It Can Get Lonely Here

In the past, I dealt with my feelings of isolation and being the odd one with alcohol and drug use(and lots of heavy metal music!).  For a while the substances numbed my emotional pain, but it never removed it completely.  There was always a part of me that struggled to fit in without having to rely on ‘outside help’ to worm my way into normalcy whenever I went out to a party or to a bar.  Oh I loved meeting people, especially guys when I was in my late teens and early twenties(before meeting my darling husband) but I never figured out what to say to impress them, to helped them figure out that, hey, I might just be the one for them!  Usually at parties I shrank into a quiet corner, mostly it was found in the sanctuary of another room devoid of humans. 

Back  in high school, I remember one year the first day of Physical Education class and realizing, with complete dread, that there wasn’t a friendly face in the crowd of girls seated on the bleachers.  I remember sitting on the floor and watching a fly buzzing around and wishing that I could be that insignificant bug and fly away, out of that room, out of that school, out of that life I tried so hard to fit into.  But of course, that was impossible.  I hated sports.  I was the one that, not only chosen last for the team, but a lot of times never chosen and the teacher had to stick me on a team, only to be brutalized by the groans and complaints of, “Oh no, not her!”

Yes.  I am not the sports enthusiast by a long shot.  I still cannot serve a volleyball successfully over a net!  But you know, I have come to accept my failures in that arena.  I wasn’t made to be physical that way.  But now I do run and weight lift, and I have always been a fast runner.  But when you are young and begging silently for acceptance, anything that you see yourself as a failure at, just takes another nibble out of your self-esteem.  And there is definitely a lack of that for girls while attending school, especially, I believe, in junior high school.  What a nightmare!  But I won’t go there.  Girls can be so mean at that age.  And it’s a shame, since they are all in the same boat at that point:  some many changes that a young lady goes through at that time.  But we won’t go there…again.  So if were to be asked what age I’d like to return to, it would be age 30.  Guys are better at that age too!

So it is a lonely road having Asperger’s, especially for a girl since it is more difficult to determine what is wrong with her than with her male counterpart.  I shouldn’t complain, though, since I had great parents and siblings(even though they tortured me mentally by telling me I was adopted and that the government removed the month of September, my birth month, from the calendar and that I would thus no longer have a birthday to celebrate!).  Oh, older brothers and sisters can be soooo mean. 

Anyway, to all of you out there with Asperger’s, take it from me, you do not need any substances to handle life.  Because overall it just complicates things.  Take life a day at time.  Best to have a friend to discuss this with.  It is a lonely life.  I understand.  I probably have only a few friends that I can count on.  But my husband is my very best friend.  Even though he enjoys teasing me about what I write on here.  Love your life.  You are worth it.  You are worth loving.  Be who you were made to be and embrace it. For life is short, so we need to take in as much of it as possible for however long of a time we have it.  Don’t waste your time feeling sorry for yourself.  I’ve done it and it didn’t help in the least.  If you must, set a timer for 10 or 15 minutes and have a good cry.  I’ve done that and I usually feel so much better after that. 

See yourselves as unique.  You are one of a kind, dear friends.  And you are a wonderful addition to this craziness called the Human Race.  Blessings.  Until next time,  Eva


The Difficulty of Friendship

Okay, if you know anything about Asperger’s is that we have a difficult time making and maintaining friendships.  I just never got the hang o f it.  I probably can count on one hand the number of friends that I have.  And this isn’t an attempt to garner pity, but just sharing a truth.  Growing up, I always wondered why I was so different from everyone else.  I  wanted friends.  I just didn’t know how to get them.  I couldn’t maintain good eye contact, I was not proficient at small talk, and I wasn’t sure how to act around other people.  It just seemed to me that other women were completely into other things that I had no interest in:  scrapbooking, for instance.  I was attending a new members’ class at a local church when the discussion turned to what the other women’s hobbies were.  They gushed about scrapbooking.  I guess I just didn’t get the thrill of it.  I, for one, didn’t even have a large collection of baby photos of my two sons.  It just wasn’t something I thought of doing, as a woman with Asperger’s.  I didn’t know then what I know now.  Unfortunately for my sons, they won’t have a lot of childhood photos to look back on.

But I was always the quiet one.  Not that I always wanted to be.  I talked the ears off of people I knew.  And just ask my poor husband how much I talk to him.  He just tells me that I must be saving it all for him!  Lucky guy!  I’ve heard that us women have so many words that need to be used up in a day, and he gets to hear almost all of them.  I bet that he feels so honored!

Anyway, I am not a social person, not even with my own family.  I like to see how they all are and then I normally shut up after that.  It’s not that I don’t want to talk to them, it’s just that I don’t want to talk period.  No offense to my family. 

It’s lonely, though, not having friends to confide in, though my husband is my best friend.  I’m thankful that he does listen to me, for the most part.  It used to make me cry, wondering why I was so different.  It doesn’t anymore, because now I  understand.  It is just the way that I am.  It’s not that I don’t want to change, but there are times that I much rather be alone with my thoughts and my books.  I love reading, because they help me with my fantasy life.  I have an amazing imagination, that’s probably why I love to write.  But I won’t go there this time. 

So, if you see someone who doesn’t seem to want to be the life of the party, it may not be that they are terribly shy or standoffish, it could very well be that they just don’t feel like speaking but would much rather listen to what is going on around them.  And that’s not such a bad thing to be.

Change in Direction

Okay, I’ve decided to go in a new direction with my posts.  I’ve written before about me having diagnosed myself as having Asperger’s.  I’ve decided I didn’t need someone ‘professional’ telling me what I’ve known for years was wrong with me.  And since there isn’t even an official test to determine whether or not someone has Asperger’s, I’ve read enough about traits in women enough to know that, yes, that definitely describes me. 

So I am taking this blog in that direction.  And how my life revolves around having Asperger’s and some very strange and neurotic things I am guilty of having done in the past that screams, ‘Wait!  This isn’t normal for someone your age!’.  So yes, I am putting myself out there and come whatever humiliation or embarrassment it might bring down upon my lovely little head, I will be open and honest.  Perhaps a bit too open and honest. 

So, here goes.  I have always been different.  In so many different ways.  My mother has told me that I was slow to begin talking, and that she never thought that I would, and then when I did, I wouldn’t stop!  Okay, and I’m left-handed.  Okay, that has nothing to do with it besides that fact that my dear, sainted mother used to bind up my left hand, so I would be forced to use my right hand.  I, being the wonderful genius that I was, and still am (well, not really), I would just unbind my left hand and go about my merry way!

Now, for a bit of embarrassment and utter openness about my past life(or, what normal people call, the early years).  Do you remember that adorable little alien called, E.T.?  Well, I surely do.  And I loved that little guy so much!  To the point that I watched that movie countless times and cried every time that little booger died.  And even more tears when he came back to life!  Oh the endless joy!  Well, let’s just say I had a rather unhealthy obsession with the little guy.  I had a stuffed E.T.  Remember them?  So cute, and soft, and ever so cuddly!  Here’s the sad part and how I know now that I had/have some disorder.  I treated that crazy thing like it was a baby!  I tucked it into bed next to me, spoke to it like a baby!  And guess the next sad, pathetic, and maybe cute part of the story:  I was nineteen! 

See?  Open and honest enough for you all?  That is not a ‘normal’ thing for a nineteen year old woman to be doing!  Oh, dear friends, I have  a lot of sharing to do with you all.  But I’ll just give you little bites here and there.  I wouldn’t want to stuff you full with all of my delightful foibles all at once!  Oh no!   Oh the wonderful tales I’ll share!  All my dark, little secrets.  All of my craziness.  All of my insanity.  Wait, is that the same thing or not? 

Til next time, I hope that you’ll enjoy snickering about my weirdness.  It brings joy to my heart to be able to add a chuckle to your day.  Even if that chuckle is at my expense.  No problem.  I am well aware of the absurdity of this bluntness and whether I am gaining anything from this or not.  Well, I am gaining writing time and a fresh awareness of who I truly am.  Love to you all.