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Autism: Me Trying to Live Better

I don’t tend to do New Years resolutions. For one thing, January doesn’t feel like the start of anything for me. From the time I was very young I have considered a year to go from September through August – and when I say something happened ‘last year’ that is often the time frame I am going by.

For another thing, I don’t tend to stick to things long enough to say, “this year I am going to…” and mean it. I get burnt out too fast. I get overwhelmed too fast. I quickly fail. Again and again I fail. I really don’t need anything more to be considered failures for me as I carry them all around with me, and they weigh me down, and make it harder and harder to do anything well (or even have the energy to try.)

So I don’t make New Year’s resolutions, and this year is no exception.

Only I have been thinking about this a lot.

I am a compulsive person. I need routine. I need to know what is expected of me – even if I am the one putting those expectations on myself. I don’t do well with open ended suggestions, or time frames, or flexible commitments (what does that even mean?!)

Because of this I tend to push myself way beyond what is good for me (though I do realize it isn’t much in terms of what other people do) and I… make a mess of things. I push myself, and push myself to keep these commitments – and while I am keeping them, I am failing.

Take this blog, for instance (and for instance here means this is what I am talking about.)

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In the beginning I was writing six days a week. My decision – not based on what anyone else asked for – yet a commitment just the same. I pushed myself to burn out, and finally decided to go down to three days a week.

That was more manageable (after all, most of my posts take less than 20 minutes to write – and it isn’t like I am doing much else) and yet I was still burning out. I have been writing now for 2.5 years, and for the last 7 or 8 months I have been pushing, panicking, overwhelmed trying to schedule three posts for every week.

And why???

I keep asking myself that. It isn’t like someone else told me I had to write three posts a week. It isn’t like missing some here and there would have been the end of the world. But I am compulsive, and I couldn’t not write.

Yet I have been painfully aware that because I am pushing beyond what I can handle, I have noticed that my posts (at times) have been suffering. It isn’t even so much that there is a badly written post here and there – that could happen, and I know it does, but… It is that when I am overwhelmed – whenever I am overwhelmed, I tend to become negative and start venting.

Venting.

It isn’t a good thing.

The purpose I had for writing this blog was to say “Finally I have been diagnosed – now what?” I expected things to get better. I expected maybe that others would understand my struggles more, and that I would understand my struggles more, and that because of that, things would get better.

But I still struggle badly with depression and anxiety – even though I am no longer working. I still struggle with sensory issues, and burnout, and irritation. I still fall into moments of despair.

And I don’t think that it is good for me to be writing so much that I turn this blog into a journal instead. I am trying to remind myself that not everything needs to be shared in order to be honest – I really struggle with over sharing; I have for a long time.

So though it is not like me – and I am not even sure I can function this way – I have decided that it is best to only write my blog when I have something to say. No schedule. No pressure. No venting.

So not like me – yet so what I need, I think.

And this decision, I have to remind myself, is a good thing. This is not failure, this is making the right decisions for me. This is making the right decisions for my family.

This is me trying to live better.

 

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Autism: Candy Crush

I spent the entire morning, or just about, playing Candy Crush Saga on Facebook. They gave me unlimited lives for two hours, and at that moment it became absolutely essential that I distance myself from the person just behind me (who caught up while I was away at the lake both times.)

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I kept going and caught up with the only person on the board ahead of me. She passed me several months, or more likely, over a year ago.

When I passed her, I wanted to distance myself from her as well.

It becomes a compulsion. I just have to do it, and much as my mind is screaming to stop, I keep going. I am not competitive. Not at all. The thing is, though, that I don’t like seeing other people on the board with me. I don’t know how I managed in the beginning when the board was filled with people around me, but at some point I found my icon alone on the board, and felt like I could breathe again.

It irritates me to see other people there. I don’t know if it is the clutter of the board, or… More likely when people – or even icons – are around me, I feel watched. I can’t function well when I feel watched, and it always leaves me feeling anxious and irritated. It is like having someone in the kitchen when I am in there; I just can’t.

Only I am not competitive. It didn’t bother me after she had passed me far enough that her icon wasn’t on the board with me. It was only when it was there that I had to get past.

So I spent the morning playing Candy Crush on Facebook. It is such a waste of time, and most of the time, I don’t even enjoy playing. I keep telling myself that I will stop playing – someday. But there again is one of my fixations that I can’t seem to overcome.

I am on something like board 1900 (higher, really, but I don’t want to open it right now to check, or I likely won’t complete this post.) So I think, knowing me, is the only way I will give up the game is if either I complete it or it stops working on my computer.

 
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Posted by on October 13, 2017 in Experiences of an Autistic

 

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Autism: I Need My Mom

My mom is coming tomorrow.

It feels unreal, and as I go about my day, I continue to repeat the words that have become all too familiar over the past several years: “I need my mom.”

The more anxious I get, the more the words come. I pace back and forth, and repeat, “I need my mom.”

“I need my mom. I need my mom. I need my mom.” The words come automatically, but they must mean something. The harder things seem, the more anxious I am, the more upset I am, the more the words come. “I need my mom.”

I don’t know when these words became such a compulsive thing. I can’t remember when I started saying them so frequently. Did this come from my childhood? I don’t remember. Did it start when my kids were lost, or when I started working for the first time away from home?

Honestly, I don’t know.

I do know that for many years now, in many situations, the words come. “I need my mom.”

And now, for the first time in 7.5 years, my mom is flying to see me. The day is almost here, and that makes me anxious.

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“I need my mom,” I think – and then, “Wait! She is coming.”

I have needed her for so long it is hard to wrap my head around the fact that she will be here so soon. We just have to get past the travel part – for the travel part makes me anxious. People fly every day, don’t they? Most of the time, people are fine. I don’t even mind flying myself. I often consider that something might happen, but I am not really afraid.

I am afraid something will happen tomorrow, though.

For years I have wanted her here. For months this trip has been planned. The day is almost here. But what if it isn’t? I am afraid.

At 40 years old, I wouldn’t have expected to still need my mom like a little child – but I do. I guess that is a good problem to have, maybe. Only people with good mothers would still need them at 40, right?

So I will wait in anxious anticipation. Tomorrow evening we will drive out to the airport and pick her up. Her plane arrives well past my bedtime, and it is even worse for her with the 3 hour time change. I am pretty sure we will all be too tired to visit tomorrow, even on the 1.5 hour car ride back home.

But she will be here. And for eight weeks, I won’t need to say, “I need my mom,” for my mom will be here.

I can hardly wait!

 

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Autism: Time Distorted

A sound interrupts my sleep: a cat meowing, a cupboard being opened, the flushing of a toilet. I turn over, and am instantly pounced by squiggling, wiggling balls of fur. Right up in my face… ‘are you up, Mom?’ Time to get up. Typically it takes an hour for me to properly wake up and get out of bed, no matter how long I have slept. These girls depend on me however. They need to be fed, and they need to go outside, and so up I get.

Rubbing my eyes I go to the washroom and brush my teeth. Despite the rush, my routine must be followed. The cats are waiting for me in the kitchen. I pull out four bowls: two get wet cat food, canned; two get homemade dog food, warmed in the microwave (they aren’t quite thawed from the night before.)

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My girls eat fast, and look longingly at the cat bowls. My feline friends eat slower, daintily. I take the girls outside, and hope the cats are done by the time we come in, for Clara and Molly will not be deterred. They dive for the bowls the moment we come in, before I have a chance to get my boots off.

Grabbing my breakfast, I head towards the living room, turn on my computer, and sit down. The moment I do, two little girls leap into my lap – I have learned to be prepared. They lie down, in their favourite place, and fall back to sleep. Sometimes Ditch joins us, sometimes he doesn’t. While on the Internet, I head to Swagbucks to attempt a survey. I have made about $100 since September (5 months ago.) I used to make that in a day at my old job, and wonder if there are better ways to earn money.

Turning to the news, I quickly check to see what is happening in the world before continuing on to my emails. Several are deleted without opening them, and I am left with maybe 5 or 6 each morning that I am interested in. After reading them, I head towards Facebook, and quickly skim through the feed of ‘nothing’ posts to check that everyone is well. Of course, not everyone shows up in my feed. Instead I get several stories from groups I never asked to follow, and multiple shared posts coming mostly from the same sources.

It takes too long to go through it all, and I start to get irritated by the time I reach the last of the posts I read yesterday. By this time I am feeling overwhelmed, so I play Facebook games (Candy Crush and Farm Heroes Saga) to try and calm down. More often than not the level I am on annoys me further. My son asks me why I keep playing, and I wonder the same myself, but I am compulsive – and I have gotten so far. If only I could just make it to the end, but they keep making more levels.

Often it is already close to 10am by this point, though my girls get me up around 7:30. I realize it is not a great use of time, but when I don’t follow through my routine, I feel it heavily, and it makes the rest of my day harder to get through. Time to go outside again. At this time of year, they don’t stay out long. I guess the routine will change once spring comes.

The next few hours either go to laundry and cleaning, or to my fixations (Pinterest, the Realtor website, online research…) I need to have my days of fixations, or I am unable to function at all on cleaning days, and not able to visit when it comes time to go out. I need many hours free for this on an almost daily basis, or I will fall apart… even with this, I frequently get overwhelmed.

In the middle of my ‘free’ time, I have to get lunch for myself and my girls, and take them out again. It is hard to pull myself away.

Mid-afternoon is time for my girls to get their walk. In the hot days of summer, this will have to change. I think of that constantly. For now, though, it is the best time for us to go. Part way through the walk, they get cold feet, or something scares them. They won’t walk any further, and I have to pick them up and carry them home. Clara frequently asks for ‘up’ by the time we reach the end of our (not particularly long) driveway.

At home again, I go into my exercise routine (twenty minutes on the elliptical machine while watching a documentary on Netflix – cast to my TV on Chromecast) followed by a time practising my keyboard. From there, I check my email again, which reminds me it is time to practise Spanish on Duolingo. I had a really hard time getting back to me after my last visit with my Psychiatrist, when she dismissed the things I do as part of my routine, and told me I should look into work, or volunteering, or going to school… everything I was doing to improve myself became harder after that.

Suddenly it is time to make supper, and feed my girls, followed by an evening watching Netflix videos and writing in my journal. The day has felt really busy. When I have more to do: Go to church or Bible Study, or even go out to a hockey game, or to watch a play – I have to brace myself. One ‘extra’ event (including appointments) can feel overwhelming.

I consider again my Psychiatrist’s advice to find work, or volunteer, or go to school – and it overwhelms me. I become anxious, and shut down, and my routine is broken. How could I possibly find the time? I remember when I was working, though it was only part time, I wasn’t able to accomplish most of the above. My house stayed messy, I didn’t exercise or try to learn anything… any attempt at routine was met with failure. I just couldn’t do it, and I felt anxious, overwhelmed, and irritated just about all the time.

My sense of time is distorted, I think. It seems to take me longer to do just about anything, and I need a lot more time than others seem to in between each activity in order to recuperate. For that reason, though it likely seems to others (who are able to work full time, keep their house, study, research, enjoy a hobby, or otherwise improve themselves – and still find time for church, other activities, and time with friends) that my life is very slow – I actually still feel very busy, and am overwhelmed by that busyness much of the time.

 

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Autism: Driven By Compulsion

This morning I have such a strong desire to research floor plans for houses (for no reason other than it is an obsession of mine) that even coming to write my blog is extremely difficult. Yet I am two posts behind – for my posts that are scheduled three weeks in advance in order to reduce my anxiety – and I must write. For every word, however, I ache to pull out a pad of paper to draw, or to open up my internet browser and search.

My sleep has been broken lately, and that really doesn’t help with my functioning level. It is my own fault, really, for I will continue to eat the gluten that causes it. It is just too hard to change the foods I eat long-term, for the change always leaves me feeling sick.

It also doesn’t help that everything keeps me awake: my husband snoring, my cat purring, wrinkles in the sheets, not enough room to stretch out (which causes me pretty bad back pain every night), static… my house is so dry right now that every time I move at night I see flashes of light like fireflies flying off of me in all directions. I worry sometimes that the sparks will start a fire!

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It isn’t only at night, either. During the day, my dogs come to give me kisses, and get shocks instead. The zapping loudly breaks the silence. I am not sure what to do about it. I do use fabric softener in my laundry – but then I like wearing fleece, and fleece on fleece seems to increase the static.

I am tired. I am not thinking well. I am not functioning well. My nose is irritated, and often bleeding from the dryness in my house… I suppose I could get a humidifier, but they scare me. Once, when my son was about 6 weeks old, we got a bad cold. I put on a humidifier (as the baby books suggested) and my cold dropped to my lungs so I could hardly breathe. I thought I was going to die – I really did. Ever since, the very idea of using humidifiers has caused me strong fear.

When things are going like this for me, it is my fixations that drive me. When my functioning is low, all I can do is give in to my obsessions and compulsions. For this week that means playing Sims 2 Pets on the PC, watching ‘Angel’ on Netflix, and drawing and searching for house plans. Not at all productive, but I haven’t the strength or energy to fight it.

Besides, I have spent several hours cleaning this week. I did visit with a friend, and talked on the phone to my mom. I have taken care of my dogs, visited with my cats and son, and made supper when it was my night to do it. I might be spending nearly all of my time right now on my fixations – and that isn’t great – but I also need to remember all of those times when I did overcome the compulsion, and took care of all of those things that really needed to be done.

So rather than focus on where I was stuck this week, I think I should really be thankful for where I succeeded… I wonder if that might be a better way to respond to all people – after all, every one of us struggles with something.

 
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Posted by on January 25, 2017 in Poetry: My Creative Outlet

 

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Autism: Not Detail Oriented

It used to be that I believed I was a detail oriented person. I would have said it about myself, and trusted it as fact. However, the longer I go about this life, the more I learn that this is not true.

I am a perfectionist. Is that vanity? I hate to be wrong, or to do wrong, or to ‘mess up.’ It fills me with shame, and leaves me fearful of trying again. The thing is, I know that I am not perfect. I know that I make mistakes even more than most people. I know that whatever I do, most people will do it better. Yet I still strive for perfection, and I am still upset with myself when I don’t reach it (which is always.) However, because of this, I am careful. So very careful about the things I do and say.

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Perhaps because of this perfectionist ‘dream’, I am also very compulsive. Whether I am given a list of tasks to do, or make up the routine myself, I will repeat the steps over and over in my head – even after I have made them a habit. I will do my absolute best to do those tasks well, and to never forget any part of them. I will push myself even to the point where I will not take a break to eat, or drink, or even hardly breathe. At the end, I will be shaking, and find it hard to stand up, or think at all – but at least I will have completed the task that was set for me.

For those reasons, I was a good employee. Those I worked for liked me, and felt I did the job well. The cost, which they didn’t see, was to myself – to my emotional, mental, and physical health. I would have said my job was hard, and required me to ‘run all the time.’ The thing was, however, that those I worked with – those on the same job as me – sat for quite a lot of their shift (and were therefore calm, and happy with the job.) When I tried that, I was filled with shame as if I were being dishonest, and then pushed myself harder – until I burnt out. I couldn’t work any other way.

So I worked hard, and I pushed myself hard – and while I was working, I did the job well, and hardly ever left anything undone (so much so that my coworkers often complained that I didn’t leave anything for them to do on their shifts.) I did it well, and I burnt myself out, and filled myself with fear and anxiety over missing something, or failing – and I thought it meant that I was detail oriented.

But all it meant was that I was obsessive, compulsive, and perfectionistic – and it wasn’t a good thing. Not for me. Not for others. It set a standard that none of us could reach for long, and since I couldn’t let go, it cost me a lot.

Of course I noticed the mistakes I made – putting down the wrong date (that happens often… what month is it again? What year?) or being called out of my routine, and missing something because of that. But that only meant I needed to try harder. Still detail oriented – just with too much on my mind. It made it hard to think.

After writing this blog for – has it been ten months already!? – I can no longer make the claim that I am a detail oriented person. I write, and I think about how to say what I want to be said, and I even pray over it. I check my spelling, and I consider the pictures and tags (I know I am not good with the tags,) and then I copy and paste, and schedule…

And every once in a while, I will re-read one of my posts… and just about every time I found that I have made a mistake – often writing in the wrong word (read for write, for instance – or the wrong form of their/there/they’re… even though I know the difference, and get caught up/confused whenever someone else uses those words wrong) and then I know… I know!!! That detail oriented isn’t the right label for me.

 

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Autism: Deciding on Change

It had to be a decision.  It isn’t like I could just not post some days.  I have a compulsion.  I have a lot of compulsions in fact, and these don’t allow me to do things differently without a lot of thought.  So, I have given this a lot of thought, and have come to the conclusion that posting to this blog six days a week is a bit much.  Not that it has gotten too much for me.  I like to read, and as I mentioned, I am compulsive.  But I have this thought that it is too much in filling other people’s inboxes.

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Plus I am afraid of running out of ideas.  It hasn’t happened yet, but it could, and I don’t want to become repetitive.  Above that, there are those days when I haven’t the energy to write.  And then again, there are those days when I actually do have energy – which I should probably use to get things done, like organizing my house.

Thoughts on those days have left me feeling anxious, for what if I don’t have enough posts scheduled for the future to cover those days?  That obsessive compulsive voice in my head would not let that go!  It would be a failure to me, and failures always result in me wanting to hide.  How could I hide, and write at the same time?

Above that, there is also vacation time in the summer – and the hope that some day, I will be able to get across the country to visit my mom.  She can’t come here.  She hasn’t the time off, and is much needed there.  I have time – but I haven’t much money, and I do have a fear of leaving my animals, and being away from home.  But I should go.  Such things might also put me behind.

But it has to be a definite decision.  I can’t, for instance, just decide to write when I feel like it, or when I have the time.  No.  That wouldn’t work for me at all.

So like a job, I have decided to post three days a week (three, because I could never work more than that without completely falling apart even at the best of times.)  And more than that, I have decided on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays – an even schedule, with the weekends off.

That will give me time to clean, or knit, or organize, or renovate, or… without interrupting my posting schedule.

Probably I won’t stick to writing on those days, but at least I have decided on a posting schedule that I believe will work for me.  The only thing is that I will likely keep writing a lot, and so some of the themes in my posts – like my one on Mother’s day – will be long gone before they are released.

But for all of that, I still think this is a good, and workable solution for me, and hope that it doesn’t cause too many issues.

 

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Autism: Knit Two, Purl Two

Knit two, purl two, knit two, purl two…

The week was difficult. Busy. Overwhelming. I made it through, but I am crashing now.

Knit two, purl two, knit two, purl two…

Too overwhelmed to think. Too overwhelmed to move. I picked up my knitting project thinking I should be doing something.

Knit two, purl two… all day long.

So much to do. So many reasons to move on to something else. But my mind was fixated.

Knit two, purl two, knit two, purl two.

I got up to practice my keyboard, to let the dog out, to study Spanish – yet in my thoughts, I was still knitting.

Knit two, purl two, repeat.

Tugging, tugging back. All day long, this compulsion to knit, for all else was overwhelming. All else was too much.

Knit two, purl two, knit two, purl two…

This was not how I intended to spend my day. Need to get up. Need to move. Need to clean.

Knit two, purl two, knit two, purl two…

Take the time to make some tea – but now it is cold. Bitter. Not a good beverage for a day such as this. Too many steps.

Knit two, purl two, knit two, purl two…

Hours go by. Hours of telling my mind to stop, stop, STOP! But I can’t. I must… just one more row.

Knit two, purl two, all day long.

Not the worst activity, I suppose. Not the worst addiction, but an addiction just the same. I can’t let go. I can’t stop. My thoughts will not move on.

Knit two, purl two…

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Autism: Not Gifted

“They are often gifted in areas such as: music, math, science, computers…” One thing that really… hurts me, when I am reading about Autism, and especially Aspergers, is how it is often written as a given that people on the spectrum are often gifted in some way. “All you have to do is give them the opportunity to develop their gift,” they say.

Only I am not gifted. I don’t have perfect pitch. I can’t pick up a new instrument (or even one I have been practicing at for a while for that matter) and just play. I don’t have a flawless, or even a great memory. I can do well on tests, and I do remember dates – but that is much more due to my obsessive nature rather than any gifting in the area of memory.

I was not great at learning – and in fact was one of the last to learn anything being taught all through grade school (and high school as well.) That might have had more to do with the fact that I was one of the youngest in my grade, and was too shy to ask for help, or work with other children – but I was not intellectually gifted.

I did very well in both of my college courses (Early Childhood Education, and Residential Construction) but again, that had more to do with my OCD and anxiety (I was terrified of failing, and so compulsively studied, and researched, and thought of nothing else while I was in school) than having any strengths to speak of.

My sensory issues always stood in the way of learning Science as I would have liked, and I absolutely do not have a photographic memory. The only time I can remember things is when I am interested, and fixate on those subjects for days or years at a time. Even then, when I move on to something else, I often forget what I once knew as well as any specialist.

Perhaps what I am good at is filling in paperwork. For all of my adult life, this has been the consistent feedback, “you are meticulous in your paperwork,” “I have never had anyone who was so thorough,” this from writing I.E.P.s for my son’s homeschooling, for the projects I was asked to do as part of my adoption home study, for writing up information on my the areas where my children struggled, for the paperwork I handed to my doctor and psychiatrist when I went in for assessments… but once more, this is because I am compulsive. I must write neatly, detailed, thoroughly. I can’t do any less. It is not a gift, as gifts are thought, but an obsession.

While I may have been top of my class for construction level math, I couldn’t use my knowledge on the job site, and that level of math isn’t exactly what would be called a savant.

Though I enjoy doing them, I am still at a basic (child) level for arts and crafts. I like to write, but again, am not gifted in this area. I really struggle with grammar, and get overwhelmed with information when trying to learn new skills.

As for computers, I was afraid of them until my son came along, and taught me (at the age of 3, with no prior knowledge) how to use them without breaking them. Even still, they seem to suck the energy out of me, and I cannot spend all day on one as he does. In fact, in high school, when I was forced to use computers, I had a horrible… it wasn’t a habit, it isn’t like I knew how it happened, it just happened… of wiping out every computer I came into contact with.

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I am not great with languages. I love animals, but as I have mentioned, my sensory issues precluded me from studying biology – and my emotional issues preclude me from working with animals as a living.

I am not great at cleaning. Definitely not a decorator. While I love plants, I struggle to keep them alive – and the design part of gardening is beyond me.

So when I read that Autistic people are often gifted in some area, it just tells me once more that I am a failure. I am not gifted. Does that make me less?

 
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Posted by on April 12, 2016 in Experiences of an Autistic

 

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Autism: Control Freak!

I think it came as a result of something I was reading. He was sitting on the chair beside me, and I suppose I was being very vocal about the words. As I have mentioned in the past, I have difficulty with swear words. It isn’t so much a matter of principal – more the way they make me feel… like someone cooking Kraft dinner in the house, or the smell of barbecues. Fine for some people. Fine for most people. I acknowledge that.

It isn’t that I feel these things are the worst things in the world, but the smells, the sounds, the words… they leave me feeling very sick. No exaggeration They quickly have me curled up in the fetal position, in tears, and wanting to die.

But it isn’t like I care at all if someone does these things in their house – unless I am there. I would even admit that it is not my place to say anything about it… only – please, please, please, don’t do it when I am there. I can’t explain it. It may seem rude – but remember that I have an extremely sensitive central nervous system. When I say it is bad, when it seems to hurt me, it is not an exaggeration It really does!

So back to the words. I know it is common for people to say them – and really, I don’t care. Just… I don’t want to hear them. I don’t want to read them. I block them out as much as I can, but I am so visual, that as soon as I hear them, as soon as I read them, the picture is in my mind. I can’t help it – and believe me when I say, “it is not pleasant.”

A few days ago, he was on the chair, visiting me – and I was trying to listen to him, while reading an article. And I kept coming to the same place over and over, and that word! I probably would have just skipped right over it, but I was distracted, and got stuck there.

He laughed at me, and then confessed, “I swear all the time,” he said. What? Those words are bad! Now truly, he has never sworn at me – not once, and he is turning twenty this weekend. It isn’t like he is some young child, and even I have to admit, most people his age do. Most adults do.

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Since he doesn’t ever swear around me, I really don’t care – but it has been so much fun teasing him on it. For instance, every time he comes to visit me now, I will remind him to “try not to swear at me.” Or, since he told me he does swear at his cat (and she does cry frequently – mostly because she is just about to turn 18, and is almost deaf and blind, and is asking him where he is) I tell him, “it is no wonder China cries all the time.” I say it in a teasing way (I think) and he often turns away and laughs.

At the same time, he told me yesterday that I was a “control freak.” No, he wasn’t being mean – it was teasing much the same way I do to him – but I could also tell he felt there was some truth to it (especially in regards to the swearing.)

But the thing is, I am obsessive. I am compulsive. I suppose that due to my Aspergers, I do fixate on things. I can’t let go. I can’t! But it isn’t like I want to control him. It is more that I want to control my environment – for so many things hurt.

I guess that he was worried about what I thought, for today, after days of teasing him (I guess it was a big confession on his part) I told him that I really don’t care that much. I am just glad he doesn’t swear around me – which led us to talking about the way we think – how he hears his thoughts, where I see them… all of them. And I think that is what makes all the difference. After I told him that I really didn’t care, he seemed much more comfortable talking to me. I didn’t mean to make him feel bad – but it was really fun to tease him.

 

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