I had to take a break for a couple days. It seems I wrote myself into a corner and had to shake it off. It's not so hard to think about the stuff I want to say in this blog, but it's fairly exhausting to put those thoughts in some kind of coherent order and use the right grammar, punctuation, etc. The same things happens to me when I write fiction. Things seem to go along smoothly for a month or two before I suffer from random burnout. When that happens, even looking at a manuscript can give me a negative physical reaction and I can't seem to face the idea of typing a single word let alone a sentence. It can take an entire month for me to get back in the groove.
I'm used to the waves by now. Balance is practically non-existent in my life. I usually don't eat anything before noon or 1 pm. Reading signals from my body is a complete crap-shoot. I can sit down to write something or surf the net and by the time I look up, four hours have passed, I'm practically dying from bladder torture, my throat is dry, I could use a snack, my spine hurts from heavy focus and not moving around. It's a real mess...lol. I can drink two pots of coffee before lunch and forget to eat anything. I'll stuff myself in the afternoon and forget to drink any water. And people wonder why Aspies suffer from stomach problems? Pssh. No surprise here. The really frustrating thing is I know I do it. I just can't seem to think of it in those moments to correct it.
One of the problems I seem to be having the last few days is acceptance of all these idiosyncrasies of mine. After two really bad days of unexplained depression and hopelessness, I picked my arse up off the sofa and went to the library to get my first Aspie book. The introduction from Michael John Carley brought tears to my eyes. There was nothing particularly emotional about what he was saying, it's just the similarity in our situations that struck me. He recognized his symptoms while trying to get help for his son. The same thing happened to me. He had a hard time accepting it, to the point he took a 5 day vacation alone to surf and watch people. I completely understand how facing an Asperger diagnosis can force a person to step outside their situation.
As much as I believe having an answer is a real saving grace for a person who has an Autism Spectrum Disorder, there are other things that go along with finally having those answers to the why's in their life. While the experience is different for everyone, I realized, just yesterday, that the sadness I feel is related to the fact I'm going through a grieving process. Since I started this blog a couple weeks ago, I've been thinking about "it", talking about "it", and all of my anger has bubbled back to the surface.
When I was told last year that I had AS, I thought, "Cool, that explains issues A thru W." But afterward I took three steps back and went on my way, back into my life, my world. There was a certain amount of denial there I wasn't aware of. Accepting that diagnosis, really admitting it in my core and knowing there's no "fix" makes me spitting mad. It's as though I have to admit to myself that my hopes of being normal died and they were cremated and there's no bringing them back. That's not easy for me. I'm not the type of person who can't solve a problem, so wrapping my head around the fact that it's permanent is stressful. Sure, I can find ways to deal better with the negative aspects, but I'll never be anything but ME. Aspergers is not separate from who I am, it is who I am and I have no choice in the matter. I have to spend my entire lifetime experiencing the world differently than other people get to, and yes, it really does chap my ass, because I never asked to be different.
This paragraph from Aspergers from the Inside Out really struck a chord with me~
My movements were slow, more careful and methodical than others', relaxed in contrast to the bodies whipping back and forth. Yet, oddly, few people bumped into me, and I began to feel like a ghost that no one saw. I walked the room, climbed up to the many floors, and viewed the ground-floor scene of tourist masses from many vantage points. All the while I was slowly taking mental notes; notes that weren't as smugly jotted down as they'd been in the past. For as I watched the dictionary of non-verbal communication flowing back and forth, I was hit fully, finally, that what separated me from them wasn't cultural. It never had been. It wasn't intellectual. It never had been. It was bigger than that. Staring into that sea of abandon, I knew.
I did feel something similar to that before the psychiatrist ever said, "Yes, you do have Aspergers."
I've felt something similar to that in countless moments that span thirty-seven years. I love it when people roll their eyes and say, "Every kid feels different, every kids thinks they must be adopted or an alien." I dare say it's not the same thing a person with Autism feels. Sometimes, none of us feel like we belong. Sometimes, we all get confused. But knowing in your core being every second of the day that you are not like those people, is different from what the average bear experiences. It's not lack of belonging, it's a factual separation.
So yes, I think it's probably pretty obvious I'm stuck in a grievance pattern. I've gotten past much of the denial, but I'm still dealing with the anger, bargaining, and depression that comes with finally accepting it all. I'm looking forward to the kind of acceptance that's free of negative emotions, and I think the best thing I could have done for myself was start this blog, get reading materials, and decide to make some sort of plan for my future (though it's definitely in the rough draft stage). This all feels akin to the first step in a treatment program, because I have to admit I'm powerless to change what is, I can only work toward living my best life knowing that I am never more than a few stages from a meltdown--but it can be managed if I try.
One day at a time, right?
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