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.
Friday, 30 September 2011
Thursday, 29 September 2011
Fugue
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.
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.
Wednesday, 28 September 2011
Concentration Flow
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.
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
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.
Tuesday, 27 September 2011
Earth's Child
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.
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.
Monday, 26 September 2011
Walking In My Shoes
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.
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
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.
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.
Saturday, 24 September 2011
Don't Tell Me Who I Can Talk To
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**!
Friday, 23 September 2011
Fear and Respect
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 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.
Thursday, 22 September 2011
Fear Is...
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.
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
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.
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.
Wednesday, 21 September 2011
Sunfall
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?
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?
Tuesday, 20 September 2011
An A to Z of Aspergers
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!
Monday, 19 September 2011
Shutdown
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.
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.
Saturday, 17 September 2011
They Sang "Happy Birthday"
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.
Friday, 16 September 2011
Mystery Word
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.
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.
Thursday, 15 September 2011
A Walk in the Woods
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.
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.
Wednesday, 14 September 2011
Between Shutdown And Meltdown
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.
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.
Tuesday, 13 September 2011
Can I Feel Empathy?
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!
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!
Monday, 12 September 2011
Learning to be More Understanding
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.
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.
Friday, 9 September 2011
Theory of Mind?!
Theory of Mind Treated Unkind Not of Mankind Empathic Blind Hurting Behind Aspergers Kind
Word Association
Empathy
—Sympathy
—Affinity
—Resemblance
—Likeness
—Image
—Appearance
—Pretence
—Deception
—Illusion
—Fantasy
—Sympathy
—Affinity
—Resemblance
—Likeness
—Image
—Appearance
—Pretence
—Deception
—Illusion
—Fantasy
If This Is Empathy I Don't Want To Play Any More
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.
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.
Thursday, 8 September 2011
Why I Hate CFLs
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.
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.
Wednesday, 7 September 2011
Writing My Way To Happiness
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.
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.
Tuesday, 6 September 2011
Lambs To The Slaughter
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.
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
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.
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 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.
Monday, 5 September 2011
Sensory Overload
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.
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
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.
Friday, 2 September 2011
Aspergers Relationships
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.
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.
Thursday, 1 September 2011
Analysing Myself
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.
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.
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