Married, With Aspergers

Food for Thought

2012-02-29T15:30:00.000Z

I have never been a particularly fussy eater, but there are some things I don't like and avoid. Raw tomatoes used to make me gag: it was a combination of the texture - mouth feel - and the taste. As I've aged I find I generally enjoy them, but if the tomato is under-ripe I still find myself gagging on it. Cooked tomato has never been a problem. I can't eat mussels or clams because of the texture and flavor but enjoy calamari and prawns.

I've never enjoyed dealing with meat, such as chicken portions, or fish that contains bones. I find the painstaking picking through in search of the bones so they can be removed before I take a mouthful to be tedious and I usually give up after a while, leaving the rest untouched. This is at odds with my strong inclination to finish whatever is put in front of me.

That inclination causes me problems with my weight: rather than just eating enough at a sitting I will continue to eat as long as food is available until I cannot physically consume any more. I don't feel hunger to any great degree and can generally eat a full dinner regardless of the hour or whether I have already eaten. Buffets are a particular problem for me - I feel obliged to try to eat everything that has been laid out, as if it had been served to me alone. I feel that I'm breaking a rule - committing some transgression - if I leave food. I guess this is a result of being brought up to clean my plate - I subsumed this as an almost-inviolable unconscious behavioral rule.

The only ways I have found to deal with this are avoidance and strict portion control. Despite knowing that it is not the best option from a health point of view I will skip meals, often eating just one meal a day. I figure that it is better to do this than to overeat. The second way, controlling the size of portions, requires the cooperation of others such as my wife who prepare my meals. Even though I remind her from time to time, I find that the size of my dinners creeps up. The first sign I usually get is that my clothes are starting to become tighter and less comfortable.

I do enjoy food. I derive a lot of pleasure from eating foods that I enjoy and do not get bored eating one of my favorite dishes day after day. As an example, I have eaten home-cooked spaghetti bolognese with garlic bread on more than half the days of the past month and enjoyed it equally on each occasion. If it weren't for my wife getting bored preparing the same dish repeatedly I would happily eat it every day.

Peer Pressure

2012-02-20T16:36:00.000Z

I'm the first to admit I can be a stubborn character. Once I decide on a course I can dig my heels in and pursue it come hell or high water. For the most part I choose to do things I enjoy - that includes being helpful because that makes me feel good as a result. But I don't do anything because I feel I ought, because I want to conform, because everybody does it.

I really don't care be pressured by people into doing something I don't want to do. Any time I get that kind of pressure I start to feel irritated and I can quickly get angry and snappish. I'm not a naturally rebellious type. I don't take stands to make a point or to be contrary. I do it for purely personal reasons, not to fit in with some group of people.

I'm the eternal outsider; I never feel fully part of any group: I don't get that involved. And to a large degree that leaves me immune to the pressures that social groups can bring to bear on their members to conform. I feel no need to think, speak or act the same way as others. I have enough confidence these days not to worry if people don't like what I do. I'm comfortable in my own company, doing my own thing.

I keep trying to understand peer pressure; to work out why so many people have a need to be part of a social circle. I find it all very confusing. Are these people's values really so malleable that they may be changed to match the group norm? My values are deeply ingrained and have been consistent throughout most of my life. Do these people go against some of their natural inclinations to follow a stronger urge to conform and be accepted by the group? If so, wouldn't this cause an internal conflict, some feelings of discomfort or even guilt?

I've seen people act in certain ways when in a group that they would never consider doing when alone. This can include being critical of and putting down people who are not members of the group, and even bullying. There appears to be a suspension of personal responsibility: whatever the group does is the responsibility of the group rather than devolving to each individual within it. There appears to be self-censorship: there must be no disagreement within the group, so no member feels able to take a dissenting position on anything.

I find it all rather depressing and dispiriting. Is it a failure in education that people are so reluctant to think for themselves and stand up in defense of their values? Or - a darker thought - is it just human nature? Are we doomed to a society shaped and dominated by inter-group rivalries and conflict?

Enough of this - I dislike ending on a negative note and this subject is getting me down. I'll just continue to hope for enlightenment and respect, and treat others as I would like to be treated in return. Perhaps it's just a drop in the ocean, a solitary candle against the darkness, but at least I can hold my head high.

Alpha and Omega

2012-02-14T16:01:00.000Z

Everything comes to an end,
That's just the way of the world.
Every new fashion and trend
Like a spring flower unfurled.

Try as you might, you can't mend
Petals when withered and brown.
Enjoy the moment, my friend,
Go with a smile, not a frown.

Cycles forever repeat,
Memories all that transcend.
Life springs from death, born complete.
Everything starts from an end.

Fantasia

2012-02-10T11:22:00.000Z

One of my work colleagues, having read my post Music and Mood, asked me whether I had ever seen Disney's Fantasia - in particular the abstract animation accompanying Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D Minor. He was curious to know whether my mental images would match the animation at all.

I hadn't seen the picture at that point, but have since watched most of the segment in question. The short answer is that the images it conjures up in my mind do not match those in the movie at all. In fact the mismatch was so great that I stopped watching because I found the animation distracted from the music rather than complementing it; however I did find an audio recording of the piece played on a pipe organ which I found much more satisfying than the orchestral version because of the purity of tone.

It is somewhat curious to me that what is essentially an abstract piece of music - there is no evidence that Bach intended any narrative in his composition - should inspire concrete images in my mind's eye. The opening bars bring into being a darkened landscape, hills rolling to the horizon, the scene widening. And then as that powerful chord is built up the sun rises above the far horizon, flooding the bucolic land with its warm golden brightness. As the piece progresses there is movement as flowers spring up out of the ground, streams and waterfalls cascade and great towering trees thrust skywards, propelled by the strength of the deep bass notes.

There is a lot of detail and movement in my images, especially those that are produced by rapid sequences of notes - this is in complete contrast to the simple nature of the animation in Fantasia, where the complexity of the music is not matched by the visuals. There are odd moments that begin to show promise but they still fall far short and I am left with a feeling of dissatisfaction because the combined experience of music and video ends up much less involving than the music alone.

Filling in the Blanks

2012-02-08T13:39:00.000Z

"Yeah, mumble mumble last night mumble mumble meal mumble Friday?" Oops. You just asked me something. What did you just say? Well, based on what you were talking about before - the bits I managed to catch - I guess you just asked me if I want to go out for a meal Friday. I'd better see if I'm correct - ask a hopefully relevant question and see what you say: "A meal this Friday? Where?"

At this point I either come across as "normal", following the conversation, or I just dropped a spanner in the works and confused the heck out of you. And I never know which it's going to be! The problem is that if there's any distraction - background noise or movement in particular - then I fail to distinguish the speaker's voice. I know they're talking to me, I can see their lips moving and hear sounds, but even concentrating intently I can only interpret the odd word and have to guess the rest from context.

More often than I care to admit somebody will say something to me and I'll respond with some acknowledgement. It's several seconds later that I finally work out what they said and can tell whether my response was appropriate. Or whether I just looked stupid again.

See if you can work out the meaning of this short extract. To make things easier I've left in most of the nouns:

__________ impairment ___ social _________ stereotyped and restricted patterns ______ activities and interests, and _____ally signi_____lay in cog______opment or general _____ language.

This is from a description of Aspergers Syndrome that I've quoted previously. I admit I've been selective in the bits I blanked out, but this is only for the purpose of illustration. In a real situation there would be snatches of other conversations interleaved with this one, and the whole would be obscured by background noise:

The thing is, I don't have hearing problems. I can pick up faint sounds like the clock ticking at home. I score in the average range in hearing tests. But if somebody says something while the TV is on - or there's music playing or other conversations going on around us - then although I can hear all the sounds, I can't separate them very well. It's a problem with processing the sensory input and I find it hard work and very frustrating, so I often keep out of conversations in noisy environments. In fact I prefer to avoid noisy social environments altogether.

With all this it's no surprise I prefer to communicate in writing - through email, text or similar mechanisms. The words are in front of me, not obscured by noise, and there is no need for an immediate response. I can take the time to compose my reply, re-reading their comment if necessary and thinking of le mot juste - the right word that will exactly convey my intended meaning.

The Joy of Darts

2012-02-03T15:09:00.000Z

A post by C. S. Wyatt started me thinking about what games and sports I enjoy, and why.

I have always enjoyed word-based puzzles, particularly crosswords, and complete at least one cryptic crossword most days - my favorite is the Daily Telegraph which I usually finish in under 20 minutes. What attracts me is the challenge of interpreting the clue in the correct way to construct the answer - it's a combination of an extensive vocabulary, an awareness of multiple meanings of words and logical reasoning.

I occasionally solve Sudoku puzzles but find them much less satisfying because of the purely mechanical methods involved. I found it much more interesting to write a computer program to apply the methods and solve the puzzles that way.

Quizzes in various forms can be fun. I used to enjoy taking part in a local pub quiz but after a while got bored by the consistently variable level of difficulty of the questions - the first few would be insultingly easy, while the final ones would often be so obscure that they just resulted in a random choice of one of the multiple options provided. I enjoy playing Trivial Pursuit now and again but get frustrated by the element of luck introduced by rolling a die to determine where I can move my counter.

I have played card games in the past - blackjack, poker - in social settings for chips rather than "real" money in a casino. While I did very much enjoy studying and designing strategies to guide my play (I bought a copy of Hoyle as a reference), I found that the random turn of the cards and the unpredictability of other players meant I did not get nearly as much pleasure from actually playing the games.

I play pool (8-ball) on occasion - I used to captain a pub team - and ten-pin bowling, but the sport I play most has to be darts. In all of these sports, how well I do depends on my individual skill - there is no significant random element apart from the very small variation in ambient conditions - these being indoor sports - which affect all the players equally. I also enjoy the fact that, unlike in team sports such as rugby, I can play at whatever pace suits me.

In summary, I have a strong preference for games of skill rather than chance. I much prefer turn-based games. I enjoy puzzles and other activities that exercise my mind. I prefer games where it is only my individual performance that affects the outcome, although I have played pairs matches in both pool and darts. I believe that the individual turn-based nature of these is a much more significant factor than any interaction between myself and my partner in the pair - there is not the depth of strategy and real-time interaction involved unlike a regular team sport.

In fact, having considered the reasons why my preferences lie in a particular direction, I can see strong parallels between these leisure activities and my love of programming. There are the same elements of skill, knowledge, problem-solving and individual effort. Just as I am happiest and perform best when left to my own devices at work, so I prefer those leisure activities that involve solo endeavor.

A Bit Aspie

2012-02-02T15:41:00.000Z

I suppose, people being people, that other Aspies have tried to explain how the condition affects their functioning in some way, such as difficulty reading non-verbal signals, only to hear, "I, like, get that too, you know: maybe I'm a bit Aspergers." Even after ignoring the involuntary wince that is triggered whenever language is tortured in my presence, I struggle to respond to that. While I don't want to dismiss out of hand the possibility that they might be correct, it can be hard to explain how AS (and autism) are about more than being awkward in social situations.

What I want to say to these people - but can't because my AS makes it too difficult to formulate an adequate response without zoning out for too long and dropping out of the conversation - is that I doubt very much whether they do have AS. AS is not like a salad bar where you get to choose how much of each symptom you want. It's not something I chose to have - I have it, live with it and cope with the challenges as best I can. Each symptom taken in isolation does not define the condition: it is called a pervasive disorder for a reason. It is a set of symptoms, usually with varying degrees of severity, and having AS means you pretty much got the lot.

What is "the lot"? To quote the Wikipedia article which summarizes the DSM-IV diagnostic criteria,

[...] a pattern of symptoms rather than a single symptom. It is characterized by impairment in social interaction, by stereotyped and restricted patterns of behavior, activities and interests, and by no clinically significant delay in cognitive development or general delay in language.

This doesn't even attempt to explain why these symptoms occur: it is just a "pattern" that recurs and has been labelled as Asperger Syndrome. The label is a convenience, nothing more, to cover the effects of particular cognitive differences. It does not describe the differences between individuals with AS, the varying degrees of difficulty we face in everyday situations. Couched in the most general terms it says nothing about how it feels from the inside - how exhausting it is to deal with "normal" life, to feel so often that we have to consciously act "normal" with other people so that we are not seen as alien, to face censure for "inappropriate" behavior when we don't conform to their "normal" standards.

I doubt that any sighted person would describe themselves as "a bit blind" because they close their eyes occasionally. Likewise, they are not "a bit Aspie" because they sometimes feel awkward in social situations or have a fanatical interest in, say, football. There is evidence that the Aspie label is somehow becoming seen as "cool" - I can't understand why this should be so, because I know first-hand that the reality is that even in a mild form it causes significant difficulties for those directly affected, and also indirectly for those such as partners in relationships.

À la Recherche d'une Qualité Perdue

2012-01-31T16:15:00.001Z

Childhood days -
Endless summer
Over so soon.

School routine -
Facts and figures
In place of friends.

The shy boy
On the fringes -
Mock his strangeness.

Building Lego
Sat for hours -
Transcendent joy.

Exam success,
Afraid to speak -
Social failure.

Computer geek,
Obsessive interest -
The world forgotten.

Curious mind
Always learning -
Child-like wonder.

Naïveté
Jamais perdu -
Le retour de l'été.

Freedom

2012-01-30T13:29:00.000Z

Freedom is an illusion. Freedom of expression, freedom of movement, freedom of action; all are constrained in one way or another by the written and especially the unwritten rules - conventions - of society. The uncomfortable truth is that there is no such thing as freedom from consequences.

Everything we do, everything we say has an effect, whether large or small. Every time I articulate an opinion it colors somebody's feelings towards me: if they agree then they feel more closely aligned with me; if they do not then they feel alienated. Even the way I express myself has an effect: my vocabulary in the workplace is more extensive and less coarse than when I'm in the pub. This is because social conventions exist in both places. There are certain behaviors that would be seen as inappropriate in the "wrong" context, such as swearing or drinking in the workplace. So while it is physically possible for one to, say, drink a beer at work, one would certainly face serious consequences as a result.

Can one be said to be free to act when one is physically able to perform an action that will result in censure or punishment? I do not believe so. I believe that freedom implies that no harm will befall one as a result of one's actions: that there will be no consequences that one is unwilling to accept.

Unwilling to accept - that is the crux of the matter. If one truly does not care about what happens as a result, either to oneself or to others, then one is free to do as one pleases. Greater freedom comes at the cost of diminished responsibility: being responsible for one's actions means being aware of and accepting the consequences.

Respect is a factor in this: respect for the right of others not to be offended or harmed by anything one might choose to do. Consider the idea of freedom of expression: a concept that many, especially in the Western world, feel is an inalienable right. A liberal interpretation of it could be construed as a license to lie, offend, incite hatred or violence - one has the freedom to say anything at all and because of that one is absolved of any responsibility for the outcome.

I recall the controversy over the publication, initially in Denmark, of cartoons depicting the Muslim prophet Muhammad. The publishers used freedom of expression as their defense; however there appeared to be an almost complete lack of understanding of the degree to which many Muslims would be offended, of the utter revulsion they feel towards those committing what they see as blasphemy. It is the same revulsion that many people feel towards those who desecrate Jewish cemeteries with Nazi graffiti, or those who abuse children. Would you say that people should have the freedom to commit those acts? Or should they instead have enough respect for others' rights that they could not do something so harmful? Understanding that, I feel I have a responsibility not to cause such offense - and in this it does not matter whether it offends me: it is about respecting the rights of others. Is it not reasonable to expect other people to behave with the same respect?

Having started on the subject of freedom, and dismissed it as a chimera, I have ended up reiterating my long-held views about respect and responsibility. I do not worry about whether I am "free" - it is a concept that carries little meaning for me with my consciousness of the social constraints within which I must navigate my daily life. I try to act intentionally according to my beliefs: in basic terms, to treat others as I would wish to be treated in return. It is more important to me that I be treated with respect than that I should feel free to do as I please.

Weathering the Storm

2012-01-28T02:42:00.001Z

Looking back from where I sit alone,
Thinking how it all was meant to be,
Sunny days and laughter in the home,
Not a care to trouble you or me.

Gathering dark storm clouds: trouble looms
On the far horizon, distant fear.
Thunder rolls and hints of pending doom,
Presages the trouble drawing near.

Suddenly the tempest rages round,
Unexpected fury a surprise,
Trying hard to keep feet on the ground,
Lashing rain brings vengeance from the skies.

Feeling such oppression I withdraw,
Cower in the shelter of my mind.
Memories of happiness are straws.
Desolation creeps up from behind.

Identity

2012-01-26T11:45:00.001Z

We all go through life acquiring labels: abstract, shorthand descriptions of how others see us. Some are positive: intelligent, caring; while others are negative: weird, rude, crazy. I've picked up several over the years. But how do these labels relate to my self-image, my identity?

The short answer is that they don't. I see myself as an individual, unique, with a set of behaviors and thoughts that is mine and mine alone. Yes, I share certain traits with others to varying degrees and this induces people to file me under certain categories in their minds. To put me into particular boxes bearing little hand-written labels, identifying me as a set of characteristics.

When I think of these labels I picture a dark, dusty, wooden cabinet, perhaps in a Victorian museum, with row after row of small drawers. Each has a tarnished brass handle and above the handle is affixed a small, age-yellowed paper label with one or two words written in a neat copperplate hand; the black ink has faded to gray. Inside each drawer, in perfect alphabetical order, is a stack of plain cards and upon each is written a person's name in the same hand as the drawer's label.

This view of a person as a collection of basic, orthogonal characteristics has its uses. It provides a point of reference, a sketched outline upon which to build a more detailed representation. But the picture must not be confused with the subject it represents - a portrait of somebody, whether painted or written, cannot describe them fully. The picture is not the object. That is the message in René Magritte's La Trahison des Images (The Treachery of Images) with its caption, "Ceci n'est pas une pipe" ("This is not a pipe").

As in mathematics, membership of any number of sets does not predicate that those attributes are the sum total of being, of identity. It's just like saying that a particular number is prime and odd, and attempting to infer its other attributes from that incomplete description. Can you guess what number I was thinking of? The number of possible answers is literally infinite.

When I consider myself reduced to a meager collection of adjectives my hackles rise and it brings to mind the rebellious outburst of Number 6 in The Prisoner, "I am not a number, I am a free man!" By simplifying me, painting me with a palette restricted to primary colors, you deny my complexity and individuality. To understand a person in any depth it is necessary to consider the subtleties, the fine nuances of their character. To be aware of those aspects that set them apart from others who appear superficially similar. To understand that your labels are no more than a frame that limns the gross outline within which lies the colorful richness of detail.

I reflect upon my own identity and I can recognize traits, but they are not me - they do not define me. They are the bold strokes from a broad brush upon the canvas - no fine detail is possible. I am a complex system emerging from the unique combination of more factors than I can name, each contributing to the whole and generating new additional behaviors through their interactions. In this whole world of some six billion people there is not one other who is the same as me. I am me, no more and no less. My being is my identity in toto.

Say What You Mean

2012-01-20T09:11:00.001Z

I'm trying to make sense of what you say,
But meaning keeps eluding me. I try
To get you to explain, to be precise,
But fail to crack the code; I'm left confused.

"You don't spend any time with me," you say,
Although I'm in proximity all night.
I guess you must mean more by these few words
Than superficial reading can discern.

In lieu of reading minds, I query you
To tease out your intent in speaking thus.
My literal approach has let me down:
Unable or unwilling, you decline
Request after request from me to put
Your evident concerns a different way.

You speak a language using words I know,
Combined in cryptic metaphors to bear
A meaning that may seem so clear to you:
It might as well be Mandarin to me.
So once again I offer up my plea,
I wish for once you'd just say what you mean.

Saying No

2012-01-18T17:21:00.000Z

Saying "No" doesn't come naturally to me. Whenever people come up to me and ask me to help them in some way my instinctive response is to go along with whatever they want. I actually feel anxious even thinking about refusing their requests - I worry that refusing will lead to argument or confrontation.

So I end up doing things for others - not that I mind most of the time - but it takes time and energy that I ought to be spending doing other things. It can be a problem for me at work when I get people coming up to me or phoning me to ask for technical assistance when I am in the middle of some other piece of work: I end up taking longer to complete my tasks because I'm spending time on unrelated issues. I even raised it as a problem at my recent annual performance review.

One of the biggest problems with interruptions at work is that it can take me out of a flow state which then means I spend fifteen minutes or so trying to get back into it. Just four interruptions over the course of a day can lose me about an hour of productive working time.

I guess that invariably saying "Yes" to people actually makes things worse for me because it encourages them to ask for favors more often. In contrast I very rarely ask anybody to do things for me - I feel uncomfortable imposing on them.

I need to learn how to say "No" without causing myself stress as I fret about the possible consequences. Experience tells me that a simple, blank refusal doesn't work in most instances - particularly in a social situation. The person will just repeat the request, often with some attempt at emotional coercion - a deliberate attempt to engage my sympathy. And it works - I then feel that I would be letting them down by continuing to turn them down, which upsets me. It could be labelled emotional blackmail. I consider it a particularly devious, underhand means to get one's own way, but it seems to be a depressingly common tactic.

Some people have suggested that I invent some prior commitment that would preclude my assistance at that time; however that would mean lying which makes me even more uncomfortable so it's not a viable option. If only people would take a simple "No" as an answer and drop the matter there and then instead of arguing about it and trying to change my mind. I really need to find some stress-free way to refuse, because otherwise I will just continue to take the (for me) easy way out and assent to their wishes.

Mandala

2012-01-16T15:14:00.001Z

Each instant of the present
Hangs like a leaf
Upon the infinite tree
That is the future.

And just like leaves in autumn
Each in its turn
Becomes an instant of past:
Now falls from the tree

Whose roots absorb the essence
Of fallen past,
Feeding on earlier times
To nourish new growth.

The cycle thus continues:
Old times return
Though in a different guise.
Our stories repeat.

Driven To Distraction

2012-01-11T09:13:00.000Z

Last week I returned to work after the holidays. I find that breaks like that in my normal routine unsettle me and it has taken a week to get back to normal. The problem is that feeling off-balance makes me particularly susceptible to being distracted when I try to concentrate on the job in hand.

Little things such as the noise of the air conditioning and computer fans, people talking - however quietly - and especially interruptions just build up, one upon another, until my mind is a jittery mess and I can hardly think straight, let alone concentrate on technical matters. And as for achieving a state of flow, well that's nigh impossible! I find myself frequently switching from one task to another and forgetting what I was doing only ten minutes ago. Needless to say my productivity is none too high.

All I can do is go for a little walk or sit somewhere quiet for a bit while I regain my focus and calm down. It just takes time to settle down into the familiar old routine again - about a week in this case - before I'm back to my old self and able to block out the various distractions. I no longer hear the AC fans, I don't notice as people walk past my desk and I can enter flow with my old facility.

It is a simple matter of regaining my familiarity with my surroundings; of picking up the old behavioral habits. It seems strange that in only a week and a half away from the place I have suffered such disruption to my regular patterns of behavior, but the Christmas and New Year period is a challenging time to get through because changes affect almost every part of my daily life. Regular events such as the darts league are in recess, I see people out and about at unusual times of day because they are not at work either.

The relief I feel when life returns to normal, running along its rails according the the usual schedule, is immense. The predictability - knowing what to expect and when - literally takes a load off my mind. Not having to cope with random changes means I spend much more of my time near my ground state instead of being constantly excited into an energetic, exhausting state by all the irregular stimuli.

Distractions appear in many forms but they all take effort to handle. Above a certain rate of incidence this effort saps my energy to the point where I cannot cope with any further cognitive load: overload. It happened a few times over the past two weeks that I just had to take some time out to relax and rebuild my strength. So I am glad that the holiday season is past. Despite having some enjoyable times it is overall just too much like hard work.

I Miss You, Mum

2012-01-10T12:41:00.001Z

When I'm happy, want to share,
When I need someone to care,
Though I seek you everywhere,
Have to face it: you're not there.

Grew up sheltered by your wing,
Never wanted for a thing,
You eased every hurt and sting,
Now my birds no longer sing.

There's an empty space inside
To which access is denied,
Though I've tried, oh! how I've tried
To heal my wounds since you died.

But I struggled to impart
(I was lacking in the art,
Never knowing where to start)
I loved you with all my heart.

Think about you night and day,
And I want so much to say
That because you showed the way
I'm the man I am today.

Visualizing Emotions

2012-01-09T15:49:00.000Z

Feeling emotions means seeing myself in different settings, each reflecting - to me at least - the nature of the sensation. This is obviously a consequence of a visual mode of thinking: my conscious identification and comprehension of my emotional state is driven by my recognition of the specific mental imagery.

To feel happiness is to take to the air, flying through the limitless skies with velocity in proportion to the degree of pleasure. Happiness is a strong, bright yellow like the summer sun, daffodils, buttercups or gorse flowers.

As happiness shades into ecstasy or excitement then the flight becomes aerobatic: swooping, twisting and turning through the air. There is an invigorating surge of glittering bubbles like swimming through the fizz of champagne.

In contrast, sadness is a leaden dullness, an unrelieved monotony of gray emptiness. Little or no motion, no possibility of escaping gravity's pull that tethers me to the ground. Everything moves so slowly as if mired in a morass, and it takes such effort to overcome the inertia.

As sadness deepens into despondency and despair, so the gray darkens, chasms opening beneath my feet as I slip down, deeper and deeper into the abyss with what faint light there is steadily diminishing overhead, dwindling and fading to a point that eventually becomes imperceptible from the gloom all around. Add hurt - pain - to this and the edges become hard and sharp, pressing in on me, trapping me in their constrictions before piercing into and through me as the intensity becomes unbearable.

Fear is cold; a blue/white arctic landscape through which the wind blows relentlessly, sculpting the ice into faerie castles with towers like scimitars, and whipping the snow up into blizzards. As I begin to panic I am picked up by the wind, and left falling endlessly, arms thrashing in vain as I try to slow and stop my irresistible descent.

Anger is a curious one. Other people speak about "seeing red"; however I cannot honestly say that red is associated with the feeling for me. Anger is a huge black and silver steam locomotive, belching smoke from its stack and spouting prodigious jets of steam from its pistons as it speeds, unstoppable, along gleaming straight steel rails, wheels flashing so quickly that they are just a blur, making the very earth tremble with its immense power and trailing an immense white plume back along its path. This thundering titan seems to me to be the embodiment of dreadful might.

And finally, calm - serenity, peaceful solitude - is walking through woodland on a balmy summer's day, sunlight filtering through the lush green canopy to project dappled shadows on the gray/green/brown tangle of the undergrowth. Not another person around; it is just me and the creatures of the woods - birds fluttering among the branches, squirrels bounding sinuously up trunks and along the limbs. Perfect natural harmony all around me.

Overloaded (Again)

2012-01-07T23:15:00.001Z

This sensory overload business can be so darned inconvenient at times. It caught me out tonight - wasn't expecting it to rear its head at all. I was out with my wife at a friend's birthday party. All fine until it got busy with loud music.

The trouble is that it all makes such demands on my faculties as I try to pick up what people are saying to me, while simultaneously attempting to block out everything else that's going on around me, that I end up very quickly feeling drained and shutdown looms.

At that point I need to take time out - find somewhere quiet to sit for a spell - and "chill out". (Literally chill tonight because I'm sat in the car and it's none too warm out here.)

So right now I'm afraid I'm poor company and not much fun to be around. I'm managing ok out here, and some of my friends have popped by to see if I'm all right - that helps because it shows support from which I take strength.

It's just unfortunate that at times like this I am unsociable - not antisocial - and just need a little space. I'd hate to think I'd put a dampener on anybody's enjoyment of the birthday party.

Devious Complication

2012-01-07T02:17:00.001Z

A simple soul is what I am,
A simple life I lead.
But other people complicate
Their ev'ry thought and deed.

I fail to see the point of this:
Why skirt round what you mean?
By coming to the point head-on
Intent is plainly seen.

Let others play their petty games.
I'll stay just how I am.
Taking in the words they speak,
Ignoring hidden plans.

Because I'm just a simple soul,
I fail to see beneath
The surface of banality
That hides the claws and teeth.

Agendas hidden from my sight,
Though seen by other eyes,
Ultimately come to light
And take me by surprise.

I find it hard to understand
So devious a mind:
Manipulate for one's own ends,
So selfish and unkind.

I'm happy as this simple man,
Content to take no part
In playing games with people's lives
That end with broken hearts.

Correcting People's Mistakes

2012-01-06T15:47:00.002Z

I have an involuntary urge to jump in and correct people when I notice errors in what they say. It hasn't escaped my notice that this often irritates the person I correct, but I have a hard time checking the impulse.

I'm not sure whether the cause of this is pedantry, perfectionism or simply attention to detail. Too much attention to detail sometimes because I end up getting distracted from the conversation by concentrating on the mistake. Interrupting the speaker to correct them also tends to distract them from what they were saying, halting the conversation.

Thing is... I'm trying to be helpful when I correct people. Accuracy is important to me - more important than saving somebody's feelings - and I subconsciously expect that other people feel the same and would appreciate my efforts. Publicly correcting people can engender a hostile response - it embarrasses them, triggering a defensive reaction. In conjunction with my social anxiety, fear of this kind of response prevents me from speaking up in front of strangers. But it doesn't prevent me feeling very uncomfortable about the error.

It's the same with errors in writing - things like shop signs that might have spelling or grammatical mistakes. I have been known to take a pen and make editorial corrections to notices - the urge to do so can be impossible to suppress.

I find that people mistake my motivation - while I only strive for accuracy, they see me as a know-all who wants appear superior. They may even see me as arrogant. For the record, I'm not trying to impress people with my knowledge or make them appear ignorant and stupid. I just have an obsession for precision in language.

2011 Retrospective

2012-01-03T10:45:00.000Z

Goodbye 2011, you were a year of new experiences, happiness and sadness.

Last year started cold. We were snowed in for a week - too icy to drive - and I had to walk to the local stores, hoping their deliveries had got through. Bread was in short supply. But it was so enjoyable walking through the snow, the absence of traffic on the roads, everybody on foot. Parents towing their children on sleds. A peaceful, happy time.

I started working part-time as a barman at the local pub, just to help out at first. I took to it like a duck to water and now, almost a whole year later, I'm still there. It's been a great help as it gave me a way to talk to people, initially within the boundaries of the job and then, as I got to know the regular customers better, beyond it. By now I think of the people there as a kind of extended family - I feel accepted and wonderfully comfortable among them.

My main job as a software developer continued to be a source of great pleasure - interesting, challenging projects and opportunities to learn new skills and technologies. I'm incredibly lucky to get paid for doing something I enjoy so much. I'm not financially motivated - the work is its own reward for me, but obviously I need to earn money to live.

I started this blog in July, initially just to write about my day-to-day experiences through the lens of Aspergers Syndrome but soon expanded to become a means to express my feelings, whether through my attempts at poetry or through prose. One unexpected result was that I've connected through blogging with other people on the autism spectrum which has helped me both to understand myself better and to feel less isolated by my differences - I now know I'm not the only one whose brain functions in this special way.

The past few months has seen times of great strain in the relationship between my wife and me. Various events, my Aspergers and her deteriorating health have combined at times to set us at loggerheads. When communication breaks down everything else starts to tumble after it in an avalanche of self-destructive behavior. But through our mutual love we have found the will and the strength to keep working on our marriage and, although I cannot say with all honesty that everything is fine right now, we are past the lowest point and building up again.

I saw the year out with a New Year's Eve shift in the pub - 6pm to 3:30am. It was physically tiring but emotionally exhilarating. I can recall noticing the clock around 8pm and the next time I looked it was well past 11! It truly felt as if only minutes had passed, yet it was more than three hours later. An enjoyable busy night.

Overall despite the lows it was a good year and seems to have passed so quickly. Hello 2012, I wonder what you'll bring. Interesting times, I'm sure.

The Last Rose

2012-01-01T04:53:00.001Z

Winter is upon the land
And yet outside my window,
Shielded by some unseen hand,
One rose continues to grow.

Single bud encased in green
That hides its wine-dark crimson.
Summer beauty might be seen
So late against all reason.

Barren branches all around,
Grass laid flat by heavy dew.
Perfect bloom can now be found,
The best kept back just for you.

Until at last nature calls
Time; it's heard without a sound.
One by one each petal falls
To wither upon the ground.

Loneliness vs Solitude

2011-12-26T01:44:00.001Z

Sometimes I feel lonely - I get the need for company. Other times I find other people hard to handle and need some time alone. This time of year - the holiday season - is making me unusually aware of this.

It has been a strange few days. I've spent a lot of time amongst friends, enjoying myself, and yet felt the need to take a break every now and again to be alone. I could feel myself becoming overwhelmed and needing just five or ten minutes of peace to recover. I don't generally explain or even describe how I'm feeling - I just walk away for a spell, and come back afterwards feeling calmer and more at ease.

And now, in the small hours of the morning, I am sat at home. My wife is asleep in bed. For some reason I feel alone, even though I know she is only a few yards away - I can even hear her snoring gently. The feeling's like an emptiness inside, different from sadness in that there is no pain. It's almost an absence of feeling.

I want to share with somebody what the past few days have been like. The dislocation caused by a week's forced vacation as work shut down for the holidays. The exhilaration of working the bar during a record-breaking day. The physical tiredness from successive late nights. The comfort I felt holding my wife on the dance-floor. Other events, other feelings, good and bad.

Writing this, sharing it here, has helped me. I have regained my balance, and now I shall retire to bed at ease.

The Color Of Yule

2011-12-22T16:05:00.000Z

Stark monochrome: black trees, white snow,
Gray skies above, dark ice below.
A freeze-frame landscape, time stood still
'cross patchwork fields pervasive chill.

Laid in the hearth, upon the grate,
The source of Yuletide warmth awaits
Its kindling, when the flames will dance,
Bright heralds of the sun's advance.

When rising at the turn of year,
Blood red! sun's light comes running clear
With warmth as if from sacrifice
't were spilled to flood across the ice.

And here like frozen drops of blood
Are holly berries from the wood,
Nestled amid the leaves' dark green,
Reflected by the lustrous sheen.

Parallel Existence

2011-12-21T16:45:00.000Z

In your world the light is cheerful,
    In my world the light is painful,
Sounds caress: a background murmur.
    Sounds assault: a foreground clamor.
A crowd of friends; you rush to join them,
    A crowd of friends; I can't avoid them,
Slip into the conversation.
    How to join the conversation?

You read the tone and body language,
    Non-verbal cues: a foreign language,
Instinct means no mental load.
    Too much input: overload.
You do these things without a thought,
    I try to cope, my efforts fraught,
The world and you: a perfect fit.
    The world and me: it won't remit.

Crash Landing

2011-12-17T00:59:00.001Z

Soaring high in clear blue sky,
Lifted on wings of pure joy:
Perfect day. Come out to play,
Join in the game, don't be coy.

Troubled times kept out of mind,
Pleasure has hid them from sight.
Shadows loom and threaten doom:
Even such days end in night.

Falling fast, it ends at last:
Broken wings tattered and torn.
Hello pain, we meet again.
I pray hope rides in at dawn.

Dazed and Confused

2011-12-13T15:32:00.002Z

People often confuse me. Not intentionally, I'm sure. Just when I think I'm getting the hang of understanding NTs they come out with some seemingly simple comment where all the individual words make perfect sense but the meaning when combined into a sentence eludes me.

It usually involves metaphor or analogy, or else overgeneralization: something that is broadly accurate but where exceptions exist that I am unfortunately aware of. I say "unfortunately" because if I know that some statement is not true in all cases then I get hung up on that fact and go off on a mental tangent cataloging all the exceptions I can think of. Needless to say I then lose track of the conversation. I get an urge to correct the speaker, "helpfully" pointing out to them that what they have said is not strictly true, and offering examples to demonstrate this to them. In most instances I manage to suppress this urge these days - it isn't usually well-received (to put it mildly!).

I've mentioned before how my literal interpretation can interfere with understanding even familiar figures of speech, but when they are unfamiliar it can be a serious impediment: I can get such a strong literal image of the phrase that it precludes consideration of alternative interpretations. I've become quite used to the expression of disbelief when I ask them what they mean - they might respond that it's obvious. Not to me it isn't. That's why I asked.

All this assumes that I'm paying attention to whatever conversation is going on - I've got a habit of drifting off into my own thoughts if I lose interest in the subject at hand. I gaze into space and become very still, lost in thought until somebody deliberately attracts my attention, usually because they have just asked me something and I've not responded.So I have to ask them to repeat what they just said, and explain what they've been talking about for the last five minutes. A lot of the time they don't bother and resume whatever topic was under discussion while I tune out again.

One thing I notice again and again about NT conversations is the amount of detail that is either omitted or assumed as common knowledge. They might be talking about something that was reported on the news, or some recent event, and I find it incredible how far they can take a line of reasoning without any solid foundation of fact, or even stating their underlying assumptions for the benefit of the other participants. I wonder if that's because they don't consciously analyze their subjective views, their unconscious prejudices. Indeed they appear resistant to any attempt to expound or elucidate these unspoken assumptions: I know that I rapidly lose the ears of my listeners when I attempt to build up an argument from basic principles. But unless I articulate the foundations on which I am basing my opinions, how can they understand my position? Perhaps they just don't have the patience to appreciate a pedantic, pedagogical approach and dismiss it as grandiloquence.

Time Pressure

2011-12-07T18:17:00.000Z

Time pressure - a compulsion to complete a task or be somewhere by a fixed time - is a major cause of anxiety for me. As the deadline approaches I feel myself getting increasingly tense, short-tempered and twitchy: sure signs of anxiety. It can happen in any situation: at home, at work or out and about; when I am alone or in company.

I've never had any success trying to find a strategy for handling time pressure. I'm not even sure why I feel under such pressure and get so anxious. It might be a fear of failure - an aspect of perfectionism - but I've not been able to analyze it sufficiently. It's pretty much impossible to take a detached, objective view of my own behavior when I'm in that state of mind.

The effects on me include a tendency to rush and miss details, and my concentration is impaired. If it's one particular task I need to complete I will become increasingly manic and unreasonable in my attempts to resolve it in the time remaining. It's worse when I'm around other people because I stop noticing things like tone of voice and body language that indicate that people are getting annoyed or offended by what they perceive as rudeness on my part.

It happened last night. We were taking part in a pub quiz. There were a number of people around the table which can be stressful because I need to maintain a space around me to feel comfortable. There was one question that we hadn't got an answer for and time was running out to hand in the answer sheet. So I was feeling under pressure to both come up with the remaining answer - I feel compelled to complete tasks - and also to hand the sheet in before it was too late. It's a wonder there wasn't steam coming out of my ears! I managed to really annoy my wife with my repeated insistence that we put an answer down for the last question and hand the sheet in - apparently I appeared very impatient and rude, almost shouting at her, and I just didn't notice what effect I was having.

It's hard to explain just how strong the urges are when under time pressure: I've used the word compulsion because that is literally how it feels to me. I have no control over it, I am pulled along by the tide. It doesn't matter how important or trivial the task to be completed is. It might be something big like getting my wife to one of her appointments on time or it might be something so small and unimportant that nobody else sees any importance in it. The key aspect is that to me there is no distinction. There is simply the fact that something has to be done by such-and-such a time.

Fresh Snow

2011-12-06T12:19:00.000Z

Swirling snowflakes fall without a sound,
Blanketing the ground in folds of white.
Sitting here I watch as patterns form:
Fleeting moments captured by my sight.

Morning comes: the rising of the sun
Illuminates the scene, clear and bright.
Wrap up warm in winter coat and hat,
And step out on this stage, set by night.

Early birds have left the only tracks,
Out despite the season's frosty bite.
Rambling over heath, mind open wide,
Calm comes streaming in upon the light.

Positive and Negative Feedback

2011-12-01T15:45:00.000Z

I've been thinking about how I feel in response to feedback - how people respond to things I say or do.

I react badly to negative feedback - criticism, put-downs. It's not that I think I'm perfect or infallible, it's rather that it triggers my insecurity and anxiety. I feel as if I'm being attacked and I react defensively, without conscious thought. I feel as if I'm in trouble and I don't know where I stand with that person. I lose what self-confidence I had in the situation and struggle to handle it - I get confused and don't know how to react. It all to often leads to a shutdown.

How different I feel when I receive positive feedback - a simple thank you or even praise. It makes me so happy and boosts my self-esteem. I feel so invigorated - it's like a surge of pleasure and excitement. For me that is more than enough reward for having helped somebody, no matter how much trouble I might have gone to.

Puppetmaster

2011-11-27T01:34:00.001Z

You said I made you do it
When you treated me unkind,
As if you were a puppet,
My strings controlled your mind.

I think you chose to bully,
Tried to make me feel at fault.
My skin is thick and calloused
From the injuries you wrought.

So now I keep my distance,
Ever watching, on my guard.
Getting close to you again
Would push me much too hard.

Dead Washing Machine And Thanksgiving

2011-11-24T15:21:00.000Z

My wife and I's ordeal with our washing machine is (hopefully) nearing its conclusion. After numerous phone calls and repeated engineer call-outs it has finally been written off and we're going to get a new one. From a different manufacturer. We've been without it for nearly two weeks now and don't we know it - hand washing is hard work. There is a laundrette locally but I can't use it - the unfamiliar environment and people cause me too much anxiety. And my wife's not physically able to get there. So we're stuck in the laundry equivalent of the dark ages!

It's not until they go wrong that you realise how much you rely on these machines: washing machine, dryer, cooker, freezer. How on earth did people manage before they had them? No wonder a whole day used to be set aside for doing the laundry.

And then there's the hassle of getting replacements. At least the internet saves having to physically travel round a bunch of stores to compare models and brands. But you still need to use the phone when it's an insurance- or warranty-related problem, so it ends up being extremely stressful and exhausting. Not to mention time-consuming: I've spent a total of about an hour on the phone over the past couple of days - including the time holding in a queue before I even got to speak to a person. That's a ridiculous amount of time to sort out a fairly straightforward problem.

Anyway at least we're now going to be getting a shiny new machine, so this story has a happy ending - a cause for celebration... and speaking of celebration, Happy Thanksgiving to all the Americans out there!

Getting Through

2011-11-21T16:38:00.000Z

I have times when I feel such utter frustration and helplessness, times when I feel buried under a growing mountain of pending tasks, times when almost everything I touch seems to go wrong or fall apart and I don't know what to do to fix it, times when I just feel trapped by the flow of events - pulled in so many different directions that I feel dizzy and overwhelmed: adrift.

At times like these there are some things that help me get through, none more so than the support of kind words from friends. That gives me just enough of a boost - a positive feeling of hope and self-worth - that I can face the situation and start to deal with it instead of feeling dwarfed and powerless by the terrific enormity of what is facing me. I need to have my mind at peace to handle difficult, stressful situations - this is a great challenge to achieve and I often need help. That little bit of support, telling me that I'm doing OK and I've got somebody behind me who can catch me if I fall.

That's all I need to reduce my anxiety and insecurity to a level I can manage, a level at which I can think straight. Because when my mind's thrashing about, floundering, wasting energy in an attempt to keep afloat, it can escape my notice that I'm not really out of my depth - I'm just so flustered and panicky that I don't realise I can touch the bottom and instead feel as if I'm drowning. That's such an unpleasant sensation. The relief I feel when somebody helps me find my feet and steady myself is immense.

I Think I Need A New Word

2011-11-16T17:31:00.000Z

I'm struggling to think of one word that will describe the feeling of acute mental discomfort and anxiety I get when I hear somebody making hurtful remarks about anyone I know. I don't know if there is a word for it: maybe those people never feel like this. It would explain how they are able to behave in that way.

This feeling I get is so intense that I find it hard to describe, especially when I try to tell the people causing it how they are making me feel with their malicious comments. I don't do that very often - it invariably ends up with them turning on me. But it still makes me angry that they feel so superior that they have the right to put others down.

And then they try to justify themselves by saying they are being honest and direct. No, they're not. They're simply being rude, voicing their opinions behind people's backs and presenting gossip and rumour as fact. I've noticed that they never explain why they hold those opinions. There's an arrogant, unspoken assumption that the reasons are so obvious that any "right-thinking" person would be in agreement.

I don't know how to handle this kind of behaviour except by walking away - it upsets me so much that I overload. I feel that I'm letting the target of the comments down by not standing up and defending them, but I've tried and I can't handle the stress of the confrontation that results.

I guess there are just some people out there who are hazardous to one's health - poisonous if you like. Certainly incompatible with my peace of mind and general well-being.

The Smell Of Memory

2011-11-14T15:19:00.000Z

Every now and again I get a flashback of some smell. I can't explain it; I don't know what triggers it, but it's every bit as vivid as my visual memories. I get it with taste as well. It can be incredibly frustrating at times because I often can't identify the smell or taste despite it being such a strong sensation, as if I were smelling or tasting whatever it is right at that moment.

In that respect it is different from my normal memories of smells or tastes - they are nothing like as involving. Normally, to recall the taste of something I have to imagine eating or drinking it, and the memory is but a dull echo of the reality. But with the involuntary sensation of a smell it really is as if I am experiencing it right there and then. I can draw a deep breath through my nose and it sets off my olfactory nerves like fireworks. Even though I'm not actually smelling anything - there's no odour in the air.

The strange thing is that my senses of smell/taste are not very acute. I often have trouble differentiating smells, so most perfumes smell about the same to me and I can't distinguish between wines, say, by the aroma. I even find it difficult to tell if milk has turned by sniffing it - the first indication is usually when my wife tastes it in her cup of tea. I once - years ago - made cups of coffee at work and only realised something was wrong with the milk when I spotted the curdled bits floating. So it's a mystery to me why I should experience these illusory flashes on what are very much secondary senses to me.

I refer to them as flashbacks rather than hallucinations because they are familiar as sensations that I have experienced first-hand in the past, not inventions of my mind. It happened earlier today - the inspiration for this post - when out of the blue I smelled Apple Sourz. I know that I smelled it yesterday when I was cleaning an optic that had been used to dispense that drink at the pub. I only wish I knew why the memory of that smell suddenly surfaced so vividly.

Coming Home

2011-11-11T14:08:00.000Z

Home is the place I return to
After the day's work is done.
Hanging my coat on
The hook by the door
And leaving my troubles behind.

When I'm at home with my feet up,
I'm lost in a world of my own,
Reading some book or
Just gathering wool,
Relaxing my turbulent mind.

Rain may beat down on the windows,
Wind whistle under the eaves.
Inside these walls I
Feel cosy and warm,
In sanctuary I am enshrined.

Remembrance

2011-11-11T11:00:00.002Z

Standing in their perfect lines,
Mustered for their last parade,
Company on company
Of the fallen lie in rest.

Scars that once defaced the land
Faded with the passing years,
Veterans of wars long past
One by one rejoined old pals.

Battles are still being fought,
Soldiers sacrifice themselves.
Owing all our lives to them,
We honour them this day.

Only Joking

2011-11-10T12:53:00.000Z

Humour. Sarcasm. Teasing. What do these all have in common? They all involve somebody saying something that isn't true. Somehow I'm supposed to be able to recognize that and react appropriately (whatever that means). Okay, it's not quite as bad as all that. Often there's context and other indications such as sheer implausibility that pretty much give the game away. NT people appear to pick up the signs much more easily than I do - I don't know whether there are subtleties of tone or body language that give it away because I'm pretty much oblivious to those.

My normal reaction to anything somebody says is to take it at face value unless I know that what they are saying is incorrect. Teasing and sarcasm give me the most problems because what they say might be true. I have to respond as if they are being straight. It means I get laughed at sometimes but that doesn't bother me these days - it used to but I've got thicker-skinned over the years and more confident in myself. I've learned to make a joke of it, laugh it off, sometimes deliberately take things literally to a ridiculous extreme. That had an unexpected bonus: people started to expect me to be literal and seemed to take account of that more often when speaking to me.

What does bother me about teasing is that I find it hurtful because I believe what they are saying. Even if the person turns round later and says "I was only joking. I didn't mean it." the damage has been done. I trust that person less. In my mind I feel that I have to be sceptical about anything they may say to me in the future, treating them like the boy who cried "wolf". Once I start thinking like that, something has been lost in our relationship - it is less close, less trusting. There are people with whom I start from a position of disbelief when they say anything at all to me. I'd take some convincing before I would believe them if they said the sky was blue.

Eye Contact

2011-11-09T10:52:00.000Z

I can look you in the eye
When I talk to you sometimes,
Or when you speak to me. My
Instinct is suppressed: thought crime.

I would rather look away,
At the walls or into space,
But I had to learn to play
Your social game. I misplaced

My natural self. This mask
I hide behind forever
Part of me. I only ask
You spare a thought, whenever

I evade your gaze. Comfort flees
My mind faced with such a stare;
Swiftly borne by the hot breeze
Of fear. You are unaware

Just how strong are my urges.
Compulsion to turn aside.
Panic rises, heart surges,
Primal need to run and hide.

Not Guilty

2011-11-08T15:51:00.000Z

Just when you think you're getting the hang of acting "normal" something happens to bring you back to reality with a bang. I got wrongly accused of doing something bad the other day - the details don't matter. It was something I would never dream of doing; nevertheless I stood accused of it.

I reacted naturally, which is to say I failed to make eye contact, I displayed "inappropriate" facial expressions such as smiling, I didn't respond immediately. All this was taken to be a display of guilt by my (neurotypical) accuser. What can you do in such a situation? The more I protested my innocence the more I was told that I was "acting guilty".

I'm an honest person: I feel too uncomfortable to contemplate lying. Besides which, I find it hard enough to remember the details of what did happen, never mind trying to remember some invented scenario. Being accused like that and then not being believed - having my response taken to be evidence of deceit - was deeply hurtful.

My accuser in this case was somebody who prides themselves on being a good judge of character, on having great empathy. But there was no sign of any of that when dealing with me. Their instinctive reading of non-verbal cues led them totally astray when faced with somebody on the autistic spectrum. I'm led to believe that this subconscious empathy as displayed by most neurotypical people relies on the person being observed also being neurotypical and reacting in a "normal" way. They can't read the signals correctly if there is any deviation from this - their unconscious assumptions fail to hold true. The trouble is that with the assumptions being unconscious, there is no realisation that they even exist.

It's been said before elsewhere, but neurotypical people lack empathy when dealing with autistic people. They don't often notice when we feel anxious or threatened, they misinterpret our feelings based on our behaviour. They seem to have an off-the-peg, one-size-fits-all model of human behaviour, while I (I can't speak for other people on the spectrum) build a bespoke model for everyone I know.

Generalizations don't work with outliers - it's true of all statistical models. And in statistical terms, people on the autistic spectrum do fall outside the normal range when it comes to behavioural traits. That's "normal" as in an average across a population. I'm quite aware that I have some areas where I fall within normal bounds; others, especially relating to social skills, where I'm well outside.

I strongly resent my natural reactions to an accusation being taken as signs of guilt or evasion. I don't think I should have to conform to neurotypical standards of communication to be believed. Where was the vaunted empathy of this person in my case? I'd call it a spectacular failure. Did they end up enlightened? No. I just got a dismissive "you're weird". They weren't willing to take the time to analyze and understand me - time that autistic people have to take if they want to interact more fully with neurotypical people. I don't think I'm wrong to feel angry about this.

Dream of Freedom

2011-11-07T16:14:00.000Z

Night has fallen; we are gathered round the fire. The old man who is the repository of our tribe's history and lore begins to chant, slowly and softly at first, using the ancient tongue brought to this land by his ancestors. But we do not need to understand his words: we know the tales that he tells for the last time this night. Of how our tribe first came to this land, driven across the sea to escape persecution at the hands of our enemies. The desperate flight with the invaders at our heels, the anguish of leaving so many behind to face death or slavery, the razing of our homes and destruction of our way of life.

Our strongest survived the voyage across the unknown ocean, guided by the stars and the visions that our gods imparted to our spiritual leader. The gods were kind to us in those days and led us to a land of riches: plentiful animals to be hunted, fish in the rivers and sea, and fertile ground for our crops. We raised new homes and dedicated new sacred sites to our gods in thanks for our deliverance. Over many generations we grew in numbers and spread across this new land, but in all that time we never met other men: no other human tribes inhabited this place and we lived in peace.

But this soft life made us weak and complacent. We started to forget the old ways. We stopped visiting the sacred places and they were allowed to return to nature; we neglected our old gods. Like fruit left unharvested they withered and died, and we did not notice that we no longer had their protection until it was too late.

New people came across the sea from the North: strong, pale-skinned men in two long ships. At first we were fearful of them. It had been so long since we had had any contact with other humans that we had started to believe we were alone in the world. They were few and we approached them. They traded cloth and tools for food, restocking their provisions for their journey home. They did not linger on our shores and we thought little of their visit. Until they returned in their hundreds with fearsome beasts at the prows of their ships; ships filled with fierce warriors and iron swords.

They built a settlement by the shore where they had landed, using timbers from their ships to construct their halls and raising tall earth banks around to protect them. We realised then that they were here to stay. The returning traders had obviously told of the rich land across the sea and these Northmen wanted it for their own. We sent messengers to them bearing gifts and offering friendship; they demanded tribute and submission. Although we were many and they were few, we were weak and most of our tribe were afraid of the newcomers. We had abandoned our old gods, and they had now abandoned us, leaving us to our fate.

This small band now gathered around the fire is all of our tribe that remains free. The rest bent their knees and are ruled by the Northmen, worshipping their gods, obeying their commands, paying tribute to their lords. They are no longer free men. We stood against the invaders and many of us were slaughtered in battle or taken into slavery. Our warriors did not lack courage but could not overcome the strength and iron weapons of our foes. We survivors fled to the farthest reaches of this land, hoping that we could remain free. That was four summers ago.

Today we saw a band of Northmen scouting near our homes. We know it can only be a matter of days before they return in overwhelming numbers to destroy us in a final battle, so we are spending the time in recollection of our heritage, trying to summon back our old gods to support us. But few of us believe in the gods any more. The gods have forgotten us as we forgot them. We must face the enemy alone, and when we are gone none will remember who we were or where we came from: our gods and our tribe will be lost to the memories of men, and only the invaders from the North will remain here. It will be their land then to settle with their new gods and new ways. Perhaps they in their turn will be swept aside by a stronger people. That seems to be the way of things: either submit to those who are stronger than you, whether willingly or at the point of a sword, and become like them, or fight for your beliefs and way of life - fight to be your true self - and die proud and free.

Perhaps one day there will be a third way and all the different tribes of humans will find a way to live together in peace. But as long as the strong continue to simply take what they want from the weak that day will never come, and men will not be truly free: free from fear, persecution and harm. We will stand and fight to the death for our right to be free because we truly believe in it.

Self-censorship

2011-11-03T15:26:00.000Z

Censorship. It's a word with many negative connotations, associated with authoritarian states and restriction of freedom. But on an individual level it is something most people practise without even being aware of it. Things left unsaid. It may an attempt to spare somebody hurt; it may be to avoid leaving oneself open to attack for voicing an unpopular opinion.

Sins of omission. Being unwilling to speak out because of the possible consequences. Is this a bad thing? Does it depend on context? Is it acceptable not to tell somebody something because you feel it may hurt their feelings? Is it unacceptable to keep an opinion to oneself because it differs from the majority view? Or is that simply self-preservation?

I've been thinking about this recently because I worry that being open and honest in describing how I'm feeling and the difficult times my wife and I are going through might upset or hurt people who care about us. I don't know the answer to this one. In general I am opposed to censorship and in favour of freedom of speech. But do I have any right to decide to withhold information that could affect other people's view of me? To offer them an incomplete picture? Doesn't that equate with dishonesty? I feel uncomfortable if I contemplate offering false information or deliberately omitting details. If the two situations feel the same doesn't that mean they are the same? I believe they are, at least in my mind.

So I'm left with this conflict between wanting to avoid causing anybody distress and being open. So far I have leaned towards being open. I am aware that this can cause some of my readers to feel sympathetic pain and that is a cause for concern to me. But I believe that to hide the difficult facts and only write about the good times would be misleading. It would give the impression that I live in some ideal, perfect world where nothing bad ever happens. The truth is that like everybody else I face a range of situations, go through highs and lows, triumphs and disasters. I strongly believe that I have to present an accurately balanced account; I try to do so here.

I apologise if anybody has found what I write here to be distressing; that has never been my intention. But that is how life can be at times. Would life's highs provide such elation were it not for the contrast with the lows?

Through The Dark

2011-11-02T11:34:00.000Z

Samhain is over now. One night a year
The normal world outside my door departs;
Retires to the wings, the stage left clear
For actors to appear: the play can start.

Undead hordes come lurching by the dozen
With jack-o'-lanterns shining out their light,
And on their heels the cackling of a coven:
Witches trick-or-treating through the night.

This celebration marks the passing summer,
The seasons' change: arrival of the dark.
Now the harvest's gathered, hear the drummer
Slow the beat that tells life's primal heart.

Feel the vital pulse's change of tempo,
And light the fires to keep the ice at bay.
With Yule will come the turning of the corner,
When sun returns with growing strength each day.

That's when the frozen world begins to quicken
As life is reawakened from its sleep.
Despite the thin veneer of modern living,
Our connexion with this land is old and deep.

Whether you still dance around the Maypole,
Or set the bonfires blazing at Beltane,
When Sumer is icumen in the rhythm
Of nature's bold arousal strikes your brain.

Empathy and Selfishness

2011-10-31T15:00:00.000Z

I fear I've been behaving selfishly recently. I don't want to make excuses - just try to explain. As I wrote recently, my wife is very ill at the moment and her physical pain, exhaustion and isolation are causing severe depression.

I find that I resonate with how she is feeling. I feel her depression like a deep, black pit; like a hundred hooks in my insides drawing them down into the depths, leaving a void yearning to be filled with anything other than the aching emptiness. I find it very difficult to function in the face of such intense emotion - and I am only feeling it second-hand, picking up the echoes of what my wife is experiencing!

I just don't know how to handle the situation; these feelings. I don't know what to do for my wife to help her with her depression. I feel lost. So, selfishly, I have been withdrawing and taking refuge in familiar routines. I've been alternately detached and irascible with her instead of being supportive. I know that's wrong and I want to be supportive - it's proving to be a big challenge.

My reaction to strong emotions is not at a conscious level - it is sheer gut instinct. Such feelings push the buttons of my primitive fight-or-flight response and my conscious mind has to fight hard against the tide to overcome these basic instincts. It doesn't always succeed and that is when I overload.

Imagine, if you can, how a pet dog would react to its owners having a row in front of it. The dog can't understand what is causing the situation but can pick up the emotional overtones and becomes distressed. Perhaps it slinks off, tail between its legs, and cowers in a corner, whining. And over time the dog will become more wary and it will take time and effort to overcome its reluctance to approach, its fear of being in that situation again.

Neurotypical people don't react like that dog, and so don't expect that other people would either. But some autistic people don't have the ability to handle these emotionally-charged situations. We can't rationalize the causes when we're experiencing such distress. All we can do is react instinctively. There's a very good article on this subject on the Autism and Empathy blog.

When I fail to react to somebody in the way that they expect, when I react in a way that appears unfeeling, irrational, selfish - that is often the result of all too much feeling on my part. Feeling - emotion - so strong that I can't rationally cope with it and my mind regresses to a more primitive mode of operation: instinct, the primitive drive for self-preservation.

Foggy Morning

2011-10-28T09:01:00.000+01:00

Travelling down the lanes,
Passing fields and trees
Existing in memories:
Fog-shrouded, invisible
To sight. There is no world
Outside this small bubble
In which I make my way.

It was not always so.
Leaving home this morning
Orion's stars shone bright;
The Hunter watched over
As my journey began.
The clear skies boded well
For an easy passage.

But before the first mile
Had passed beneath my feet
Misty tendrils began
To creep across the road,
Harbingers of the shroud
That soon would wind the land
In damp opalescence.

I love the intimate
Smallness, my senses' sphere
Reduced to human scale.
Nothing can be perceived
Beyond: I am alone
In this immaculate,
Intangible softness.

On the Wing

2011-10-27T10:59:00.000+01:00

Standing here, confined to the ground,
I watch the birds as they fly past;
Intently watch their darting grace -
Then suddenly my mind takes off.

Treetops slip by far beneath me
As I race above the earth,
Winging my way across the woods;
Released from gravity's burden.

I dip my wing and twitch my tail,
Heading in a new direction
For the moment. No end in mind,
Content in my dream of freedom.

Inside A Torture Chamber

2011-10-26T09:59:00.000+01:00

I spent for too long at the hospital yesterday accompanying my wife as she went through a series of tests and scans. The X-Ray/Ultrasound department has recently moved to a refurbished suite and it's all new and shiny.

Too shiny. The lighting makes its white walls harshly bright. It's all straight lines and square corners with no relieving softness. I know hospitals are clinical - obviously - but do they really have to look so cold and unfriendly? I was feeling on edge when we got to the department reception desk. Luckily my wife dealt with the receptionist - with the bright lights, echoing footsteps and other voices all claiming my attention I couldn't concentrate on what he was saying at all. We got directed to a small waiting area off one of the corridors - an alcove with a row of six chairs on each side, facing each other. About half the chairs were occupied; I took one at the end away from the corridor with my wife sitting next to me.

I feel uncomfortable in waiting rooms at the best of times; I get very anxious when people are sat looking at me. And I don't like to feel I'm being overheard when I talk to somebody, so I was inhibited from speaking with my wife. I ended up just sitting there, stimming in a fairly subtle manner by tapping one thumb on the other with my hands together, fingers intertwined - trying to keep reasonably calm. However the pressure of having other people facing me in such a small space was making me increasingly anxious. (I have similar problems using public transport - that's why I will walk miles rather than catch a bus.)

So there I am in this small waiting area with too many strangers looking at me, the harsh light making me feel even more exposed and uncomfortable. I can feel I'm getting close to a sensory overload. And then somebody goes through the door in the corridor just outside this alcove. How to describe the noise made by that door? If you've seen those old horror films where the castle door slowly closes to the accompaniment of a tortured squeal from its stiff, rusted hinges you'll know exactly what this door sounded like. That did overload me. I had to shut my eyes every time that door opened or closed because it was as if somebody was shining a spotlight into them. It hurt. I was starting to ache from the tension across my shoulders and up my neck.

I thought to myself that they couldn't have designed a more effective environment to torture somebody with sensory processing issues if they had tried. I just felt like curling up in a corner and shutting down but I had to keep myself going to keep my wife company. By the time we got out of there I was tense and exhausted and just wanted to rest. It took a massive effort to avoid shutting down and left me drained. I'm not sure how much support I gave to my wife but at least I was there and mostly responsive. I find it hard to believe that a hospital could get its design so wrong in terms of providing spaces for people that are comfortable and promote a calm state of mind.

Rising Stress Revisited

2011-10-25T00:19:00.001+01:00

A couple of days ago I mentioned a major cause of worry but couldn't go into detail. Well, it's to do with my wife. She had the results of tests on a tennis-ball-sized lump that was removed about three weeks ago and it was not good news. She doesn't want me to go into detail so I can't be more specific.

She has been very ill since the operation - internal bleeding causing a swelling as if she had a butternut squash under her skin and acute, chronic pain. I don't know how she has managed to stand it so far - I doubt that I could.

But the worst part for her as a gregarious, outgoing person has been the isolation of being stuck at home apart from my company when I'm not at work and occasional visits from friends. This is causing depression.

Now I feel selfish talking about my feelings when she is going through so much but I need to write it down to help me get through. I am mostly coping, thanks to the distraction of work, but it is her depression that I find the hardest to handle. I see and hear how she is feeling and I come so close to being overwhelmed that I feel as if I'm on a knife-edge where the slightest push will tip me over the edge.

I came within a fraction of a meltdown tonight - ended up punching a door frame. I've got my equilibrium back now but I feel under tremendous strain. This situation is very likely to continue for weeks if not months and I'm worried that I'm not going to be able to cope if I'm having difficulties after only three weeks.

I'm telling myself that I have to keep it together for her sake but I feel as if I'm failing because she is suffering. I'm not managing to meet my own expectations as regards being there for her: I have work commitments to meet to make sure we have money coming in to keep the roof over our heads and make sure the bills are paid, so as much as I'd like to I can't be with her 24/7. My employers have been very understanding and supportive and I thank them for that, but obviously I can't be absent long-term and expect to still be paid after my annual leave has all been taken.

So I'm putting myself under pressure to care for my wife adequately, to keep going in my job, and also to try to help keep the household running by doing as much as I can. I try to keep telling myself that I'm not doing too badly for someone who has struggled to look after himself in the past. But I still feel as if I'm being selfish by taking time out for myself - some down time on my own to try to unwind and help myself keep going. I feel as if I could and should be doing more for my wife, but at the same time realise that I need to make sure that I am here over the weeks to come. I really can't afford to let things get on top of me so that I overload. I'm worried as hell but I can't let that distract me until the situation improves.

To All The Bullies

2011-10-24T11:46:00.000+01:00

There are some people out there who enjoy hurting others. I'm not talking about the sadistic psychopaths detained in high-security hospitals and prisons, although there are similarities. I'm talking about bullies. Those contemptible people who inflict mental and sometimes physical abuse on those they perceive as weaker.

I've suffered the teasing, taunting, name-calling and threatening behaviour. I've felt too afraid to even bear to be within sight of any of those responsible. I've ended up with depression, withdrawing - literally locking myself into the safe haven of my bedroom.

I would wonder why I had been singled out, what I had done to deserve such hateful treatment. Typical victim mindset, blaming myself - assuming the fault lay with me. Because I never fitted in: the quiet, shy one on the edge of things. Always nervous and awkward in social situations and with a set of unusual behaviours such as hand-flapping and repeating my words to myself that made me stand out.

I'd love to be able to say that I rose above such things and didn't let the bullies bother me. But it wouldn't be true. It bothered me to the point of breaking down in tears of pain and frustration. I ran away with my tail between my legs. I never confronted any of those responsible - that's something I can't handle. I shut down when faced with that kind of situation - confrontation and aggression.

I think it would be understandable if I hated those who had bullied me. But I don't. I fact I don't think of them individually at all, but rather as a class of people who are poisonous and to be avoided. They are narrow-minded, insensitive, morally-deficient and totally unnecessary and unwanted in my life. I have absolutely nothing to do with them. I carry on with my life, stick with the people who are my friends, and exclude any who would harm me.

The bullies may or may not care that I have excised them from my life - either way it doesn't matter to me. Because I now accept how I am - I'm content to be myself. Different is good in my opinion. I have supportive friends and a loving wife. I got told I'm "special" by one of my friends last night - little things like that make me feel good about myself. I have people who care about me. Why would I allow negative, destructive influences into my life? So I'm not even going to say goodbye to the bullies from my past - they are long gone and aren't missed.

Rising Stress

2011-10-21T16:04:00.000+01:00

Here's hoping for a quiet weekend. At least things are going well in my main job. Everything else though...

Tonight will be my first shift in the pub with the new manager. I've met her already when I got introduced Tuesday night but it takes me a long time to get used to a person so I feel comfortable. Hopefully she'll be pretty laid back and leave me to get on with things. I'm anxious about it, worrying about what might happen - trying to plan how I'll handle various hypothetical scenarios. But I just don't know her well enough to predict how she will behave. So I'll be stepping into the unknown when my shift starts.

There's other stuff going on outside work that I can't go into yet that is causing me a huge amount of worry as well. While I usually handle stress in particular areas of my life by compartmentalising and concentrating on other things, in this particular case it's intense enough to leak out and affect everything else. The end result is that I find my stress levels increase and the danger is that it affects my ability to cope with my normal routine. I can't concentrate as well and I experience sensory overload much more easily, which then makes it more likely that I will shut down. I'm worried about shutting down because I am caring for my wife while she is ill, and I am obviously no use to her if I can't function. So the stress and worry is spiralling upwards because I feel anxious about worrying in the first place. It's completely irrational. It makes me want to scream!

So I'm sitting here hoping that things run smoothly over the weekend. I'm not sure how much more stress I can handle and I'm inclined to head for the hills at the first sign of trouble. But there's this little part of me that's watching with interest to see exactly how high the levels can get before something breaks. Seems I can't get away from analysing myself the whole time.

Breaking Chains

2011-10-19T23:03:00.001+01:00

Growing up, the corner shop
Was like an Aladdin's cave.
Exciting exotic riches
To be had for pocket change.

Each shop had unique delights:
A quarter of some sweet treat
Or the latest comic book.
You knew where to find it all.

Every town had character:
Independent retailers,
Established eighteen-something,
Or at least before the war.

The cafe on the high street
Where my grandmother drank tea,
The bookshop I frequented:
Many happy hours for me.

Most of those shops are gone now,
Replaced by the soulless clones
That have spread just like a plague:
Uniformity rules now.

I often think I could stand
In any town without knowing
Where I might be in the land:
Everywhere now looks the same.

Mall culture dominating
With the old guard dead, passed on.
Reflecting in nostalgia,
I regret the march of time.

In Camberley or Wigan
The global brands have stolen
The identity that once
Made each town special to me.

In Defence of Corvids

2011-10-18T15:54:00.000+01:00

Collective nouns are a curious breed - they often carry the prejudices of those who coined them. So for the pretty, colourful birds you have an exaltation of larks, a charm of goldfinches or a murmuration of starlings. But the large, black members of family corvidae have not received such sympathetic treatment.

A murder of crows; an unkindness of ravens. What have these birds done that they deserve such negative associations? For in fact corvids are among the most intelligent of our feathered friends. This intelligence has been reflected throughout history by the roles played by ravens and crows in mythology across various cultures, particularly Native American and Norse. Not merely bystanders in various myths and legends, these birds often play a central part as protagonists and messengers.

Some North American tribes' shamanistic traditions depict Raven as the creator of the world. The chief god of the Norse peoples, Odin, was so strongly associated with ravens that he was known as the "raven god"; his pair, named Huginn and Muninn, being the god's eyes and ears in the world of men, Midgard. Crows and magpies too have long been seen as spiritual beings, mediators between the realms of the living and the dead. Also to this day there persists a belief that should the ravens residing at the Tower of London ever leave, the kingdom will fall.

My personal belief is that crows, ravens, rooks and the other members of the corvid family are admirable, highly intelligent birds with an air of mystery and spirituality about them and a charming, insouciant - sometimes cheeky - manner. No wonder they have featured as tricksters so many times in mythology. And I love the black plumage with its subtle glossy iridescence.

Brittleness

2011-10-18T12:24:00.001+01:00

The rock stands firm against the waves
That batter and break with each tide.
But even rock in time will cave
And crumble, being washed aside.

But standing fast through winter gales,
The willow, storm-tossed in the fields,
Has learned to bend and not to fail:
To the might of the wind it yields.

Some people may be like the rock,
Inflexible, 'til nought remains
But broken shards and sudden shock;
Dreams drowning in a sea of pain.

So like the willow you must bend,
Adapt to changing circumstance.
Go with the flow, and in the end
Once trouble's past: deliverance.

Hibernation

2011-10-17T11:04:00.000+01:00

With a warm richness of color,
Red and gold replacing lush green,
Trees burn their brightest in the fall.

Soon the leaves will drop revealing
Bare branches; the semblance of death
As life retreats from limbs to heart.

But the embers still glow inside,
Waiting to rekindle the fire
And be born anew with the spring.

Different Roles

2011-10-16T21:56:00.001+01:00

It's strange, but my behaviour changes depending on what I'm doing. I reluctantly went to the usual pub quiz last Tuesday night without my wife, who wasn't well enough. This is the same pub I work in at weekends. When I'm behind the bar, being a barman, I have the confidence to speak to people. Because of the context of the job I can interact with complete strangers. So why do I feel so darned uncomfortable when I'm on my own in front of the bar?

I got there a good hour before the quiz started and the place wasn't yet busy. I probably knew almost everyone in the there. But I didn't feel at ease joining anybody's group. I did hover at the edge of one group for a while but ended up sat on my own at the usual table reading the news on my phone. Even when the other members of the team arrived I felt isolated. It's not that I wasn't included; it's just that I always put myself under pressure because I feel that I should be active in conversation. If it hadn't been for numerous people asking after my wife's health I don't think I'd have said very much all night.

So why does it feel so different among the same people in the same environment depending on whether I'm a customer or a barman? I don't really know. I do know that I hate to take a break while I'm working because for half an hour I'm out of barman mode and basically just a normal customer. I usually come back early from my break and hope I won't get sent back out again. I guess it sounds weird but that's me!

Even when I'm on my own behind the bar with a pub full of customers I hardly ever feel intimidated - I feel safe. Is it the solid counter between me and them? I don't think so. I suspect it's because the interactions are constrained and I understand the boundaries - I know what to expect from the customers because they just want to be served. When I'm in there as just me - no role to assume - there are no such boundaries.

I realise now that I can handle much more socially if I am fulfilling a role than if I'm just being myself - exposed, unprotected. In a way these roles are like masks that I can hide behind.

Mourning Strangers

2011-10-14T10:01:00.000+01:00

Why does the passing of certain people affect me more deeply, while others may depart with scarcely a thought? I'm not talking about deaths of family or friends here, I mean people whom I have never met and know only through their work in whatever field.

What got me thinking about this was reading yesterday of the death of Dennis Ritchie, a major figure in the world of computing. I started wondering why I felt sad on this occasion, while I was emotionally untouched when I heard that Steve Jobs had died. After all, I never met either of them - I never even saw them in the flesh. And I generally have neutral feelings towards strangers - people I don't know.

Was there something about Dennis Ritchie that created a connection for me? I think so. When you experience works created by somebody, I believe you pick up aspects of their psyche. It might be from reading what they have written, seeing their visual art, using tools that they have created. An author's voice is preserved in their writing and transmitted by the act of reading those words.

The second programming language I learned was C, created by Dennis Ritchie et al. The canonical reference book for the language, a work I know very well, was co-authored by Ritchie. And through his involvement in the development of the Unix operating system, there are aspects of him reflected in parts of that and derived works. So despite never meeting him, I do feel a degree of connection, of identifying with him - I feel an echo of him from his works and through that there is a sense of familiarity.

I don't know how it works for other people - I have known people to feel grief on hearing of the death of some "celebrity". I guess they watch them acting on TV or read about them in magazines and through that feel that they know them. That doesn't do it for me. But somebody like an author or an artist with whose works I am familiar - then I feel that I have gleaned an insight into their mind from those works and in a small way I have begun to know them. At that point an emotional bond has been made. For me that is a prerequisite for a sympathetic response rather than just an intellectual one.

That is why I cannot mourn a stranger. As long as they remain a stranger I am unable to respond to their situation except in an intellectual way; until I gain some insight into a person they are just another grain of sand on the beach, indistinguishable at a glance from any other. I'm not saying that I have no feelings towards people in general - I treat them with respect and compassion. But I don't have any curiosity about their lives; I don't lose any sleep worrying over them.

When I see reports of some natural disaster on the news I recognise intellectually that it is a difficult, frightening situation for the people involved in it and feel a desire to help on the basis of our shared humanity. But I am unable to grieve for their dead: I did not know them. The images do not directly cause me emotional pain. I can reason about how it might feel to be involved in such a situation - it is an intellectual exercise. I need to analyse their situation, find parallels from my own experiences and consider how I felt in those circumstances to consciously develop an empathic response. But I have found that mourning - grief - is far beyond this in terms of intensity. I can feel sadness or regret for a stranger but I can only mourn those I have a strong enough bond with.

The Best Card Ever

2011-10-13T08:44:00.000+01:00

I've been meaning to put this picture up since my birthday last month. It's the card I got from a couple of good friends. I loved it when I opened the envelope and read the front: "I like having a friend like you. You're different..."

It might sound silly but I felt really happy - not just accepted but liked for who I was. I think it was the perfect card for me. I don't usually pay much attention to cards beyond reading who sent them but in this case I made an exception - this one really means something to me and I'm going to hold on to it.

I was in one of my low phases at the time when I got this card and it comforted and cheered me immensely. So a big thank you and lots of love to "B" & "M" who sent me this card - you know who you are...

A Change of Plans Causes Issues

2011-10-12T16:33:00.000+01:00

I don't know about anybody else but I have a big problem when events fail to turn out the way I expect. It's one reason I try not to plan what I'm going to do in advance. Take what happened yesterday for example - I knew there was mince in the fridge that needed using along with tomatoes, mushrooms, onions and carrots. So I thought, "Pasta sauce!"

And then I got home and my wife had somehow managed to cook me a chilli despite her feeling so ill. Did I react with gratitude? I'm sorry to say I didn't. I was knocked off-balance because some of the ingredients I had been going to use for my pasta sauce had been used instead to make this chilli. I managed not to get angry or melt down - took some self-control - but I did complain. I knew my reaction was upsetting my wife but I couldn't stop myself. I tried to explain that it was the fact that my plan had been scuppered that had stressed me but the damage had been done.

I must say that I ate the chilli and enjoyed it very much. But. It. Wasn't. Pasta. Sauce! How do you explain this kind of feeling to somebody who can handle change? That despite appreciating the effort she had gone to, I was unable to get past this clash - this discrepancy with my mental image of myself cooking a different dish. It's my normal reaction to change - I try not to respond in this way because it hurts or offends people I care about but it causes me stress and I find it very difficult to hide. That would be the same as lying which I also find very difficult, even to save people's feelings.

In this case I got over the worst of the feeling quite quickly and apologised - this kind of thing has happened numerous times before so my long-suffering wife is sadly used to it by now - but I've still got a little lingering disquiet that things didn't happen as I expected. And I feel bad about not showing my gratitude from the outset. I know it's a shabby way to treat somebody who's made an effort to do something for me but I really don't know how to get past the intense disappointment and stress I feel in these situations - the feeling is so intense that it swamps any other, more rational, thoughts I may have.

Creating New Routines

2011-10-11T15:42:00.000+01:00

Why isn't there some standard schedule of household chores? My wife is going to be laid up for some time after a recent operation so I'm taking on as much of the cooking, cleaning and general housework as I can find the time to do alongside work and looking after her. Or trying to...

The trouble is that housework is not one of my usual routines so I have trouble remembering what needs doing. Also, unlike my wife, I can only focus on one task at a time - for example, I can't leave the washing to do some dusting because I'll forget that the washing was in progress. I need to build these tasks into a routine so that I can perform them automatically, without needing to consciously supervise myself throughout.

This got me thinking - what are the obstacles that make doing these things more difficult for me than, say, developing software? Right up there has to be my memory problems. I can recall technical information relating to my job without any issues, navigating through millions of lines of code as easily as finding my way to the local shops. But I have lost count of the number of times I have poured the water into a cup of tea, left the room while it steeps and completely forgotten about it until my wife asks where it's got to. I've also been known to go into another room to fetch some item only to have forgotten what it was by the time I get there. It's the same with any non-routine task - if I step away from it to do something else, more often than not I will forget what I was doing. It seems to be only my short-term memory that is affected in this way.

So how can I create new routines so that I get these tasks done efficiently? My first thought was to create a full schedule, but I realised that this would require more detailed information regarding task durations and frequency of repetition than I possess, and would be too inflexible because of ad-hoc demands on my time. So then I thought about just making a checklist of tasks that need to be completed, perhaps with deadlines where appropriate. I think that's the method I'll try first - I need a way to organize myself and to-do lists generally work for me. I use them at work - along with decomposing tasks into manageable chunks. This is a common technique, breaking a large task down into smaller sub-tasks, that I use at work, first to estimate how long a particular software development project will take and then to structure my approach to the task. It also helps a lot when faced with a huge job that daunts by its very size and complexity. Breaking it up into small pieces allows me to focus on each individually and keeps me from trying to fit too much detail into my mind at any one time.

Once I've run through the sequence of jobs a few times I believe I'll get used to the pattern and - as if by magic - a new routine will exist. Sounds simple, but I'm sure there'll be some difficulties - I've got a feeling that some of these household jobs are ones that get done as and when they are needed rather than according to a fixed schedule like "mop the kitchen floor at 7pm on Tuesday evening". I wish I knew how my wife coped with it all - it just seems so complicated and time-consuming to me. I'm amazed that she could manage it all without any written plan.

Night In The Woods

2011-10-10T15:30:00.000+01:00

The world is seen in black and white
By the harvest moon's silver light.
No clouds above to block the sight
Of stars that shine down through this night.

Tonight the woods are picture-still:
No creature stirs, no sound to fill
My ears. This endless moment will
A sense of utter calm instil.

I walk along the path that wends
Between the trees; it weaves and bends,
Rising quickly my course ascends
Until atop the hill it ends.

In front of me a ring of stone,
Ages old, creators unknown.
A place of power - druids' throne
With secrets never to be shown.

I see the circle as a gate
Whose opening I shall await,
Then I'll receive a gift from Fate:
My mind at peace, immaculate.

Too Much On My Mind

2011-10-10T14:09:00.001+01:00

Sometimes...
      there are too many thoughts
      running round and round
      inside my head.

Sometimes...
      I feel so anxious
      I find it hard to focus
      on the task in front of me.

Sometimes...
      I get exhausted by the effort
      of forcing my conscious thoughts
      through the noise.

Sometimes...
      I just want to close the curtains,
      switch off the lights
      and lock the door.

Until...
      my spinning thoughts slow down
      to a manageable speed
      and my mind becomes quiet.

Caring

2011-10-08T01:59:00.001+01:00

When this is all over and the dust has settled I am most likely going to come down with a bang.

My wife suffered serious complications after a minor operation Tuesday. Her blood pressure dropped to dangerous levels at one point and it was only the timely intervention of the doctors at the local hospital that saved her. She came home the next day but is still very ill and in pain.

She has to rely on me to care for her. It's not easy for either of us - she has always been a very independent woman and asking for help does not come easily. I suspect I am misreading some of her signals: I see the anger at the surface when I should realise that her fear and pain is causing it. It's difficult for me to be sufficiently detached to properly analyze her state of mind - to properly empathize requires that I, paradoxically, first have to distance myself so I can be objective.

I feel so helpless: there's nothing I can do to take away her pain, to make her better. It will just take time. All I can do is try to make sure she's got everything she needs to hand and all the household jobs get done. I'm not very good at it - left to my own devices I struggle to look after myself, never mind anybody else. I don't feel as if I'm doing enough - I think that I'm just reacting to situations that arise rather than being proactive and forestalling them. I just think that I ought to be doing more but I don't know what more I could do.

I keep noticing the symptoms of an impending shutdown - I get frustrated and tired more quickly and I feel the urge to disconnect, to get away from everything for a while and go for a long walk by myself. But I won't let myself do that right now - I can't allow myself that luxury until she is stronger. It takes its toll on me: it is physically very demanding. I feel constant tension across my shoulders and down my back, caused by the stress of the situation. Once she recovers sufficiently I can take the time out I need to recover. But until then I must carry on doing the best I can.

Sestina

2011-10-07T00:10:00.001+01:00

A sestina is a particular poetic structure based on six stanzas of six lines concluded by a tercet. The same six words in permuted order end each line of each stanza. It's a challenging form to compose, and I've been wanting to try my hand at it for a while now. Here goes...

Worry is a worm eating me inside
As I endure this storm of emotion
That threatens to overwhelm my senses.
I cannot concentrate: my churning mind
Refuses to obey my need for calm.
I try to find some refuge in routine.

Like a straw to a drowning man, routine
Offers slender hope. It's only inside
The familiar sequence I find calm,
A brief lull. Overload of emotion
Breaks like waves on the wall within my mind,
That guards my fragile hold on my senses.

My fear, like a hound tracing spoor, senses
Its quarry: any break in my routine
Will bring it swiftly in to grip my mind
In its cruel jaws. I watch from inside,
Not daring to rest in case emotion
Spills over the dam, shattering my calm.

I must maintain my air of inner calm,
And not let fear overwhelm my senses.
To shut down and give in to emotion
Is not a choice in times far from routine.
Unable to withdraw to the inside
Because there is another I must mind.

With love for my wife strengthening my mind
I battle my demons, retain my calm.
No sign on my face of the fight inside
As I maintain control of my senses,
Cocooned in the comfort of my routine,
Sheltered from raw power of emotion.

That's not to say I feel no emotion:
Its echoes still impinge upon my mind.
But had I not the bedrock of routine
On which to build my citadel of calm,
Then fear would undermine and my senses
Would overload and I would break inside.

Strength lies in routine, or else emotion
Can build up inside, overwhelm my mind.
I fight to stay calm, control my senses.

To My Wife

2011-10-05T23:56:00.001+01:00

When you called me yesterday
I tried to get to your side.
Traffic conspired against me:
Frustration, impatience:
I was driven, I had to get to you.
All those people
Going about their normal lives
Were just obstacles
In my path.

I arrived late; you had gone.
Taken to that place of life and death.
I found you there,
In pain. You acted normal,
Not wanting to distress me.
But I know you too well.

I knew it had to be bad
For you to end up there:
Overcoming your phobia,
Asking for help.

You asked me to get you out;
I side-stepped, dodged the question,
Tried to keep you occupied
Until the doctors arrived
With their questions and needles.

Your condition changed,
Stirring them into action.
I was left standing on the edge
And then outside the door.

I looked around the ER:
I couldn't take the sight
And turned my back on the room;
Stared at your door,
Fighting the impulse to run
From that place.

But I could not run.
I was more afraid to leave
Than to stay.
Then they moved you
To Resus.

They connected you
To wires and tubes:
Fluids in, data out.
You rang alarms:
This reading too low,
That one too high.

I stood by your side throughout,
Keeping you calm
As best I could.
Keeping my own feelings
At one remove:
Time for all that later.

They stabilized you:
You became more lucid.
You told me to go home:
You'd be all right.
They moved you to a ward,
I went home.

You had me worried,
Pacing from room to room,
Unable to settle.
I felt helpless.
Hour after hour
Until exhaustion overcame me
And I succumbed to sleep.

I awoke scant hours later,
Knowing something was missing.
Still dressed from the night before.

The phone rang:
I had to answer
Although I feared it
Even more than usual.

A flood of relief:
You were being discharged.
I came to collect you.
We went home.
Back where we belong,
Together.

Darkness and Light

2011-10-04T01:09:00.001+01:00

Autumn nights bring darkness
To match what's in my mind:
Green and gold of daytime
Replaced by shades of grey.
Warmth has left my life now,
And in its place the chill
Of winter's icy fingers
Creeps slowly to my heart.

Both blessing and a curse:
This syndrome that I have
Has given me so much
But at a fearsome cost.
Feeling strong emotions,
Far more than I can take,
Yet little ever shows:
My surface is opaque.

You assume I'm heartless,
As if I'm made of stone,
But underneath my mask
Like you I'm flesh and bone.
So when I'm pricked I bleed,
You tickle me; I laugh.
But I don't seek revenge;
I want no pound of flesh.

I want a peaceful life,
A shelter from the storm
That blows outside the door:
I need you; let me in.
I'm out there in the dark,
Just watching for the light
With which you beckon me
Back home through fearful night.

Tired But Happy

2011-10-03T15:59:00.000+01:00

This weekend exhausted me but - for a pleasant change - not because of emotional problems. It was down to working (and playing) hard. I worked the bar Friday night during a 21st birthday party - it was a sensory maelstrom with loud music, flashing coloured disco lights and plenty of people shouting. I handle it by focusing on serving the customers, getting into the rhythm of taking orders, pouring drinks and working the till. It's so familiar and I enjoy it so after about ten minutes I just flow. I can block out everything else pretty successfully - so much so that I don't even notice much of what's going on more than a few feet beyond the counter - and I lose most sense of the passage of time.

However at one point it got really loud - several people whistling - and I overloaded for a brief time. I have little idea how long it was - nobody else appeared to notice. I just stood there with my back to the room, holding on to the back bar counter to keep myself upright, with two half-poured vodkas in front of me. I couldn't think - the noise had suddenly become painful as it breached the mental blocks on my senses and flooded in. All I was aware of was this glaring, intense, piercing whistle - everything else ceased to exist as my other senses were drowned out.

The whistling stopped and it was like waking up - that short period while my brain orients itself before I remember where I am and what I'm doing. Somehow I remembered the order I was in the middle of pouring, and - slightly unsteadily at first - carried on. It took a couple of minutes to get myself together before I was back to business as usual.

Saturday morning I had to go shopping. It wasn't a long list I had to pick up but I needed to visit several shops to get everything. I hate having to shop on a Saturday morning - it's so busy and people get in my way, encroaching on my personal space. It started fine. I got parked where I wanted and even had enough change for the car park ticket machine - a definite result because I usually forget to check I've got enough before leaving home. There weren't many people around yet so I was feeling reasonably comfortable. And then I got into the mall and there was music playing too loudly - it was distracting and put me off balance a bit and I thought about fetching my earphones from the car but decided to persevere.

My first destination was a department store to look for a shirt. To get to the menswear department I had to get through the perfume department. I don't know why but nearly every department store I've every been into puts the perfume department just inside the front doors so you have no choice but to endure the overwhelming smells and eye irritation from all the solvents in the air to get to any other part of the store. It turned out they didn't have what I was looking for after all: I'm very particular about my shirts - the material has to feel right, the colour has to be right (usually black) and the arrangement of buttons and pockets has to be right. Ideally I would be able to pick up exact replicas of the shirts I already have but it doesn't work that way. They change things. So I ran the gauntlet of the perfume department again to get out of there and went on to the next store. That one was thankfully simple - straight to the single item I was after, on to the checkout and out of there. Then back to the car, enduring the intrusive mall music on the way, and on to phase two: the supermarket.

Up to now I'd managed to avoid the crowds - it must have been because they were already at the supermarket, waiting for me to arrive so they could block the aisles and bump into me and run over my feet with their trolleys. In the midst of all this I ran into the first obstacle: my wife had put "nail varnish and lipstick amethyst" on the list. Now I'm not very familiar with these kinds of products but I did know which area of the store would have them. So I headed there and there were about six different brands, each with at least two or three different kinds of lip and nail colouring stuff. I examined them all and not one had the word amethyst on it! Any number of different, almost-descriptive colour names but not what my wife had written on the list. I was getting stressed so I decided to phone home and ask for clarification. Then I discover there's no phone signal in that part of the store. Aargh!

I moved around until I got a signal and made the call. On my third attempt it didn't drop out and I asked my wife what colour she meant by amethyst - she said "purple". I asked was it a blue or red purple and she seemed confused - I explained that purple is a mix of red and blue with some being more blue than red and vice versa. I think I managed to make myself understood, but she said any shade of purple would do. (So why write amethyst then? I wondered.) So that was sorted. I went back to the shelves of cosmetics and looked for something that was unambiguously purple-ish. I found a nail varnish and then just had to locate a matching lipstick. Because naturally they would have matching colours, wouldn't they? Hah! That would be far too easy. So I just picked up something that purported to be a kind of purple lipstick and high-tailed it out of that section of the store to go look for the next thing on the list.

What I haven't mentioned yet is that they are reorganizing the layout of that store. Even the staff are not sure where to find some products. What hope have I with my out-of-date mental map? It took me about an hour to pick up eight or ten items and by the end of it I was about ready to throw a tantrum right in the middle of the place - like most of the children in there appeared to be doing. That's one thing I struggle to understand - why do people persist in dragging their children round busy shops when they clearly get bored by it, hate the experience and don't want to be there? I can completely understand a child finding it all too much and having a screaming fit because they have no other way to communicate their frustration. I don't like to hear children crying and screaming - I find the sound unsettling and uncomfortable, even painful to hear.

I managed to get hold of every one of the dozen or so items on the list and was back home about two and a half hours after leaving - it was about a six mile round-trip. Boy was I worn out! But there's no rest for the wicked - not even the very wicked - and I had to get changed, ready to go out to a wedding. Which meant I couldn't wear my usual comfortable clothes. Suit and tie. In temperatures above 80 degrees, and humid with it. Unusual weather for this time of year in southern England. I've never enjoyed hot weather - I feel too hot and sweaty and my clothes cling to me in a most uncomfortable, irritating way. But I wasn't about to let anybody down - it was somebody else's big day and I was determined to show my support, relax and enjoy myself. And I did.

It was rather warm inside the reception venue - the local pub - even with the doors wide open but I just popped outside for a bit of fresh air every now and then to cool off. And to get a bit of a break from the disco lights, loud music and too much movement from people dancing close in front of me. I struggled a few times with the levels of sensory stimulation but got through it. And I did enjoy myself - it was a good night and the atmosphere was relaxed and friendly - although it was very tiring coping with the heat, noise, lights and people.

As a result I was kind of hoping for a quiet Sunday afternoon shift at the pub. I turned up a little early in case there was any setting up to do. Just as well as it turned out - even though a group of volunteers were helping, the place wasn't nearly ship-shape by opening time. It was a moderately busy shift as well, with two soccer matches on the TV that brought a number of customers in. But I like it like that - as I said before I find my rhythm and it just flows. (I still dislike the food - table-waiting - side of the job because it disrupts that flow, but that's only a small part of the whole.) I didn't notice I was getting a bit dehydrated - I forgot to make sure I had a drink of water every now and again. Sometimes I'm not that good at taking care of myself! I think I surprised the boss a bit when I readily agreed to take a break the first time I was asked and grabbed a glass of water - I'm normally reluctant to take a break because I find it a distraction but that afternoon I was feeling drained and needed a short break.

I was pretty exhausted by the end of the shift - we seemed to go through an inordinate number of glasses given the moderate level of trade, and I'd also moved a number of barrels around the cellar. The 22 Imperial gallon kegs aren't light when full - they weigh more than I do - but there's a technique to moving them so you don't have to lift the whole weight. In a way I was happy to finish the shift. I enjoyed it but I was so worn out and drained by the end. It had been a long, physically- and mentally-demanding but ultimately very satisfying weekend and I was very glad when I got home to retire to bed for a well-earned rest. Recharge the batteries ready for Monday morning and the return to my main "paid hobby", software development.

The Pictures Are Better

2011-09-30T13:01:00.000+01:00

There's a well-known saying: "I prefer radio to television. The pictures are better." I would say the same goes for reading, perhaps even more so. When I'm reading a book I am seeing the events unfold in front of my eyes, hearing them too - immersed in the world of the story. It's so engrossing because it's an active involvement - I'm creating the scenes, directing the action according to the script of the book. In contrast watching television is a very passive activity - just sit back and absorb somebody else's vision. That is one reason I often find television to be far less engaging.

Don't get me wrong - I watch some television, probably more sports and news than anything else. I watch movies and enjoy some of them, even those like Master and Commander where there is plenty of scope for disappointment because I'm familiar with the books on which they were based. I don't much like going to the cinema - it's because being in a strange environment among a crowd of unfamiliar people makes me uncomfortable, but I occasionally watch movies at home. Occasionally as in once or twice a month, if that. Reading, on the other hand, is something I do every day.

Opening a book is like opening a door to a different world, one where anything might be possible. Yes, it is blatant escapism - that's rather the point of it for me. The real world is often badly-adjusted for my sensory and cognitive needs. But when I'm in one of the worlds that I enter through the pages of a book I am in full control of my experiences: I create - imagine - all the sensations I experience in there. I know it's not real and that's part of its attraction - I know there's nothing in that world that can hurt me. Provoke various emotions, yes - excitement, pleasure, sadness, apprehension - but not actually hurt me. It's a safe environment in which to feel those emotions.

As I read the story I progressively refine my mental image of the setting, starting with a fairly generic off-the-peg one and adding new details, altering existing ones, until what I have in mind meshes with my interpretation of the descriptions in the book. I borrow elements from the props cupboard of my existing memories, tweak them a little and introduce them to the building scene. As I'm sure I've mentioned once or twice in previous posts I have trouble when it comes to picturing faces. So the characters in my mental worlds are almost faceless - there's no detail to their features. I don't find this remarkable or unusual because I am exactly the same with my memories of people in real life.

If I make a conscious effort I can imagine facial details in isolation - like elements of a photo-fit that has been taken apart. A scar on a cheek, green eyes, aquiline nose, swarthy complexion - I can see each of them in turn but can't fit them together to produce a single image of a face. I recall details of the faces of people I know in the same way - as collections of isolated features. But I can't generally picture a complete visage. It's as if the whole face is out of focus and the only way I can discern detail is to concentrate on just a part of it.

I find it ironic in a way - here I am with my wonderful visual mode of thinking and my almost-photographic memory of places I've been... and I can't even clearly recall the faces of most of my work colleagues whom I see almost every day, let alone invent faces to populate the worlds of my books.

Fugue

2011-09-29T14:37:00.000+01:00

The morning mist leaves strings of pearls
That limn the hairlike strands of webs.
It slowly drifts across the fields,
A cloud whose wings were clipped.

Life has been stilled, there is no sound
To be heard through ethereal
Curtains of silvery-grey light.
Objects become dark ghosts.

I drift slowly in solitude,
As a boat upon still waters
Feels the draw of hidden currents
Beneath the calm surface.

With no destination in mind
And the passage of time deferred,
Existing in the mist of now,
Without future or past.

Concentration Flow

2011-09-28T15:52:00.000+01:00

Just realised it's been three days now since I ate any lunch. It's not deliberate - I just don't think about it at the appropriate time. At least I've been having one meal a day thanks to my wife who puts a dinner in front of me when I get home from work - if it wasn't for that I'd probably not eat regularly at all. What it is - I get so absorbed in what I'm doing that I lose track of everything else and don't notice little things like the time of day, thirst, hunger, a full bladder...

That's one problem with the level of concentration I can sustain when engaged in one of my special interests, programming in particular: the world could end around me and I wouldn't notice. I've even failed to hear a fire alarm on a couple of occasions because I'm in the zone and blocking out everything else. (The fire bell is about twenty feet from where I sit with no obstructions between it and me - it's LOUD.)

The positive side is that this focused mental state (also called flow) is especially productive. It's like strapping a rocket to my intellect and lighting the fuse - I see systems and patterns with crystal clarity and solutions to problems just arrive in my mind without conscious effort. It's an exhilarating, euphoric experience: my mind running perfectly, like an engine at full revs with no noise or vibration.

This sustained high level of concentration and attention - the hyperfocus on a particular object or task is not just an Aspie trait although it is reportedly common. It is something that can be learned - most top sportsmen and -women train hard to develop this kind of focus because it helps them attain their best performances. But for me at least it seems to be an innate ability.

Some things will scupper it. I can't focus on something while I'm depressed or anxious although physical pain doesn't seem to get in the way. Indeed I don't notice pain while in flow. But being involuntarily brought out of flow - certain stimuli will do this, such as touching me or putting something in my line of sight - is a jarring experience. I find it can stress me; even anger me, to be taken out of that state unexpectedly and that can be a barrier to getting my flow back.

Playing My Part

2011-09-28T00:54:00.001+01:00

You use your words as weapons,
Cut me deeper than a knife.
Though my blood remains unspilt
Still I feel the cuts as life
Spills out from my veins. I built
Such castles of hope this time,
But I built them on the sand.
Your attack will undermine
Them. No hope that they can stand
Against onslaught of that kind.
I will nurse my bleeding heart,
Lick my wounds and try to find
The resolve to play my part
On the stage within your mind.

Earth's Child

2011-09-27T17:05:00.000+01:00

One of my favourite memories is of a stone wall. Not just any stone wall but the one at the front of my neighbours' cottages where I grew up. In fact stone fence might be a more accurate description: it was a row of upright stone slabs, made of locally-quarried sandstone as were the cottages themselves.

I remember the slabs well - not finely finished like tombstones but left a little rough and then weathered and rounded by the passage of about two hundred years. The raw sandy yellow of the freshly cut stone had long faded to a dull grey-brown supplemented by the green of moss and grey of lichen - it always felt as if the stone, once hewn from the parent rock, had been reclaimed and was once again a living part of the earth. They always had a softness to the touch - a complete contrast to the harsh, discordant roughness of brick and concrete. They truly felt organic, as if they had sprouted from the ground in that place. Being of natural material and standing in that place for so long they always felt to me as natural as the hills and woods.

As something is left to age in a place it acquires the character of its surroundings - hence the deliberate ageing of whisky. Eventually it becomes a part of its surroundings. I believe this used to be the case for people too, when they generally used to live out their lives within the community of their birth. There was a distinct local character (and often dialect) to each settlement and a sense of identity, of belonging. People within the area could tell in which village somebody had been born by their mannerisms and the way they spoke. But that was before industrialisation, before the growth of towns and mass migration, before the disruption and eventual destruction of those long-established communities, before everywhere became tainted by the homogenisation of modernity. Before we exchanged lives of hard toil driven by the natural rhythm of the seasons for lives of comparative ease driven by the clock on the wall.

We have lost our roots. We have severed the umbilicus that joined us to our mother. So many of us now think of ourselves as apart from the rest of nature. We think nothing of dividing the day into twenty-four hours and paying more heed to those numbers than to the rising and setting of the sun. Rain and snow are a nuisance. Insects are just pests. We expect the natural world to be as organised and sanitised as our constructed urban environments. We think of our lives as normal!

I'm not some Luddite advocating abandonment of technology - I appreciate and use advanced technology every day of my life. But I have not forgotten that I am just another animal on this planet, that I am part of the natural world. And if I did not feel part of nature I would not feel that I belonged - I would feel isolated, exposed, vulnerable, alone. But instead I am part of my environment. We have shaped each other over the years so that we now fit well together; I am just another part of the earth, one with the rocks and streams, wind and rain, plants and animals. As settled in my own surroundings as that old stone fence was.

Walking In My Shoes

2011-09-26T17:14:00.001+01:00

I just read a post, On Sensory Empathy by Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg, that got me thinking: do people in general only consider the emotional aspect when they talk about empathy?

I believe that inferring another person's emotional state based on what they say and how they act is the easy part - even I can do it to a certain extent. What is difficult is experiencing sensory stimuli as another person experiences them. When I listen to somebody speak I see a wonderfully rich progression of images - to a large extent my understanding of language is wired through the visual part of my brain. It's difficult to describe because it's not like watching video with the volume switched off - the images may be fleeting or they may persist, they may combine and evolve, they may be concrete or abstract. The images are the meaning to me - rather than going from sounds to words-and-phrases to meaning I go from sounds to word-and-phrase-images to meaning. How can somebody who experiences language in what I would consider to be a less rich manner ever properly understand - empathise with - my sensory experience?

And how could they understand the physical discomfort and pain that some stimuli can cause unless they can find some analogue, some equivalent within the realm of their own experience. I can tell people that I can't stand to hear a certain sound, breaking glass for instance. They don't know why I can't stand it, how it feels for me to hear that sound. How it is physically painful because it overloads my senses - it is too intense. Note that I'm not saying too loud or too high-pitched - it's too bright, like a sudden flash of direct sunlight into my eyes. Try to imagine seeing and hearing a bottle smash on the ground in front of you and - at the same time - it reflecting a flash of the full brightness of the midday sun into your eyes. You physically feel the force of it hit you like a wave. That is approximately how the sound feels. That is what I mean when I talk about it overloading my senses.

Can somebody who is not a visual thinker appreciate how I think about things? Can they develop a model - a theory - of my mind without having any experience of how it really works? I will admit that it is conceivable - after all I can imagine thought without pictures. I imagine it must be something like being blind. Other faculties would have to compensate. I have read that someone who is blind can still experience images in their mind, so I could reasonably expect them to be able to imagine having sight. But I wouldn't expect it to be easy or necessarily accurate. In a similar way I do not expect non-visual people to be good at imagining what the world looks, feels and even sounds like to me.

I view neurotypical people in a more understanding way now that I realise this. I recognise that they often have talents in areas where I have trouble, especially when interacting with the average person in the street. They seem to be able to intuitively read other NT people's emotions. But with me, and other people on the autistic spectrum, they seem a bit lost - a bit mind-blind. They don't often react to us as if they properly understand what we are thinking or feeling - they have trouble with empathy. They don't spot the signs when we are having trouble with sensory overstimulation and sometimes even add to the overload. But humans don't come with a user's manual to explain all this. I feel that it's everybody's responsibility to be open to the idea that there are people out there who experience the world in a different way: to be patient, understanding and to make allowances.

People Who Have Influenced My Life - Part 2

2011-09-26T01:28:00.000+01:00

I only met him the once but I read his autobiography and thought, "I admire this man." Jason Robinson, the rugby player of both codes, had anything but an easy upbringing and came so close to throwing away the opportunity his talent had brought him.
He had the good fortune to come under the influence of Va'aiga Tuigamala - a man with great moral character - in his early days at Wigan, and the good sense to heed his advice. He turned his life around, arrested the self-destructive spiral of decline and gained a sense of self-worth. This was primarily a result of his developing a strong faith under the wing of the older man.
I admire his courage in facing his painful past, admitting his failings and working so hard to be a positive role model both off the rugby pitch and on it. I met him at a training session at the height of his Rugby League playing career at Wigan, before he switched to Rugby Union and represented his country in that code as well. I remember him as quiet, serious, focused, calm and, more than anything else, modest. Not for him the arrogance and swagger of pride that can come with fame; he believed that the most important aspect of his own success was that it enabled him to help others.
In Jason Robinson I saw a selfless, generous man; one to be emulated, who showed that helping other people is worth far more than any amount of personal success.

Don't Tell Me Who I Can Talk To

2011-09-24T01:41:00.001+01:00

I'll decide who I call a friend
With no agenda but my own;
Make my own mind up. In the end
I'm not a child: I'm near half-grown.

Your prima donna act's worn thin,
So now's the time I made a stand:
I won't be told by you who's in
My social circle's inner band.

The ones who treat me with respect
And value me for who I am
Are those I've learned I can expect
To care about me: that's my plan.

So you can sit and denigrate,
But you won't change what's come to pass:
My mind's made up, I'll choose my mates.
If you don't like it, kiss my a**!

Fear and Respect

2011-09-23T13:56:00.000+01:00

Can you respect somebody you fear?

Fear engenders obedience because of the implied threat of punishment. It leads to passivity and acquiescence to the other's wishes (demands?). This can be misinterpreted as respect but there is an important difference: to respect somebody you must hold them in high regard - you must value and admire them. And my regard for somebody I fear is less than nothing - I hold them in contempt. I obey them because I am mindful of the consequences of disobedience - I rarely have the courage to stand up and confront people. It is emphatically not because I have any respect for them.

There are many names for the kind of people who delude themselves that they are respected because they hold positions of power over others, and abuse that power to bend those others to their will. Names such as tyrant, despot, dictator...

Bully.

It is a matter of volition. I will follow somebody I respect out of choice; I will submit to somebody I fear under duress. When I am a willing participant I am more productive - I want to give of my best and will strive to do so; when I'm forced to do something I will grudgingly conform to the letter of any demand but there is no inclination to perform well. It's not quite passive resistance, rather procrastination.

Fear Is...

2011-09-22T17:38:00.000+01:00

Fear is a black dragon
Hunting through the night sky.
Eyes glowing like hot coals,
It seeks my hiding place.

Fear is a frozen waste
Where ice needles pierce me.
There is no warm relief,
Only this burning cold.

Fear is familiar:
Frequent companion,
I know its aura well.
I try to run away.

Fear is a pallid ghost
Haunting rooms in my mind.
Never quite clearly seen,
Skirting the edge of sight.

Fear is my enemy,
Waiting to ambush me.
Lurking in dark corners,
It waits for me to come.

Fear is invincible:
I fight its claws and teeth
As it rends flesh from bone:
My weakened spirit breaks.

Fear is a chimera,
A product of my mind.
The ultimate bully,
Preying on my weakness.

Expressing Sympathy

2011-09-22T13:44:00.000+01:00

How do you tell somebody that you sympathise with them; that you understand what they are going through and just want to do or say something that will help them cope with it and - hopefully - help them feel better?

I have a deep aversion to any reliance on trite stock phrases: "I'm sorry", "Chin up" and all that. They always strike me as insincere and demonstrative of a lack of thought. I like to try to cast my words in an original way - to make my message personal and unique to the person and situation. And that can create problems for me because I need time to compose my response. It's so much easier in writing but that doesn't help at all when you're face to face with somebody who is telling you how they feel. Dealing with emotional content in conversation requires a lot of effort at any time. So I struggle, end up muttering "Sorry" - if I can say anything at all - and feel bad for not managing to come out with what I wanted to say and falling into the trap of cliché.

Still, I'm as bad on the receiving end. I say "Thank you". Then I start thinking that that's not enough - I think it sounds like it's just an automatic response, without any thought. I worry that the person will think I'm ungrateful or insincere. So I want to expand on it but I can't easily think of appropriate words on the fly - I end up feeling frustrated with myself on top of whatever it was in the first place! Not the other person's fault - it's pressure I put myself under.

It would be so much easier if I didn't feel when people I care about are troubled - when they are feeling sad or hurt. Most of the time I don't know what to do to "fix" the problem and that hurts me because I think I'm letting them down. And I can't say all this to them at the time - I can't tell them how I feel about their situation. I could write it here but that's clearly not the same. Are a few muttered stock words like "I'm sorry" backed by my full conviction better than another person's empty words of reassurance uttered in tones of sincerity? I don't know. Perhaps the end result is more important than the intent, at least to the listener.

All I can really do is tell them that I care about their situation and I want to help if possible. Would it work if I just said that? Or does it sound like a politician's response to some disaster? When I run the words through in my mind there's no emotional inflection - it's like a string of syllables without any semantic aspect - sounds without meaning, empty. I'm saying what I mean and even I am unconvinced, so how could I convince a person I'm speaking to that I am sincere? Writing is a much more comfortable medium in which to express myself.

Sunfall

2011-09-21T08:00:00.001+01:00

The sun is out and shining bright,
The grey skies banished by its light.
Though rain was falling yesterday,
Now clouds have drifted far away.

Just like the weather's wax and wane,
My moods will fall, then rise again
From thunder's roll and tempest's blow
To skies of blue and peace below.

But would the sunshine warming me
Feel half as good were it to be
Without the contrast of the cold
That had me lately me in its hold?

An A to Z of Aspergers

2011-09-20T12:59:00.001+01:00

A is for alexithymia, without words for emotion.
B is for bullying, to which many autistic people are subjected at some point in their lives.
C is for communication, the spoken word that gives such trouble.
D is for different: wouldn't life be boring if we were all the same?
E is for empathy, which I experience even if it's in a different way to you.
F is for fear, a very common emotion for me.
G is for guts where my butterflies dwell.
H is for human: I am, you are.
I is for interests, "special" of course, that are such a consuming passion.
J is for jam; what happens to my words when I try to speak about how I feel.
K is for kindness: a little goes a long way.
L is for literal: how I interpret what people say.
M is for meltdown, the red mist that can descend in response to overload.
N is for neurotypical, a brain that functions in the average way.
O is for overload, when there's too much going on around for me to handle.
P is for programming, my main special interest.
Q is for quiet, a vastly underrated experience.
R is for respect, to which everybody is entitled.
S is for shutdown, an involuntary state I find myself in from time to time.
T is for therapy: my writing fulfils this function for me.
U is for understanding, which I don't always get.
V is for variation, which you find right across the autistic spectrum.
W is for withdrawal, a need to just get away from it all for a while.
X is for xenophobia, fear of strangers.
Y is for you, reading this and, I can but hope, gaining an insight into my mind.
Z is for zebra, because I got stuck on the last letter and I happen to like the stripy creatures!

Shutdown

2011-09-19T17:01:00.000+01:00

I shut down for about three hours on Saturday. I don't know exactly what the triggers were this time - I do know things have been building up and getting on top of me lately. I've been feeling more insecure than usual and I've largely avoided making phone calls and other interaction with strangers. I don't even know what the "final straw" was this time - one minute I was eating my breakfast; ten minutes later I was sitting, hunched over, rocking gently and staring into space.

I am almost completely non-verbal while shut down. I hear what's going on around me but I can't respond - words rush around my head but I can't get them out of my mouth. It's as if there's a paralysis. I can't write either - my fine motor coordination is affected too much for me to form the letters. In that state I feel like an observer in my own body - I'm stuck inside without much control - just along for the ride.

I can't handle much stimulation while shut down - I will actively avoid loud noises, physical contact and bright or flashing lights if I can't block them out. I prefer to be left alone in a quiet, darkened room until I come out of the state naturally. In fact, too much sensory input while I'm shut down can switch me into a meltdown. I avoid eye contact - I just stare blankly ahead or sometimes close my eyes, more so if I know I'm alone because I worry about being touched unexpectedly if somebody approaches me.

The best way to approach me when I'm shut down is to speak slowly and quietly in a soothing tone - the actual words don't matter so much. Don't get too close to me because that makes me uncomfortable, don't shout and don't sound aggressive - any of that will deepen and prolong the shutdown. A hug is usually the only contact I can handle - but if I stiffen up then I'm not receptive at that point in time. In general the best thing to do is be patient and wait for me to come out of it.

Prevention is better than a cure - so the proverb goes. How can a shutdown be prevented? Well, it's a reaction to stress, so prevention is all about reducing or even avoiding stressful stimuli. What I find most stressful are unfamiliar social situations and forms of aggression or confrontation. But a shutdown often isn't an immediate reaction to a particular event. It will be a combination of factors that build up over time - possibly even years - and can be triggered by something seemingly so trivial that I might not even be aware of what it was that pushed me over the edge.

This can be confusing for people around me who may not realise what is happening - that I have shut down - and try to interact with me without any response. I've had people accuse me of being ignorant or sulky - as if I have any control over shutting down and am just choosing not to speak to be awkward. I find that particularly insulting - just because I don't have many obvious outward signs of the shutdown there is an assumption that I'm being deliberately uncommunicative. So let me say it again: I have no control over a shutdown. When it happens I am simply along for the ride, trapped inside until I get a measure of conscious control over my body again. How could anybody really think I'd shutdown if I had a choice? So please have a little patience and respect.

They Sang "Happy Birthday"

2011-09-17T03:04:00.001+01:00

They sang "Happy Birthday" after the bell struck midnight. I felt uncomfortable at all the attention - I've always said I don't like a fuss. In a way I'm dreading going out this evening and putting on the happy face so I don't disappoint. Because right now I feel like I need some down time - some time on my own.

I'll do it all the same - put in an appearance. And people will be nice to me and - as far as I can tell - enjoy themselves. But I will feel under pressure to fit in and live up to normal expectations. So I won't quite relax and let my guard down because it will be a little unpredictable. Social occasions are not easy - more so when I'm attracting attention.

I'm sure they mean well and are sincere with their birthday wishes - I can't tell if it's otherwise so I take it all at face value. The truth is that a birthday is just another day to me. I'm happiest if it all procedes according to established routine. No surprises.

In case I'm giving the wrong impression let me state now that I appreciate all the happy returns - they make me feel that people do care about me (did I ever mention I'm insecure?).

Birthday Nerves

I rang the bell at midnight.
The bar was closed,
My shift was done.
How could I know that they might
Start singing out
"Happy birthday"?

I stood there, no time to hide:
Like a rabbit
Caught in headlights
I felt embarrassed inside
But carried on.
What could I do?

Discomfort's normal to me:
I feel awkward
In the spotlight.
One-to-one is best you see:
Interaction
On my own terms.

I hope that they keep in mind
Limitations
Of my syndrome.
Only trying to be kind,
They overload
Me: it's too much.

So come in turn with greetings:
One at a time,
More is excess.
I can cope with such meetings
Without the stress
That groups can cause.

Mystery Word

2011-09-16T13:41:00.000+01:00

My first is in apple but not found in plum,
My second's in sibilant - sounds like that one.
My third is a vegetable, small green and round,
My fourth is a vowel, not a consonant sound.
My next is in rolling but not standing still,
While my sixth may be uttered when getting a thrill.
The next one in seven may be seen twice.
Letter five is repeated; isn't that nice?
My whole forms the name of the doctor from Wien
And also a Syndrome that you must have seen.

A Walk in the Woods

2011-09-15T12:56:00.000+01:00

I close my eyes to better see
The place I go when I'm alone,
A woodland where there's only me:
My cares have all been left at home.

The sunlight dapples through the leaves
And birdsong drifts across the air.
The solitude I have achieved
Brings peace to mind while I am there.

I walk along my well-worn track,
Wind between the moss-clad towers.
No end in mind, nor turning back,
Passing countless shady bowers.

And now a clearing 'midst the copse
Approaches and is soon attained,
Where for a spell my progress stops
While I reflect on calm regained.

Between Shutdown And Meltdown

2011-09-14T17:10:00.000+01:00

Sometimes I feel like I'm being carried along by the current of a turbulent cataract - now drowning, now gasping for breath as my head broaches the surface - overwhelmed by the relentless surge of my own thoughts and the sights, sounds, smells crashing in on my senses - unable to block any of it out, I am dragged down into a maelstrom of fretful anxiety - frozen and locked into a tense immobility as I fight against myself to regain some measure of conscious control over my body - unable to move as my muscles oppose their own motion, unable to speak as the words log-jam in my throat - caught on the cusp between shutdown and meltdown, trying to restrain myself from exploding into the irrational red mist of berserk rage - too agitated to withdraw into the soft oblivion of shutdown.

After some time has passed I either succumb to exhaustion and gratefully sink into restful shutdown or I expend my last energy erupting in a paroxysm of violent, undirected anger before quickly subsiding. Whichever route I take I end up drained and need time to rest and recuperate, to regain some strength. But at least there is usually calm once the storm has passed.

Can I Feel Empathy?

2011-09-13T11:14:00.000+01:00

What is empathy?

What do we really mean when we use the word? I know what I mean but does somebody else understand it in the same way? There is a lot of on-going discussion about whether autistic people can have empathy and I am wondering whether everybody is working from the same definition.

Simon Baron-Cohen defined empathy in his 2003 book The Essential Difference: The Truth About the Male and Female Brain: "Empathy is about spontaneously and naturally tuning into the other person's thoughts and feelings [...]". He goes on to describe cognitive and affective empathy: "the cognitive component: understanding the other's feelings and the ability to take their perspective" and "the affective component. This is an observer's appropriate emotional response to another person's emotional state."

Frans de Waal defined it this way in his 2008 paper Putting the Altruism Back Into Altruism: The Evolution of Empathy: "The capacity to (a) be affected by and share the emotional state of another, (b) assess the reasons for the other's state, and (c) identify with the other, adopting his or her perspective. [...] the term 'empathy' [...] applies even if only criterion (a) is met".

These appear very similar to me. So how can it be that primate social behaviourist Frans de Waal can conclude that there exists a spectrum of empathy, saying "I've argued that many of what philosophers call moral sentiments can be seen in other species. In chimpanzees and other animals, you see examples of sympathy, empathy, reciprocity, a willingness to follow social rules", while clinical psychologist Simon Baron-Cohen can describe autistic people as having "zero degrees of empathy" (although this is at odds with his comment "I have met many adults with Asperger Syndrome who can display their excellent empathy [...] when there is less time pressure creating demands to respond in real time")?

I find myself unable to see why there should be any requirement for an empathic response to happen "in real time". This seems to imply that there is an unwritten component in the definition of empathy that differs depending on who is using the term - at which point we are in Humpty Dumpty territory: "When I use a word it means what I choose it to mean. Neither more nor less." Now I am well aware that language is an imprecise tool, and that the meaning the author intended is not always the one interpreted by the reader. But the subject of autism and empathy is such an emotive one for so many of us on the spectrum that I believe greater transparency is essential.

And so to my question that started this essay: can I feel empathy? I score low on the EQ (Empathy Quotient) test - around the mean for people with AS. But what does this test actually measure? Is my interpretation of the questions the meaning the author intended? For example, "21. It is hard for me to see why some things upset people so much." - I have to agree with this because it was hard for me to see why someone ended up in tears because of some trivial event. With the incident I am thinking of, it was hard for a lot of neurotypical people to see as well. But would they interpret that statement in a more general sense? For me, one example is enough to make the statement true.

And then there's "32. Seeing people cry doesn’t really upset me." That's absolutely, literally correct - it doesn't. Knowing that people are upset does upset me, but not just seeing them cry. I need more context - there must be more than the isolated fact of them crying to indicate to me that they are upset. Chopping onions makes my wife cry - it doesn't mean that she's upset, or that it would upset me.

Is there something about the literal way that AS people interpret language that skews the results of this type of test? Remember that it was written by neurotypical researchers looking to demonstrate differences between NT and AS minds. You will have to pardon my scepticism but while I have to agree that there is a statistical correlation between EQ scores and autism, I am not convinced that a causal link has been demonstrated. I am not satisfied that the hypothesis that autistic people have low empathy is correct. I need to be convinced that social and communication factors have been adequately considered as alternative explanations.

Finally, in answer to the question, yes - I can feel empathy. It doesn't matter how I arrive at that empathy, or how long it might take me to get there. No, it's not intuitive to me. No, it's not particularly rapid. But that doesn't matter - those aren't defining characteristics of empathy. I do get affected by and share the emotional state of other people, particularly those whom I know well. Sometimes it's because they simply tell me how they feel - does it matter whether they communicate their feelings verbally or non-verbally? The end result for me is the same. Like they say, if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck... it's a duck!

Learning to be More Understanding

2011-09-12T09:39:00.000+01:00

Over the past few months my relationship with a certain other person, whom I shall refer to as W, has been up and down so much that visualising the turns it has taken is enough to make me sea-sick. At the heart of the problem is difficulty in communication: W is neurotypical while I have Aspergers Syndrome.

When W is suffering with health problems or depression she will talk about it at great length in a highly emotionally-charged way and her language will become much more figurative and abstract than normal. I find this combination particularly difficult to handle. Because I know her so well I have learned to interpret the emotional cues in her voice - when she is feeling so tired and frustrated and even angry at her illnesses this comes through to me in her voice and mannerisms. I find the strong emotions very difficult to cope with and tend to shut down.

It appears that this response is not very helpful to W - how could I have known? My own reaction to pain - physical or mental - is usually to keep it all inside. I become more withdrawn - even though I might be yearning for some comfort, for a hug that will make me feel safe and less anxious. But in that state I can't express how I feel or what I need to help me deal with it.

So it turns out that what I need at times like this is almost exactly what W needs too. And now we've figured it out. I know it sounds simple, almost trivial, but between my inability to speak about my feelings and my literal misinterpretation of W's descriptions of her feelings - when I haven't just shut down from the emotional overload - we've been failing to communicate. Which has been causing far too much unnecessary stress on both sides.

I'm not saying that we've completely resolved the problems - time will tell on that score. But we have reached a new level of understanding. I know it sounds contradictory but I'm learning to be more supportive by taking less notice of W - I have to partially block her out so that I avoid overloading and shutting down. So that I can continue to function and respond. Which all helps her deal with what she's going through and in turn helps me.

Yes, it would probably have been easier for both of us to have ended the relationship rather than work hard at discovering problems and trying to fix them. But what seems easy in the short term often turns out not to be the best option in the longer term. We both feel that there is enough value in our relationship to make the effort of repairing it worthwhile, because when it's working it is so strong and strengthens both of us.

Theory of Mind?!

2011-09-09T15:01:00.000+01:00

Theory of Mind
Treated Unkind
Not of Mankind
Empathic Blind
Hurting Behind
Aspergers Kind

Word Association

2011-09-09T14:34:00.000+01:00

Empathy
—Sympathy
  —Affinity
   —Resemblance
    —Likeness
     —Image
      —Appearance
       —Pretence
        —Deception
         —Illusion
          —Fantasy

If This Is Empathy I Don't Want To Play Any More

2011-09-09T11:53:00.001+01:00

The petty games that people play,
A product of their playground minds.
Who's going to be "it" today?
What target will the bullies find?

Behind your back they put you down
And to your face are nice as pie
The knives are out so gather round:
You mustn't miss the latest lie.

It's "Did you know what this one said?"
And "Isn't that one so two-faced?"
Hypocrisy: "Wish she was dead!"
Then she turns up to be embraced.

With double-standards hoisted high,
Their friendliness is but a fake.
They wouldn't care were you to die
As long as they were at your wake.

Their games are cruel; You've had enough
Of finding knives thrust in your back.
You don't know why they act so tough
Perhaps to hide the heart they lack?

They put you down, these NT folk,
They may not mean to but they do.
'Cause "Aspie empathy's a joke!
Perceived emotion's not for you."

Because we can't say how we feel
They just assume we don't: they're blind
To how they've ground us under heel.
Show me their Theory of our Minds.

Why I Hate CFLs

2011-09-08T11:55:00.000+01:00

Fluorescent lighting can cause me problems. Older strip lights are especially bad with their 100 Hz flicker (UK mains AC frequency is 50 Hz) - I am particularly sensitive to flickering light and it causes me eye strain and headaches. Newer fluorescent lamps pretty much avoid this. Until they start to fail, and then they flicker and flash. And cause me discomfort.

I grew up with incandescent light bulbs - I'm very used to their colour temperature which gives warm, comforting yellowish hues. I'm used to flicking the switch and having the light reach full intensity as near to instantly as I can discern. There's an old joke about a bedroom being so small they you could switch off the light and be in bed before it went dark. With a CFL it's the reverse - you can switch on the light and be in bed before it gets bright! Compact fluorescent lights (CFLs) are different. I don't like different - I don't do change.

Light from CFLs appears cold by comparison - it has a higher colour temperature which is more blue. At low intensities (my wife and I like low lighting levels at home in the evenings for that cosy atmosphere) they appear particularly cold and dim. They don't light up instantly - there is a warm up period that can take up to a minute or so. They get noticeably dimmer long before they fail - about halfway through their lifespan - so their useful life is reduced. And the powers-that-be have decreed that we shall all use them hence forth - I take a special dislike to having inferior alternatives forced on me. Yes, their energy efficiency is higher in use, but they require much more energy to manufacture, and manufacture and disposal exposes the environment to more hazardous materials. I remain to be convinced that the argument in their favour is as clear-cut as some people make out - especially as their stated longevity is far higher than their practical useful life, taking into account frequent switching and disposal when light output falls below an acceptable threshold rather than when the lamp fails.

We've tried CFL lighting in our kitchen. The brightness of the illumination was subjectively equivalent to the incandescent bulb once it got warmed up but it was dim enough to irritate me before that - no good when you just nip in to make a cup of tea or a sandwich during a commercial break and don't want to hang around waiting until the light gets bright enough to work by. My wife has some vision problems and found it very difficult to see clearly by its light. I ended up throwing the CFL in the trash and reverting to an incandescent bulb - the CFL was just not fit for purpose. We don't have the choice of replacing the one in our bathroom because the fixture is specific to a particular type of fluorescent lamp. There's no regular heating in our bathroom - just an electric fan heater - and in winter the temperature in there can fall close to the outside ambient level. That means that the lamp takes much longer to warm up and produce an acceptable level of light - at the time of year when it is needed more. I can be in and out of there, ablutions complete, before it reaches full brightness. So much for technological progress!

Incidentally, I didn't know until recently that CFLs are supposed to be disposed of separately because they contain hazardous materials. Maybe it said something on the packaging but who keeps that to read months down the line? So I've inadvertently added a little Hg to our local landfill. Wonder how many other people have done the same because they either didn't know or couldn't be bothered? It's not like anybody's going to sift through all those tons of waste just in case there's a CFL that found its way in there. So there's going to be more toxic waste building up in the environment as a result. Sheesh! Sometimes I think we as a species don't deserve this planet.

Writing My Way To Happiness

2011-09-07T15:58:00.000+01:00

Why do I derive such pleasure from writing? It ties in with my special interest in words. It provides a means for me to communicate without speech. But it's more than that - there's the joy I get from the creative act of crafting a written work and the release I feel when I am able to express how I feel through this medium.

My first writing, naturally, was at school - "What I Did On Holiday" and the like. I was taught spelling and grammar from the outset and this has stood me in good stead - knowing the rules and conventions allows me to decide when to bend or break them for effect. But it's not just my scholastic education that has influenced how I write - I've also picked up elements of style and structure from works that I've read over the years.

I've never had much trouble recounting events but imaginative writing has always been a problem - I find it impossible to invent characters and settings and have to fall back on stereotypes - so I avoid writing fiction when I have any choice in the matter. The last time I remember writing a fictional account I was at school - it was a diary entry from the perspective of Rev. Parris while we were studying The Crucible. I chose to concentrate on events from a segment of the play rather than attempting to ascribe feelings to the character, and found the most interesting aspect to be my attempt at recreating the language of the period - special interest strikes again!

I enjoy writing poetry in various forms - the range of constraints within the form offers an interesting challenge - but I worry that I'm not very good at it. It can be a challenging technique to become truly proficient in - I've always had difficulty maintaining the rhythm of the prosody because I have trouble determining the appropriate stress and intonation of words in speech. I have a somewhat monotonous tone and rhythm when I speak - I've got better at it over the years but it doesn't come naturally. (My wife sometimes asks me to read to her at night to help her fall asleep.)

None of my essays are what I would describe as long - one English teacher wrote on a school report, "concise but errs on the side of brevity" and I had several similar comments across various subjects over the years. I believe it's linked to my AS and my lack of small-talk in conversation. I have an innate inability to waffle - I consider this to be a positive trait because I find listening to such talk causes my attention to wander, and I just want to tell the speaker to get to the point!

So, how do I write? I get an idea in mind for a subject - often about myself or something that evokes strong feelings - and just start writing. Sometimes I'm inspired by an article I've read; sometimes it's a way of dealing with my emotional state. Sometimes I drift off topic but I do try to maintain focus. Since I enjoy writing much more than editing, I worry about the end result being a bit rough around the edges - I never spend much time reviewing and polishing. I start at the beginning with no idea how it's going to end, and keep writing until I've included pretty much everything I wanted to cover. I read it through, maybe tweak a couple of words here, a phrase there, and somehow it seems to turn out all right. I can't really explain my writing process any better than this: I know what I want to convey and the words simply come out.

In some respects it does come easily to me - I can turn my thoughts into words with little effort. But only when writing. And this fluency is another reason I gain pleasure from it, when I contrast it with the hesitancy and mental blocking that afflicts my speech. I find the written word to be a more natural means of communication.

Lambs To The Slaughter

2011-09-06T16:56:00.000+01:00

Hate breeds quickly in the festering darkness
Of ignorance and fear.
Those unwilling to abandon the comfortable
Apathetic illusions;
Those afraid to challenge received "wisdom"
With original thought,
Will be driven with the rest of the herd,
Bowing to the dog.

It ends in blood.

Rights Manifesto

2011-09-06T13:30:00.000+01:00

I just read a post by Rachel Cohen-Rottenburg, The Empathy Issue Is a Human Rights Issue, and it got me thinking about the rights I take for granted.

The first right I list below, "to be identified and treated as a member of the human race", is a direct reaction to some of the quotations in Rachel's post - statements she has found in certain academic papers on the subject of autism and empathy. These quotations indicate that a significant number of researchers - some at the top of their fields in psychology and neuroscience - are denying autistic people their humanity based on perceptions of limited or absent empathy. I take great offence at the implications of this - I feel strongly that this is a dangerous direction to be heading in: once you start thinking of a group as non-human the next step is to treat them as non-human, without human dignity and rights.

If anybody reading this feels that this seems a small point to be taking issue with, may I remind them that, historically, labelling a group as inferior has been a prelude to their exploitation (enslaving black Africans) or persecution (denial of freedom to women to this day in parts of the world). I will speak out against such malicious, pernicious misrepresentation because I believe we are all human with all the worth and dignity that entails. There are some people who would twist and restrict their definition of human to divide their world into "people like me" and "people different from me" - with the latter group being summarily cast out from the human race. Here's a thought for you: would you feel it was more offensive if instead of autistic people it was black, Jewish, disabled, terminally ill or English people that were being called non-human?

So, having said my piece on that subject, here's my take on the rights I claim, and what I will give in return.

I have the right to be identified and treated as a member of the human race.
I have the right to express myself in whatever way is most natural for me to the extent that it does not breach the rights of any other person.
I have the right to hold my own opinions and beliefs and not have them imposed on me by others.
I have the right to be free from intolerance, intimidation, exploitation, persecution and abuse.
I have the right to feel safe and free from anxiety, and the right to seek a place of safety if I feel threatened.
I have the right to be different without interference or being told that there is something "wrong" with the way I am.
I have the right to expect understanding from other people.
I have the right to make mistakes without incurring any disproportionate penalties.
I have the right to be left alone in peace when I need to shut down.
I have the right to choose who I associate with, and who I do not associate with.
I have the right to ask for help when I need it, and the right to refuse help when I do not.
I have the right to live, or the right to die should I choose to.

I don't believe that rights are automatically inalienable or that they exist in isolation; instead I believe that to expect one's own rights to be respected, one must respect the rights of others. To that end I submit the following undertakings.

I will take responsibility for my own actions.
I will treat other people as I would expect to be treated myself: with understanding and compassion.
I will be tolerant of other people and will not intimidate, persecute, exploit or abuse them.
I will allow other people to express themselves and to act in whatever way they see fit as long as they do not infringe upon my rights or the rights of others.
I will not force my own beliefs and opinions on other people.
I will offer help to those in need and refrain from interference in the affairs of those who want to be left alone.
I will accept that everybody is different and that this does not affect their worth as human beings.
I will dissociate myself from those who breach my rights or the rights of others, and will not tolerate them as long as they cause harm.
I will judge others based on how they treat myself and others, and not on how they might differ from me.
I will endeavour to correct any mistakes I make.
I will accept that nobody is infallible and forgive accidental mistakes by others.
I will accept restriction of my rights should I fail to fulfil my responsibilities.

Sensory Overload

2011-09-05T17:47:00.000+01:00

All around me spoken fragments whirl,
Buffeting the flimsy mental walls.
Carrying no message they unfurl
Deep within; train of thought soon stalls.

Ears pick up promiscuous exchange
From people ignorant they impinge
Glaringly upon me. Senses range
High and low: seek peace else I unhinge.

Inundated by the flow of words
Juxtaposed in time, the threads entwined,
Knot in writhing tangles. What was heard's
Lost in noise, just too much for my mind.

Managing to block out this refrain
Needs more effort than I can sustain.

On a rocky lee shore, run aground,
Pounded by the stormy wind and rain,
Quivering. Safe harbour must be found:
Rest before I'm broken yet again.

Suffering exhaustion, mental blocks
That I once relied on start to crack
Under such a strain. The hammer cocks,
Verging on an act with no way back.

Withdraw! Retreat! Overload ahoy!
Xanthic streak preserves my precious skin.
Yellow-bellied, frightened little boy,
Zombie-like, lights on but no-one in.

Fear of School

2011-09-05T02:49:00.001+01:00

Have you ever been stuck in a place you never felt you belonged in? That happened to me when I went to grammar school (equivalent of high school). It was 1985. I was 11, coming up 12 when, having left Clevelands Preparatory School, I started at Manchester Grammar School in September.

Seven boys from my school had passed the entrance exam and won places at MGS. We were all in different forms - I suspect with hindsight that this might have been deliberate to encourage the development of new friendships. What it meant in practice was that I was suddenly in the midst of a group of strangers.

I never mixed. I used to spend my break times walking the corridors, feeling isolated. Early on I would pop into the form rooms of my schoolmates from my previous school, but they had quickly formed new friendships and I was not a part of that.

I gravitated towards other social undesirables: nerds and geeks of one form or another. Natural prey for the bullies. I was always big enough that I never experienced physical intimidation - it was the more insidious psychological form. I never knew how to respond to it. I would just sit or stand there and take it, while inside I was hurting.

An example of the callous behaviour of some of my classmates: the partner of our English teacher was stabbed to death and they harassed her with comments about the incident to the point where she broke down in tears and had to exit the room. If that was how they could treat a teacher imagine how much worse it was for me and the other pupils on the receiving end.

I had always looked up to and respected my teachers: I was always taught to respect my elders. I felt that they must be infallible. So it came as a massive shock to me when one of my teachers made what I considered to be an error of judgement. I and several of my classmates did not hear him assign homework one time. I still feel a deep sense of injustice that we were all given detention rather that him realising that it was his failure to communicate effectively.

That was the tipping point for me. I had always felt that despite the bullying from certain pupils, I could rely on my teachers for support. Turned out I couldn't. At least that was how I felt, and that was what mattered.

When I think of that school I can remember numerous individual incidents. I can't picture any faces, but that's normal for me. I can remember the buildings in considerable detail. But all my memories of the place feel cold and hard-edged. I don't believe I was ever happy there. I even recall the different smells of the different corridors: sawdust and sweat near the woodwork rooms and gym, old cooking smells near the dinner hall, paper and pipe tobacco outside the teachers' common room and the only happy memory: the smell of new books in the bookshop.

All my other memories of that school evoke feelings ranging from discomfort to outright fear. I still find it very difficult to think of those two and a half years. I had to shut them out completely for several years before I was even able to tell my mother that I had been bullied. This is my most complete account to date.

A short way into my third year at that school I was finding it very difficult to even face the place and the people in it. I considered opening the car door - my father drove me to school - and jumping out. But I couldn't do it because I was afraid of hurting myself.

In the end I was so anxious about going to school that I wedged my bedroom door shut with a screwdriver driven into the door frame: locked myself in so that I couldn't be made to attend. At first my father was very angry - I can remember being very afraid of the anger and shutting down. But after a few days life settled down into the new routine whereby I would stay in my room night and day and everything else carried on around me.

Things couldn't go on like that for long. Obviously my parents were worried about what was going on and before long I was persuaded to try to go to school. I remember sitting on my father's car with the deputy headmaster talking but being unable to respond or get out of the car: an early shutdown. In the end my father gave up and brought me back home.

Before long a child psychologist was involved. I remember visiting her office. I don't recall much detail but I do remember her asking what seemed to me, even at that age, a stupid question about whether a glass was half full or half empty. Obviously it is both at the same time, and there's no reason to prefer one description to the other. There were other questions about whether I had suicidal thoughts - I didn't - and that was about that. I got the feeling that I was beyond her limited knowledge and experience. As I've mentioned before, Aspergers wasn't recognised back then.

The only thing that finally broke me out of me self-imposed isolation was a change of school. After that things went very well and I prospered. It goes to show the need I have for a supportive environment.

Aspergers Relationships

2011-09-02T17:38:00.000+01:00

The difficulties experienced by most people on the autism spectrum when it comes to social interaction are a major handicap when it comes to forming relationships. I'm no different in this respect - I have never "chatted up" anybody in my life and wouldn't even know where to start. It's not something you ever get taught. Besides that, approaching a stranger - even one that I find attractive - causes me too much anxiety and I can't manage a conversation in that frame of mind. It's hard enough for me to start a conversation and keep it going with somebody I know well and feel comfortable around. I should also note that "attractiveness" for me is a very subjective thing - for example, I never come up with names that people are expecting when asked to name a celebrity I find attractive. But that's another subject.

The end result of my social difficulties was that I never had a girlfriend right through school and university. To be honest I didn't even try - it wasn't something that I felt I needed or was able to do. My first relationship began after I moved away from home to start work. I was about 23 and she made the first moves. Looking back I guess I got almost obsessively involved very quickly - this isn't uncommon for people with Aspergers, but at the time I hadn't even heard of the condition. Although we got married and had a daughter, the relationship didn't last for a number of reasons - some of them related to my AS, others to do with a more basic incompatibility. The break-up was extremely stressful on both sides and I ceased contact soon afterwards - I just couldn't face it because even thinking about it would overload me.

Understandably I wasn't looking for another relationship after this experience, but a year or so down the line I ended up in one - only my second - with the woman who was to become my second - and current - wife. This one also started intensely and cooled over the years but we have proved to be rather more compatible than was the case in my first marriage. It was my current wife who first suspected that I have AS - she has some experience with neurological disorders which helps her understand me.

Our relationship began when she started chatting to me in a bar. We had friends in common and I believe that's why I felt so comfortable so quickly. I never had any plan - any end result in mind - for where our friendship might lead. I just kind of got caught up in the flow and without having a clear idea of how we got there we ended up living together and, some time later, got married.

We have had times when we have argued - or, to be more precise, when she has got riled up and I've responded by overloading with either a meltdown or more usually a shutdown. But these have been rare and short-lived and in the main we get along very well. We complement each other's strengths: I am normally placid and level-headed while she is emotional and impulsive. She instigates the majority of what we do while I keep our feet on the ground. She manages the household (finances and suchlike) regarding which I have a major blind spot.

What I regard as my biggest strengths: I am completely loyal and faithful, I care very deeply about her. My biggest weaknesses: I can't show or express my feelings in speech, I fall into repetitive behaviour very easily. I know that life with me is difficult for her at times. Even after nearly ten years together, she still expects me to react "normally" in certain situations. But between us we are making a success of this relationship. One of the keys to that success has been the fact that she understands how having AS affects me.

Analysing Myself

2011-09-01T10:57:00.004+01:00

There's a fairly constant dialogue going on in my mind as I watch and analyse my thoughts and actions. It's the price I pay for trying to fit my behaviour to "normal" expectations - I have to consider whatever I am planning to say or do and try to predict how the people around me will react.

I'm generally pretty successful at it and most people I interact with are unaware that I'm neurologically different to them. The trouble is that it's exhausting - the sustained mental effort required to maintain the illusion can leave me totally drained and susceptible to overload with even a little extra stress.

I'm close to that point now. Feeling down over the weekend was very tiring and required that I make an extra effort to mask it - put it to one side - and carry on. I'm wrestling with a thorny technical problem at work as well which it taking a great deal of thought. I'm getting the urge to just retire to a quiet, darkened room and shut down for a spell. Recharge the batteries. I'm fighting against my need to see the job through - I can just about see the end in sight and need to resolve it before I can let myself give in and relax.

I'm conscious of putting myself under pressure and so contributing to my mental load but I can't seem to stop it and step back for a minute to get everything into perspective. I'm drowning under a sea of detail, unable to see the whole picture. It's a drawback of my bottom-up approach to problem solving - I concentrate on the basic details at the root and can occasionally get overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the job from that angle.

I know that I need to break things into manageable chunks and concentrate on just part of the problem at a time, but at the moment I can't let go of the totality and it feels as if it's filling my mind, leaving no space to work on each part in turn. This is a side-effect of fatigue as well as a contributing factor - it's a vicious circle that I need to find a way to break.

I'm analysing myself and my reaction to my current situation, looking for just such an opening into which I can focus my effort and stop the cycle. I know from past experience it's just a matter of time before I crack it and that's the straw that this drowning man is clutching at. My problem is not intractable although it might appear so right now. All it will take is a fresh perspective, an approach from a new direction. And until I find it I'm trapped, mentally running round in circles, wasting energy - tracing path after path through the maze, looking for that way out. And then a well-earned rest.

Fun With Words

2011-08-31T17:20:00.000+01:00

I feel like having a bit of fun with words and the like...

There once was an Aspie called Ben
Who suffered depression again.
He sat and he logged in
And wrote in this blog, then
He found it more calming than Zen.

On The Edge?
Between the darkness and the light
You'll find me on the edge of sight
Watching all your interaction:
No repulsion, nor attraction.
Trying hard to follow meaning,
Engine revving, senses gleaning
Fragmentary words: no context.
Filling gaps maintains my pretext.

Can I pass as someone normal?
Am I marked by language formal?
Stilted: it can sound old-fashioned,
Pedantry ought to be rationed.

'Cause I'm an Aspie through-and-through;
I'm just like me - I'm not like you.

Content to live outside the box
Or inside, dodging all the knocks
Caused by lack of understanding -
NT folk are so demanding!

Routines are Comforting

2011-08-31T15:32:00.000+01:00

Routines are a necessary part of my life - adherence to inflexible routines is one of the more common characteristics of Aspergers and other autism spectrum disorders. They serve a purpose in that they reduce my anxiety level by making me feel comfortable through familiarity - I don't handle change well. Any change - an interruption or obstacle that prevents me carrying a routine through to completion - causes me stress that can overload me, triggering a meltdown.

I have learned to cope with some small variations in my routines without suffering much more than discomfort - a sense of uneasiness. It's the same sort of feeling I get when I notice that books are not arranged in order. However, major upheavals will almost always set me off.

Some of my routines take the form of a fixed sequence of actions, others are behavioural rules. An example of the former: I always wash parts of my body in the same order when I shower in the mornings. A behavioural rule: after I get up in the morning I can't eat or drink anything until I've brushed my teeth. (These are just two examples - I've got plenty more and they're not all related to personal hygiene.)

Most of my routines either take place in the privacy of my own home or are small and unobtrusive, generally escaping notice by people around me. For example, at home I have a particular knife and fork that I always use. A more public example: when I arrive at my desk at work the first thing I always do is place my phone in a particular place on the desk, remove the USB cable from my pocket - always the left trouser pocket, uncoil it, plug one end of the cable into my PC and then plug the other end into the phone - a small routine to be sure, but a routine nevertheless.

My inflexibility also shows when something I am expecting to happen either doesn't, or happens in a different way. It might be that my wife has asked me what I want for dinner, I've said something such as pasta - having a quite specific picture of it in my head - and when I get home she's cooked something different. You can pretty much guarantee it will be a very nice meal - she's a talented cook - but I won't enjoy it much because it wasn't what I had in mind. I'm still learning how to deal with this one (ten years and counting...) and I think I'm getting better at it - sometimes I'll be very specific about what I want and other times I'll deliberately have no expectations. Avoiding the cause of the problem is easier than handling the end result.

Eating is another good example of my repetitive behaviour - if left to my own devices I'd most likely live off spaghetti bolognese for the rest of my days - I could happily eat the same thing for every meal, every day of the year. I don't get bored of that, unlike the average person on the street. In fact the regularity, the predictability, is reassuring and comforting. It all ends up preventing or reducing my anxiety.

Worst of Times; Best of Times

2011-08-30T17:59:00.000+01:00

The last few days have been a time of striking contrast. I have plumbed the cold, dark depths of sadness and soared high on bright waves of euphoria. Both Friday and Saturday nights were very low points - it was so difficult just to carry on. I don't know how I'd have got through without the distraction of work - for those hours I could just do the job and not think about my problems. But outside of work I had nothing to occupy my mind - no persona to adopt, no mask to hide behind. And so I felt the full impact of my negative feelings.

There were a number of reasons for my unhappiness - being in situations I did not want to be in and feeling trapped, picking up strong negative feelings from somebody close to me and being unable to handle the empathic pain, shutting down in public and attracting unwanted attention when I just needed to be left in peace - it all combined into a destructive overload where I was fighting against myself to avoid a meltdown, to avoid lashing out. I was sleeping badly, not eating well and - although I didn't realise it - becoming physically and mentally exhausted. Even watching my team (Wigan Warriors) win the Rugby League Challenge Cup on Saturday afternoon didn't affect my mood to any great degree.

Sunday didn't start well. However I had a busy shift that afternoon at the pub - the time flew by and I got a buzz from it. I also had some supportive feedback from the couple of "down" posts I'd published the previous nights which lifted me. So I was feeling somewhat better by the evening and, even better, relations with this person I'm very close to were considerably less frosty - this is somebody I love very much but we have communication issues from time to time when she gets very openly emotional and I overload and become uncommunicative. I know it doesn't help the situation but it's the only way I can handle the emotion I feel as a result.

But anyway, there were signs that things were getting back on track so that helped. And that evening I had organised an event in the pub - a darts and quiz night. It's a measure of how comfortable I feel in that environment that I felt able to put myself forward for such an event - organising and hosting something lasting two and a half hours. I had ten teams of two competing and I was nervous as anything starting out even though I knew all the people taking part. I managed to round them all up, explain how it was going to work and get things started. After three rounds of questions I was feeling under pressure and took a short break. My legs were shaking and - I found out later - I was exhibiting a couple of tics that my wife could easily identify as signs of my nerves. I was wondering what the heck I had got myself into - why I had put myself in this situation. I felt it might be slipping out of my control. I hadn't been able to plan the event in detail because I'd not known how many entrants there would be on the night - I was out of my comfort zone and - to a degree - making it up as I went along.

It was about ten minutes later that I got things going again with the next round. The break had calmed me enough and I felt I was getting on top of things - I felt that it was running more smoothly. Nobody had complained yet - in fact a couple had told me it was going well, and that gave me a bit more confidence. By the time we finished two people had made speeches thanking me and called for a round of applause as appreciation for an enjoyable night. Everybody there told me they had had a good time and that I had done a good job of running it. I felt pleased - but more than that I was utterly exhausted. I slept well - over ten hours - and it was Monday morning when I was feeling more refreshed that it sank in and the elation hit me. I found myself flapping my hands in the shower! I feel a real sense of achievement for carrying the evening off successfully, and I know that even a year ago I would never have been able to stand up and speak in front of a group like that - let alone direct the proceedings.

I'm not in any hurry to repeat the experience - it was nerve-wracking and exhausting - but I feel proud of myself for doing a difficult job competently and managing to handle my anxiety. Thanks are also due to the people who took part on that night and were so supportive towards me - I couldn't have got through it without certain people telling me early on that I was doing well and giving me a well-needed confidence boost.