First things first, I suppose a little introduction is in order. They usually make me uncomfortable but since we don’t have to guess who is going to go first this should be a little easier. Besides, there is nothing in this world I know more about than myself, the hard part will be keeping this short and sweet. I am 30 years old, and I just discovered a few weeks ago that I have Asperger's Syndrome. In the grand scheme of things this doesn’t change anything, I’m still exactly the same person I was before I figured out why I am so different, and yet at the microscopic level at which I examine myself it’s monumental. This has given me something I have searched my whole life for, perspective. I have found my voice. I hope to help others find theirs. Welcome to my world.

Thursday, November 29, 2007


I sit at the edge of the night
Watching the frayed bottoms of the curtain rise
Searching for all the missing pieces
That I seem to have left scattered in the wake
Of my tumultuous flight
To reach this precipice

Curled in upon myself I seek warmth
Protection from the cruel winds
That taunt back and forth across my flesh
Screaming in agony for release
Into this, the twilight of my former existence.
I shiver, and I wait, and I watch.

I was beckoned here by the taunts of a childhood best forgotten, these seeds of dismay took hold early and the thorny brambles they grew are too thick for the fragile to pass. I hold them deep inside, protect the hearts of those I love from the true depths of my own depravity, and lie fetal in wonderment as my own imagination threatens to tear my very essence to shreds. But these times I need as well, for the tears I cry are the tears of the Gray of Matha, born of portent and tragedy, and they doom the messenger, my own unrealistic despair. They are the tears of Frigga, and as they pass the portents change, and resurrection can begin. They cleanse my soul of its own poison, and cure my blindness, that I might resume my stolid vigil.

What I watch for has never been clear
A glimpse might peek from the sheltered sky
But lost in the fog of my own solitary confinement
I wait, but not in silence,
Questions echo across the empty span of darkness
Fall back down to shift and swirl about my huddled frame
The scratching of talons on the earths own crust
It calls, and I scream defiance

I lived in this place of denial for many years. Even after I discovered this world I drifted in the unrealistic expectation that I had to be a certain type of person to qualify. I strove for years to mold my personality, convinced early on that my fantasies where just extreme versions of what I really wanted. I have vacant memories that float around my brain, snippets of conversations that once danced circles around my understanding of who I was. Voices that spoke calmly, in deepened tones, as they told me what and who I was. What I needed, what I wanted. They bore a hint of truth and conscious reality, so they never sounded hollow on deafened ears to my own screaming desires. Submit they whispered softly into the cracks of my foundation, and I felt I had no choice but to listen, my own regard so eroded in the swollen waters of their power.

Creeping up from behind they sat
Sharing my space for but the passing of a moment
Eternity in my tiny world, where dark dreams held sway.
The stony façade, the marble iciness of my gaze
Though tempted never strayed
Oaken wisdom, thorny roses, petulant weeds
All tossed and broken in the storm

So I sat alone. Still lost in wonderment at my inability to find my own definition. Each eternity that passed just waking further the demons that danced along the edges of the curtain on the horizon. The one that hinted of wonders, and horrors, and screamed truth loud enough to ring bells in my ears. Their talons crept forward, to rent deep into my flesh, valleys for tears to find passage to the parched and dusty earth that settled where I sat. Alone was far better than the flaccid reminders of what I should be, I should be waiting, and watching, and searching for answers.

When the curtain starts to rise
The edges start to crumble,
Open eyes clenching shut as the light of what has been hidden sears forth
It flashes and falters, for the truth cannot be so clear
Gone again, tears form at the corners of steel blue eyes
Melting stone in their path, fragile flesh exposed
To the twining thorns that twist and flourish around me.

There is no path through me, that was the mistake of lost souls that tried to chip at my base and alter my perceptions. But these thorns did not seek to alter, they twisted and twined and snared me in their embrace, taking nourishment from exposed flesh as it was offered in turn. Each sapping strike bleeds my soul of the doubts and worries that plagued my ideals, and in these thorny brambles I find comfort and solace. Given life in that brief flash of understanding and truth, he continues to grow around me, entwining my soul and making my cry out to feed him the blood of my own pain to sustain the growth of his power.

Stone cannot be bent; it must be chipped away, shed in the light of destiny and the scope of self knowledge that the mind can grasp. The demons still dance at the edge of my awareness, but the raging inferno that tips every thrusting thorn that drives through parchment flesh, tender and weak as it flares and burns in its wake, lends translation to the voices they cast across the opaque distance between fantasy and reality. With the solid wall of his own beasts, reverberating whispers that speak of depth of character and are mortared by protective nature, to bounce from they take on tones of meaning and understanding.

With prodding claws he drags forth my tears
Each searing drop of agony a question lost to wings
They form wider with each strike leading further into the recesses
Twisted realities that lead to a path labeled destruction
By those who care not to heed the warnings
These thoughts are not placid
These raging waters of destruction that persuade me to drown
In seductive images, and terrifying nightmares
Knowing that those thorns that drain me, leaving me helpless in his embrace
Bear also the fundamental ambrosia that grants me life
The vigil continues, but I sit not alone.

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Whats Missing?

They say I can’t be happy unless I have lots of friends and acquaintances with which to pass the time. They say I can’t be happy, spending most of my time hidden away in my apartment from the rest of the world. They say I can’t be happy locked inside my head thinking away the afternoon. They say I need more. What do they know? I wouldn’t know how to be happy any other way.

I tried it their way for years, all it did was make me anxious and miserable. All those friends and no time to get to know any of them, a full time job I hated, and me faking a smile when I could be half assed bothered to concentrate on it. The days disappeared one after the other with never enough time for the things I needed to do and needed to think about. It was all too much so I stopped pretending but now that I have everything I need they tell me it’s not enough. Why do they only see the things I don’t have, and never the things I do.

I have a beautiful daughter whom I have raised well. She is a shining example of acceptance and tolerance. I can’t remember the last time she threw a fit, when she wants something she approaches me calmly and rationally. She knows I am almost always willing to negotiate. I know we will have our rough spots over the next few years as she becomes a teenager, but we have excellent communication skills that should serve us well.

I have a wonderful, caring, understanding boyfriend. Although he doesn’t always get why I feel the way I do, he is willing to take it at face value that I do and accommodates me to the best of his ability. He values my honesty and candor about the things I need, and communicates his own needs very effectively as well. He is my social buffer when circumstances warrant a trip outside. He nurtures the little girl that I am inside and yet respects me for the adult that I am. He gives me my space when I need it and understands that it’s not a slight against him, that I am just preoccupied sometimes and its best to let me be. Many of the things he loves the most about me can be directly attributed to having AS.

I have a quick and attentive mind to the things that interest me. I don’t jump to conclusions without doing my research, and I don’t open my mouth unless I have something valid to say. I am the first to admit when I am wrong and the last to back down when I am right and it matters to me. I can be stubborn and hard headed but only about the opinions I am sure of, and I have no desire to force those opinions on someone else. I am willing to share the information that I have, but by no means do I expect blind compliance, I prefer for people to take what I say and come to their own conclusions. I often see the connections between things that others are missing in the big picture. My advice is well respected.

I have a best friend who understands me in a way no one else does. She also has AS so we are able to bounce problems and ideas off of each other with no worries about judgment. We don’t chat about the weather or spend hours on the phone discussing our crushes. We do have each other’s back no matter what, and when no one else understands its time for a visit.

I have a phenomenal grasp of the English language, and the ability to inspire emotion through my writing when I am in turn inspired to do so. I can just as easily write a professional business letter as a journal and I also write poetry and other creative pieces. I have been receiving high quantities of praise from respected individuals about this talent for years. Having a computer allows me to share my writing with a much greater audience without the pressure of having to socialize face to face.

I have friends who don’t expect anything beyond our friendship. We care about each other and even if we go weeks, months, sometimes years without speaking we know it doesn’t change that. If they need me and there is something I can provide they know where to find me, and vice versa.

I am happy and fulfilled. What exactly am I missing?

To the music in her mind..

She dances alone in a clearing full of eyes all alight with wisdom and understanding if only they could see her. They cant, she covers her own eyes to keep it inside thinking that if she cant see them they cant see her, and she’s right. What they see isn’t here, its nothing but a shallow veneer wrought of lilacs and ivy woven tight with thorns to prick the unwary and keep a million tiny pieces trapped inside. Pieces that she has painstakingly collected through time untold and clutched in the tiny fists that beat against the chest of humanity.

Its not a simple as they think nor as hard as they imagine to dance beside her, but the vision they behold blends and wavers between this world and another baffling their concept of reality and truth. Frightened by what they can’t understand they watch on and the whispered songs they should have heard from the dawn of this act vanish beneath the din of observation and judgment. Still she dances, uncaring that lines are blurring and unmindful of the storms that are brewing overhead. This is her time, and her place, and they cannot really see her after all. They could dance beside her but the very nature of their world holds them back.

She falls exhausted to the dirt at her feet and carelessly they rush to her side, words of solace and pity that grate through her veins, burning her with the intensity of their desperate advice. Clenched fists that they would see this fall as weakness, this need to stop and catch her breath as impairment, did they not see her dance? Surely if they had they would know she deserves this moment in the dust, the sweat that glistens on her skin, the pounding heart that threatens to burst from her chest. They didn’t, they saw nothing but the tears and anguish of a child too afraid to reach out and take their hand, too lost in her own dreams to even see that they only want to help her understand. They cannot see that its not she that needs to understand.

Why can they only see her here she wonders, when she lies in the ashes of her own humanity too weak to rise and greet the song that plays endlessly through her mind, and her tears begin to soak the fallow earth that cradles her prone body. Mired in a net of judgment and evaluation she could drown in her own thoughts as they try to surge past her lips in a torrent of explanation, only to be lost in the stream of labels and opinions that pour from their mouths. Careless definitions cast forth in an attempt to find a way to keep her here, in this world, where they can see her. She rises to her feet and though she still cries she smiles and turns away, shrugging off those hands that seek to bind her to this reality. There is nothing for her here but dust and ashes, and so she starts to dance again, hoping against hope but knowing better, that this time they will finally open their eyes and witness the peace this dance brings her.

Suffering From Judgment

Floating around on youtube this morning I came across a video discussing how we do not suffer from Asperger’s we suffer from society.

This is something I have thought about many times over the years, even before being diagnosed with AS. I have never suffered from my differences, only from the judgment of others about the value of those differences. When held up in contrast to their own needs my life seems hollow and disconnected and so it’s easy for them to jump to the conclusion that there must be something wrong with me. They fail to see how full and rich it is when compared to my own desires.

30 years of being told there is something wrong with you takes its toll, and I feel it through secondary mental disorders. As time passed and I was increasingly expected to take part in society as a “normal” person I developed anxiety and a social phobia. Although I don’t imagine I would have either of these were it not for AS in my life, I’m quite certain they are not a symptom of the AS itself but rather a symptom of societies reaction to my differences. The social phobia is almost a benefit now; I feel much less guilt about my inability to function in the outside world when I’m not making constant attempts to do it. Still I hear on a regular basis that this is no way to live my life, that there must be something wrong, that I ought to be looking for a cure.

Am I angry about it? Not really, I cannot blame the vast majority for not knowing any better, it is after all not something they have been prompted to think about. Those that should know better but don’t are another story, but I am happy to know their true character and even more happy to leave them out of my life. I just think it would be a vast improvement if people stopped trying to decide what was “right” for everyone else.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Self Esteem

I often come across as very negative about myself. Perhaps not here where I make an effort to express that I have talents, but more so when it comes to verbal communication. I’ve been told by outsiders that some work on my self esteem would do me wonders. It makes me snicker, if they knew anything about me they would know that low self esteem is not something I suffer from. I have a tendency to talk more about the things I am not good at than the things I excel at, but there is a simple reason for this and it has nothing to do with the way I feel about myself.

The things I am good at I am extremely good at. I do nothing by halves, and if I am not competent at an activity I simply won’t do it. Being a perfectionist this leads to a high level of expertise about the things I know, and an almost complete lack of knowledge about the things I don’t. For some reason this bothers people to the point where I am either a narcissist for talking about my strengths, or have self esteem problems for addressing my weaknesses. The only way I can see around this would be to discuss both in one conversation but since they tend to involve totally separate topics this rarely makes sense in the context of conversation.

I can’t for the life of me figure out why being aware of my weaknesses is a bad thing, or even discussing them with other people, when it leads to a further understanding of myself and that is what I am after in the long run. I have no idea why acknowledging the things I am good at makes me egotistical when those are the things by which I stand to offer the most to the world. I don’t understand why it can’t just be accepted for truth that it is. No hidden meaning, no search for a pat on the back, just me knowing what I’m good at.


Yesterday my Doctor asked me what I thought getting diagnosed with AS would change about my life. It was an excellent question and it has provoked a lot of thought, because the answer in a nutshell is nothing and everything.

I am aware that when it comes to society as a whole this isn’t going to change things. Knowing why I feel the way I do in social settings doesn’t make it any easier to go out and experience them. The average person isn’t going to go out and do a lot of research about Aspergers, looking for a way to interact with me on my level. Things will continue on as they always have and there will always be misunderstanding in my life. I’m ok with that; I don’t have a lot in common with the vast majority of people and I can see no point in spending my life trying to explain myself to them. Let them think what they want, I am content.

Where this will make a difference is in my one on one interactions with the people whose opinions I do care about, and here it will make all the difference in the world. Just knowing that there is a reason for the way I am has already made a huge impact on my life. I still feel like I live in a parallel universe, but I no longer feel alone here. I feel as though I have found a way to reach across the gap and occasionally pull someone in with me, to see it my way, to listen to what I have to say and view the world from a different perspective. It’s to finally be able to put words to the things I have thought about for so long and not feel like I will be ridiculed and laughed at for feeling the way I do.

Its easy to see where AS has colored my life through the past, and I have been doing far too much thinking about it these last few weeks. Its odd because I have never had a problem with dwelling in the past but this last little while I have been letting it drag me down. Its time to get back to the moment, and right here, right now, things are pretty damn good. I have a boyfriend who is open minded and understanding, a best friend who totally gets where I’m coming from, and a daughter who is a joy to be around at 12 years old. My needs are few and they are all taken care of. I have plenty of time alone to think and do the things I feel the need to do. It took me 30 years but I have reached a place in my life where I am completely content, even the rough patches are no bumpier than anyone else’s. My life isn’t for everyone, or even the vast majority, but then their lives aren’t for me either.

Being diagnosed is providing me with a different perspective, showing me that it’s unrealistic to compare my life to theirs and hope to come to any viable conclusion of good or bad. If nothing else, it’s allowing me to look at things in a new light and see that there is nothing wrong with being exactly who I am.

Monday, November 26, 2007

Troubles Accepting

I almost feel like I need to take a step back here. I know that’s not possible, one can’t just step back from their life and look at their experiences and perceptions from another angle. I’m wholly overwhelmed by this look inside myself and the insights this discovery has given me about my past. In little pieces it all seems to make sense, but when I try and condense it into a bigger picture of the way it makes me feel the edges start crumbling and I am left with nothing but dust once again.

I wanted to provide a guiding light through this, I wanted to light my own way and hoped to show others the path as well. I thought I could accept Asperger’s into my life and continue forward as I always have, one day at a time. It isn’t as easy as I thought and I’ve discovered its much more deeply woven into the core of who I am than I would have thought possible. I never would have guessed in a million years that I have Autism, and reality can be bone crunchingly savage when it hits you out of the blue that way.

In the wake of this struggle, this blog has turned into an expression of the difficulties I’m having in coming to terms with myself, and where I fit into this world that I have fought so hard to stay afloat in. I’m questioning everything about who I am right now and while I don’t think that’s entirely healthy it hasn’t killed me yet and I wouldn’t know how to stop if I wanted to. Perhaps through this baring of my soul I can reach some understanding. A little less confusion in my life would be stellar.


Some will seek the tangles in the depths, only to be trapped and lost in a cage of their own interpretations. They close the doors to their own minds, slamming them shut one after another in an attempt to hold together their fragile and shattering sense of self. The cracks that mar the surface ebb land flow like the tides, for sometimes these feeble attempts at enlightenment form mud that seeps into the cracks and fills them. But the reality of truth flows past these shallow dams, they loosen the bits of debris that tries to lock itself into feeble wisdom.

If only these eyes could see, if only the walls that contain this all could be torn down one brick at a time. If only progression could force time back in its wheel, then the voices of things once uttered in distress could be trampled under the heavy tread of common sense. But alas, time marches on and the voices that once echoed so soundlessly from wall to wall, fade in the distance between then and now. Who remembers the whispered tales so forgotten in their own past they cannot see the light of the present shining bright into their imagination, beckoning and tempting of things that could lead the soul to peace and the mind to clarity?

Feeble winds and feeble tales spread slow and tend to whimper with dying breaths, for without progress the wings could not unfurl, and the butterfly would never soar, forever doomed to the path of the earth, chained by the bonds of altered evolution. Stagnancies breeds disease, and this disease that burns fierce along the pillars of the bridges casts its shadows long across the path that leads onward, forward, one step at a time.

The arms of comrades fallen by the wayside, point the way through the mires that try to grasp and claw, draw them into its heart where it feeds on those who call themselves the truth. Gaping rents in the understanding of those too blinded by base achievement to grasp the difficulties within their twisted hands. Psychic vampires who sneak unwary through the triumphs of others, seeking to pick and prod at the delicate fibers that hold the sleeping eyes of dreamers as they wander from room to room.

My spirit sings at the cusp of the deepest pit, obsidian darkness and an echo that fans out forever, like a stone dropped from far too high to ever pierce the delicate skin of the oceans that abound. Laughter fills the emptiness of the blackened rooms behind the closed doors. For those without eyes to see, or bridges to traverse the severity of the landscape, shall trip and stumble to the knees of a child when faced with the certainty of their own mistakes. Someday the slap shall send them reeling, and the crystal palaces built so carefully, brick after brick, in careful progression, will shatter and fall before the eyes of the disbelieving.

Progression relies on the imperfections of humanity, for with nothing to improve on how could we progress. And yet there will always be some who can refuse to see even the plainest of colors as they pass before their eyes. Some who will always see the calming blue that descends from above as the crimson red that surrounds their defenses. My song mourns these lost souls, who have forgotten how to forgive themselves all transgressions that they might learn and grow and seek the metamorphosis that allows them to soar.

Indigo blood sinks deep into the soil that holds captured the feet of those who wander too far down the path of self righteousness, those who would dare scratch insults in the dust in vain attempts to be granted company in the face of their own denied misery. Grant them succor, and their claws rend and tear at the pages that hold the destiny of truth before their very sight. Grant them solace and they cry foul and dismay, that one would dare offer sanctuary in the depths of their own endless drive towards totality.

Let the angels be warned, that the demons that hide within the hearts of those too important to care for the opinions of others exist in the closets and under the beds. Intolerance is the nightmare that lurks in the shadows and causes fear in the night. Each time the evening descends, another voice fades from the echoes, another is added to the chaos, another twists itself into knots with its own failed logic. In all cases, at the end of all tales, reality and truth will prevail, for that is the path of progression, and there is no denying that.

Friday, November 23, 2007


Dreamers whisper back and forth across star strewn skies
Their voices crisp and clear on the breeze
Parading their hearts for the world to answer
With echoes of immortality
Amongst the marked

Those who bear the brand, who dance attendance
To the dark that lives and breathes eternity in their souls
Seek the light in the darkest of places
Seek the recesses of their own fragile motives
And find the truth hidden in the caskets of confidence

Deny the honesty that screams defiance at the masks
At the peril of long forgotten deceptions
Rising to devour what remains of the will to be whole
The stone that hides the true image from prying eyes
Also blinds eyes that seek fulfillment
In a world that doesn’t belong to them.

The never ending pursuit of happiness
Foiled at every turn by the fragile’s inability
To take ownership of the weakness that bleeds for acknowledgement
With laid blame they hide their scars
Laying bare their own chances

Acceptance marks the beginning
And the path grows longer with each step
Twisting and turning past ethical lessons
Taught in fear of the unknown.

Shed the scattered teachings that the truth is what they speak
Cast the muttered discontent aside in the face of bitter reality
We are the nightmares that lurk in the abyss of our own subconscious
We are the light at the end of our own tunnel
We are the keys to our own success
We simply need to unlock the door.

Thursday, November 22, 2007

Hiding Within

I haven’t always been reclusive. I went to regular school like any other kid and went on to college. I took my kid to school and went to my full time job every day. I went out every night and had lots of friends. To the outside world I seemed like your average young mother doing her best to get by in life, but I was screaming on the inside. It’s hard to cope with feeling this way when you have no idea what’s going on, or why you are struggling so much with things everyone else can do with ease. I understand now that its common with Asperger’s to feel this way, but back then I slowly withdrew a piece at a time trying to gain some peace and clarity in my life, and some understanding of why it all seemed so different for me.

The times I want to leave my cozy little den have dropped dramatically in the last few years. I don’t think the time I spend alone is a new need, just the further recognition of one I’ve always had. I can’t focus on anything when there are other people around, so I stay in my apartment by myself most of the time. It’s getting to the point where even that isn’t enough. Cabin fever gets the best of me because I love to be outside, but living in the city overwhelms me to the point where I have no choice but to stay indoors most of the time. Even a trip to the nearby park seems like an impossible journey when you are worried about who you might run into. The occasional dinner, family function, or errand I manage these days leave me over stimulated and exhausted. Going to the grocery store is a nightmare of lights and sounds and people that I can’t avoid because I only eat certain brands of certain foods. All I want to do when I’m done is go home and go to bed. Just the idea of going out into the hall of my building can be too much to bear sometimes.

I want to live in the woods. I want trees, and running water, and rock as far as the eye can see. I want my own little room in the attic where I can hang things from the ceiling, and paint on the walls, and fill one end with pillows for curling up and reading in. I want to be able to step outside my door without being immediately assaulted by the traffic, and the lights, and the hordes of people going this way and that. I want to be able to see the stars at night, and to sit by the fire quietly thinking. I want to live where the world can’t find me unless I let them.

Its not that I don’t want any contact with people at all, on the contrary, I am fascinated by people and desire to connect with them, I just struggle with face to face interaction and social etiquette. The few people I do interact with on a social level, including my boyfriend, are either on the spectrum or highly open minded people who can see past these weaknesses. Despite these difficulties I have found a way to connect with a broader slice of the world at large through the internet. I have found a medium where eye contact doesn’t matter and everyone is free to pursue what brings them peace and happiness, where people don’t have to ignore my tapping feet and worried expression to see the truth in my words.

Some day when my situation is a little better I can move from this city and find my little piece of heaven in the woods. Until then I will bide my time here in this apartment, adventuring out into the wide bustling world only when I have to. Those who know me will shake their heads and forgive me, just another way that Alei is different from the rest. Those who understand me will recognize that it’s what I need to do and love me all the more. The rest of the world will pass by my doorstep and never even know I’m here. Its better that way.

The Missing Voice

I’ve been doing a lot of research these last few weeks. I have a driving need to find out exactly where Autism fits into my life so I can decide where to go from here. I’m shocked at what I have found. In mainstream coverage there is one thing significantly lacking. Where is the voice of Autism? How can people who have no idea what it is like to have Autism claim to know all the answers about how it affects your life and what you should do to “cure” it? Why are we listening to the NT parents of Autistic children and not listening to the adults who have lived with this their whole life? Those same adults who were once children with Autism.

I see a general sense of panic happening over the issue of Autism, and I don’t really see the point in that. I’m all about getting the stats out there but this tendency to react with horror and disbelief is a little childish in the face of the facts. An average of 1 in 150 children are on the Autistic Spectrum, and I agree these numbers are staggering, but they are not new despite their relatively recent appearance. If 1 in 150 children have Autism then 1 in 150 adults have Autism. You grew up beside us, the quiet kid at the back or the class clown. You worked beside us and maybe once in awhile wondered where our minds were wandering off to. You sat beside us in the coffee shop and wondered what book we were reading. You sat beside us in the movie theatre and didn’t even know we were there. Autism isn’t new, people panicking about it is.

This rush to find a cure frustrates me. How many Autistic people did they talk to before they decided we need a cure and how much of this push is coming from parents who just want a “normal” child. I’m amazed that people who consider themselves intelligent and rational are buying into and contributing to this hype. I’m even more amazed that they perceive this as the whole truth when it is so blatantly half of the story. Digging deeper the real story is there, the endless accounts of people who have lived with this their whole life. Acceptance of who they are. An overall sense of confusion about why the world can’t accept them as they are as well. People who know that like everything else in life it isn’t all bad, that the upsides to being Autistic more than balance it out. People who wouldn’t want to be NT for all the money in the world. Oddly enough, I haven’t found anyone with Autism screaming for a cure.

Normal vs Sane

What is normal but a figment of their warped imaginations? It doesn’t exist in my world, never has, despite the endless times it’s been thrown at my feet. They tried to throw it at me but it never stuck, how could I be something that doesn’t exist. I may as well try to be a unicorn or a dragon for all the good it would do me. I can’t be anything other than what I am, and try as I might I will never master the magic of transformation. I tried and I failed before I learned how to mimic their cries and let them come flocking to what they wanted to see, I’ve forgotten now how to do even that. Not that I care.

I refuse to pretend, I’ve spent my life pretending and I don’t think it’s too much to ask for my loved ones to accept me for who I am. I know it isn’t for most, the ones who already knew about my world and love me and would never ask me to change, but I worry about the rest. Will the social stigma Autism get the best of them? Will they crumble beneath the pressure of the media to find a cure? Will they stop seeing me for the person I am in the face of what they see as a disease? Or will they open their minds and their hearts and see the truth about the girl standing in front of them and all she has to offer? I don’t know, I can’t predict how they will react, I don’t understand them at all. It seems so easy to me. Stop trying to change the things you have no control over and just accept reality into your life.

I’m not hurting anyone, hiding away in my little world. I don’t pose any threat by remaining peripheral from all those but the few who will meet me half way. I could wish for the ability to expand this close circle, I could visualize it in my mind, but still I would open my eyes to find that the power is not mine to make their choices and all that remains are my whispers and the hope that they will hear them. One little voice saying that trying to be normal is counterproductive to remaining sane. You may as well try being a unicorn, or a dragon, for all the good it will do you.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Altered Reality

I sit and wonder impossible things. Impossible questions with impossible answers that are impossible to find. It’s no wonder I feel like I’m running in circles, panting and heaving with each labored step to get where? Nowhere except right back here where I started, staring at my own bitter reflection, that warped perception with no face that I embrace and hold dear. It shatters under the pressure of so many hands tugging it this way and that towards their own definitions. No care for the not so fragile doll, suddenly porcelain under their scrutiny, searching for flaws in the already crackled veneer of what they taught her to be. I don’t understand how it can be easier to live on their side of the mirror.

Clarity they say, and common sense, naught but hurled remnants of ages long past that drift to the bottom of the muddy waters that surround them, social conditioning that has no basis in reality. Not clear, clarifying, but crimson with the tears of bleeding hearts and opaque to muddle and blind, if only they could see. I can’t save them from passionate denial, when all I have to offer is words, and to open my mouth I risk the flood pouring forth, to sear them where they stand for their damning accusations of reality and misguided fantasy. Even now I fail to understand the world beyond the glass, its perceptions seems so warped it overwhelms me. I’m a catalyst with no voice beyond a whisper trapped between here and there. Nothing but these groups of letters that fall from my fingertips.

I seem to exist in a world they can’t even imagine, at the edges of their reality, their existence, where they glide endlessly through life on magic carpets fueled by the dishonest truth, kept company by a golem in my likeness, though I long ago fled the safe womb of that chrysalis. I fight my way through rabid jungle that seems so calm and serene from their lofty perch, where the wind barely graces the tops of the trees with its gentle kiss. The reality of who I am exists only in their dreams, where they can cast hideous denials back in the face of my defiant screams, and find succor in their heated delusions that I am like them at all.

I am not who they expect, not who they see when they deign to cast enlightened eyes my way. The reality flows just beneath that brittle veneer, one that could not hold under the gaze of a closer look, a blessing then that they choose not to, their cool apathy the glue that holds its cracked and worn fragments as my disguise. Deaf eyes and blinded ears. Where, I wonder, did they learn not to trust their senses. Common sense in the face of the truth that it is neither common nor sensible at all. The intensity of their lives makes my head swim and no matter how strong you are, treading water is always a losing battle. Any wonder that I choose to exist in my world rather than theirs; they make the same choice every day.

Opening Minds

I’m not going to cry, I’m not going to whimper, I’m not ever going to let a lone tear roll tracks down my dusty cheeks. I won’t let the world know the pain they cause, the scars that cut through my soul, marring the edges of my very spirit, and leaving me crying in agony on the inside. A cold face is all they will receive in return. Their cruel taunts will pass my ears with the speed of a wave, crashing against the rocks, and yet will not wear me down. My strength is moored in the lines of the earth, and the energy that sustains it runs through my bones as well. Laughter may echo across the lands of my mind, but my own can join it in harmony, and soon the mocking shall fade, no power without consent. I won’t let them see the shattered webbing of the core that is created, when laughing minds refuse to see the truth, when the sheep inside their hearts follow blind along paths of destruction.

The fear that rocks my being is one for them alone, and yet they will never understand this, for the weight of the world rests in their hands, and the power of it makes them gluttonous. Wrapped deep within layers and layers of gauzing, cushioned from the damage they cause themselves, and everyone else in the process, my heart still weeps but I won’t let them see. If they opened their eyes, saw the lines in between, walked the tunnels with lamps instead of blindly floundering on, then the world might last forever. Takes but a moment to ask the questions that provide illumination for this journey of ours, and the light a single one may cast can light the way for countless others who follow in their wake. But no, some people fear the light, and the knowledge it may bring, that in the glare of the truth they might find they their perspectives a little warped. So they hide behind Ire, and claim to have a greater understanding of the world at large, when all they can really see is the walls they have created in their own little reality.

True bravery takes a step outside that door, those walls of safety and comfort, to see the world from the eyes of another. Why won’t I cry? Whimper? Because it would make no difference, cruel eyes would just flash and call it weakness. They would jump to conclusions, assuming they hurt me, that the wounds that appear across the flesh of my soul are theirs. But they belong to humanity, romantic as it is, for these people will mean the end of the earth, Armageddon, Ragnorak, if they don’t learn to listen to the greater songs that are the energy of us all. Why embrace anger, when acceptance comes easier, why embrace hate when the heart wants to learn. Why claim understanding before even listening. Open your mind and embrace clarity.

Tuesday, November 20, 2007


The unexplainable happens, and you are struck by a force so strong you are left reeling in its wake, hoping you survive the impact.

The soul makes a leap before the mind is ready, and the confusion this creates blows apart some of the things you thought you understood.

The subconscious wakes up, and starts effecting changes in your life, unbeknownst to the conscious mind.

Dreams aren’t really dreams at all, but silver threads that guide you to the healing that you need, tangible only in that space between sleep and wake.

The bits of evil that lurk in the shadows of your spirit are the only things keeping you sane, and forcing your heart to keep beating.

Its harder to embrace hope than defeat, happiness than sadness, comfort than pain.

Even though all the signs are pointing in one direction, the only way to get where you are going is to go the other way.

The things that hurt the most are the things that are worth the most.

Every time you answer a question it opens a door, and behind every door is a room full of questions.

Monday, November 19, 2007

State of Mind

I have to be honest; I can’t do this any other way. I have to admit that I’m frightened of the shadows that lurk at the edges of understanding and acceptance where it was once my solace to hide and wait and watch. Now I’ve hurled myself from the darkness and into the blinding light of the fire where all the weaknesses I fought to smother for so long can be picked apart and scrutinized in the hopes that reassembled these tiny fragments can be stronger as a whole. I feel like a blind man who has learned to see, still fearful of stumbling and falling over the stone blocks that are scattered here and there that I now know are simply features in my garden and not the traps I once thought them to be. I can see them, I know what they are, and yet I can’t help but be wary that another will spring up that I have never seen. There are so many things I couldn’t see before now.

I am at a crossroads, and yet there are no other roads but for the direction I am already traveling. I started on this path a long time ago, and I have gone too far to retrace my steps now to become something other than what I am, a frustrated little girl who is locked in a struggle between wanting her turn for show and tell and fearing the class will laugh when she shares what she has found. Pockets full of sparkling pebbles and bits of beach glass, marbles and pennies, pinecones and buttons; she sits quietly at the back of the class endlessly moving them between her fingertips, hoping against hope that her name isn’t called. Hoping against hope that it is so that maybe she can think about other things and find the rest of the pieces she needs to put herself back together.

My desire to share of myself runs deep and contrary to my inability to take part in this sharing with others. Locked behind this screen of thorns there is a measure of safety, and yet what am I really sharing of myself without that human connection, I may as well be talking to a mirror. I wander through this amazing garden of ideas and thoughts that has always existed in my mind attempting to plot its twists and turns in the hopes that someday I can make the world understand, and yet somehow I know they never will. I can’t shake it, this desire to communicate; it’s the bane of my existence. Few and far between are the people who understand enough to spend time in my world and yet that driving need compels me to throw open the doors to one part or another of my soul and invite the world in, for better or worse. Most end up lost and bewildered in a very short time. Some few understand and respond, and for these I am truly grateful because every single person who understands makes me feel a little less alone.

I have accepted this into my life, but one detail remains, and there it sits again at one detail that locks my mind and my heart into this eternal struggle to define what matters. One person’s opinion and faith in my ability to see inside my own mind in a way that no other could fathom. One heartstring stretched to its limit and the rise and fall of unconditional love left hanging in the balance. One person, what matters their opinion in the grand scheme of things. Nothing, and yet everything when their acceptance is all you have ever wanted. Without it I have no idea how to move on from here.

Emotional Dichotomy

I have, through the years, been described as both over emotional and cold hearted, the former due to my tendency to melt down when under pressure to explain and burst into tears, and the latter because of my apparent inability to empathize with others. The fact of the matter is that emotion doesn’t affect me in the same way as it affects most. I can’t ever recall being a little bit happy, or a little bit sad, or a little bit angry. Its not that I feel these things intensely all the time, but rather that I usually don’t feel them at all.

At times I’m sure I have a better grip on reality than most NT’s, unblinded by all those little emotions that seem to dictate their every move. They seem like children to me in so many ways, unable to cope with reality in the face of the way it makes them feel. I’m not saying this to be insulting, this is simply my perspective and although that can sometimes seem harsh and critical I am just as critical of my own capabilities and weaknesses.

Of course this means that I’m not as “happy” with my life as I have led people to believe, but if you tell people that then they assume you must be unhappy so I used the words they understood. Most of the time I am neither. Most of the time I am numb. Most of the time people also interpret that as unhappy. The snake is eating its own bloody tail trying to explain it.

I have no problem with being this way, I can’t for the life of me figure out why anyone would choose to feel that intensely all the time, it seems to get in the way of common sense so often. Even when emotion reaches a state that I feel it there is a core in me that screams that feeling this way is unrealistic, that I am assigning false value to things that have no meaning in the long run. When I am angry I know that it is serving no purpose, that calm thought could solve a problem that yelling will only exacerbate. When I am grieving for what I have lost I know that that changes nothing and it is best to move forward appreciating what I have. When I am sad I know that this too shall pass, and that acceptance helps me to move on. It’s intense but its brief and once I have moved past it I’m not concerned with it anymore and its time to get back to business. I guess that’s one benefit to living life in the moment.

Mini Documentary

As much as I like to talk about the way having Asperger's has affected my life, I think its just as important to hear other points of view. This is a very insightful and well put together little documentary.

Saturday, November 17, 2007

Out of the darkness

I’ve been struggling for as long as I can remember to explain the world the way I see it. It’s not as easy as it might sound. For a long time I couldn’t figure out why no one understood the things I was trying to explain and so I learned to hide it for fear of being told it was all in my imagination. I would write on scraps of paper, tiny tidbits about the way things looked and felt to me, and hide them inside books and up inside my closet. When I did venture to speak of the way I was feeling I generally found that people did not understand. The frustration of trying to put the pieces together in a way that they could fathom would overwhelm me, and before too long I would be bawling my eyes out. This made me seem over emotional, and granted I was at that exact moment, but it was always a symptom and never the problem. I knew this, but I didn’t know how to explain it to them.

I’m not bitter any more. I was for a long time, but with the knowledge I now possess I can’t have expected them to have any idea what they were dealing with. Aspergers had barely even hit any ones radar and by the time I started exhibiting signs I had learned how to fake it in most situations. The focus has always been on diagnosing the young, and less care was taken with adults; because we have good language skills, and are often highly intelligent it can be difficult to spot. I’m very good at faking it when I have to, I just prefer not to because of the amount of stress it causes me.

There is a common misconception that because people with Aspergers don’t process social cues on an instinctual level that we are not good at reading people. I am sure there are people with Aspergers who struggle with this, but when I am outside of the situation I am exceptionally good at it. I’ve spent my whole life studying people and the way they interact in an effort to be more like them. I have a huge mental database of people I know, situations, and reactions that I can cross reference with relative ease when I am calm and relaxed. There is no pressure when I am a bystander and if my perception is wrong, no risk of reacting in the wrong way. Put me in a situation where I have to take part and all of a sudden it’s a race against the clock to interpret the social cues, and missing just one can spell disaster. The stress of trying to keep up can overwhelm me and cause a short circuit in my database and then I may as well be a fish out of water. The more aggravated the other person gets about my inability to communicate, the worse this gets, until I am in full meltdown mode. I worry about this all the time, its easier to just stay home.

So I do. I stay home and I fixate and I try not to explain myself to too many people. Well at least I used too. With the addition of one new word to my personal dictionary I have discovered the ability to share myself, all of myself. I have found a way to put into words my different perspective of this world we all share. I have found a place where the child in me can roam free in my garden of thoughts, and where the adult can sit and ponder the mysteries of life. I have found a way to throw open the gates and let others pass through the thorny vines that have grown so long and so fierce about this gilded cage. I have found the freedom to be me. Out of the darkness I created for myself, the perceived safety of my imagination, and into the light. The fires have been stoked; all that’s left to do is explore the shadows in the safety of its glow.

Through These Eyes


They called me socially phobic for years. At first they implied that this meant I was afraid of people and I snickered behind my hand, I’m intrigued by people and the way they behave, but I am certainly not afraid of them. They reiterated with the qualification that I was afraid of negative judgment, and they got a little closer to the truth. Then they had to go and say I had poor self esteem and attending a workshop would help me with that. There is nothing wrong with my self esteem, the things I am good at I excel at and the things that I’m not good at I accept. Socializing is one of the things I’m not good at.

I don’t understand all the rules. Human beings make so many rules for the right way to do this or the wrong way to do that. Rules for saying hi, rules for saying goodbye, rules about how long its ok to talk about one subject, rules about how long you should talk about things that have no meaning before you can talk about the things you want to talk about, rules about how you should act when someone else is talking about something you have no interest in.

Most people don’t even see them as rules, for an NT these connections happen without thought. It comes natural to banter back and forth about things you don’t care about. It’s friendly to stand around and chat about the weather. It shows that you care about people when you take an interest in their interests. Most people instinctively know when its their turn to talk, when its ok to initiate conversation, and when its appropriate to make their excuses and carry on with their day. Its not that I don’t know these things, it’s that for me they require an extra step in the thought process. This can make social situations highly stressful.

Most people also have wide and varied hobbies and the ability to take at least a passing interest in the things that appeal to their friends. I have a hard time talking with anyone at length about any topic that doesn’t interest me and these are few. I have *fixations, a few topics that I know a great deal about. I have extreme difficulty engaging in any activity that doesn’t involve one of these. My mind starts to wander and I find it intensely stressful to maintain the appearance that I am listening and interested. It takes conscious effort stay within the socially acceptable parameters of chit-chat, something I don’t understand the concept of in the first place. A wandering mind interferes with that, and I can’t help but think my time can be used more efficiently. This isn’t intended to offend anyone, it just is what it is, and although I can fake it sometimes I really have to wonder what that is doing for anyone in the long run. Faking it just doesn’t seem right.

This is doubly hard when I am working on a project. My state of mind is difficult to describe at these times. I have to pay very close attention to my behavior or I risk disconnecting from the world at large completely. Interruptions aggravate me, and I have to be on guard against snarling at people for doing the things they are entitled to do. I am aware that they are doing nothing wrong and this goes a long way, but when I am all wrapped up in something it makes it damn near impossible to focus on my tone of voice, body language, and facial cues. People who want to be around me at these times need to learn to rely on the words I am using and ignore the social cues I am presenting.

I can only imagine that ignoring these takes just as much conscious effort as it does for me to maintain them in social settings.

*(in no particular order):
Late Roman (approx 300AD) – early Middle Ages (approx 900AD)
Psychology, Sociology, Philosophy – The science of people.
Sex and Pain

Living life one minute at a time.

Every day dawns new for me. It’s always been that way, for as long as I can remember I have been telling people to leave the past where it belongs. I don’t regret, or dwell, or mourn the things I once had that I have since lost. I’ve always just known that no matter how much something hurts today, and even if it still hurts tomorrow, that there will come a day when I hurt less and there will even come a day when I don’t hurt at all and that loss will be just another memory in a long stream of them.

People for the most part confuse me. Their tendency to dwell in a past they can’t change or on a future they can’t possibly predict never fails to amaze me. That they would sacrifice their happiness now for what they think might make them happy in the future is a concept I simply cant wrap my head around. I live in the moment, taking happiness and sadness as they are presented to me, accepting success and failure as they happen, and in the case of the latter picking myself up, dusting myself off, and moving ever forward no matter how slow the pace. I have no real plan, no idea of what I’m going to do next year, just a few ideas and the willingness to see where they take me.

When you are a child everyone always wants to know what you want to be when you grow up. The truth is that I am 30 years old and still don’t have any idea what I want to be when I grow up, but I played their game and I played it well for awhile when I was young and therefore their expectations weren’t high. As far as they knew I had aspirations and dreams just like any other child, but I was just pulling rabbits from a hat to make them all gasp with glee. I discovered early that if my talents appealed to one or two of my teachers, they could shield me from the scrutiny of the others. I found the library, and the music room, anything to keep me inside at recess. There were still ripples, but for every teacher that took my book away in class, there was another teacher to go straight in and get it back for me.

The problems started when, as I got older, people started expecting me to follow through on these dreams. When everyone else was executing their carefully laid out plans, developing their career, I was struggling to keep my head above water in a world where I was increasingly expected to mingle with my peers on a social basis. I no longer had teachers to shield me, and it was no longer acceptable to focus on one activity to the exclusion of all else. I no longer had the angsty teenager excuse for hiding out in my bedroom all the time, and yet I was feeling an increasing need to be alone and do the things I wanted to do. I was slowly becoming aware that there was no place for me in mainstream society.

The thing that struck me to the core was that this revelation gave me a measure of peace. I didn’t care if I didn’t fit into mainstream society; I’d never understood the motives behind it anyway. Get a good job, make lots of money, buy a big house, a cottage on the lake, and a fancy car all so that you can keep working long enough hours that you never have time to enjoy any of it anyway. I don’t need any of those things to be happy. Save lots of money for your retirement just in case you make it there and there is no more social security to support you. When I get too old to take care of myself I might just wander off into the woods. Don’t bother coming to find me.

None of these things concern me, and that’s a hard concept for most people to understand. Some consider it immature and irresponsible and I agree that my absolute refusal to plan for the future can come across as naïve on the surface, but I believe that it is based firmly in reality.
I don’t need any of those things to be happy, I can be happy with them and just as happy without them. The material possessions are peripheral to my actual needs.

This doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes work towards a goal, it just means that my plans aren’t concrete. They don’t represent a bigger picture of what my life will be like in the future. I can succeed or fail on any step at any time and it doesn’t really have that much of an impact on things as a whole, because as a whole all I want is happiness.

Accepting Asperger's into my life.

Well, I’ve come to terms with a lot of things that are different about me in my lifetime. This is probably the biggest, and yet at the same time it’s the smallest given that I have already come to terms with most everything it encompasses. They say the Devil is in the details, but I’m not entirely convinced. The details are all I have when the bigger picture is so horribly overwhelming I can’t even begin to sort it out. So, I broke it down into small manageable chunks, and in doing this I found that the majority of this bigger puzzle was already completed. Aspergers is naught but a word in the face of what I have become in 30 years of living with it, and I understand the purpose of words. In the right hands they lead to understanding, and greater understanding in my life is exactly what I have always needed.

I have made an appointment with my GP to get either a diagnosis or a referral to a specialist. Cherry would like me to go to a Doctor in Rochester but I just don’t think we can afford it right now and its important to me to get this done so I can stop feeling like I am in limbo. It will be easier for me to approach my family with this if I have that professional diagnosis behind me. Unfortunately I don’t spend enough time around them for them to know anything about me. My inner circle have all been told, done some reading and research, and agree whole heartedly that I have all the symptoms. I’m nervous about going to my GP; he has some Doctor/Patient confidentiality issues. I guess that might actually work in my favor this time. He sees my whole extended family and is a bit of a chatterbox in the exam room. Maybe coming from him they might get it. Emphasis on might.

It’s been a bit of a rough week, but I think I’ve finally gotten it through this thick skull of mine that no one is going to turn tail and run just because one word got added to their dictionary. In fact, it has already created a greater degree of understanding between me and most everyone I’ve told. Aspergers is a reason not an excuse and coming to this awareness this late in my life has provided me with a chance to grow up and find the ways to fit in when I need to. By this age those that I really care about are those who have always accepted me for who I was regardless of why I am that way. What social skills I don’t have by instinct I can sort of make up for with experience. I will never be Neurotypical. I will never understand how someone who is NT experiences the world, and I will never be able to explain with any clarity the way I experience it, but the understanding that those differences aren’t in my imagination is all that I need at this point.

The proverbial light bulb

*takes a deep breath*

It starts here, or at least it feels like it does. I’m calling this the proverbial light bulb because that’s what happening in my life. Somehow it all makes a lot more sense, and yet I still can’t seem to come to terms with it all. There is a part of me that wants to scream, that feels that being defined in this way will somehow discredit all of the unique quirks and eccentricities that make me who I am. I’ve never felt the need for a cure, I’ve never wanted to be anyone other than who I am, and although I know that having Aspergers is a part of me, not the sum of my whole, it almost feels too comfortable to fit in a category that way. It’s never happened before.

I’m angry, I cant help but think that this was overlooked, that I was overlooked. I’m grieving for the years I have lost to trying to be normal when that was never going to happen. I’m elated to have found some of the answers that I have looked for for so long, but I’m confused by the volume of information that I have to work my way through, and where I fit into the spectrum. I can’t help but pick apart my life to find the pieces to the puzzle, but I find it overwhelming that so many of them fit. The “Neurotypical” box has very few pieces left.

All my life I’ve been different. Sure, everyone is different, but this is on a much deeper level. There have always been things I couldn’t do that most could accomplish with ease; I’ve always seen things differently. I just don’t feel things the same way as others do and without a point of comparison I have no way to describe the way I am feeling or how it differs.

I’ve never understood jealousy or grief as explained to me, my emotions at the time people tell me I should be experiencing them do not match the description provided by others feeling the same way. I have a difficult time in situations where I am expected to “feel for” someone, and although I can sympathize by rote it tends to come across as cold, it is after all scripted in my head based on the situation and what others around me are saying. Its hard to express feeling in a sentiment when you aren’t feeling anything at all.

Apart from the few people I form intense connections with I have difficulty socializing. I don’t understand the apparent enjoyment others get from this activity. Its not that I don’t want to feel this way, I simply don’t, and that makes the experience stressful. I spend the entire time worrying about what I can say, and can’t say, and how far away I should stand, and if I should shake hands, and how long its ok to talk. I’m confused easily by groups of people, especially those with an expectation that I will take part and contribute to the banter.

This doesn’t mean that I am disabled in any way it simply means that I do actually view the world differently, just as I have always suspected. I don’t experience things the same way as someone who is Neurotypical would, I simply don’t “feel” the same things.

There is a disappointing lack of information available to adults with Aspergers. It’s getting better, but the focus is still on diagnosing children with the syndrome, and less care is being taken to explain the way an adult would present the symptoms. The fact of the matter is that adults with Aspergers are highly overlooked in the medical community due to their high functionality and lack of extreme symptoms. After 30 years I was content to stand back and let the world affix the labels they wanted, knowing they would never understand and I would never be able to explain it to them. Despite the years of trying to be “normal”, I really had no desire to be that way. I was simply forcing myself into the mold, trying to make ends meet so that I would know how to relate to everyone else around me. As it dawned on me that no matter how hard I tried there was no way to change who I was, that I was definitely working at a disadvantage in social situations that no amount of study about psychology and social clues was going to fix, I retreated. I started resisting the urge to reach out and touch people because I knew that eventually I would let them down, they would see me as cold hearted no matter how much I wanted to connect, and my inability to make small talk or initiate any kind of social activity would drive them away thinking that I didn’t want a connection at all. I’m good at making friends, but I suck at keeping them.

That’s been the hardest part of my life I think, that people assume that because I cant I don’t want to. They take it personally when I don’t just drop in to say hi, or I can’t empathize when they need a shoulder to cry on. I can give advice, but I can’t empathize, and that’s a harsh reality for some people to face. I correct people when they are wrong and they assume I think they are stupid, when in fact I just sometimes get so fixated on the details that I cant see the bigger picture. I can’t do drop ins, people have to call before they come by. I often use the wrong tone of voice, facial expression, or body language when I am communicating giving the impression that I am upset or hostile and by the time I realize it I have no idea how to fix it. I tend to be so honest I can offend people without realizing it, I’m not the girl to ask if your ass looks fat in those jeans if you want platitudes. Most people expect more from their friends.

Even masochism is suspect in my eyes right now. I was never fully comfortable with the textbook definition of this word as it applies to me. It’s another example of standing back and letting the world choose how it wants to see me, it was a word that people understood and accepted. It saved me from having to explain the way I felt about it. This doesn’t change the way I see myself, but it may change the way the world sees me drastically. Pain at very mild levels gives me some element of sexual satisfaction, but leaves me totally unsatisfied. Pain at the level Cherry and I play gives me no sexual satisfaction at all, yet leaves me with a temporary satisfaction I can get no other way. See, here I am trying to explain it. I can’t. There is no point of reference. Needless to say, many people with Aspergers often enjoy pain and discomfort, both emotional and physical, because we seek those intense feelings what we don’t experience in thier natural setting.

This is by no means all the information I have, or all the clues that have come together. This is just me trying to get this all straight in my head. I’m working on making an appointment with a psychologist and by then I hope I will have this all in order to present to him on paper. This just fits, I feel like these people are in my head, right down to the fact that I walk on my tiptoes. I’m actually quite frightened.

This is just the beginning.