Every now and then, something happens that knocks us down. We lose our place, our standing, and we are forced to re-evaluate our whole situation, and accept humility. You work harder and make sacrifices or go home. And I don’t have a home in which to return.
There have been so many things that have happened in recent memory that get me thinking, “had I’d known more, I would have done things differently.”
One week into 2022, it was already a shit year for me. From the last post you could tell I wanted to rise and shine, and venture forward with my life, but I was set back quickly.
Even the turn of the year wasn’t great. I missed my date with my close friend in Kentucky at the turn of midnight because I wanted meet a deadline with the previous post. I was turning something I’d previously written into an NYE entry against the clock; and yes, it does takes me a long time to write and rewrite; my editing often goes past midnight. With my OCD, I should have known that was going to happen.
“My momma always said, life was like a box of chocolates; you never know what you’re gonna get. Life is a box of chocolates.” — Forrest Gump
Okay, so that quote has nothing to do with this post. I’m just terrible at writing hooks. Trying to write a good intro makes me think back to that scene in Frasier where Professor Tewkesbury asks Frasier to treat himself, and Tewkesbury quickly knocks down the distracted directions Crane takes. “Stalling”; “redefining the problem”; “re-diagnosing.” And it ends where I tend to land: he can’t help himself.
So. I might as well get on to the damned thing.
Wednesday. I’d dreamt two things in particular: being challenged, and losing (sort of). And like any dream interpreted after the fact… dreams are weird. After all, they are the side effect of the brain refreshing and repairing itself. The meaning we have for things in our activities of the day may be brought up again as bonds gets strengthened. And then there’s the influence of entertainment. There’s something about the way Gotham releases inhibitions… or used to since I’ve not watched a full episode as it’s still being run dead against Supernatural, in the same time slot.
In Wednesday’s dreams, you had your share of mundane elements such as sitting in a movie theater… if I have it right because those elements became vague when I woke up. But the first thing to stand out… and I can’t believe I’m writing this… I’m in a scene, on set, acting with… Donald Trump. He is an actor, after all; you should have seen him at the “State of the Uniom.” 😉 Toward the end of the dream, he challenged me to a race to the bottom of a stairwell. I had my dream tactic of dropping down the center— gripping on to railings, and falling again— but he was somehow matching my speed. In real life, he challenges the country’s standards all the way down to Constitutional order itself. And in dreamworld, it seems he would challenge the laws of physics!
In a latter dream, I was on social media. …Which makes it clear that I’m on twitter too often for the wrong reasons. By the end, I was on my best friend’s twitter, and… apart from the Stranger Things media, there were the reinforcements in how she’s moved on. Let’s just say, it was both realistic but also out of character how better-represented the content was because… how can I say it? In real life, twitter sucks. Normally, the fact she’s moved on wouldn’t bother me. I know attachments can get toxic, and I have to deal with that. But I’m not normal, and I still think of her as more than just some friend half a world away; she is someone I love dearly. Not even being able to physically hug her, it doesn’t hurt me. Just… like twitter, it sucks.
So, yeah. The dreams were telling.
Well, thanks for getting through this useless post. Sweet dreams, everybody! 👋
There’s nothing like thinking you can’t do anything right, that your inadequacies are too great to live. Or you’re not “legitimate” in what you do or even as a person because you’re rejected in big ways and small, even by people who’re supposed to care. And the toxic behaviors you carry from a life of neglect isolate you further.
It’s always more than one thing or one matter with me. I’m never really okay. Some have called what I have depression, but it’s not the same. I’m down and out of luck, and the attempt to take charge goes nowhere. Whatever it is, I’ve had it for a long time. And life only gets harder the older I get, as with anyone else. Continue reading Atychiphobia→
My sleeping has taken a turn for the worse. I’m getting two to four hours more often. And it’s not due to the news. It’s this squirrel in the roof, scratching, damaging the ceiling above my bed… and that’s after the fact that my quality of sleep has been poor with the bed already since 2014. This house, this environment, the isolation, for years, and it gets worse like this. I mean, animals actively keeping you awake in the ongoing process of your home being destroyed. It is such a breaking point, how much I can’t live here.
2017 was looking to be the year to start afresh, to be determined to get somewhere in life. Or have a life. But I’m less than what I was before. And it’s more than just my left arm (which is in more pain now); and it’s more than having real-life relationships with people outside of family.
It’s what’s required to make it all work, and I don’t have it. I’m seeing myself with nothing to my name, and I have nothing going for me. I have to care for myself, but I’m just too tired. I’m not connected— not sincerely, and I know, deep down I’m a sad individual. And the more I pass the time, the worse it gets. I spit out words, and entertained instead of lived, until all I could do was post photographs.
I’m empty and aching, and I do know why.
I imitate. Imitation is easier, versus the impossible of creating in a void. I live in isolation and neglect, where usefulness often fails to connect.
The upside to creating things while borrowing from others, is that I’ve enabled myself, and made progress. Dreams and experiments, explored and complemented. But I’m tired.
It’s that dilemma where you need help from others to take the next step, but the connection is never enough, or you’re too much of a drain on the connections you have. Inadequacy and lack of history (not to mention: filth)… lack of being makes what’s difficult for others impossible for me. They struggle; I merely exist.
And now I’m once again angered because I have to prepare myself without any help and I just don’t have time. In fact, I’m going to be late to the Saturday group meeting… if I show up at all, because I don’t have a ride as I’m editing this.
The anger makes me think I’m grieving the loss of my life. And maybe I’ve already said that before. …I’m not tired of life. But living with what I have is not living, that’s for sure.
Oh, goody a category four hurricane on the east coast and Amber alerts on my phone.
Okay. The Saturday group. Yes.
It was the 1st of October… and I overslept. My attendance almost didn’t happen because there is only one car, and my mother was ready to take off in said car when I woke up. Talk about good timing. 😉 I reminded her that it was a drop-in group— that I could show at any time within the three official hours allotted to the meeting.
So I grabbed a bagel, and we were on our way… But before the drive, a neighborhood cat I mentioned before appeared out of nowhere. It wasn’t black, so… a black cat did not cross my path. It’s a little remarkable that I rarely see this cat at all, let alone ever have the chance to photograph it.
Okay, so none of the five shots were good.
Finding the building and room was faster and easier than the one on Thursday, where my coordination was a tad embarrassing— aiming to cross the street on foot leftward when the group had previously ventured right of the immediate area.
Needless to say, I was nervous about speaking for myself. Heck, with Asperger’s, people can be uncomfortable about speaking, period; every member in this group is an Aspie, including the seasoned leaders, so there’s the risk that the whole room may go silent, lol. Okay, so the group talked. There was pizza. And coffee.
Discussions included difficulties in the workplace: being stressed or put into precarious positions while being uncomfortable about speaking up, not being notified, not being told things in person out of “being nice,” and jealousy for sounding smart. Beyond stigma, Aspies aren’t particularly happy about the political side of things, and would rather live with less B.S. in the world. Amen.
There may be an implied rule to keep the attendance anonymous, but Kate Goldfield, whose writing has appeared in newspapers, may or may not have been there. 😉 And yes, she is an Aspie. An Aspie from Maine. She seems more conversationally open, with a bright sense of humor, though obviously nervous…
It’s not enough to know that the group means no harm. Sensitivities, and thus anxieties can get the better of an Aspie. The syndrome can be associated with high sensitivity to smells or loud noises. For me, it’s mostly just the connecting with others; I can look into the eyes of animals, but not so much the eyes of people I’ve connected with.
Attending wasn’t without a few strange occurrences… There was a bit of dé jà vu once I was sitting, listening, under the spell that I might be fitting in. Since I added my email to the events mailing list, the next day, after seeing 11:11 on the clock after I rose, I was notified of the two upcoming events: both have the same exact locations I attended during aunt J.’s visits! A blog post or two is pending featuring one of them…
Well, I feel as if the Saturday group was more fitting than the smaller, “adult supervised” one on Thursday. (And yes, I do feel incompetent.) Meeting non-neurotypicals… maybe I can begin to make real-life friends as an adult? …Sigh.
If you’ve been diagnosed with Asperger’s and live in Maine, be sure to check out ASM online.
It’s been a relatively busy week for me— visiting three new locations in three days, the third only hours from now. All of them in Maine. I say ‘relatively’ because I’m unemployed. But I’ve met five new people so far, and have been getting out of my “comfort zone.” No reason for stress, though; it’s all family and support groups.
It’s kind of strange that the unrelated events occur two days apart from each other in sequence. First, was aunt J.’s visit on Tuesday. (Still processing all the over-ninety photos taken that day… not going to be a short post, I can tell you that!) Then, a support group for people on the autism spectrum, Thursday… (I was diagnosed with Asperger’s, if you didn’t know.) We walked for the day; the photo above was of a tree along the improvised path, since one person (probably the group leader) remarked of the ‘interesting’ bark. The group was moving too fast for me to effectively take photos, but I got a few shots of hills, lol. There were some dogs too… on the other side of the fence… something completely different.
If you’re wondering about the name of this post, well… the conversations entered Jurassic Park science, and approached Godzilla versus ____. Including a Venus flytrap. Which is dumb. Because, as one member explained, the Venus flytrap is so delicate that it needs to be in the right climate and needs the right set of nutrients… hell, it’s so delicate you could kill one poking it; it’s suitable around flies. But back to the point— Barney came up, and a thought came to me: Barney vs. Godzilla— a satire that the “dinosaur” wouldn’t behave very suitable for children. The thing is I didn’t speak up. …And I realized why I didn’t exactly fit in. But the social part I need.
I’ve adjusted a little to something of a morning schedule by the end of the week, in part to be there for my far away friend. (Hopefully, I won’t prematurely say “bye” in the next phone call with her, lol.) I’m not used to a morning schedule since high school, hence the lag in blogging; but any incentive to become more versatile and thus grow is a good thing. In concept, anyway.
…Okay. Time’s up. Must turn in. …And so, I shall say: good night, dear readers. 🙂
So, a few things. And no photos (except the lead) because most of the subjects have been elusive, or… well, un-publishable.
Tuesday night, during my walk for the day, I spotted one of the neighborhood cats in the greens. It looked back at me as I shined my flashlight on it— a flashlight with weak batteries, so a dim light on its face. During one later pass, the cat was in the path; I couldn’t help but approach it, slowly, having to complete the path, whereupon it got scared and bolted off into the woods.
The next day was a bit strange, and I’m not sure if the cat was involved. Remember the chipmunk I mentioned in a previous post? Well, I may have found it— or had— in the backyard… on its side, moving only because of the insects beneath it; in other words, deceased. Not a disturbing picture at that stage, but definitely not a picture that’s going up here.
It only got stranger that night. Glenn Beck appeared on MSNBC… live. I won’t go into that ball of stress… it was just unusual.
I contemplated making a long voice message in response to my far away friend, who as it turns out didn’t respond within the week because she was overwhelmed in work, among other things. I made the decision to do the recording… and at the point it was past 11 p.m.
To fill you in, on past matters, briefly, making a phone call wasn’t possible because of the mobile network she had— not being able to call locals, so the next best thing was to make voice recordings. When absolutely necessary, anyway.
Problem is… I am bad at speaking as myself. I’m bad at speaking in general, sometimes losing train of thought mid-sentence, but into a mic, and outside, at night? I could get paid as a voice actor the way I can bend my voice, but… as myself and quiet, it came out a mumble… as usual. And not a “cool” mumble as with Elliot on Mr. Robot (even though that show has become rather dull). The content of the message… it was awful, despite preparation— some preparation. “Wing it,” I cannot. So that message is not getting sent. I would have to transcribe it for clarity, which defeats the point of a voice message.
It approached the definition of precarious being outside before the turn of midnight. The stars were out, the crickets were at full volume, and I had used the screen of the smart phone as a light— no “torch,” as they call it in the U.K. But it was not particularly safe toward the end. And what ended the message: There was some kind of barking in the woods, only mere yards away, but not a dog. Maybe a raccoon, and I think definitely, maybe rabid. Okay, there have been no reports of rabid animals, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
I amplified that portion of the MP3 recording so you can hear it clearly:
Yeah, I returned to the house.
…A house that began to rot four years ago.
…And now, it appears as if aunt J. has given up on me, relinquishing everything onto my mother— someone who, after barely doing anything, doesn’t follow through on the ideas she sells… She doesn’t even remember a written deal she made and I accepted.
Okay, so I’m opening up my depressing circumstances again (and technically it’s more than a few things beyond this point). Sue me. I’m alone in all of this.
I know we all are sometimes undervalued and left to ask questions, not always knowing what to ask, but in my case… Am I not like an animal in the dark?
I know I’m not rabid, ha. But there is definitely darkness, even during the day. An alien in the neighborhood, where I might as well be some stray animal. I’m subject to learn in a vacuum living here. Aunt J. said in 2014, something along the lines of, you a champion, someone who will fight for you. Of course, she made it a matter of disability… to have the public pay for my help. No further help from family… whatever family that’s left.
I’m certainly not an animal if I can speak spoken languages and do square roots in my head. Still, not much of what I say is going to get across anywhere— and doubly right now; the people behind the MERLIN Project say information does not pass well long-term around one’s birthday and six months away from that— biannually. In my case, that’s early March and September.
(I was also going to link to the Wikipedia page for physicist George Hart for more on MERLIN, but the page had critical opinions stated as fact— and for a long time. I did my best clearing up the page, but the vandals out there can be so pervasive that my changes may just get undone. Also, my revisions or wording might not be clear enough or meet standards, so there’s only the win in trying and contributing.)
Right now, I should expect a lot of silence, and making big decisions will fail later on. I should be taking care of things at home, and of myself, and frickin’ sleeping. My teeth and gums are in a concerning state, my right ankle is warped, and my neck is messed up. …But those things cost money to deal with, and I should have a job. It runs in circles.
In my willingness to fight the darkness… as absurd as that gets… I got cocky again. Online, I recently gave advice to people left and right— the kind of advice that makes me— or anyone else— go oh, God… I wrote that. And my far away friend, overwhelmed, certainly doesn’t need essays in the form of emails from me right now.
With my words, trying to make change right now is like barking in the woods.
Then again, ‘right now’… is so small in the grand picture of forever… this darkness that never ends. I’m very much like an animal… on a leash, trapped in my head. …Then again, that could be considered insulting to animals. Who am I to complain when the smallest of creatures must traverse long distances for food? They run circles around me. They reproduce, and I probably won’t… regardless of how much I want a family.
Animals aren’t bothered with human trappings and emotions and judgment… Even the animal people on Penny Dreadful embrace their instincts, and act, whereas I am… reserved in my dreadful absence of support.
—Okay, enough of that. I should get some more air.
Time has run quickly this summer. The whole year has moved so fast, especially the last four months. Something of it being emotionally short for me… Fewer unique memories to link the timeline together, and less interaction overall.
On the second Wednesday this month, WordPress notified me with that little trophy, that this blog has been up for four years. Which made it all the more ridiculous when I saw that the blog had gotten zero views in 48 hours. …It reminds me of the potential quantity over quality of adding posts just for the sake of the Congratulations, you hit another 100 milestone. (This blog has also reached 400 in count, by the way. 😉 )
So… zero. And not the first time. …Write “like no one is reading,” indeed. Okay, enough blog navel-gazing.
2016 is quite a different year— much different. Sometimes it has been in my face this year how messy real life is. And I’m not talking merely of people baring their souls without makeup or “graphic content.” I’ve seen some the limits of the world at large and small, and what it is to be human, and how natural it is. Some of it’s beautiful. But it is all very, very messy.
Still, I don’t have nearly enough of the picture. We’re all limited by our perceptions… But, for me— as the last time I’ve been off the property was maybe two months ago— the view is like impressions from afar.. I practically missed all of 2016.
That isn’t to say I’m alone in the practice of being absent. There are times I’ve gone to twitter and found the most recent posting was several months ago… Life goes on. But it hits me, being so out of the loop, and so out of life.
I used to write things down. I used to get up, and live. I used to dream.
This year, I feel broken. I put too much weight on being useful, and people have gone silent. I’m so dependent. I tried to get back into the loop— or “re-loop,” but it feels futile. There isn’t much ‘relating,’ and not much to say on my end because nothing much is happening on my end. And now it’s the 20th of August.
Time could blur in 2012, but still there was life. Notable things happened in 2012. Success may have been a pipe dream, but there was life. Now I can’t help but think everything is dying. …Technically, I’d be right in a way— none of us are immortal. We are born; we grow, peak, surrender and die. But the culture… not looking good.
I miss sleep… proper sleep. I’m forgetting things like never before— missing count of the passes in my walks, distracted by the “talks” in my head… ruminating, probably suppressing serious thought and memory for a bit of emotional comfort. …Of course, I can’t help but feel things that bring a smile to my face or heart when I think about one person in particular— whose appearance entering the year made 2016 unique. …And now she’s even farther away, geographically… going silent again, where I begin to think about what might have happened… trying not to worry. She’s her own person, but… it can be hard to let go of someone you love.
Another slow day in a slow year, and I find myself rereading… backlogged emails on missed social media and old messages from a deleted account… emojis, broken pictures and the truncated text of email notifications. And despite supposed good times, my broken contributions remind me of how empty and damaged I am as a person. That isn’t at all to say the other is ‘perfect.’ Everyone lies— even your friends, at least to be nice. …Feeling used doesn’t feel nice. (Hypothetically speaking.)
…It’s been four years, and I still don’t quite have a voice. So I kind of blew up, the first Saturday of August. No use pretending things are alright.
Some connections are all but gone, replaced with holes dug in not speaking up. Trying not to harm or offend, or sound self-absorbed, the word count can go up significantly… cut down to virtual grunts… “Distractions” deleted, questions left unasked, and conversations are left in an awkward position. Things just left there. It’s awful. It can even feel as if devaluing the other person, when the purpose was to protect or respect them. Of course, part of editing is getting rid of inaccurate statements… which makes me sound like a liar that I even typed the words in the first place.
Add the perception of absence when someone is unable to speak (properly)… One or both people assume that they aren’t there or are uninterested… it can feel like a communication death spiral— where the connection is perpetually lost.
Silence really can be like a cancer. I never had anyone to talk to— not really— in-depth and uncensored… which makes my ‘experience’ easily overwhelming. That’s why I’m damaged, ultimately. An example of someone who wasn’t lucky enough to have people in his life, friendly or not. Forget loneliness— the absence of others can make you feel worthless.
…It works both ways, of course. I’m not special. I’ve come across people that have found themselves “unworthy” or “dying inside.” I can empathize, first hand. You know you can talk to me, I would think. But I say nothing, unable to articulate “the right words.” Would it benefit him if I spoke up?She turned down talking to me before; why would she talk now? …I’m too toxic. I’m too immature. I keep to myself, partly out of “respect.”
…Anyway. It’s been four years on WordPress. I don’t even want to begin to think about another four… so much backlog of words. I’m surprised I’ve survived this far. 😉
…And to anyone reading this who feels horribly alone: you can talk to me.