe me, I. Have. Tried. But even as far back as I can remember, I had rules. I may not have known why back then. I may not have realized that in following them I was maintaining a balance, but I was. It was almost instinctual. A survival mechanism. It's only during the last year or so of connecting the dots, that I was able to...connect the dots. I am now fully aware of why I need this structure and I'm also fully aware of what happens when I don't get it. 

So, what are my rules of social interaction?

First and foremost, it has to be a PLAN. I have to know in advance that it is coming and I have to ready myself for it. I have to prepare, maybe even rehearse. I have to run scenarios through my head and figure out the solutions to said scenarios IN ADVANCE, just in case, you know, they happen. Spur of the moment, last minute social interaction is one of the most anxiety inducing experiences of my life. I don't like it. I don't see that changing. Randomly running into people is a nightmare. If I see you, but you don't see me, I'm going to duck down that other aisle and hide.

Second, I have to STICK to the PLAN. Change is bad. Change is bad. Change is bad. Can I rationalize the fact that Change isn't really all bad? Sure. Can I make myself believe it down to my core? No. I can not. For me, even changes need to be PLANNED, prepared for, rehearsed. This is why I can and have made some rather BIG changes in my life. Changes that left people shaking their heads in disbelief. But I planned for it. Probably for years. And I controlled it. So...yeah. If there is a plan, lets just go on and follow through with it, shall we?

Third, I have to space it out. Too much in a short period of time will cause me to feel overwhelmed, emotionally melt down, and leave me unable to even identify my own feelings. Instead of being able to step back and say, I'm overwhelmed, I'm tired, I'm confused...I end up with only one dominant thought/feeling/emotion, or whatever it is, and that is..."I  hate everyone." I don't have an answer to why this happens and why that is my default, but it is and well, that just turns me into a Bitch. Space it out. No two days in a row. This also applied to the younger bar hopping years. 

Fourth, I need my recovery time, or "breaks". While spacing out the social interaction, the time in between has to be what I consider recharging. For me, that means a quiet external world and a good amount of alone time. This, I've come to realize, is one of the MOST important things I need in my life. Even if the "social interaction" only involves an hour visit with a friend. I'm still working on fitting this step into my life and not feeling bad about it. For years I would omit it because it felt selfish, or other people would say it's "unhealthy" to spend too much time alone. It felt like wanting it or needing it was somehow wrong. Like I was somehow wrong. Then I had a child and well, we all know how much alone time that allows for. But now, finally, I'm ready to take it back on the premise that EVERYONE, no just myself, will benefit from it. If I'm balanced, trust me, I will be so much more pleasant to be around. 

And there you have it. A complete over analyzing of One simple problem. There is also a fifth unofficial rule, but listing it would make me feel like an alcoholic....

Needless to say, our recent Holiday craziness left little room for all the rules in my head. I tried to keep a balance and I did make my own plans that included parties and recovery time. But last minute changes and a last minute party threw me into a panic. I'm still not over it.  Basically I just had to get through it, which sucks because I really wanted to be able to enjoy it. I'm on my way back to balance now. I'll be getting back my alone time next week, but seriously sometimes it gets bad. I don't think the average person would understand exactly how bad. If I get too overwhelmed and too knocked off my axis I start questioning everything. I question the existence of other people in my life. I question whether its worth it. I'm sure that seems extreme to anyone that doesn't live in my head, but again, it's a survival mechanism. It just kicks in when needed. 

I'm not sure if there is a solution to this problem, but I do think I can manage it in a way that keeps me balanced and keeps the people in my life out of the line of fire. It will, however, involve me saying no, when I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that whatever it is...it is too much. It's a new year. It's worth a try.

Hope, who wishes you all, all the wishes you wish. Have a happy 2014, or at the very least a manageable one.

99 Problems - Number Two

This is definitely a problem for me. Approaching a subject, whether it is because I feel hurt, ignored, mad, taken advantage of, used, dismissed, sad or whatever emotion may happen to be the result of another action. Before I approach the subject I experience an intense feeling of fear. I'm not sure why, except that maybe past experience has proven to me that sharing my feelings is wrong. I tend to latch on to a first experience and will assume that all experiences will be the same. While I know intellectually this isn't necessarily true, again, experience keeps proving to me, that yes, most times this is true.

I can rarely express any emotion that isn't positive without tears or without anger. And often times the tears are when I am angry, and the anger is when I am hurt. What normally happens if I have a problem I want to discuss with someone or if I feel like there is something that needs to get out in the open, I will be filled with fear. Fear of rejection, fear of indifference, fear of attack, fear of yelling, fear of dismissal, and fear of the ever famous eye roll. That fear then turns into anxiety, as most difficult emotions do when you are not allowed to release them. The anxiety turns to panic and before you know it I'm sick. Physically sick and taking medication to try to control this tornado inside of me. The problem is I don't want it to be this way, and as much as I don't believe anything in this life, I somehow manage to muster up a tiny bit of hope. Hope that it doesn't have to be this way. Hope that I can be brave and voice my feelings and they might be heard. They might be understood.

So, I do. Not even midway through I start to see all my initial fears becoming realities, which reaffirms that I shouldn't share my feelings with anyone. Midway through I start to absorb the emotions of the other person. The anger. The denial. The yelling. That I'm not cut out for the type of communication where people aren't allowed to communicate. I'm not cut for the type of communication where you can't actually say what you feel, without being condemned.

In the end, I do what I always do. I write and turn in all inward. Each time it chips away at my connection with other people. It validates my mistrust. And it sets me apart in a way, that getting back ends up being a long, hard, painful journey. One that I start to doubt is even worth the trip anymore.

Simple? Nothing is simple.

In unrelated, but somewhat related news, I took a step today. I finally responded to my mother's email. After the last two months of letting it eat me alive, this morning something happened that made me realize when you have nothing, you have nothing to lose. When you have nothing to lose, what's left to fear?

It was fairly short and straight to the point. I stressed why I hadn't contacted her, what I thought of her actions and behavior and I also expressed that I was not expecting her approval or understanding. That these were simply my feelings and why I have been avoiding contact.

I'm not sure what will happen next. I'm not sure I even care what happens next.

Hope, who only has 97 problems to go...

99 Problems-Number One. Don't touch my shit.

Big problem. Huge. Huge Problem.

I have a friend on Facebook who's been posting these "Problems of an Aspie" for a while now and given the "lens" I see through they all ring true for me. I usually laugh when I read them because they are so familiar, but immediately after I laugh I feel a twinge (sometimes an intense twinge) of anxiety that each of these problems create. I thought it would be interesting, fun, a little scary and possibly therapeutic to elaborate a little more on each one and how it effects me personally. 

Problem #1. Other People touching my stuff. 

I hate this. I've always hated this. Even when I was child.  I knew I had to share my toys with my cousins, and being the agreeable, soft spoken little girl who never wanted to do anything wrong, I did. Still, I hated it, and god forbid  something ever got broken. There were inconsolable tears. It was the end of the world. The voice in my head would keep repeating, "I knew I shouldn't have let them play with it", over and over and over again. No one was responsible. No one was careful.  Honestly it was torture. I see these same tendencies in my son. He shares because he has to, but if it's something very important to him, he's started "hiding" those toys or objects so no one can get to them. 

I still have this problem as an adult. Luckily I don't have to share too much anymore, but even when my own child uses my iPad, I feel it. The anxiety. If he should happen to leave it on the floor that voice starts in again. It's automatic. It's involuntary. It just is. I simply don't like it. If I'm working on painting a doll, many times someone will come over to look at it (which I also hate, but working in the dining room leaves me little choice) and they will pick it up. Pick. It. Up. And I think...who does that!?  Who just puts their hands all over someones work?  I've voiced my discomfort with it a few times, but usually it comes out as "please don't touch that...or please don't ruin it."  I end up seeming like a crazy person who is extremely over protective of her vinyl heads. And I guess, in a way, I am. What I would like is for people to respect that and just know that they aren't supposed to touch my work. Ever. It won't hurt them at all not to touch something that doesn't belong to them. And for me, it would eliminate a tremendous amount of anxiety and an overwhelming feeling of invasion. Its almost as if a complete stranger has just touched me. Without asking and without warning. To sum it up, it just plain sucks. 

Just this afternoon I had to attempt to reel in my reaction to another incident. I say incident because to me that is what it was. To my BF, it was probably nothing. I also say "attempt" because I'm sure I wasn't completely successful. The back story is I had blood drawn this morning, which turned out to be difficult because I'm dehydrated. I have been on and off for the past month and I'm trying to fix it. Water alone isn't doing the trick so I got Gatorade purposely on my way home. The back even further story is I do this often, BECAUSE I know I'm dehydrated and more times than not my BF takes it, drinks it, or gives it to his son before Hockey. To give him credit he usually does ask first, and because, in many ways, I'm still the agreeable, soft spoken little girl, I say Ok. But it is torture. Today, I couldn't say Ok. I said something like, "I bought that purposely because I'm dehydrated. I don't mean to be a bitch, but..." I think he said something like...Ok...it's no big deal, relax. And most likely for him it is no big deal.  For me, however, it results in a full-on, internal Aspie Rant. 

You can't keep taking my Gatorade. I keep buying Gatorade and you keep taking my Gatorade. I take the time to plan and go to the store and buy what I need and you can't just take it because you don't want to take the time and plan and go the store. If you want Gatorade then say you want Gatorade when I ask you what you want at the store. Or leave early so you can stop and get your own Gatorade. If you buy something that you need I don't take it. I would never think to take it. And I hate it when you drink my water. 

Yeah. This is what happens. Luckily, it mostly remains internal, because, really, who would understand this? I sound like a crazy person going on and on about fucking Gatorade. It takes a tremendous amount of energy and restraint to keep these kind of thoughts from spilling from my lips. But unfortunately, the fact that I can't just let this out, is what makes the anxiety worse. I have to suppress my Sheldon Cooper like tendencies, because in real life, it's just not funny.  There is no laugh track. This type of ranting and raving will get me nothing but a diagnosis of certifiable. 

How to solve Problem Number One: Stop touching my shit. 

Hope, who lives in a place where nothing is simple. 

One tiny step for me. Mankind won't even notice.

Bonjour, mon petit poissons!  As you can tell, High School French didn't take me too far.

I am finally on the mend physically, I think. I'm finding some wood to knock on as we speak. After my first bout of sickness, I dove straight into a second, which has lasted much longer. If there was ever an argument against getting a flu shot, I would be it. I still have a little ways to go to be back to "normal" but the coughing has subsided and I'm sleeping. Can't really complain about that. Friday will tell if I'm in need of something stronger than just time to heal my raw and tired lungs. 

On the mental front, I'm still far from being mended. My stress level rises and falls with the tide it seems, but I'm sure it's because the situation with my parents is still unresolved and I still have no desire to think about it, let alone take action. 

Today, in therapy, we finally discussed another topic that has consumed my thoughts over most of this year, and has also seemed somewhat unresolved. Up until this point we have focused mostly on the anxiety and what causes it and what revolves around it and how to deal with it. Today, we finally talked about Asperger Syndrome. I've gotten to the point where I do feel a certain level of trust with my doctor and I value his opinion as a professional as well as a person. When he thinks something is bullshit, he's not afraid to say it. 

The subject was brought up originally in relation to Jack, because although he is doing much better this year at school and in life in general, than he was when we made and chickened out of the appointment with New England Mental Health, there is always something. That little something, in what he does, or what he says, or in what upsets him...that always brings it back to forefront. Not necessarily negative things. Just things that bring it all back and leave me questioning if I really am doing the right thing, by essentially, doing nothing. This weighs on me heavily, and I'm sure adds an invisible layer of stress and anxiety even when I'm not fully aware of it. Mostly I just needed an opinion. A professional opinion for once, to help me with the constant internal debate of " to diagnose or not to diagnose."  What I got was some long awaited peace of mind. 

Although, the discussion began with Jack, I could see the pieces of the puzzle falling together for him, almost the same as they had done for me months ago. To be honest, that didn't surprise me. What did surprise me, was his negative opinion of places like New England Mental Health, that focus their whole evaluation on deficits and problems and looking for what is "wrong".  This was one of the main reasons we backed out of the eval in the first place. I couldn't stand the thought of putting my child through that and somehow making him think there was something "wrong" with him. It really helped me to feel better about the decision to forgo the appt. Up until now I've felt like we just kind of "dropped the ball" and maybe did the wrong thing out of fear. After today, I don't feel that way anymore. I feel like we went with our "gut" and we made the best choice at that time. 

After giving him some of the background information as to why I've suspected it on and off since he was two, we talked more about how and when and if to make the decision to diagnose. What are the negative aspects? What are the benefits? Is it the end of the world if I don't pursue it for him now? I can't say I walked away from today's appointment with any information that I didn't already have, but I can say I walked away feeling much more confident in my instincts and my gut feelings. I walked away with a much lighter cloud hanging over my head.

My doctor did say, as I've already figured out myself, that one of the benefits of having a diagnosis is gaining knowledge to help you understand yourself better, and to help others understand you. To which he added, "But YOU already see things through that lens. You are helping him understand himself better than any team of therapists." And there it was. That was my answer. And that was my permission. My permission to stop doubting myself, and to keep on keeping on.

Hope, who feels validated and much less like a Crazy Muthah, after all. 

One week later.

Today my doctor suggested I write. I haven't told him that I have a blog. Still, I figured I'd take his advice. He seems pretty smart and has an almost contagious bubble of "calm" around him. I'm envious of it. I long for it. I want to ask him if he's always been that way, or if he learned to become that way. I don't though because we're there to talk about me, not him.

In the past week I've managed to become broke ( again ), and sick. Both of which suck and don't get me any closer to a bubble of calm. I had a physical on Monday and my doctor ordered a (shit) load of blood work. Of course, I immediately got sick walking out of the office, so I still have that part to look forward to. Needles. They aren't my favorite. I could never be the kind of drug addict that shoots crap into their veins. I guess that's a good thing. 

She also increased my dose of Celexa. The Celexa I haven't been taking. So now I have to decide if I'm going back on it or not. On Monday I was sure I should. Now it's Friday and I'm not sure of anything. Typical. 

I still have done nothing in reference to my mother. It feels like its lingering, and yet when I start to think of how to proceed I get overwhelmed with thoughts and anger, so I shelf it. The problem is that if I don't address it soon, I never will. I will place it neatly in that box full of people, places, and things that I have, in a sense, turned my back on. Once it's in the box, that's pretty much it. No taking it back out. No do overs. So, soon, just not right now. 

My sixth sense seems to be kicking in and telling me something is wrong. I used to refer to this as a "shift". Something has shifted. Something is different. Something has changed. Only, I don't know what. Unfortunately that does little to stop the chaos it's creating within my nervous system. I suppose a normal person might say I'm just crazy, and they might be right, only not about this. I know this feeling well and it never fails to follow through. 

And lastly, because I'm such a Debbie Downer, ( I blame the sickness, pms, and the fact that I am most likely crazy) some good news: I joined Netflix. It is the most fabulous thing I've done in, well, forever. I know it sounds rather unimportant and I'm light years behind the rest of the world,as usual, but this was life changing. I spend most of my day, sitting and painting. Mindlessly painting. Which leaves my mind free to wander into very dangerous places, because it can't just sit there and relax. It needs to be busy. Always busy. And Netflix...is keeping it busy, and filling it up. Sure, some of it is garbage, but I love it. Movies are second only to Books, in my life. 

And in even better news, ( I guess this is really lastly now) despite my own recent crash and burn, my son is doing amazing! We had zero school anxiety all week. He's had a few hiccups but has been able to work them out on his own and has actually shown excitement about going to school. He's still being his perfectionist/ocd little self and insists he needs a new binder because all of his three rings don't line up perfectly, but so long as he's insisting it with a smile on his face, I'm happy. We also got his MCAS scores back from last year and he scored Advanced in Mathematics. Very proud. (He is, however, driving me nuts right now because he's monologing about some Star Wars lego game he is playing.) 

And that, as they say, is that. Until next time...

Post-Apocalypse

I'm just recently (as in an hour or so ago) recovering from a complete meltdown of sorts. Full on panic, dread, doom, numbness, dizziness, shortness of breath, tears, and the feeling of wanting to be out of my own skin. It's a feeling that is so hard to describe, so that anyone who has never experienced it, could actually get an idea as to what it is like. Saying it is awful isn't enough. Saying you start bargaining immediately to make it go away isn't enough. I will quit smoking. I will take better care of myself. I'll go back on Celexa. I'll do yoga. I'll meditate. I usually wind up being mad at myself. Angry that my brain is in control. Angry that I can't control my brain. Long story short. I took an Ativan and a long hot shower and it has subsided. Just like that. As quickly as it came. This particular attack wasn't unexpected. I'd been waiting for it. I knew it was coming and as I sit here now, feeling somewhat okay, I know there will be more.

The latest and the greatest in the Parental visit saga is that they are safe and sound now back in Las Vegas. As it should be. The whole two weeks was emotionally draining and extremely nerve wracking, and the night before they were leaving the Time Bomb that is mother went off. Boom. If you knew my mother you would know a few very basic things about her. You would know that she is loud. Not only loud but abrasive. Like an S.O.S. pad only less soapy. She talks a lot. She's a bit selfish and only knows how to "give" by using money. She is bossy and she contradicts herself constantly. Sometimes within minutes. I'm not sure why that is. I'm not sure why any of it is. But it is. I had learned over the years that it was safest to mostly sit back and shut up, but if you know anything about me, it's that I don't always do what is safest. I also tend to zoom in on the details, and if there is a contradiction, I will be drawn to it like a magnet.

On the day before they were leaving we had a phone conversation that was basically to set up a time for them to come over that night to say goodbye. (Originally they were planning on another Auction night but had decided not to go. I won't lie. The fact that visiting with us was an option and not a definite was a confirmation that felt like shit.) Anyway, I thought they could come over and visit with Jack after he got home school, then maybe we could order take out. NO. No? No we don't want to eat anymore food. Ever?? Weird. Anyway. Her first plan was they would come over after Jack did his homework around 4:00. Okay. BUT, they have to print out their boarding passes at exactly 5:00pm. Exactly?  Yes not a minute later. At this point it dawns on me, I need ink for my printer, so I say I will go out and get ink for my printer. NO. No? NO. We'll just come back here and print them. My mind is calculating, which sucks because I hate math...but...basically that means they will visit for a half hour. On the night before they leave. Breathe. I'm getting a little annoyed by this point. The refusal to eat with us. The insistence on printing the boarding passes, and I realize that if they had gone to the auction as originally planned there would have been no printing of the damn boarding passes until they had returned home. In my mind I'm thinking so why not just come and stay longer, you're going to have to eat at some point, and print them when you get back to my Aunts. Boom!  BOOM!!!

BOOOM!!!!!

She exploded. Like a stick of dynamite. Looking back, I think it was the fact that I pointed out the boarding pass situation. How she wouldn't have been able to print them if she had stuck to her original plans, so why is it so important that she do it now? (In my heart of hearts I think I know why. She didn't really want to come to my house and any excuse to shorten the trip was usable) In any case, she yelled and she screamed. I could barely get a word in edge wise. I'm sure my Aunt and my Father who had to have been close by listening were confused as to what the hell I might be yelling about on the other end of the line. Only I wasn't yelling. Except for once. To tell her to stop yelling at me and that I wasn't going to fight with her. I never raised my voice prior. I simply said something she didn't like. Something that exposed her motives. I hardly remember all the words she said during her tirade except when she accused me of being selfish and wanting everything to go my way. Irony? Or just plain sickness? I think I might have laughed then because it was so completely ridiculous I could hardly wrap my brain around it. She said a few more things that made about just as much sense  and then she handed the phone to my father. We both just sat there like...hey. Hey. Neither of us sure what to do with any of it. After about a minute she calmed down a little and said they would come over after they printed their boarding passes, so a little after five. After I hung up my head was literally spinning. What the fuck just happened?

As crazy and unpredictable as her outburst was, it was nothing I hadn't experienced in the past. I think that maybe I might have thought this kind of behavior was over. Done. That it used to happen, but it doesn't happen anymore. Needless to say, my brain linked on to the pattern, and the floodgates of my memory opened wide. It wasn't pretty and I'm still having a damn hard time shutting the door.

But as if that unwelcome drama wasn't enough... there is more. The icing on the cake so to speak. After winding down from the phone call I pretty much went about my day. Jack came home and did his homework. I told him Grandma and Grandpa were coming for one last visit tonight. He got excited and started picking out all the things he wanted to show them but forgot to show them the one time they came before. BF came home from work. Because I kept getting a very loud NO regarding eating with us, I ordered take out for us three only. And we waited. When are they coming? Are they here yet? Didn't they say a little after 5? 

At 6:30 I pick up my phone and call. My mother answers. Hello?  Hi. Are you guys coming?  NO. No we're not. We talked about it and we're not. Wait. What!?  My mind is a little bit blown by this point but I manage to ask the question. "Were you going to call me and let me know?"  To which she answered. "No, I wasn't."  I had to ask again."Okay. Wait. You decided you weren't coming to say goodbye and you weren't even going to call and let me know?"  No. No I wasn't.  She started saying something else here, but I simply said "Goodbye." and hung up. Then I kicked a bucket that was in my driveway clear across to other side.

Again, my head is spinning. My son is asking are they coming. No, they aren't coming. Why??  Did you call them? Call them again. Tell them I want them to. My hands are shaking as I send one last text message to my mother letting her know that her grandson had been waiting since he got home from school to see them and basically that was one shitty move on her part. How do I explain to my son why they aren't coming when I don't even fully understand it myself?  I now feel guilty. I feel like, because they don't want to spend time with me, I'm cheating him out of Grandparents. I dismiss this thought immediately. Fuck them. They should feel guilty. I tell him the truth. Not as harshly as I do here. I tell him that sometimes people don't do what they say they are going to do and we get disappointed. Sometimes we know the reason why, but somethimes we just don't.

That night was a sleepless one for me, with my own life movie playing on the screens behind my eyes. I wasn't dwelling. It was on automatic play. Like experiences attract like memories. They don't play like movies for everyone, but they do for me, and what I saw I didn't like.  It was a fact facing night of finally accepting that they (my mother in particular, because my dad does nothing on his own) aren't good for me. They are hazardous to my health. By the time I went to sleep I had convinced myself that there wouldn't be anymore contact. That I had to shut them out completely.  I'm not sure what I think now. I'm still processing.

The next morning I received a text message claiming to "just be getting your message now". There was an apology and an I don't know what happened.  A second message came through right after saying they'd like to see me, either at my aunts or at my house, and that they were leaving for the airport at 1pm. I didn't respond.  Instead, I shutdown, grabbed my new CD and headed out. I went to breakfast alone, I went shopping at few places, I drove around, got a coffee, had lunch, and was sure to return home after 1pm. It was actually a good anxiety free few hours.

Later that night I got a call and let it go to voice mail.  In listening to message, I felt like Alice in Wonderland. Nothing made sense. Her voice was small and quiet, almost childlike, and her words were soft, somewhat matter of fact, with a We Love You at the end. This message surely wasn't left by the same woman who just the day before couldn't have cared less.  I didn't call back. Instead I got angry again.

This afternoon I got an email from her. (This is where the above panic attack came in to play) I haven't even read it yet. Just seeing it in my inbox was enough to set me off. I definitely have no desire to speak to either of them right now. Maybe that will change. Or maybe I won't let myself get sucked in again, because it's too fucking much. I know she knows she was wrong. I know that's why she's playing all meek and mild and tossing out I love yous like they actually mean something. But it's not an excuse. It can't be an excuse anymore.  If someone attacks you physically, treats you like shit, and then tells you it's your fault, does a sorry make it okay? No, it doesn't. So it shouldn't be okay for someone to attack you like that verbally either.

This was a long ass post. I apologize. Mostly I wrote it for me. Also sorry for the all the bold and italics. And spelling?  I have a get out of jail free card for today.

Hope, who is going to get her money's worth out of therapy tomorrow.

Fall, my brain, and a little Poe.

Seems like fall has arrived this morning. Aside from the food and the beer, it is not my favorite season. Along with the cold, it brings dark mornings and dark evenings. Even on the days that the sun is shining you can tell how far away it is. It doesn't warm you. It doesn't shed the same kind of light. I definitely blossom in a climate that is warmer year round, but as that isn't a possibility for me anymore, I'll just try hard to focus on the food and the beer.

The last few weeks have been hard. They've been filled with drama, lies, selfishness, noise, disruptions to routine, tears, anger, doubt, confusion, misunderstandings, revelations, and last but certainly not least anxiety. I feel like I will need at least twice that amount of time to recover fully. The truth is I won't get much recovery time. Instead I will dive right back into busy, which is probably not the worst thing. Work has picked up quite a bit and I'm expecting it to be a crazy Holiday season. In addition to dolls, I've sold some art, which has inspired me to start making more. 

A friend sent me a text just a little while ago, and in the text she asked "How was the visit with Mom?" In true fashion, my Aspie-like brain (what we can call it until diagnosis) dove on to a track of racing thoughts. How do I answer that? Should I just say fine? That would be a lie. Is it just a polite question that doesn't require an in depth answer as to how it is really going? How would most people answer? It's going well. Having a good time! Smiley face. Smiley face. Smiley face. But that's a lie. If I say it's been shitty, I probably won't  get a response. People don't like to hear about shitty. There's really not enough time to get into this. 

And so on and so on and so on. 

A simple question that most people wouldn't think twice about, sends me into over analyzing and panic so I will say the right thing. So I won't say the wrong thing. And at the same time my brain is screaming at me because telling the polite social white lie makes my skin crawl. How are you? I'm fine, how are you? It makes me want to vomit. 

This is automatic. This is just how it is. This is one more reason why it's easier for me to be somewhat shut off, with limited contact. My brain just goes through much more processing than most people I know, and honestly it's exhausting. I'm exhausted.

So instead of any more updates today, I will leave you with this. One of my favorite Poems by one of my favorite Poets. It makes more sense now. I don't find it sad anymore.

Alone

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view. 

Edgar Allan Poe

Button Pushers

Button Pushers. We all know a few, don't we?  Those people that, for some reason, love to kick you when you're down. Maybe it's not always a kick. Maybe it's just a poke where you are the most tender. Or then again, maybe sometimes it feels like a knife. These are the same people that will swear up and down after they've done their damage, that "That's not what I meant" or my personal favorite..."You're being too sensitive." 

Fuck those people. Seriously. Fuck them.

I've been practicing a lot lately. At this whole acceptance thing. At doing nothing. I've practiced for a straight week with a few major speed bumps getting in my way. I'd give myself a B. Not an A. Definitely not an A because today, I am pissed off. Today I get to take a break, and instead of suppressing the anger and turning it inward, I'm going to let it out and allow myself to be really fucking mad.

I'm not going to focus on the speed bumps today. I can only handle one anger inducing topic at a time or seriously, my head will explode. I'm going to focus on the visit with my parents. If you can call it a visit. Tonight they will have been in town for a week. We've seen them for possibly eight hours. On one hand, this is probably a good thing, because if I can reach this point after only eight scattered hours, just imagine the kind of rage more time would induce. (A voice inside my head, we'll call it...me...just said...but it wouldn't be like this if they were different. The other voice...me again...reminded her of what I already know....but you can't change people.)

Before they even got here I got a basic itinerary. A list of things my mother was definitely going to do. If I could or felt like joining her I would get to see her, if not, well... tough shit, because that is what she wanted to do, and my mother always does what she wants to do. My father, who has no itinerary, has basically just taken off everyday to do his own thing. Okay. Fine. I dealt with that. I'm no stranger to this type of behavior from her. This left some days/evenings free where maybe they could spend some time with their only grandchild and their only daughter.

So far this is what has happened...

(I apologize for the rambling. This is a "get it out" type of blog, so you are reading it just as it appears in my head.)

Every invite I've extended to go out to eat has been met with a no, because "they just can't be going out to eat everyday!" Meanwhile, they are going out to eat with my Aunt, who they are staying with, just about every day.

After making plans to come visit right after school last Thursday, my son and I show up to an empty house. An hour later I get a call saying they are on their way. They did bring pizza though. Pizza loaded with every topping that no nine year old boy in his right mind would ever eat. He scraped it off and ate pizza dough. He's a trooper.

They came bearing gifts because that's what grandparents do, right? They brought him a baseball glove. In case anyone doesn't know. My son doesn't play baseball. He doesn't like baseball. My BF and I got two t-shirts that were given to them by my grandparents in the 80's. No, I'm not kidding. If you know me I don't care about gifts. I really don't. What I do care about is the thought behind them.

Next, I invited them to a family event that happened on Saturday, which I thought would have been a perfect time to hang out, see other family members too, and possibly meet my BF's children. That was also met with a No.

The whole weekend that my child was home, not having to go to school,  his grandparents didn't see him once. They had plans. They were busy. Next weekend he is with his father. They knew this.

I called Sunday night. I reached voicemail.

Monday morning I got a phone call with a request to come over that night after Jack got out of school. "We were coming over anyway because remember you said you would spend time with Jack while I went to the open house at school?"  I said.  Apparently, they forgot.  This time I brought food so my son could eat something besides pizza dough. Our visiting consisted of Jack and I sitting in the Kitchen alone while my Dad said close to nothing, and my mother and aunt were "busy" doing things around her house. I watched and listened as my son tried to talk to his Grandma. Trying to tell her things he was excited about. I also watched and listened to her response. "Really? Okay, honey, now you have to get out of the way because we're moving this over here."  I watched and listened as my child, who has been so excited to see Grandma and Grandpa, told her he learned how to play Scat and brought cards, and did they think maybe later they could play?  I watched and listened as my mother, completely oblivious to anything outside her own selfishness told him no. "No, grandma doesn't feel up to that tonight. Maybe we can play if your mother ever invites us over." (Please refer back to my every invite being met with a no.) I bit my tongue during this whole experience. I practiced doing nothing. When I went to the open house Jack was watching a movie on my iPad. When I returned he was playing with a few Lego's alone in the kitchen. "Did you and Grandma and Grandpa do anything tonight?"  "Not really..."

This brings us to Tuesday, which was yesterday. Part of the Itinerary was an early Tuesday dinner (4pm) followed by an Antique Auction. (preview at 5pm, start time at 6:30pm) Both of these events occurring in the same town. Not exactly a child friendly activity, but this was our option so my son can see his grandparents and he was up for it. Okay. Jack gets home at 3:30 roughly. If we jump right in the car (no time for homework) and head out we can most likely make it there by 4pm. We did. We arrive to find my mother, father and my aunt sitting in a four person booth, that clearly my BF, my son and I won't fit into. "Oh we can squeeze in, just pull a chair up to the end."  To which the waitress informs us this is a fire hazard and we can't just pull a chair up to the end. Okay. So logically, (at least I think it was logically) I suggest we move and sit at a table with six chairs. Six people. Six chairs. Seems like it might work. My mother and my aunt exchange a look, to which my mother follows up with. "I don't know...what do think?" The fact that my head did not explode at that very moment is a pure fucking miracle. Are you fucking serious? Were we not invited to come join you for dinner? And you are not even willing to sit with us? I didn't say that exactly, though. I think I said something like, "We drove all the way here. If we're going to sit at a table by ourselves, we might as well just leave." I said nothing else, and that was the kick in the ass that got them up and moved to another table. Nothing else was mentioned and we proceeded to order. Beer. I desperately needed a beer. The rest was bullshit small talk that I paid little attention to. Mostly I talked to my son because, honestly he was the only one I felt like talking to. As dinner was wrapping up my mother then asks. "So...have you gone over how the auction works? Does he know how this is going to work?" I've told him the basics. I'm not worried. He's a well behaved child...to which my mother continues with..."The auctioneer is grumpy. He gets real mean and really mad if anyone makes any noise. He'll even yell at people." I'm watching carefully as my son looks at me and I see it in his eyes. Fear. I try to counter what she is saying to ease his mind. Maybe it's true. I've been there before and never witnessed it. Regardless, there is no need for this. The look on her face. The tone of her voice. I'm talking to Jack, but inside I'm screaming at her. Shut the fuck up!  What are doing? He was excited to go. You don't purposely scare someone who suffers from anxiety. Especially not a child!  I don't say any of this. Instead I calmly say, "Stop. There is no reason to scare him." To which she responds, "Oh Jesus, you need to get him out his protective bubble." Mama Bear syndrome has now kicked in with me, but my head still doesn't explode and I'm still calm, and I simply say. "STOP." From here, the three of them get up while I'm still finishing my drink. Apparently it's a rush. They have to get there. They have to get seats. It's now about 5:05pm. Again, auction starts at 6:30pm. Same fucking town. Fine. Go...we'll meet you. We leave not too long after they do. Arrive at the preview,and look at all the items. Apparently there was nothing worth staying for and they decide they're going to go home. A big frantic fucking rush. For nothing. For fucking nothing. Game over.

Holy shit. My head is spinning at this point.

We then talk briefly about when they would come over to my house for dinner. I had already told them Wed or Friday would be best as the other nights can be crazy with kids and kid activities. My mother shot down Wed. It'll be too hot. (too hot for dinner?) Fine. Breath. "Friday, then?"  Again, they exchange the look. Something was said but I didn't quite hear it as they both started heading to the car. Something else was said about there being another Auction next Tues. (are you fucking kidding me?) To which I replied, "For the amount of time we spent with you, I don't think it's worth it."  I vaguely heard my mother yell, "Well come over to the house then." as we were crossing the street.

At this point I'm exhausted. Mentally exhausted. At this point I'm beginning to realize that doing nothing and acceptance isn't always enough. Sometimes when a person or people are too much, too hurtful, too selfish, or too toxic, your only option is to remove them. Forcing yourself to deal with them, on their terms, in their way can do more damage than just simply walking away.

We didn't go over to the house. Instead we stopped an got ice cream from Cherry Hill. We sat outside in the calm and the quiet, and laughed about what someone had carved into the picnic table.

I'm not sure what this next week will hold, but I am sure I'm not up for anymore button pushing. I'm not up for frantically chasing down people who so obviously have better things to do than spend time with me or their grandson. I'm not up for witnessing "the look", whether I know what it means or not. (I admit, I do not) I'm just not up for their kind of crazy. I think I'll just stick with mine.

Hope, who again, apologizes for the rambling and lack of order in this post. 

Early Signs...Lines, Separating, and Sorting

As I've mentioned, one of the early signs of autism spectrum disorder, is a tendency for the child to line things up. Back when this first start happening in my household I really didn't have a clue as to what it could mean. Although my son did seem lost in his own world, it was as if he would snap out of it from time to time and make contact. I guess I told myself he was just really focusing on what he was looking at or doing. When these odd behaviors did present themselves I thought it was cute. After all, this was my son. I thought everything he did was cute.

 I remember when I first learned that this behavior was an early sign of autism. It was like a slideshow in fast forward had been turned on inside my head. I saw image after image after image of what my son had been doing for years. Being somewhat obsessed with taking photographs, I caught a lot of it and figured I would share some here. Incidentally, I never did try to alter or change this behavior. I'm sure I thought something like,  he's  "like me", he likes to organize. In any case, I'm glad that I let Jack be Jack.

When Jack first started his lining, separating and sorting he was still just learning to talk. He couldn't say his Th's and instead they came out as F's. He knew exactly what he doing when he engaged in this type of play.  In his own words, I proudly present...." Making Straight Fingy's"

Pairs stayed together.

Tub toys were always lined up on the edge of the tub.

Lines could be vertical.

And very tall.

Lining up the Easter eggs...

and sorting the Halloween Candy!

Lining up the Kitchen chairs. I was putting away laundry while this happened.

Lining up the cones at Daddy's work.

Sorting and lining up the Lunchables. 

Lining up his socks. 

With his new love of trains, the lines came in the form of a track, which was more "normal."

Only his trains were usually lined up in a row right beside the track, instead of on it.

Pairs of trains.

Pairs of Guitars.

The pine cone city.

Lines in the sand.

Just like with all behavior, if it's done often enough it becomes a part of who the person is. You really have to focus and think (or at least I do) to pick it out. If someone would have asked me, "Does Jack still line things up?" , I would have said. "No, he outgrew that behavior."

Except that these photos were taken fairly recently.

Lines of Lego Guys

I'm sure I have more somewhere. His matchbox cars and trains were always in big lines along the carpet. When he wasn't spinning the wheels. A simple search on Google with the words "Autism line things up" will provide more examples of this type of behavior. It brought back a lot of memories. Most of which are good, because as I said, I was pretty oblivious at first. 

The latest update, is the Anxiety is back, as I said it would be. He's now having what I can only describe as Obsessive OCD type "thoughts". I've decided not to wait until Summer as planned and have put another call in to the doctors office. Their less than than timely response is starting to annoy me though, and I'm probably going to make another call tomorrow to a place that was recommended by a friend. 

As for me, I've heard back from the Specialist, and apparently for adults Diagnostic Assessment is pretty damn costly. Of course it is. Nothing is cheap, or easy. So for now, I'm on the back burner until funds magically appear. 

Hope, who is still knee deep in figuring it all out.

Aspie or Not: Childhood and then some.

My last list consists mainly of what I can recall from my childhood. It was much easier for me to compose this list for my son because I could verify the memories I had of him with photos and videos that I had taken. For myself, I don't have that reference. I have some photos ( but not many) and absolutely no video. I have other people's memories of me. "You were just shy, but stubborn...quiet and content to be alone. A little quirky. Sensitive. Picky. You always wanted to be right and you were too smart for your own good. You were nervous, but you had a lot to deal with at a young age. There was nothing really wrong with you. The shrink said you were fine. You were very grown up for your age. You were a good kid."

Most of this is true. What "I had to deal with",  was living with an alcoholic mother, that I both loved and feared, for the first seven years of my life. And then being abruptly taken away from her and sent to live with strangers.  Based on that alone, I challenge any Doctor's diagnoses of  "she's fine."  That should have been a red flag right there, but it wasn't, simply because nobody wanted there to be anything wrong with me. Just like I don't want there to be anything wrong with my son. You will grasp onto those "she's fine/he's fine" comments for dear life.

Ironically, despite everyone believing I was mostly fine, the things that were wrong with me, were always blamed on my first seven years, and my alcoholic mother, and neglect. I've gone down that road myself more times than I can count. Not so much to blame ( although, sometimes that was certainly the case), but as an attempt to find answers to the question:  Why am I the way I am? You don't ask that question unless you know you are different.

Anxiety? Alcohol? Aspergers?

Here are some of the things I remember:

A. Up until age Seven:

1. I spent a large portion of my time in my own head. Adults called it daydreaming. For me, I think it was play. I specifically remember being able to stare at things until they became really far away looking and small. I did this a lot. I could look at things upside down forever. I spent a lot of time looking at things. I don't remember any kind of stims per se. I remember my mother making me walk for people and saying I walked funny.

2. I remember thinking that eyes were gross. Disgusting holes in people's faces and I didn't like looking at them. I didn't really like any of the holes. Mouths, nostrils, ears, but the eyes were the worst.

3. I was happy to go to school on my first day. I didn't understand why some of the kids were crying. I also didn't understand why they couldn't read.

4.  I only played games with rules or things I knew about personally. Hide and seek. Tag. Red rover, Red rover, or school. I re-played Romper Room or other shows I watched on T.V. I played anything with structure and clear, defined rules. My make believe consisted only of things I had seen.

5. I remember throwing all my toys out of our second story window because I just didn't want them anymore. I also remember getting frustrated and annoyed when playing with other kids and going in to get away from them. I refused to go back out for days no matter how often they would ask.

6. I was very literal as a child.  I always thought this was the case with all children, and I still feel that way to a point. My mother used to tell me I was the most beautiful girl in the world. And I believed her. I really thought that I was it...the one. I also could never understand how Crystal Gayle's  brown eyes could turn blue. I loved nursery rhymes or any other type of rhyme but I took them at face value. I remember drawing a picture of a woman sticking a needle in her eye, which really upset my mother. It was from... Cross your heart, hope to die, stick a needle in your eye. I never really understood why anyone would hope to die either.

7. My favorite song was Loving You by Minnie Riperton. I believe it was all the lalala's. I have a video of my son. listening to it when he was two years old. The lalala's got him as well.

8. I remember one the neighborhood kids had a toy toaster. I fell in love with that toaster and probably would have traded anything I had to get it.

9. I also loved chocolate water. In fact, I may have invented it. I would make it when my mother was sleeping or passed out. Each time. Every time. My eating habits were odd in general. I could only eat one thing at a time and my food could not touch. Ever. Although I never ate much, it took me forever. My grandfather was the only one who never gave me hard time about my eating. "Leave her alone" he's say."Let her eat the way she wants."

10. I remember being outside with the neighborhood kids and just not "getting it". I thought they were stupid, but apparently they thought I was as well, as they made up the song..."Hope the dope, ate a bar of soap. Bubbles here, bubbles there, bubbles in her underwear."

11. At four years old I developed a love of photographs.

12. At about age four or five I developed my first obsession. General Hospital. A soap opera. An odd obsession for a young child to say the least, but only recently have I realized it ended up becoming an important learning tool. Basically a life long teacher. So far, the interest has lasted for 37 years.

13. At six I developed my love of monkeys.

14. Besides cousins in my life, I had only one friend during these years. She lived downstairs from us in the last apartment I ever lived in with my mother.

B. After age seven:

15. My first toy obsession developed with Barbies. For probably the next 4-5 years that was basically the only "toy" I wanted or would  "play" with. Nine times out of ten my Barbie play consisted mostly of "planning" and "setting the stage" for what I was going to do, and the actual play fell by the wayside. However, when I did manage to get that far, my play was all adult themed. AS SEEN ON TV.

16. I had Baby Dolls as well, and while I liked to look at them, whenever I tried to play "taking care of baby" scenarios I quickly got bored with it. I even remember thinking I would never grow up to be a mother because I just didn't like it.

17. By this time my friends had expanded to include my two cousins in my new family. Not because we had anything in common, simply because we were together a lot. As much as I'm sure being with them was probably good for me in a sense, I was always relieved when it was time for them to go.

18. Play continued to exist of copying or doing something practical. My interests expanded to drawing, reading and writing. I had very little interest in being girly and wearing skirts or dresses, and yet I was not a tomboy either. I rarely even thought of myself as being one or the other. I was just me.

19. My mother learned early on that sending me to my room was no punishment, because that is exactly where I always wanted to be.

20. If given the choice to go play with other kids or stay with adults I would choose the adults more times than not. I was "shy" and people were always trying to get me to come "out of my shell", which always made me think they thought I was a turtle or maybe a clam. Sometimes they would let me stay with them and   give me paper so I could draw. Sometimes, however, they would force me to go out, which would result in me standing around and watching all the other kids play. This was especially the case if I didn't know the kids well. If I did know them, again, I could join in on tag or hide and seek.

21. By this time, school had started to bore me. I didn't like it. I didn't like having to read out loud in class and the teachers were always telling me to speak up. I was a good student and got good grades, but I just didn't like being there and having to do things with the other kids. Each year from first grade until fourth grade I would have only one friend. That friend changed from year to year, and we were only friends in class. There was little to no play with these friends outside of school until fifth grade.

22. By fifth grade my first extroverted friend "adopted me" so to speak. She decided I was her friend and that was the way it was. This was the beginning of some sort of social life...sleepovers...amusements parks...etc. It was pretty easy for me because all I had to do was follow. I was a good at following.

C. The teenage years:

23. School not only continued to bore me, but also overwhelm me. I always felt like I was in a dream when walking the halls with all the people rushing by. I could never get used to it. Staring at the floor while I walked was the only way to keep from getting dizzy. Lunch was awful. It stunk and I hardly ever ate what they had. At home, my time was spent in my room reading, listening to music (mostly from the seventies...later country) and writing poetry or in my journals. I remember my mother would make me go grocery shopping with her. I would have given anything to just stay home, but she'd never let me. I hated the grocery store and all the people. I would avoid the laundry detergent aisle complaining that I could taste it. Statements like this would always result in the "You're weird." comment from my mother.

24.  My friend situation continued, with that one friend, who also continued to be the extrovert, the boss, the leader. I don't think it was because other people didn't like me, but simply because they didn't know me. I was hard to get to know. I offered nothing. I had nothing offer. Wanting a lot of friends was a concept I never fully wrapped my brain around. It always seemed too hectic and confusing. Never the less, I ended up in a sort of group of friends simply by default.

25. By eighth grade I had gotten my first boyfriend. Purely by accident. He was interested in me, but I had very little interest in him, in fact I ended up breaking up with him and setting him up with my friend. By the end of the year, however, I needed a date for the Dinner Dance and decided he would be the best option and then I could just break up with him again before summer vacation. Despite my well laid out plans, we ended up falling in love and staying together until our Junior year in high school. This relationship was where I developed my next obsessive interest. Sex. I suppose I'm lucky that first experience was good or I could have developed an aversion to sex instead. However, I do think, it set a precedence, and probably created a monster.

26. My next obsessive interest ended up being people. The first was Marilyn Monroe. This interest lasted for about 12 years. It wasn't her movies, her beauty, or her stardom that intrigued me. It was her words. Her story. I bought the book Marilyn Monroe, My Story and that was all it took. I think I read it at least five times. In a row. I've read it more than that since. The person who wrote that book wasn't the person in all the posters and pin ups. She was more than that. And her words were something I could relate to. Next was Sylvia Plath, who to this day, I still enjoy reading.  I remember my mother saying it was sick. That there was something wrong with being obsessed with women who committed suicide, like that was why, I was obsessed with them. But she didn't get it. It was mostly their words that I was obsessed with. Because they made sense to me. Because they described what it felt like to be me. It wasn't until recently that I found out that both of them are suspected to have been on the Spectrum.

27. My relationship with my first love, inevitably, ended and I was lost. Not only because of the breakup, but because he had been that One Friend, for all of those years. I was back to not fitting anywhere again. My anxiety/nervousness increased and I began experiencing panic attacks, although I had no idea that is what they were back then. I thought there was something wrong with my body. I would twitch, shake, and my heart would beat like it was trying to break out my chest. I couldn't eat in the cafeteria. I started skipping school and spending my days at the library, simply because I couldn't get out my car and walk in the building. I froze, and the only place I wanted to be was some place quiet and peaceful. I started therapy my Senior year (against my parents wishes..."Hope is not crazy" they insisted) where I received a tentative diagnosis of BPD. The anxiety wasn't even addressed and she seemed more interested in getting me to stop drinking and skipping school than anything else. Instead of seeing the school skipping as what it was, she instead decided it was impulsive behavior. The insurance ended up running out after about 10 visits so I stopped going. Luckily, it didn't take long before the next extrovert saw something of interest in me. With her by my side, and the help of alcohol I made it through the rest of High School in one piece. Drinking, partying, dating. Just like a normal girl.

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As extensive as this last list is, it's a pretty basic timeline. I'm leaving out some important life details like the death of my mother and my parents move to NH. However, I don't really feel that either of those things played a huge role in who I was.


Hope, who is pretty sure my current interest in Autism/Asperger's Syndrome would be considered special...