Friday, March 28, 2014
Thursday, March 27, 2014
- Eye contact? Isn't just eyes. Feels like you're staring and prying into my soul. Get OUT already!!
- Several people talking, plus scads of atmospheric noise (lights buzzing, clock ticking, someone on the other side of the building sneezing, air blowing, doors opening and shutting)? I'm really sorry, but I hard maybe a tenth of what you just said to me, if that. There's too much noise.
- Scratchy clothes? I can't NOT think about it. The scratchiness is there in 3-D living technicolor, driving me nuts, and the more I scratch, the worse it gets.
- Room deodorizers? They make me SICK. I still smell the fecal odors, now it just smells like chemicals and flowery feces, and that's disgusting, lots worse than plain old shit.
- And...the list could go on for a long, long time.....
And so yeah, I more or less agree with the people who came up with this theory. I haven't put a lot of time into studying their proposed therapies based on the theory, although I understand that the therapy is controversial because "untested" and "could do more harm than good". Well, talk about alarmist. Nobody seemed to worry about that when they were trying to train us like Pavlov's dog, with piddly little rewards and nasty aversives. There isn't nearly enough concern over the chelation "therapy", which is KILLING children, based on the erroneous idea that the kids are suffering from heavy metal toxicity.
Anyway. I digress. For my part, I can handle a lot of the sensory stuff, although it wears me down slowly throughout the course of a day. One area that has been and continues to be a source of real difficulty for me is the intensity of emotional feelings. Thankfully, I don't get angry very often. My partner has NEVER seen me truly angry and honestly, I hope he never does....but it's a rare occurence and I've been able to control it reasonably well when it does happen. "Angry" doesn't even begin to describe it. "White Rage" or, if controlled, "Cold, Shaking Rage" would be better descriptors. So luckily, real anger is a rare event for me, maybe once every year or three, and usually for a good reason. Emotional pain, on the other hand.....is the worst. Things that would hurt other people, or that they might just shrug off, leave me gutted, despondant, with a knotted stomach, aching chest, muscles clenched so tightly that I'm in physical pain....the only thing I can compare it to is having am abcessed tooth in your soul. And sometimes it goes away, sometimes I can reason my way through it or it wears off, but other times, I find myself haunted and virtually crippled with an agony that does not fade soon enough. Sometimes things hurt me for years. I don't know where I was going with this. I got to thinking about stuff and now feel a little triggered. Going to bed. :-/
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Sometimes I am torn between longing to be near, and wanting to run away while I still can, before it's too late, before I get broken.
I never claim to be a whole, balanced person, for I am not. I am a teetering mess of broken pieces, held together with masking tape and tears and determination and hope.
Sometimes I look at you and your eyes are so blue, and just, YOU....and something aches and pangs inside of me and it hurts.
I know that I am all fucked up, and there may not be any fixing of me. We try. They try. Who knows if any progress is actually made. For me, love and pain are almost the same thing, and I love you, reluctantly, fearfully, because I am always waiting for the pain. I wish that I could love people freely, easily, with joy and ease, the way other people do....but for me it is always a struggle.
You say that I think everything is about me, but that isn't true. I think that everything is about pain, which, of course, will end up in my lap, in my head, in my amygdala, driving me mad while my frontal lobes stand by in impotent horror. The smallest things, that happen, that don't happen. My brain screams that they're portents of immediate danger, that there's not time to think just RUN, REACT!!!! And, it does, often for no damned reason at all.
And it takes HOURS to stop running. Hours. Even then, I am like a jittery, spooked horse. And then, abruptly, just really tired.
Welcome to the world of PTSD.
. Sometimes I think that there isn't any hope. That I've been believing in a hoax, a fairy tale, a thing that isn't real. I want to believe that it's safe, but on the other hand, what if it's not?
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
- How hypersensitive (hypervigilant might be a better word) I am to change. Because in my aspie, PTSD affected mind, no change is coincidental; it must, if thought about long enough, looked at hard enough, fit into some pattern, has some sort of meaning.
- My attention span is shot. With it, my frustration threshhold also seems to have gone down the tubes. Is capacity to endure frustration connected somehow to attention span? Both are connected to energy.
- I am NOT photogenic. However, neither are most of the people and animals I love. I look at pics of them and usually think that the photo does not do them justice. So disappointing! So, why is it so hard to accept that this applies to me, too?
- My body is ALL out of shape. Not fat, just...flabby. Muscle tone is being lost. I am tired a lot of the time and sit around a lot, which makes me...more tired.
- Animals: really important to me. Baby chicks, little goat kids, cats, my dog....I just love animals....and would never be able to make sense of h uman behavior without first understanding animals.
- Livestock vs pets: My daughter asked me today why I like chickens so much, said I seem to really be into chickens lately, and farm animals more than cats and dogs. What I told her: No disrespect intended towards pet animals, but when you realize that an animal can be just as much fun, just as engaging, with interactions just as rewarding as a cat or a dog, but it gives you a wonderfully delicious food product ALSO...well, it's sort of like winning the lottery. It seems too good to be true. Also, you never have to find a new home for such an animal. If it becomes a problem, aggressive or whatever, you simply eat it or find someone else who wants to eat it. Most of these animals don't bark at night, chase bicycles, bite people.... And as a final bonus, their poop, instead of being an unpleasant waste product to be dealt with unhappily and thrown away (with much disgust along the way) is actually something you can be happy to have, because it's so good for the garden! I love my cats, but honestly, sometimes I feel like it's pretty much give, give, give to the cats and the cats give back purrs and affection (which certainly have their value, make no mistake about that). With chickens, you get warm, smooth oval eggs which taste so much better than store product egg facsimiles that they are in a class of their own, AND they eat your food scraps and food waste and are *thrilled* to have it, clucking with such delight that you feel no guilt at all about having not used that stale rice or bread or whatever. Goats give all the affection and engaging interactions that pet animals do, only you get milk that can save a baby's life or be made into lovely cheese....and they frolic and act ridiculous, making you smile even when you're trying to have a lousy day. :-)
- And...food. When I am so tired and pulled in different directions, with a schedule that's a mess, it can be hard to find time to eat at all, let alone eat something healthful. I am discovering that eggs are pretty damned close to convenience food. You can fry one in a couple of minutes. Can boil them for easy transport. Make an egg sandwich. OR, you can take your time and make scrambled eggs with tasty additions, or an omelette or a quiche or a souffle (haven't tried the last yet).
We rode the bus together. I was in eighth grade, she was probably in high school. She was so cool! So preppy. Short, smooth dark hair, brown eyes, and ever so silent. I rode the bus with her for an entire school year and never heard her speak once. She sat and read a book, usually. Most of the time, I sat across the aisle from her, because she was the sort of girl who seemed to need her space. She emanated some kind of an invisible boundary. Rarely, the bus was too full and I would sit next to her, acting as if this were an act of reluctance, but secretly thrilled, attuned to every motion, lack of motion, or nuance she might betray. She never wore bright or colorful clothing. Sometimes, royal blue...but never the hot, fluorescent colors that were screaming from everywhere else, in the form of T shirts, hats, shoelaces, even.... Her clothes tended to be dark, and she sometimes wore a businessman's type of cap, navy blue. The air of quiet, slightly melancholy mystery, combined with a degree of androgyny, made her a sort of aspirational role model for me. In all that time, I said not a single word to her.