Fun With Words

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

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

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.

I Can't Cry Any More

My tears won't come. I feel so close to breaking down in tears lately but for some reason I just can't do it - my eyes remain resolutely dry. Although inside I might be despairing, on the outside there are no cracks in my mask.

Only the people reading this have any idea of the pain I carry inside. I am not able to show it or speak out about it. So I write instead and expose my feelings in this way.

Few of the people I have seen over the past few days will have garnered any hint of my hurt. I have kept it inside. I can still speak to them, laugh along with them, give every appearance of being my usual self while under the surface I am in turmoil. I actively hide it these days.

One if the factors that makes handling it more difficult is that I can't talk about how I feel to anyone. I don't mean that there is nobody I feel close enough to; what I mean is that I am literally not able to speak about my feelings. When I am under the added pressure of oral communication the words get stuck in my throat and I can't get them out - I become mute.

It is not that the words themselves are blocked. Rather it is that I have a flood of words running through my mind but such is the intensity of emotion accompanying them that I involuntarily shut down. I would not even be able to read what I have written out loud.

Tears, words and other demonstrations of my emotions are not something I merely find difficult: they are mentally and physically almost impossible. Instead I am sitting here into the small hours again, writing these words as my way of dealing with my emotional pain. And by expressing my feelings in this way I am better able to cope with them.

Would I Be Missed?

Would I be missed were I to go?
Or would memories quickly fade
Like ripples on a pond
Diminish? No resurrection
Possible from such faint echoes.

But what about the lives I've touched?
Shallow impressions left behind
Wear away easily.
Connection must run deeper
Than a casual acquaintance.

Living is harder than dying.
Oblivion promises a peace,
Lasting serenity.
Cessation of my suffering,
An end to pain. Ultimate rest.

My masochistic tendencies
Must be the reason I hang on
To a life such as this:
Where the future promises naught
But a monotony of hurt.

Looking forward from the bottom
Of this deep chasm of despair
I see only black walls,
As daunting in front as behind.
My way out: inconceivable.

Here I remain. Intervention
My only hope of climbing back
Up out of depression.
Throw me a line! Desperation
Will have me clutch at any straw.

I remember feeling happy
But my memory is misty,
Occluded by dark clouds,
Muted to the faintest whisper
Of the symphony I once heard.

I will curl up into a ball,
Foetal. Turn my back on the world.
Tune out, turn off, shut down.
Alone in my mind, safe from harm,
I will weather the storm in here.

Social Intercourse 101

Got the title. I can almost imagine the students flocking to my door. Now all I need to do is figure out the content for an introductory course in Social Intercourse - interacting with people in social settings... I think I've spotted the flaw in my plan here - I don't know much about the subject. Still, on the grounds that ignorance is the first stage on the path to knowledge, I won't let that little fact stop me. On we go!

Module 1: Choosing Your Setting
I guess a good place to start would be finding some subjects - sorry, I mean people - to interact with. What we need is some place we can just walk into where there will be other people who are not busy doing something already. (This teaching business is harder than it looks - I think I'll leave finding the place as an exercise for the reader.)

OK. You've found some place with other people (well done! - you'll have to let me know how you did it.). What's next? Oh yes, that would be...

Module 2: Making Contact
You're in your chosen place. Take a look at the people around you. You need to pick one to approach. It's probably best to go for somebody who's on their own and not involved in talking to other people - I'll leave that scenario for the advanced class. Right. You've chosen your victim - sorry again, I mean subject. No I don't - I mean person. Or do I? This is supposed to be academic - I think I'll stick to "subject". You walk up to your chosen subject, and...

..that's where it starts to get complicated. I've got a person here in front of me that I want to talk to and I don't know what to do next. I mean you don't know what to do next. I am supposed to be teaching you. Don't look so sceptical. Of course I know what to do - how can I teach you if I don't know what I'm talking about? And what do you mean it never stopped your other teachers? Bloomin' cheek! Pay attention class, back to business.

Does anybody know what you do next after you've walked up to somebody? Anybody? Please? No? OK, I'll tell you. You talk to them. What do you mean, "what about?" How do you expect to learn anything if you're forever asking questions? I'm just getting to that - be patient.

Module 3: Starting Conversation
Say "Hello" (or "Hi" - that might be easier; it's only the one syllable). This is harder than it looks. You've got to get the volume, pitch and emphasis right. Something between a whisper and a shout is good, and it's got to sound "friendly" rather than "aggressive". Best to concentrate on that - it'll help take your mind off feeling nervous.

Sorry - didn't mean to mention "nervous". It's normal - everybody feels nervous when they're standing in front of a stranger. How do you deal with your nerves? Well, that would be another class - you want "Handling Social Phobia 101". No, I don't teach that one. If you must know I flunked it. OK, happy now? Let's continue...

Ignoring how you feel about it, say "Hi" to the person in front of you in a normal voice. Oh wait - I forgot - look them in the eye first. Don't stare - that'll make them as uncomfortable as you. No I don't know when a look becomes a stare - do I look like an expert on "looking"? You want "Body Language 101". (Better sign myself up on that one while I remember.)

Where had we got to? I'll recap: you've walked into this place, gone up to somebody who's not in the middle of doing something - remember not to stand too close! You've looked them in the eye - without staring - and said "Hi" without whispering or shouting: in a normal tone of voice.

Recess
That's a lot for anybody to take on board. I know I'm worn out and I guess you are too. We'll take a recess now - any questions? I'll see you all back here for "Social Intercourse 201" - how to keep this stimulating conversation going.

But Seriously...
I've tried to present this in a light-hearted way, but there are serious obstacles I - and other people on the autistic spectrum - face in social situations. Approaching people and starting a conversation is hard. If I can get past the anxiety, I have to consciously think about all the "body language" things like proximity, eye contact, posture, limb position, facial expression. Once all that's sorted I need to modulate my voice appropriately and, finally, remember what it was I wanted to say in the first place. Sometimes I've not got enough motivation to even start! I find that as my anxiety levels decrease it takes less concentration to handle the rest of it.

But as well as concentrating on myself I've also got to concentrate on the other person to try to pick up non-verbal signals. Sometimes I lose focus on what they're saying because I find it hard to separate voices from background. It takes additional effort to fill in the blanks. On top of that there is the distraction of figurative speech and choosing between the obvious literal meaning and the learned definitions.

So much processing takes place at a conscious level that I often can't start to consider my response until the other person has stopped talking. I find it's manageable one-on-one, but in a group with a dynamic mode of interaction (not turn-taking like in a structured debate) there's just too much going on for me to focus on. That's why, in a group of people, it usually ends up with me sitting quietly, picking up fragments of different conversations going on between subsets of the group without being able to join in because I can't handle the volume of information. Maybe somebody out there really does have a "Social Intercourse 101" for people like me. With diagrams and worked examples!

The Child Inside

When I was young I was anxious in new situations, around new people. I lacked self-confidence and would always defer to authority whether that was parents, teachers - in fact pretty much anybody older, bigger, louder or more forceful. Now I am older I feel as if that nervous boy is still inside, looking out through my eyes. I have never lost that boy. In a way I am still him - my younger self - just in a bigger, older body.

It still surprises me when I get treated as a figure of influence or authority. After all, I'm still the same person I've always been - a quiet, mostly harmless guy who just wants to get on with things without bothering anybody and without being bothered in turn. That kind of attention - being put into any kind of leadership role - I usually find nerve-wracking. The exception is when the role is that of a technical authority on one of my special interest subjects - in that situation I am confident because I know my subject in depth (and I know the limits of my knowledge).

At times I feel detached from myself - as if I'm wearing my body like a mask, hiding inside and just peering out through the eyes. I worry about being found out. What if somebody sees me lurking in here and drags me out of my hiding place - exposes me? Exposes the fact that really I'm still just this little kid playing at being grown up? Will I be punished? And all the time there's this undercurrent of excitement that I'm getting away with it.

I don't see my inner child as either a good or bad thing - it's an inseparable part of who I am. It's the part of me that can jump up and down in excitement, hands flapping, while the outside, visible part of me remains impassive. It's the part of me that can go into meltdown - screaming, thrashing about - while the outside shuts down. It's the part of me that has changed the least over the years while I have learned to hide certain behaviours from the world at large to better fit in.

I've never lost who I used to be - I am an aggregation of self from past to present, the accretion of layers of age and experience like those Russian dolls, fitting one inside the other. And, while what lies inside appears filtered by those surrounding layers, it remains the same at heart. Here and now I am this 37 year old - nothing can change that - but I can also travel backwards in my mind and see things through the eyes of my younger, more naive self. I can still feel the same childish wonder when I experience something new and exciting. I still feel the same innocent pleasure when simply told that I've done well. That makes it all worthwhile for me - it's all I need.

Touching Issues

I read a comment by Emily (thoughty autie) on a post on Journeys with Autism recently that I completely identified with:

[...] if something brushes my arm, I have to rub the skin in the direction of shoulder to wrist; otherwise I still feel the thing that brushed me.

I have a number of issues with over-sensitivity to touch - this is not uncommon for people with ASD and I've mentioned it briefly in earlier posts. It's because of these issues that I prefer not to be touched at all, although I do make the odd exception for something like a hug.

Any contact on my throat is a big no-no - that part of my body is far too sensitive. I can't even wear a tight collar on a shirt because it would touch that area. The sensation of touch can persist for several minutes and I have to rub the affected area to relieve the feeling. It's difficult to describe how uncomfortable it feels - the overstimulation is almost like a cross between a burning rash and applied pressure, as if something keeps pressing on my throat while my skin is crawling underneath. It makes me very tense and can push me into meltdown. Even thinking about it is enough to make me tense up and sends shivers down my back.

The "wrong" kinds of touch also trigger an over-reaction. These fall into categories: too light, too scratchy, too focused. A light brush against my skin sets it tingling where it was touched as if the contact was continuing, and I have to rub it - usually in the direction of the hairs - to make it stop. Anything that scratches I find uncomfortable, itchy or even painful - if somebody touches me with rough hands, if I come into contact with scratchy material (starched cotton, most wool), if I'm actually scratched by a thorn or something. In some cases I have a histamine reaction causing reddening or welts to appear - similar to an allergic response, although I don't have any allergies that I'm aware of. And finally there is touch that is too focused, such as being pinched, prodded or poked. This causes anything from an acute pain to a dull throb at the spot that was poked - and again it can persists for several minutes. Rubbing the spot helps to a degree but I mostly just have to endure it until the sensation fades of its own accord. I even react this way to my own touch - although, being aware of what sets me off, I can usually avoid triggering an over-reaction. When I do set myself off it's usually accidental, caused by my impaired coordination.

What I can stand - even enjoy in some circumstances - is touch over an area with moderate pressure. A hug is the perfect example of this although anything roughly hand-sized upwards is OK. I don't like to be rubbed or stroked - caresses often put me on edge which is rather the opposite of the intended effect. I'll often endure it because I've found that responding with "Don't do that" gets misinterpreted but it's not a pleasurable sensation.

I've also found that my sensitivity changes from day to day, often linked to where I currently lie on the stress scale. There are some days when almost any touch at all is too much to handle and I flinch and snap in response - as I mentioned above it can even trigger a meltdown. Other days I'm almost "normal" in my reactions - it depends on how well I can handle the tactile stimulation; whether or not it overloads me.

Love of Books

The smell of a new book - the fresh paper and ink - is a comforting one to me. When I smell it I am transported back to my childhood. I see myself back there, feel again the excitement of getting something new to read. In my mind's eye I'm bouncing up and down with my hands flapping just thinking about it.

I'll often just sit and read each new book from cover to cover without interruption - not stopping to eat or drink - glued to each page, unable to put it down, unable even to sleep until I reach the end. I've described myself as a book-addict - the intensity of my focus on what I'm reading is such that I will block out everything around me. Several times I can recall the onset of eye-strain because the sun has set without me noticing and it has got so dark I can hardly distinguish the words from the page.

It's not just reading I love: I collect the books I read. I've never got on with borrowing from libraries - I need to know that I've got the book and I can go back to it any time I choose. Some of my paperback novels I have had more than 20 years and read about that many times. Some are falling apart but I can't bear to throw them out or even replace them. And yes, I can remember them in detail. Knowing the plot of a book doesn't put me off reading it - in fact I find the opposite is true. Once I know the outline of the plot I can focus on the detail - I get more out of a book with each reading and the familiarity is comforting.

I keep my books organised on shelves where possible or in cupboards, grouped into sets by author and/or series and sorted chronologically (either by story timeline or original publication date, whichever I feel is more appropriate). It feels wrong to me if I see that any are out of order - it nags at me and I have to fix it. When I was growing up my father bought a copy of the Encyclopaedia Britannica. Just putting the volumes in numerical order wasn't enough for me. Because I considered it to be a single, continuous work I had to put volume I on the right with volume II to its left and so on until the final volume was on the left hand end of the shelf - so that the pages were in order across the whole set even if that order did run from right to left. Possibly a little extreme even for me!

While I can visualize scenes in novels in some detail based on the written descriptions, the same doesn't hold true for the characters. I can see a soldier's uniform and kit, say, but there's no recognizable face. This does cause me to occasionally get characters mixed up - they "look" the same to me. I suffer from a related problem in "real life" - somebody I don't know very well, or even somebody I do know quite well but haven't seen for a while, might feel familiar to me but I won't be able to place them or put a name to them. The people I do the weekly pub quiz with can tell you how bad I am at recognizing people - celebrities - from their photos when they crop up in picture rounds.

I remember once, while I was a student, sitting in the waiting room at a station. A woman who evidently knew me from Cambridge started talking to me and we chatted for a while about people and places that were familiar to me - she obviously knew me fairly well - but to this day I have no idea who she was! I can recall the scene in that waiting room and I can picture her - tall, slim, black leather biker's jacket and blue jeans, long dark hair - but I can't recall her face. For that matter I even have difficulty picturing my parents' faces - I can recall details, parts, but can't put them together into a whole image. It particularly upsets me that I can't visualize my late mother's face.

But back to books - I've wandered off-topic (again). While I wouldn't quite say books were an obsession to me, they definitely rank as a special interest. A long-standing one as well: I've been collecting and reading books since my age was in single digits. It's partly the physical form that attracts me - this is why I don't feel much attachment to electronic books. They might offer convenience, taking up only the space required for the reader but the so-called books don't exist other than as data in some black box. You can't feel them, can't smell them, can't hear the rustle as you turn the pages. You can't find an old scrap of paper, used as a bookmark, tucked into one that will trigger memories of the last time you picked up that book. With the sterile electronic book there's no physical, emotional connection. I've tried them and they're mere intangible shadows of "real" printed books - they're not for me.

Candlelight

A curious mixture of ancient and modern - I'm sitting here by candlelight blogging on a smartphone. I find the juxtaposition strangely satisfying. I love to write and I love the warm colours produced by the candles' flames - such warmth that I feel cocooned and at peace.

Candles on my table

I find the light conducive to writing - it's a friendly light and has none of the harsh, bright whiteness of incandescent bulbs or the new compact fluorescent ones. I write because I need release from stress and anxiety, and my surroundings have to reinforce that.

Daydreaming

Sitting in its bowery shade,
I relax against the old tree.
I feel silent reassurance
Permeate the air around us:
A slow calm aura of confidence
Born of radical connection.

A living, breathing extrusion;
More of the earth than upon it.
The semblance of eternity,
Changes slower than perception,
Illusory stasis when seen through
The quick shutter of our short lives.

Part of me wants such attachment
To my home - anchored fast - roots deep,
Gripping strongly without effort.
I envy the regularity
Of its natural existence:
Day follows day, blurs into one.

Does the tree in turn feel envy
At the longevity of rock
Against which human endeavours
Are so fleeting? Vistas of time
Viewed through myopic eyes soon blur,
All distant objects lost in mist.

To be alive is to be quick.
Thoughtfulness replaced by motion
As we rush through life, eyes fixed
On the future. Peripheral
Vision unheeded, we ignore
The richness of our here and now.

I stopped to think, reflect. A time
To open up my senses to
My present. Let the future come
Later. For these precious moments
I am the tree, I am the rock,
I just am, now is forever.

Phone Anxiety

Anxiety is such a familiar feeling for me that I sometimes don't even notice a small background level of it. But I'm feeling it right now. It's manifesting as the usual tension throughout my body together with the "butterflies in the stomach" - it's a rather distracting sensation, it's very tiring and it affects my ability to concentrate on my normal activities.

Why am I feeling anxious? Because I've got to make a phone call - personal business - and deal with somebody I don't know on the other end. I know from experience that I can get it done but that doesn't stop me getting the feelings every time. That's why I prefer when possible to use the internet or speak with people face to face, one-on-one.

I used to be much worse - I was mentally and physically unable to speak on the phone to people I didn't know. The anxiety would be so intense that it would cause me to shut down. Yes, I know it's irrational. Most phobias are (I have arachnophobia and acrophobia as well). I've found that I have to be alone when I make phone calls - I can't speak in front of anybody unless the person on the other end is well-known to me. In fact I can't even make a call in front of my wife - I have to go into another room.

Other strategies I've developed to help me handle these situations include rehearsing the call beforehand - running through it in my mind and planning exactly what I'm going to say. This works best when I'm performing some structured task such as placing an order or paying a bill. Some things I just avoid - I never ring back on a missed call unless I recognise the number as belonging to somebody I know. I'm reluctant to answer the phone if it rings - voicemail is priceless in this regard. If it's important they'll leave a message and I can just listen to it and decide whether to follow up without being forced to interact with some stranger.

Doing all these things still doesn't make it easy for me to use the phone. It makes it possible. People who don't suffer from anxiety in these situations will find it hard to appreciate just what an achievement that is.

Comfortably Numb

I first heard The Wall when I was 16. I'd already got a copy of Dark Side of the Moon and had spent many an hour lying in my darkened bedroom - door closed, eyes shut - just listening to it from start to finish. There's something in particular about Pink Floyd that resonates with me - I can lose myself in the music, becoming totally involved. The sensations - visual, spatial, tactile - conjured up in my mind complement the sound wonderfully.

The Wall connects on another level though - it's one of the few works where I find many of the lyrics have meaning for me. The second track is The Thin Ice:

"If you should go skating
On the thin ice of modern life
[...]
Don't be surprised when a crack in the ice
Appears under your feet
You slip out of your depth and out of your mind
With your fear flowing out behind you
As you claw the thin ice"

This speaks to me of the superficiality of society - how fragile the social structures are that I rely on to support me, and how that support can disintegrate leading me to a breakdown, overwhelmed by my own fears, desperate for help.

The recurrent themes of the album are alienation, fear, desperately seeking connection with others, rejection, bullying and abuse leading to depression and mental overload - meltdown/breakdown, withdrawal and isolation. I can identify with all of these.

But the track that I feel the greatest affinity for is Comfortably Numb. It begins with a doctor approaching the protagonist: "Hello/Is there anybody in there?" - I'm in shutdown brought on by an emotional overload. I can see and hear what's going on around me - what people are saying to me - but I can't respond.

"[...] I can ease your pain [...] Can you show me where it hurts?" is the misinterpretation of my state by people around me. They intrude, disturbing me and I try to shut them out - to create a barrier in my mind and block them. "There is no pain you are receding [...] You are only coming through in waves/Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying" - I'm succeeding in blocking them - filtering them out of my sensory inputs.

"I can't explain/You would not understand/This is not how I am." This is my inability to express how I'm feeling. The fact that even if I could describe how I feel, it would be so removed from your own experiences that you could not empathise with me. The dichotomy between my calm, unemotional exterior and my inner turmoil that causes you to misinterpret my feelings.

The song's perspective switches back to the doctor: "OK/Just a little pin-prick [...] I do believe it's working [...] Come on it's time to go." This is people trying to change me, to force me to conform and behave in a "normal" fashion - a sometimes painful experience.

The song concludes: "When I was a child/I caught a fleeting glimpse/Out of the corner of my eye/I turned to look but it was gone/I cannot put my finger on it now/The child is grown/The dream is gone." The illusions that I had in childhood have been dispelled - I can't even clearly recall the innocent naivete of those days. It can be a hard, cold world and it makes no allowances for those who are different - who have difficulty coping.

"I have become comfortably numb." If I don't open up - if I keep myself to myself and don't get close to anybody, I can minimise my chances of being hurt. I can try to keep a lid on my emotions, I can try to stay uninvolved. I can try to make myself numb - not to care - so that I won't feel the intensity of emotions, so I won't feel such pain - so I'll be comfortable. I'll be able to function in the world at large but it will be at the expense of losing an important part of myself.

"Comfortably numb" - it's dangerously attractive, a great temptation to be numb and never feel fear, pain, anger. But such a cost. Never to feel happiness, love, excitement. And that would be a cost far too high for me to bear. So I will suffer the bad times, the depths of depression and the agonising pain in the knowledge that when the good times come round again it will be on a wave of exaltation. The contrast - the ups and downs, highs and lows - the sheer emotional rollercoaster is part of what makes us human and alive, and to abandon or deny that would be to diminish ourselves; it would be a living death.

School Memories

My school days seem a long time ago now - I've lived half my life since then. There are some things I can remember clearly - fragments of brilliant clarity among the discarded remnants of temps perdu. Much of the time I spent there is lost now - faded with age beyond my powers of recall - and still more is ensconced behind locked doors in my mind.

Playschool (kindergarten, or pre-school), furthest removed from the present, divulges but few memories - a vivid recollection of an instance of my social phobia where I had an accident because I was too afraid to ask to go to the bathroom and a vague but familiar feeling of being apart from everybody else, of being on the edge, standing and looking on but not being a part of things. There are no faces in any memories of those times - I can remember the building (a Nissen hut) - its layout and furniture - in detail but despite there being teachers and other children in my mental pictures, none of them have any identifying characteristics - they are just impressionistic shadows of people.

Prep school (primary school) brings forth a stream of memories - almost always finishing first or second in the class, right through all seven years at this school. Not understanding when the class was asked who was Catholic and who was Church of England. (Although both my parents were C of E they always left my brother and me to make our own minds up about faith and religion.) Never achieving a single gymnastics badge in PE lessons - unlike the entire rest of the class - because I could never manage a forward roll. (My physical coordination is a little impaired and I have minor balance problems - I also still can't abide the feeling of being upside-down.) Sitting inside reading on my own when the others were playing outside during break times. Feeling hurt when told that I had bad breath - I couldn't use toothpaste as a child because the mint taste was too intense to handle. A ritual before exams - touching certain parts of my face and touching fingertips together. A special interest in astronomy and the planets of the Solar System - I remember being called up in assembly once - I was about 7 at the time - to recite the names of the planets in order of distance from the sun, and I remember feeling surprised that anybody would find knowing this to be in any way remarkable. Sitting on the floor regularly in assembly and on other occasions - was I the only one who found this painfully uncomfortable? Hating the feeling of how my sweater constricted and rumpled the shirt beneath it - it was part of the school uniform and I didn't have any choice about wearing it.

I'm sitting here surprised at how most of these sound negative when I don't remember being particularly unhappy at that school. I think they were more than made up for by my enjoyment of the academic side of things. I've still got all my end-of-term school reports and they all follow the same pattern - first in the class more often than not, poor at PE and games, poor handwriting, highly intelligent, very quiet - doesn't get involved. I guess signs were there if anybody that knew me had been aware of ASD back then (late '70's and early '80's).

I'm going to leave writing about my memories of grammar (secondary) school for another time - there's a lot of baggage there that I don't feel like going into yet (see my earlier post about my childhood experiences). One thing I will say is that the atmosphere changes as I move from prep to grammar school - clouds are gathering; a storm is imminent. I get a sense of foreboding from just thinking about disturbing some of those old memories - there is a certain trepidation in case I awaken something terrible. I have a gap of about a year and a half both in my recollection of those years and in my archive of school reports. One day I may choose to unlock certain doors and confront my demons, but today is not that day.

I Need a Hug

Your words fall like snowflakes:
Softly, silently
Smothering my heart
In their icy blanket.

To you there is only
A superficial
Serenity, while
Underneath I'm bleeding.

Cut deep, I used to feel
Such pain! Now coldness
Has suffused my core
With a creeping numbness.

Springtime seems so distant
From bleak midwinter.
More dead than alive.
Solace in abeyance.

False hope brings quickening:
Green shoots pierce the snow
Only to wither.
A late frost overwhelms.

My hibernating heart,
Its reserves of strength
Exhausted, clings to
Memories of past warmth.

People Who Have Influenced My Life - Part 1

Certain people left an indelible mark on me as I was growing up. I'd just like to give them a little recognition. I'm not going to name them though: I don't believe that would be right without their permission.

One who particularly stands out is my English teacher from when I was studying for GCSEs in English Literature and English Language. She was head of department as well as teaching 4X and then 5X, my forms over the two years in question. I found her to always be very supportive - quick to give praise when deserved and very patient.

I always looked forward to her lessons and got great enjoyment from the subject. It was her that first gave me my love of language for its own sake and kindled my special interest in words. I honed my writing style over those two years under her guidance and grew to gain a great deal of enjoyment from the writing process which I have carried through to this day.

So I would like to say thank you to my former English teacher. I don't believe I would experience half the joy I get from language without your influence. You are an inspiration to me.

All in my Mind

Talking to somebody the other day about Aspergers, they said "It's all in your mind." Well... yes. That's kind of the point, isn't it? Idiot!

People like this anger and frustrate me. It's partly that they believe I could choose not to be this way, and partly that they believe it's not a "real" disorder. (They're often the same people who are dismissive of depression, equating it to feeling sad.)

One thing that particularly hurt in this case was that it was a person I'd thought was reasonably understanding and that I had classed as a friend. They don't know they hurt me - I'm not going to say anything because then I'll be getting into uncomfortable emotive territory - but I've been more wary when speaking to them since.

I know that there are people I mix with who are understanding and even actively supportive - that's why I mix with them: friends. There are others with whom I feel comfortable enough to speak but there's no involvement: acquaintances. It takes me a long time to start considering a person who has been an acquaintance to be a friend. But it doesn't take nearly as long for one to lose that status in my eyes.

(But that's not where I was intending to go with this. I'm rambling again. Note to self: at least look like you're trying to stay on topic.)

I try to communicate what it is like to be me but some people just don't get it. I'm sure it's partly my fault: I don't express myself nearly as eloquently in speech as when I write. When I'm speaking I hesitate - "um..., er..." - while I assemble the next thought. I sometimes lose the word I want - I know what I want to say, I know that I know the word, I can define the word, but can I remember it? And I start to focus on that instead of carrying on speaking.

I have a tendency to ramble - to stray off the subject - unless I actively concentrate on the direction of my thoughts, which requires planning an outline in advance. Obviously no good in general conversation! I also have a habit of expanding on minor subjects around the main topic - it almost becomes a lecture - and my audience start ignoring me, talking amongst themselves and so on - to the extent that even I realise I've lost their interest - and I just stop speaking regardless of whether or not I've finished what I was trying to say.

I should just carry a pen and paper and write what I want to put across.

Thursday Thought

No matter how much you're pissed off by the company, try to make an effort to be polite to the people at the checkout or call-centre or whatever you're dealing with. They're not paid a lot for what they do, they don't get any say in how the company operates and it's not their fault. Put a complaint in to the bosses, Trading Standards or whoever but don't bully the little guys on the front line. You can let them know how frustrated you feel without taking your anger out on them. Chances are they're not doing the job because they love the company - they probably need the (minimum) wage it pays.

Just because your day's gone to hell in a handbasket is no reason to lash out at somebody else. And have you noticed how most people are more inclined to be helpful if you're nice to them? Lets have a little respect for the people we deal with and - just maybe - some of that respect will come back to us, and we'll all be that little bit better off.

Coordination, or Writing at the Speed of Thought

My handwriting sucks. I'm often the only person who can decipher it and sometimes even I struggle which defeats the point of writing stuff down. I can type faster than I can write but it's not always convenient unlike just scribbling a note on a piece of paper. So I still fall back on longhand on a regular basis.

I started typing essay assignments in English class when I was at school. I found that it was easier than writing by hand and much less tiring - my hand gets tired very quickly when I write longhand. It's noticeable after just a paragraph or two and the legibility declines rapidly thereafter. I'm sure my teacher also appreciated being able to read what I'd submitted.


I can write reasonably neatly if I take my time and concentrate on forming the letters. But it's no good if I'm trying to put down my thoughts as they come to me: my writing just can't keep up so I either scribble or lose my train of thought. It doesn't help that my fine motor control is not great, which is not uncommon in people with ASD.

Can you read these?

You can see from these two samples that even when I concentrate there's some variability in the size and slant. When I'm scribbling (sample two) there's little consistency - contrast the two quickly's in the second sample. (Hint: it says "Sample two: I'm writing this quickly to keep up with how quickly I think.") And that example isn't close to the worst it can get - it will wander up and down around the ruled line on the page, whole sequences of letters will be indecipherable or even missing and sometimes it more closely resembles shorthand than English.

This lack of coordination seems to affect my typing a little less than my writing but then I'm only a two-finger typist. Even after over 25 years of using a keyboard I still look at the keys while I type and have failed repeatedly to learn to touch-type. I have certain typing errors that I make fairly frequently - I hit the adjacent key (such as r instead of e), I press two keys out of sequence when using fingers on both hands (and end up with teh instead of the) and I keep the Shift key depressed a fraction too long and capitalise two letters (HEllo). Despite not looking at the screen I maintain a mental picture of what I'm typing and I am aware when I've made a typo - I often even correct it without looking at the screen.

This is related to the problem I had learning piano as a child: I had trouble timing separate movements by separate fingers. It also affects me when I try to drum my fingers on a table - tapping them in a repeating sequence. After a couple of repetitions (1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4) I start to make mistakes (1-2-4-3) and then it all goes completely wrong. And if I try it with my left hand I have trouble even getting started despite concentrating intensely. I am strongly right-handed and my right hand is considerably better-coordinated than my left. I always use my left hand for tasks involving less fine control such as holding something in place while I adjust it with my right - I'm almost unable to use tools like screwdrivers or scissors with my left hand (cutting the fingernails of my right hand requires a lot of concentration and holding the scissors in some very strange positions).

Mental Models

Back in the early nineties when I was at Cambridge University I went to a talk given by Douglas Adams (of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy fame). The talk was primarily about technology but in his usual style he went off at a tangent on several occasions. One thing that he talked about has stuck in my mind to this day. He got onto the subject of virtual reality and simulation and strayed into the realms of psychology when he began to describe the parallels between computer simulations and mental models and how we use them to forecast future events.

What he had done was to give a name to a phenomenon I was intimately acquainted with. I remember it so well because I recognised an aspect of myself - I realised that I build mental models of people I interact with, refining the model as I become more familiar with a person. You can think of a model as a series of chains of cause and effect - if I do this then they will do that. I use that model to run through what I plan to say to them and how I plan to say it, and try to predict how they will react. This is all on a conscious level for me - there's little or no instinctive component. That's not to say it's necessarily a slow process but it does introduce some delays into my social interactions while I think about the next move.

I've recently been thinking more about this, prompted by discussion of Theory of Mind - among other things - over on Journeys with Autism. There is a school of thought in psychology that considers people on the autistic spectrum lack a theory of mind (ToM); that is to say that they lack an awareness of others' thoughts and feelings. I believe that my mental models are my ToM as I understand the concept. I also believe that my deficiencies in this area are primarily caused by my poor social skills: I don't have the tools to actively experiment with people and thus refine my model so I just rely on passive observation. This naturally takes much longer to achieve comparable results when compared to somebody who is comfortable and adept in social interactions.

I've watched my wife when she starts talking to somebody that she has never met before. First she will observe them for a short time, somehow picking up non-verbal cues and forming an initial impression of the person in her mind. She will then approach them and start a conversation based on what she has observed. It appears to me that this initial conversation is a social tool that enables her to "get to know" the person quickly by gauging their reactions to her probing - something like a handshaking protocol in network communications. A little while later she'll introduce me to them. I just respond neutrally to what they say - I start out very warily in social interactions because I have no mental model for this new person yet and no way of knowing how they will react to me - and probably get thought of as quiet and boring. I'm primarily observing them at this point, noticing how they respond to my wife and constructing a brand new mental model of them. This imposes quite a cognitive load on me and I can't really cope with inventing something to say at the same time.

I have no idea how most people appear to handle this kind of thing so easily - it just seems to come naturally, instinctively, to them rather than being a learned skill as it is for me. It means that it takes me a long time to get to know somebody reasonably well - well enough to feel comfortable around them. I don't form attachments easily or quickly. However I have found that my hand-crafted mental models can end up being more accurate than my wife's intuition at predicting some people's behaviour. Does this mean that I have a more complete theory of mind than my neurotypical wife? Is it like the difference between bespoke and off-the-peg? Or is it just more evidence that all theories and models have limitations and will depart from reality at some point because they seek to simplify and generalise in order to provide some insight into complex natural phenomena?

Pulling Pints

I've been working part-time as a barman in my local pub since early this year. This may seem a curious activity for somebody who's not comfortable talking to strangers, but the reality is that the large majority of customers are regulars with whom I was already familiar.

It all started when I volunteered to help out because they were short-staffed. I'd helped out behind a bar before when I was at university so I had some idea what to expect. I did my first few hours in exchange for drinks and to my surprise I really enjoyed myself and did a good job. I helped out a couple more times and then decided to make it official: I joined the company on the understanding that my main software development job had priority and started working a couple of regular shifts over the weekend.

Things I enjoy about the job: it's primarily manual work and about the only thinking required is adding up prices in my head (I don't need to because the register handles all that but I want to because it saves time and I like doing it) and remembering the drinks in each order. This means I can largely "switch off" so I find the job mentally relaxing. It's also good physical exercise - very handy when my main job involves sitting down most of the day - and I'm probably fitter now than I have been for some years. I enjoy the routine of the job - each particular shift has its own pattern with the same regulars mostly coming in at the same times. Beer, especially "real ale", is a special interest of mine - I don't drink much these days but I have long had an interest in brewing. I've visited several breweries over the years and remain fascinated by the subject.

I get a particular buzz from it when I'm busy - I get something similar when I'm in flow when programming. I get into a rhythm, the endorphins kick in and I've occasionally found myself just grinning like an idiot and getting strange looks.

I'm not saying that I enjoy everything about it. I dislike serving food - it breaks the flow - and after I've asked a customer if everything's ok with their meal I get stuck for anything else to say and just wander off feeling vaguely uncomfortable. I don't get many complaints but I find it stressful to handle them - it's not that they get confrontational; rather that I'm just not comfortable in that situation.

Funnily enough I find that I can mostly handle the people side of the job. Because I'm there fulfilling a role it enables me to talk to customers within the context of serving them. There's a routine to it: I greet them, ask for their order, pour their drinks and take the money. It generally keeps to the routine and I stay relaxed. I've even got to know people through the job. When I'm in front of the bar as a customer I won't talk to people I don't know - that's just how I am and I've always been that way. I have trouble with small-talk and general conversation as I've mentioned in previous posts. However when I'm behind the bar people come up to me time after time as they order their drinks. They get used to me, I get used to them and as I get more familiar with them I feel less uncomfortable. And having two feet of solid wood between me and them is a great way to avoid having anybody intrude on my personal space - I feel uncomfortably crowded if anybody stands too close to me.

It's the little things as well that I enjoy: I'm genuinely pleased whenever I get a tip because it makes me feel I did something well. I like that the manager always thanks me at the end of my shift (don't tell him I'd happily do the job just to be appreciated - I've never been motivated by financial reward which is just as well given the pay scales for bar staff). I like it when my regular customers - yes, I do think of them as mine when I'm serving them - seem pleased to see me. And I like the feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction that comes from doing something well.

Overloading on Emotion

Recently I've been trying to explain to my wife how emotional overtones in what people say can overload me. It was difficult to get across for two reasons.

The first reason is that she still gets the impression that I don't feel emotion because I don't show emotion. She struggles to understand how anybody can be experiencing feelings without any outward sign. This can be one of the key barriers to understanding between somebody on the autistic spectrum and somebody who is neurotypical.

The second reason is that overload is difficult to explain to somebody who has never experienced it. It's not identical for everybody; indeed I don't experience it to the same degree every time. Essentially it is overstimulation of some form, either emotional or sensory. The intensity of the signal coming into my mind causes me to fixate on it like a rabbit caught in headlights.

I pick up on emotional content most when I'm one-on-one with somebody. In a group there's typically too much going on and I start to miss behavioural cues. But face-to-face with one person I find I can often get the "out of band" data along with the signal. I can hear some emotions in the tone of voice and even recognise some body language. It's not as instinctive as it appears to be with NT folk. But now and again, particularly when I know the person well, I get an empathic gestalt of their emotional state.

Imagine if you will that you are sitting on a quiet, deserted shore. The sun is shining: it's warm. There's just enough of a breeze to be comfortable and the small waves lap rhythmically. You are relaxed; you lean back and close your eyes sleepily...

..and then you open your eyes again to find you have been transported in that instant to the middle of the city at rush hour. Traffic all around: engines snarling and horns blaring. People jostling and rushing all around you. Noise, smells, lights, touches coming from all directions: a cacophony registering on every sense at once. And that's how it feels to be hit by that tidal wave of emotion.

Working with Aspergers on About.com Guide to Autism

Lisa Jo Rudy has kindly published a piece I wrote - about how Aspergers Syndrome has affected my working life - on her site, Autism at About.com. If you've not come across it before, this site has a stack of references to information about Autistic Spectrum Disorder and I think it presents a fairly balanced viewpoint. Mine is one of a series of posts written by people on the spectrum about their experiences.

Special Interests and Happiness

While programming is my primary special interest, I have other interests that I follow whenever I get the opportunity. I derive great pleasure from these activities.

Words have always fascinated me. I've enjoyed reading ever since I can remember; in fact I would describe myself as a voracious reader. But it's not just about reading: it actually is the words themselves. I read dictionaries for pleasure, learning about etymology and relating words to their roots. I decided to read Chaucer's Canterbury Tales in Middle English in part to become more familiar with the history of the English language. I own several books about words and phrases; one of my favourites is Melvyn Bragg's Adventures in English which traces the development of the language from Latin and Anglo Saxon to the modern day.

I get excited when I find patterns in words across languages that reflect common heritage such as sassenach in Scots relating to sasunnach in Scottish Gaelic, saesneg in Welsh and saozneg in Breton: all derived from Sais (Saxon). I get similarly excited when I discover the origins of phrases like start from scratch, the bitter end and half-cocked, especially if the origin is strongly visual (as in these three examples).

Naturally when I get excited by finding something new I want to tell people about it. After all, if I found it that amazing then surely everybody else will? No. They don't. It usually falls completely flat. You can picture the tumbleweeds blowing across the scene as my exposition is greeted by deafening silence. What makes it worse is that it's not the dropped-jaw silence of minds stunned by the revelation. It's the silence of boredom and indifference. And then they carry on talking about whatever they were on about before I piped up. So I don't bother so much now. I find it hard to understand that others don't share my passion for certain subjects. I know in an abstract way that they don't, but that knowledge is pale and insubstantial against the intensity of my own excitement and I find that I can get carried away.

I used to flap my hands whenever I got excited. This attracted a lot of negative attention - bordering on bullying - when I was young and over the years I have managed to moderate it so that it now manifests as simply a clenching of my fists and tensing of my arms and hands, with perhaps a little shake. At the time other kids would say that I was "having a benny" and I always took the phrase personally. I never heard it in reference to anyone or anything else until recently when I watched The Full Monty and I can't really describe the shock and the gut-wrenching fear/embarrassment that it triggered. All of a sudden I flashed back to my schooldays and was being ridiculed again. The trouble is that the hand flapping was a natural expression of how I felt. I get a little sad that I don't feel able to express myself fully - to completely be myself - without fear of ridicule.

There are other behaviours that I have suppressed as a result of pressure to conform to the mainstream. I sometimes think that as long as people in general do not accept atypical behaviour then I will continue to give in to that pressure. And because I can't be myself I will feel down more often. Whenever I feel happy or excited it will cast a small shadow across my sunny feelings, a small discordant note in my harmony, a small smudge of dirt on a spotless white canvas. So perhaps it is time to stop conforming. Perhaps I can summon the self-confidence to be myself. To regain the physical expressions of my emotions and not feel ashamed of them. To accept that some people will think me mad and not to care. I guess I can dream...

Thinking in Pictures: Pros and Cons

Whenever I think about something I visualise it. This isn't some conscious process; it's just how my mind works.

With any new concept I come across, if I can form a mental image I can understand it. On the flip side, if I can't see it in my mind's eye I generally can't get my head around it at all. When programming I have become very adept at seeing the structure of software. It's not just a static picture but a dynamic visual model. It's something like not just watching an animation but scripting, drawing and directing it all at the same time. I find this gives me an intuitive grasp of software systems and I tend to have a gut feeling for those aspects that aren't well built.

This visualisation also helps me navigate but only if I have travelled a route before. I find I can run through the journey in my mind. However I can rarely remember details such as street names, junction numbers on the motorway or even in some cases the names of towns I pass through! I have lived at my current address for nearly ten years and I still can't name roads even within half a mile of home. But I don't get lost because I can "see" the routes in my mind. It's like Google Street View crossed with a SatNav but without needing to carry some gadget around. It's a right bugger though when anything changes. If, for instance, some building is knocked down and something else built in its place I can lose my bearings for literally months afterwards. I seem to have trouble remembering how the scene looks now as opposed to how it used to.

I hate it when they move stock around in the supermarket: I'll write my shopping list out in the order that the items appear as I traverse the aisles. And then I get there and something has been moved since the last time so it's not where it should be and I start to overload. I don't handle changes to my routine well at all.

Similarly when I'm trying to remember something I might be able to "see" whatever it is, but can I always put the words to it? Not likely! Not usually a problem when it's just me because I obviously don't need the words but I'm stumped if I'm trying to tell somebody else about it. This leads on to another pet hate of mine: when manufacturers change the packaging of some item that I buy regularly such as toothpaste or pre-packaged food. I'll go to the usual place in the store and I won't see what I'm looking for because it now looks different. So now I don't know whether they're out of stock or I need to look for something different. Either way it means a change which is a Bad Thing. Something like toothpaste or shampoo is particularly bad: if I can't find my usual product I get overwhelmed by the dozens of almost identical choices on offer. I take it as a deliberate act by the manufacturers to make life difficult for me. It's as if they're forcing me to change my routines, and I start to overload again.

I'm getting better at handling it. I no longer tend to have a meltdown in the middle of the store, but my wife is  very used to me ranting about the stupidity of having 50 different kinds of toothpaste, and how such-and-such a store have got it in for me and the only reason they have moved the salad section, sold out of meat & potato pies or discontinued my regular brand of garlic sauce is to upset me personally. I don't rant at anybody, it's more of a monologue. The ranting is my safety valve: it lets me handle the stress of the situation before it overwhelms me.

So, there you have it. Despite the drawbacks I wouldn't change this visualisation aspect of my mind. It allows me to do certain things very well and I can't imagine life without the images in my head.