I don't think he realizes that when I say I miss him, what it means is: that I am missing him to the point of physical pain. That I can hardly eat, because the anxiety is consuming me and gnawing a hole through my core. That the psychic ache is to the point of being unbearable. That a gray curtain has fallen over my mind half the time, and the rest of the time, my mind is scrambling and stumbling in frenetic circles of worry. That I am utterly exhausted and cannot sleep.

And I don't know how to say it, because really, nobody wants to hear these things.

So depressed. Not hungry. Stomach hurts. Feel nauseous. Ugh.

Hope is like
Pale moth wings laying flightless
Dusty, dried petals
On a cracked and peeling windowsill
Which frames a clouded and solitary scene of grey.

I don't want to let anyone close to me anymore. I knew this would happen and I did it anyway. Dammit, dammit, dammit.

Tonight- I am sleeping in a bed that is safe and warm. Not in a car, or on the ground, or in a tent, or on some unfamiliar couch or cold floor....I get to sleep in a nice, warm bed with heavy blankets.
Tonight- Nobody is going to yell at me, hit me, or make me afraid. I can sleep without feelign anxious or hypervigilant.
Tonight- I won't sing the above song to myself, wishing that there wasn't a fight.
Tonight- Nobody is hurting my kids, or screaming at them. I don't have to feel conflicted, guilty or cowardly. Tonight-There is no ominous cloud, no sense of foreboding.
Tonight- I will not be raped, coerced, or coaxed into doing anything I don't want to do. If I awaken tomorrow morning and have done nothing sexual the entire time I've been naked in bed, I won't feel guilty...not even a little.
Tonight-I go to bed with a full stomach. I am neither thirsty nor hungry, and should the need for a bathroom arise, it won't be a problem. I don't have to walk or drive to find facilities.
Tonight- Everything is OK...and like so many of us, I take it for granted. We don't live in a war torn country, fearing for our lives as we try to snatch a bit of sleep. Our children aren't starving to death. Even those of us who are poor are so much better off than those in poorer countries that our complaints are relatively minor. We are rich by comparison.
Tonight- I will try to remember to be thankful, to have true gratitude, for all of these things.

I can't draw anymore, not really. I've always been able to draw. But ever since the concussion, whatever goes on between my head and my fingertips is messed up and nothing comes out right. I mean, I can draw a little...but...things look so bad. It's very discouraging and disheartening. I do realize that if I can force myself to draw everyday, in time, the ability to make art that doesn't cause me to cringe will return. It's like an athlete who sustains an injury that impairs their ability to engage in their sport- the strong ones tough it out and don't take no for an answer, they fight the weakness until they get their ability back. It's the same with the pottery, although not as bad, since fine motor skills aren't quite as much in use....but I've become a lot clumsier, more fumble fingered. I go to paint glaze on and it ends up places where it wasn't supposed to be, pick up a piece and just drop it, bump things without meaning to....

Oh, and my typing has become increasingly dyslexic. It used to be an occasional problem. Now everything I write has transposed letters and capitalization where it isn't supposed to be.....makes me look illiterate and stupid.

And that thing where between my head and my fingertips, something gets lost and doesn't come out right? It's the same between my head and my mouth. The words that come out of my mouth are frequently NOT what I meant to say, and or I see the picture in my head, but really struggle to make words out of it. And auditory processing issues, which were always there anyway, have gotten worse. It is frustrating as hell.

PTSD...eats away at me and leaves me feeling dirty, damaged, second rate and ashamed. I was so triggered last night that I was literally in physical pain. If it were possible, even my hair hurt. :-( I shouldn't complain, nobody wants to hear it, but god, it really sucks.

This blog appears to no longer be in the location posted, but what is written at that link is still highly relevant and well articulated. I resonate very strongly with most of what I've read so far.... Like....I don't like to be touched without warning or being asked, generally speaking. So I try to be considerate and always ask my partner if I may touch him. It's just second nature. Except, he doesn't want to be asked, it seems subservient to him rather than polite. But.....sometimes I am sensory-hungry and he doesn't want to be touched....and how will I know if I don't ask... How? Probably body language, which is hard for me to read. However, my partner is patient and if I am able to read people at all, I can probably read him better than most folks. Still, it's an ongoing quandary in my mind....

Finally, at last. It's about time: New study finds that people with Asperger's don't lack empathy.

And it's pretty much what I've been saying all along, but people didn't listen to me, because the researchers have had this idea that people on the autism spectrum cannot possibly have any worthwhile imput, perspective or useful information to share about what goes on inside our heads or what being autistic is really like.

Feeling somewhat better today, except that my living situation has gone downhill and short of being homeless, there are no good solutions for it right now. Someday, I want a place to live that's secure, a place in life that isn't conditional, to be able to plant things and know that I'll be there long enough to harvest them.

My blog paints such a depressing picture; the truth is that generally speaking, my life has never been easy. As time has gone on, the many traumas have built up to the point where I'm getting triggered nearly every day, particularly in regard to anything relating to loss or rejection. My reactions are always out of proportion to the event itself, because it's not just the event or comment that I'm upset about, it's every horrible thing that I just got reminded of. All these horrible things happened, and it seems as though I'm suddenly being asked to have faith that this time, things are better and nothing horrible will happen. Alas, reliving trauma, being in a triggered state, isn't rational, and at that point, my rational mind has been completely overruled, however much I might need or want for it to be there.

I wish, that when I get like that, instead of trying to reason with me (impossible), he'd just hold me, tell me I'm having an anxiety attack and that it will be over soon. He always tries to speak sensibly to me, which is pretty much an exercise in frustration for us both, at least as long as I'm triggered. However- after all this shit, all this raw pain, he never runs away or dumps me, and a lot of men, lesser men, would. When the nightmare fades, he's still there. Sometimes I wonder why he tolerates it at all, and in the end, the only conclusion I can come up with is that he must actually care about me.

What this person said. ---> Handy guide for dealing with an intp

Yes. It is not a personal insult if I disagree or debate a certain topic. In fact, it's a compliment. Because, as stated, if it is total unworthy BS, it's not worth discussing. That's not to say I can't argue, but there is a difference, and not all disagreement is arguing.

Really sad and I don't feel like there's anyone I can talk to about it. So I'll write about it here and share it with anyone in the world who wants to read this stuff, whilst still not getting any kind of relief. Irony.

He thinks that I am too easily shaken up, upset, reactive. He wants me to be stronger, to be happy in my own right, to be strong enough that even if things fell apart between us, I'd be OK. He does not want to feel as if he is of critical importance in my life.

I can see what he means. But it's like asking a person who's recently spent two years in the ICU fighting for their life, following getting hit by a train, to be OK with prancing along on railroad tracks, because if I get hit again, I'll live through it, again. Trains make me nervous now, not merely nervous- paralyzed with terror. Prancing on railroad tracks isn't fun anymore. I would like to walk somewhere safer, with him.

In addition to all this, it is becoming apparent to me that I simply am not the same person I used to be. I try, I go through all the motions of doing all the stuff I used to like so well, and I enjoy it, somewhat. But it's like my psyche has suffered a massive heart attack, leaving me with big areas of scar tissue. Sometimes I don't know who I am anymore, and it's more than a little unnerving. I know that I used to have friends. I used to do all kinds of stuff. But the person my friends were friends with, isn't here anymore. There's this other person that I am now, and this one is fragile, tires out, doesn't get as much done, requires a lot of TLC and patience, and has forgotten all kinds of stuff, even before the concussion. There are chunks of my life, like at least a year and a half, that are pretty much blanked out and erased, and there are other pieces that if I remember them, feel surreal, as if they happened to a completely different person who happened to live in this same body. I don't know how to talk about these things with people. I don't know how to explain it.

So yeah, I am afraid. I cannot afford to get broken again. I already know how not okay things can be. Whatever parts of me are left, my children need for them to be there.

But the fear ruins things. It makes life less fun. And it's not his fault that I'm like this.

Desmond Morris on Territorial behavior in Homo sapiens

Science blog, same topic

This appears to be for a course or class

It's an interesting and inadequately addressed subject, considering how pervasive territorial behavior is among humans. I engage in territorial behavior. You do. Everyone who has enough consciousness to perceive personal space and who grasps the concept of personal property engages in territorial behavior. However, most of us, including myself, invariably will deny engaging in such behavior if called on it in reference to a specific incident. We will claim that territorial behavior is for animals, that we are civilized....and then go on to be thoroughly outraged when the boundaries of our territory are breached.

Social mores, niceness, sociable behavior in general, are the counterpoint to territoriality. There cannot be niceness/good behavior when territory is disregarded, and tactful/polite behavior is what makes navigating territory not only manageable, but worthwhile and rewarding.

What this head injury feels like, when it's bad (and I say it this way because it isn't a constant; I have good days and bad days and mixed bag days):

It's like bouncing, except "bouncing" sounds like fun, and this is not a fun sensation. It's more like sinking down to the bottom of a murky pond, groggily, and then, with some difficulty, surfacing again into awareness...like not having the strength to swim anymore and just sinking, surfacing, repeatedly. It's so tiring.

Noises hurt. OK, I'm on the autism spectrum, and having sensory issues is an integral part of Asperger's...but now, it's worse. Sharp, sudden sounds feel sharper, more jarring, hard and abrupt and painfully startling. Such sounds are several times harder to endure than they used to be. They are almost physically painful.

Things get blurry, bleary feeling, nonsensical, they don't add up like they should. People talk and it makes no sense, or if their verbal sounds do make sense, I have significant difficulty holding onto what they said. They tell me that they had told me things previously, and I have absolutely no recollection of ever hearing it. Even when I hear and comprehend, it's much harder to follow a conversation or remember what was said. My short term memory and speech decoding appears to have been impacted.

Reality feels less real and less continuous. It's the only way I can describe it. There are times when blank spots appear in the present or near past. Time isn't fluid, it doesn't always flow, it skips sometimes. And I have no idea what happens in those blank spots.

There's a horrible sense of helplessness, despair, a sense of being useless, panic at not feeling better, embarrassment, that goes along with it. Of needing, desperately, to rest, to sleep, to lay down anywhere at all. An awareness that my mind is not working correctly, and there's nothing at all I can do about it, except to rest and to hope that eventually, it will get better. The exhaustion is debilitating. And guilt! I feel so guilty about still feeling like shit, as though there were anything at all I could do about it! I feel so bad for not being able to walk right, for slurring or not making enough sense when I talk, for needing to sleep so much, for not being able to get much of anything done, for being barely able to drive 25 miles every morning and afternoon, and nothing besides that. My goal, every school day, is to rest enough to be able to drive back responsibly.

And speaking of being tired, of needing to sleep....good night.

The doctor says it is probably axonal injury.

Still stumbly. MRI, results go to my doctor on Monday. Tiresome.

Icons

Still recovering from the concussion, my mind is working better than verbal skills would indicate, however extreme emotionality isn't helpful either.....at any rate, I'll make an attempt at writing intelligently. :-/

I've always tended, in art, to draw one particular thing over and over and over again. Whatever thing I draw, it isn't the object I'm drawing so much as an idea, or perhaps an ideal. It's more of a symbol than a subject. These drawings tend to be very....boring to the outsider's eye, because they will all look pretty much alike. Usually (but not always, as you will see), the iconic image is of an animal, and usually it is depicted from the side, or in the same pose (although very minor variations do occur), and usually the same color or color pattern as well, always pointing the same direction if in a side/profile pose. The only other work I've seen that is of this nature is done by George Rodrigue, who paints his blue dogs, over and over and over again in pretty much the same pose. I honestly have no idea why I do this. I can't explain it. I can only say that the subject matter/iconic image isn't boring to me, that what I am trying to express is only partly captured by the drawing, and that other subjects are simply much less interesting. Also, the icons tend to get drawn for a long time, months or years, until I move to a different one...and I also am not quite sure why I drop one icon and switch to another, except that the old one has simply ceased to be interesting. It is strange, I'll grant that. Examples, listed as chronologically as memeory allows at this time, follow:

• Chickens, specifically, a hen sitting on her nest of eggs, profile pose. This is the earliest thing I remember drawing. I had recently lost my mother, so perhaps the image of a hen protecting her eggs was soothing or meaningful to me in some way.
• Guinea Pigs. Always the same guinea pig, my own pet Ginny. I managed to incorporate her white, brown spotted profile into almost every art assignment I got, even after my art teacher said she'd scream if she saw another guinea pig!
• Superman. I always drew Superman facing directly at the viewer. I loved Superman and wanted either to marry him or be him when I grew up.
• Cabbage Patch dolls. Yeah, I really have no idea why.
• A dog with a mohawk in wild colors and a pierced ear. Profile. My 80's punk rock phase.
• A punk looking girl/woman, 3/4 view, high cheekbones, short spiked hair, kind of butch looking, with big earrings. I think she was what I wished I looked like at the time...she looked so cool and so hot!
• A cartoon character I called Roy. Roy was a gray bird wearing a blue beret.
• Cats. Cats ad nauseum. There were a couple of different cats in this phase, first an Angora with curly hair, always sitting, and then it was striped tabby cats.
• Horses. Usually the horses were in a profile pose, pale grey or white with dark feet, muzzle, mane and tail.
• Dark figures, usually children, drawn silhouette style with only the clothing colored and detailed.
• Goats. Some variation here, but not a lot...
• Peaches.
• Salmon...Kokanee salmon. Always profile, but I draw both genders, although only once in the same picture.

Exhausted now, going to rest so that I can eat dinner...

Still feel lousy. The lower half of my body is uncoordinated and stumbly. The rest of me is more coordinated, but tired, very easily exhausted, not much attention span.

Sustained a concussion while handling a large buck goat, Saturday evening. Still don't feel so great. Sleepy, easily fatigued, more emotionally labile than usual. Trying to be gentle w/ myself....

Exhausted for no good reason. Maybe stress.

I'm not an object to be possessed. Women are never things that men are entitled to in any sense of the word. My time, my body, my heart, these things belong to me and are mine to do with as I please, provided that other people's boundaries aren't being violated. I categorically refuse to be defined, restricted and limited by my gender.

And I'm sick and tired of having to repeat this shit, which should be obvious to any thinking person, over and over again throughout my life. Some truths are self-evident. Some boundaries should only have to be stated once. The Dark Ages, in our society, in my life, are officially over and have been for a while now.