Empathy and Selfishness

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Foggy Morning

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

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

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

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

On the Wing

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

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

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

Inside A Torture Chamber

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

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

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

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

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

Rising Stress Revisited

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To All The Bullies

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rising Stress

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

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

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

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

Breaking Chains

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In Defence of Corvids

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

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

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

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

Brittleness

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

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

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

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

Hibernation

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

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

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

Different Roles

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

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

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

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

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

Mourning Strangers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Best Card Ever

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

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

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

A Change of Plans Causes Issues

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

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

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

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

Creating New Routines

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

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

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

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

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

Night In The Woods

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

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

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

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

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

Too Much On My Mind

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

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

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

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

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

Caring

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

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

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

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

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

Sestina

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To My Wife

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Darkness and Light

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

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

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

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

Tired But Happy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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