People talk to me. I talk back. Sometimes I feel comfortable with it. But do they like me? I don't know and there are times when that bothers me. Like many Aspies I have great difficulty reading people, recognizing and interpreting their body language. Together with the gaps in my understanding of social conventions this means I've got my work cut out trying to push the envelope of interaction.
There are a number of people I know socially; I talk with them sometimes and it all seems friendly enough. But that's as far as it goes. I very rarely invite people to join me in some activity because I don't know how they will react -- I don't mean whether they will say "yes" or "no" but whether they would feel I had crossed some boundary, broken some social rule.
From my observations of people it appears that it is common amongst friends to arrange to do things together, while people who are mere acquaintances don't do this. I've never been able to grasp how one advances an interpersonal relationship beyond the initial stages. Sometimes it just seems to happen but I don't understand the mechanics.
I suspect that conversation has a lot to do with the process. (Just my luck I guess - that's not one of my strengths.) From what my wife and others have told me it appears that there are non-verbal signals that are used in conversations, perhaps below the level of conscious communication, that influence the other party. It might as well be telepathy as far as I'm concerned, but I've witnessed occasions where my wife has inferred accurate interpretations of people's state of mind without even exchanging a word! It leaves me stunned, like seeing a great illusionist perform: I'm just left wondering "how did she do that?".
Anyhow, I'm digressing a little. To get back to the main topic, I've developed a... theory, if you like. A working hypothesis, a conjecture, which is that these non-verbal signals are important in establishing and strengthening social bonds because they provide information about what the other person is thinking and feeling. I'm handicapped by an inability to recognize and interpret these signals, so all I have to go on is what the person says with a few tentative impressions based on tone of voice.
That's all well and good but I've learned that you can't always rely on taking what people say at face value. They might be teasing, they might be following social conventions (such as "being polite", or, in other words, exhibiting socially-acceptable insincerity). I can't tell so I behave with caution, treading warily up to the boundaries of what I know to be acceptable. My self-imposed boundaries, which are an amalgamation of the rules I've constructed to circumscribe my behavior.
There are different rules for different degrees of familiarity: I may act in certain ways with people I consider friends that I never would with people I do not know well. The difficult question for me is how do these other people feel about me? Do they consider me a friend at all, or am I just some guy they occasionally talk to in the pub? Am I being presumptuous by thinking that there is anything more to the relationship? And how do I find out?
This uncertainty underpins my insecurity about social relationships: I just do not know where I stand with people, I don't know how they regard me. Perhaps I'm deluding myself and the people I think of as friends don't reciprocate: perhaps they just tolerate my presence for some reason. How can I know?
Wednesday, 14 August 2013
Thursday, 8 August 2013
Aspergers Blues
It's hard to write about depression. The symptoms keep getting in the way of my words, and for somebody who loves words as I do that is disheartening.
Where to start? Well, I've been suffering bouts of depression for years. It can last for a few hours or several days but it is not usually an unrelenting pit of despair. I have spells when I'm feeling, if not exactly "up" then at least neutral. But then I'm back down again.
These days I don't become inclined to harm myself, although in the past I've cut myself and taken handfuls of pills (my body didn't go along with the plan and I just vomited). Instead I usually seek solitude, which can be easier said than done.
I want to cry but my eyes remain stubbornly dry. I want to curl up in a dark corner and hide from the world. I want to be left alone and I want somebody to just hold me and make me feel safe and protected. I get so tense that I feel as if my muscles are locked in place, yet I have so little energy that I can't bring myself to stir. I detest the sensations, feeling a lack of sensation. It's a complex, contradictory, utterly confusing state of mind.
It's getting to the point where I'm reluctant to relax and enjoy myself because I know that sooner or later I'll come crashing down again, and the shock of the contrast is like jumping into a cold plunge pool from a sauna. I'm forever waiting, anticipating and expecting the next low point.
Of course there are triggers. Rocky patches in relationships. Anything that causes stress and exhausts me leaves me vulnerable. It's a common aspect of Aspergers that we have limited physical and mental resources: we tire easily, and that state of exhaustion means that problems quickly become overwhelming.
What can be done about it? The obvious answer would be to avoid becoming so worn out - I might even say burned out - that I can barely function let alone stave off the blues. My particular problem lately is that as the sole carer for my wife, who's not in good health, I have no respite. There's no break from it, even if my strong sense of duty and responsibility would allow it.
I missed a couple days of work last week because the depression hit again after becoming exhausted dealing with my wife, who is also feeling great frustration and low spirits because of illness. It doesn't help that I pick up the echoes of her feelings - who says Aspies don't have empathy? - but I don't have the mechanisms to cope with these reflected emotions.
In fact, the night before I had spent two hours or so in the company of a friend and left feeling happy... until I got home and returned to the stressful overload. I'm not coping well at all lately: it's all getting to be too much of a strain but I'm stubborn as an old mule and I won't give in until my mind and body call an involuntary time out. Unfortunately that's exactly what happened and a week later I'm still not really over it, still depressed.
There are no silver bullets. There is nobody who can wave a magic wand and fix the problems. Miracles don't happen (even if, like my wife, you have strong religious beliefs). I don't believe there is any higher purpose to suffering: adversity doesn't make you strong. It just grinds you down until you haven't the strength to even lift your head from the dirt.
The funny thing is that now I'm back at work I can get focused on the job and function normally on the whole, although I'm feeling more tired than usual and it's taking me longer to get ready in the mornings - I'm not moving so quick. A case of special interest to the rescue, possibly.
Time flows like molasses in winter;
I am caught in its viscous embrace.
Struggling to break free
As a fly in a web,
Waiting for the poisonous attack.
I am a cornered mouse,
Teeth and claws no threat
To the predator stalking me.
The black cat, Nemesis,
Will not be driven off.
To fight an invincible foe,
To cast the die, burn the bridge
And cross the Rubicon; a dream
Wherein I cast off the fetters
And rise, Prometheus unbound.
Where to start? Well, I've been suffering bouts of depression for years. It can last for a few hours or several days but it is not usually an unrelenting pit of despair. I have spells when I'm feeling, if not exactly "up" then at least neutral. But then I'm back down again.
These days I don't become inclined to harm myself, although in the past I've cut myself and taken handfuls of pills (my body didn't go along with the plan and I just vomited). Instead I usually seek solitude, which can be easier said than done.
I want to cry but my eyes remain stubbornly dry. I want to curl up in a dark corner and hide from the world. I want to be left alone and I want somebody to just hold me and make me feel safe and protected. I get so tense that I feel as if my muscles are locked in place, yet I have so little energy that I can't bring myself to stir. I detest the sensations, feeling a lack of sensation. It's a complex, contradictory, utterly confusing state of mind.
It's getting to the point where I'm reluctant to relax and enjoy myself because I know that sooner or later I'll come crashing down again, and the shock of the contrast is like jumping into a cold plunge pool from a sauna. I'm forever waiting, anticipating and expecting the next low point.
Of course there are triggers. Rocky patches in relationships. Anything that causes stress and exhausts me leaves me vulnerable. It's a common aspect of Aspergers that we have limited physical and mental resources: we tire easily, and that state of exhaustion means that problems quickly become overwhelming.
What can be done about it? The obvious answer would be to avoid becoming so worn out - I might even say burned out - that I can barely function let alone stave off the blues. My particular problem lately is that as the sole carer for my wife, who's not in good health, I have no respite. There's no break from it, even if my strong sense of duty and responsibility would allow it.
I missed a couple days of work last week because the depression hit again after becoming exhausted dealing with my wife, who is also feeling great frustration and low spirits because of illness. It doesn't help that I pick up the echoes of her feelings - who says Aspies don't have empathy? - but I don't have the mechanisms to cope with these reflected emotions.
In fact, the night before I had spent two hours or so in the company of a friend and left feeling happy... until I got home and returned to the stressful overload. I'm not coping well at all lately: it's all getting to be too much of a strain but I'm stubborn as an old mule and I won't give in until my mind and body call an involuntary time out. Unfortunately that's exactly what happened and a week later I'm still not really over it, still depressed.
There are no silver bullets. There is nobody who can wave a magic wand and fix the problems. Miracles don't happen (even if, like my wife, you have strong religious beliefs). I don't believe there is any higher purpose to suffering: adversity doesn't make you strong. It just grinds you down until you haven't the strength to even lift your head from the dirt.
The funny thing is that now I'm back at work I can get focused on the job and function normally on the whole, although I'm feeling more tired than usual and it's taking me longer to get ready in the mornings - I'm not moving so quick. A case of special interest to the rescue, possibly.
Time flows like molasses in winter;
I am caught in its viscous embrace.
Struggling to break free
As a fly in a web,
Waiting for the poisonous attack.
I am a cornered mouse,
Teeth and claws no threat
To the predator stalking me.
The black cat, Nemesis,
Will not be driven off.
To fight an invincible foe,
To cast the die, burn the bridge
And cross the Rubicon; a dream
Wherein I cast off the fetters
And rise, Prometheus unbound.
Wednesday, 31 July 2013
Therapy? Experiences of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy
Ok. Time to hold my hands up - I'm in therapy. I'm nearing the end of a course of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy to help me deal with anxiety. Up to now there were only three people who knew this: me, my wife and my closest friend.
Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) is a therapy that is designed to teach new ways of thinking, to provide the client with new ways of dealing with problems that they face in their lives. It is very important to bear in mind that it does not promise any cure: in my case it will not stop me feeling anxious in certain situations. What it will do (I believe and I've not yet experienced anything to contradict this) is give me tools to manage my anxiety.
One thing that has struck me throughout the course is how obvious it all seems. In short, the steps have been to identify the causes of anxiety and rank them in order of severity, start at the bottom and develop ways to handle them. It's that simple! But there's something significant about the fact that the advice comes from somebody who has no emotional connection, who is impartial and nonthreatening. I feel that they have no "hidden agenda", that they are not trying to manipulate me (even though in fact they are - that is the purpose of the sessions). It comes down to trust: I feel that I can trust my therapist and consequently I am very accepting of her advice.
The thing about CBT is that it is a learning experience like any training course. If you are not engaged then you will not learn. Period. I believe that if you don't want to learn something then you won't. You can sit through lesson after lesson but if you don't apply and practice what you are taught then you won't learn. I think this is why CBT gets some negative reviews - people come into it expecting some silver bullet that will cure them of their problems, but it doesn't work like that. The sessions with the therapist are just to provide the foundations. It is up to the client to build upon them by practicing the coping techniques learned. It's difficult to begin with - you have to expose yourself to the challenging situation before you can try to apply the lessons.
I guess people fail because they don't put the effort into this part. But as I said to my friend earlier tonight, I wouldn't have brought this up with my GP if I didn't want to try to fix my problem. And if that means I have to do "homework" then I'm going to put the effort in because the end result will be worth it.
I did some research about CBT before I started the course - that's my way - and the key fact I learned about it is that it does not claim to be a cure. In may case it will not stop me feeling anxious. I believe it is important to go into this kind of therapy with realistic expectations of the outcome, and in my case it was that it would not stop me feeling anxious - it might not even make me less anxious - but it would provide me with ways to handle that anxiety, to function despite the feeling.
In many ways the success of the treatment depends on how much effort the client is willing to put in. The key to graduated exposure (which is the type of CBT I am receiving) is that you make the effort to expose yourself to the situations.
I've found that one of the hardest aspects of this for me has been to remember that I have to attempt to interact with people differently. Remembering this instead of falling back on ingrained habits has been very taxing mentally. I've discussed this with my therapist and she agrees that being on the autism spectrum poses particular problems for this type of therapy: resistance to change, ingrained habits (routines), co-morbid conditions such as social phobia and sensory hypo- or hyper-sensitivity, and difficulties interpreting non-verbal communication.
To this end I've been set tasks including listening to the radio (interpreting conversational voices) and summarizing what I've heard, observing other people's conversations (which is one of the most difficult tasks - trying to derive rules for conversation based on observation, because it involves trying to interpret the non-verbal signals), and making phone calls (to my friends initially - it's starting small but if that's where I want to end up then I'll have to build my way up to it.
I reckon I've made progress, even if it's not easily quantifiable by the simplistic measures recorded by the questionnaire I complete before every session. And that's the most important part - as long as I feel that I've progressed and I feel more able to tackle these anxiety-provoking situations then I think I'm gaining a benefit from the therapy.
So, in summary, I believe it's only effective if the client is prepared to put the effort in to practice the skills being imparted. If one doesn't have a realistic view of the aims and purposes of the therapy and isn't prepared to put in the work involved in learning the skills presented, then it simply won't work. In this type of therapy the therapist is the pilot guiding the course but the client is the engine room providing the momentum.
Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) is a therapy that is designed to teach new ways of thinking, to provide the client with new ways of dealing with problems that they face in their lives. It is very important to bear in mind that it does not promise any cure: in my case it will not stop me feeling anxious in certain situations. What it will do (I believe and I've not yet experienced anything to contradict this) is give me tools to manage my anxiety.
One thing that has struck me throughout the course is how obvious it all seems. In short, the steps have been to identify the causes of anxiety and rank them in order of severity, start at the bottom and develop ways to handle them. It's that simple! But there's something significant about the fact that the advice comes from somebody who has no emotional connection, who is impartial and nonthreatening. I feel that they have no "hidden agenda", that they are not trying to manipulate me (even though in fact they are - that is the purpose of the sessions). It comes down to trust: I feel that I can trust my therapist and consequently I am very accepting of her advice.
The thing about CBT is that it is a learning experience like any training course. If you are not engaged then you will not learn. Period. I believe that if you don't want to learn something then you won't. You can sit through lesson after lesson but if you don't apply and practice what you are taught then you won't learn. I think this is why CBT gets some negative reviews - people come into it expecting some silver bullet that will cure them of their problems, but it doesn't work like that. The sessions with the therapist are just to provide the foundations. It is up to the client to build upon them by practicing the coping techniques learned. It's difficult to begin with - you have to expose yourself to the challenging situation before you can try to apply the lessons.
I guess people fail because they don't put the effort into this part. But as I said to my friend earlier tonight, I wouldn't have brought this up with my GP if I didn't want to try to fix my problem. And if that means I have to do "homework" then I'm going to put the effort in because the end result will be worth it.
I did some research about CBT before I started the course - that's my way - and the key fact I learned about it is that it does not claim to be a cure. In may case it will not stop me feeling anxious. I believe it is important to go into this kind of therapy with realistic expectations of the outcome, and in my case it was that it would not stop me feeling anxious - it might not even make me less anxious - but it would provide me with ways to handle that anxiety, to function despite the feeling.
In many ways the success of the treatment depends on how much effort the client is willing to put in. The key to graduated exposure (which is the type of CBT I am receiving) is that you make the effort to expose yourself to the situations.
I've found that one of the hardest aspects of this for me has been to remember that I have to attempt to interact with people differently. Remembering this instead of falling back on ingrained habits has been very taxing mentally. I've discussed this with my therapist and she agrees that being on the autism spectrum poses particular problems for this type of therapy: resistance to change, ingrained habits (routines), co-morbid conditions such as social phobia and sensory hypo- or hyper-sensitivity, and difficulties interpreting non-verbal communication.
To this end I've been set tasks including listening to the radio (interpreting conversational voices) and summarizing what I've heard, observing other people's conversations (which is one of the most difficult tasks - trying to derive rules for conversation based on observation, because it involves trying to interpret the non-verbal signals), and making phone calls (to my friends initially - it's starting small but if that's where I want to end up then I'll have to build my way up to it.
I reckon I've made progress, even if it's not easily quantifiable by the simplistic measures recorded by the questionnaire I complete before every session. And that's the most important part - as long as I feel that I've progressed and I feel more able to tackle these anxiety-provoking situations then I think I'm gaining a benefit from the therapy.
So, in summary, I believe it's only effective if the client is prepared to put the effort in to practice the skills being imparted. If one doesn't have a realistic view of the aims and purposes of the therapy and isn't prepared to put in the work involved in learning the skills presented, then it simply won't work. In this type of therapy the therapist is the pilot guiding the course but the client is the engine room providing the momentum.
Tuesday, 18 June 2013
Unintended Consequences
It's very difficult to admit that you are in the wrong. Especially if the misdeed was not an intentional act but a consequence of natural behavior.
With impeccable timing under the circumstances I read this blog post over the weekend. It was like looking into a mirror - and I don't mean that everything appeared back-to-front! It was as if the writer had looked into my mind, seen inside as if it were crystal. I'm no stranger to recognizing aspects of myself in other Aspie blog posts: that goes with the territory. But occasionally I read something that could have been written about me. Which is kind of why I'm writing this now.
It doesn't matter exactly what happened over the weekend. But what made it worse was my failure to apologize in a timely manner. You see, I started out thinking that because I hadn't intentionally done anything to cause hurt then I couldn't have done anything wrong and the other person must be behaving irrationally. I'd forgotten about unintended consequences.
To truly be responsible for one's actions means accepting responsibility for all the effects, both intentional and unintentional, expected and unexpected, desirable and undesirable. And realizing that even unconscious, unplanned, unavoidable acts are included in this - accidents do happen.
"I never meant to..." is an excuse. It's a valid excuse as far as it goes, but that's not far enough. "It's my fault" is better. I might not have been able to foresee the results of my actions, or even avoid doing it, but that doesn't mean I don't regret what happened. Accidents have causes. In this case I didn't communicate early or clearly enough that I was approaching a crisis. It's like being too busy defusing a ticking bomb to evacuate the surroundings in time. I had too narrow a focus on what was happening internally to think about anybody outside. And that was a mistake. There were consequences that meant the problems were more severe and lasted longer.
And so to the apology. I'm sure some people can say sorry and convey the appropriate sincerity regardless of whether or not they feel remorse. I can't. If I'm going to apologize then I've got to understand that I did something wrong and regret it. Admit to myself first that I was wrong. That's hard.
In some ways I had an easy life growing up. I had a natural gift for the subjects I studied in school and regularly achieved top marks with little effort. I got the "gifted" label early and it stuck. I enjoyed the plaudits. But the down side is that the more used you get to success, the worse failure appears. It makes you risk-averse: you avoid choosing the path of uncertainty because you have become afraid of the possibility of failure, of getting something wrong. In some ways being labelled as gifted is a curse: you're only as good as your last [excellent] result. It made me happy, sure, but it made me awfully insecure at the same time. I identified with the label to such an extent that I felt that losing it would destroy who I was.
Admitting I got something wrong equates to admitting I failed. To accept being less than perfect. (Yes, I know intellectually I'm not perfect and I make mistakes but I don't feel it - there's still that belief that I have to achieve perfection just to keep on being myself.) I try so hard to get past this but it's always there, like rails preventing me from changing direction. I still look for praise in what I do and dread censure: it's made me a perfectionist, never satisfied with what I create because I concentrate on the flaws. It's a never-ending school report with just the comment "could do better".
So... it takes me time to get to the point where I feel able to admit that I've done wrong and apologize. Please bear with me and be patient.
I'm doing my best.
With impeccable timing under the circumstances I read this blog post over the weekend. It was like looking into a mirror - and I don't mean that everything appeared back-to-front! It was as if the writer had looked into my mind, seen inside as if it were crystal. I'm no stranger to recognizing aspects of myself in other Aspie blog posts: that goes with the territory. But occasionally I read something that could have been written about me. Which is kind of why I'm writing this now.
It doesn't matter exactly what happened over the weekend. But what made it worse was my failure to apologize in a timely manner. You see, I started out thinking that because I hadn't intentionally done anything to cause hurt then I couldn't have done anything wrong and the other person must be behaving irrationally. I'd forgotten about unintended consequences.
To truly be responsible for one's actions means accepting responsibility for all the effects, both intentional and unintentional, expected and unexpected, desirable and undesirable. And realizing that even unconscious, unplanned, unavoidable acts are included in this - accidents do happen.
"I never meant to..." is an excuse. It's a valid excuse as far as it goes, but that's not far enough. "It's my fault" is better. I might not have been able to foresee the results of my actions, or even avoid doing it, but that doesn't mean I don't regret what happened. Accidents have causes. In this case I didn't communicate early or clearly enough that I was approaching a crisis. It's like being too busy defusing a ticking bomb to evacuate the surroundings in time. I had too narrow a focus on what was happening internally to think about anybody outside. And that was a mistake. There were consequences that meant the problems were more severe and lasted longer.
And so to the apology. I'm sure some people can say sorry and convey the appropriate sincerity regardless of whether or not they feel remorse. I can't. If I'm going to apologize then I've got to understand that I did something wrong and regret it. Admit to myself first that I was wrong. That's hard.
In some ways I had an easy life growing up. I had a natural gift for the subjects I studied in school and regularly achieved top marks with little effort. I got the "gifted" label early and it stuck. I enjoyed the plaudits. But the down side is that the more used you get to success, the worse failure appears. It makes you risk-averse: you avoid choosing the path of uncertainty because you have become afraid of the possibility of failure, of getting something wrong. In some ways being labelled as gifted is a curse: you're only as good as your last [excellent] result. It made me happy, sure, but it made me awfully insecure at the same time. I identified with the label to such an extent that I felt that losing it would destroy who I was.
Admitting I got something wrong equates to admitting I failed. To accept being less than perfect. (Yes, I know intellectually I'm not perfect and I make mistakes but I don't feel it - there's still that belief that I have to achieve perfection just to keep on being myself.) I try so hard to get past this but it's always there, like rails preventing me from changing direction. I still look for praise in what I do and dread censure: it's made me a perfectionist, never satisfied with what I create because I concentrate on the flaws. It's a never-ending school report with just the comment "could do better".
So... it takes me time to get to the point where I feel able to admit that I've done wrong and apologize. Please bear with me and be patient.
I'm doing my best.
Tuesday, 11 June 2013
Anxiety: Learning to Cope
Nobody Home?
It's the strangest feeling, or it would be if it weren't so familiar. I catch myself playing the part, acting "normal", carrying on without conscious intervention while all the time I'm there, watching. I feel like a spectator in my own body, a mere passenger.I remain aware of everything around me, fully linked to my senses, but my mind is free-wheeling, pursuing lines of thought unrelated to what my body is doing. And every so often I notice that my body has been walking around, even talking to people, while I've been occupied with my thoughts.
Role Playing
I guess it's a form of acting: I'm performing a role that I've rehearsed so thoroughly I don't need to think about what I'm doing, leaving my mind free to wander. This is the state in which I'm most at ease: there is a comfortable familiarity as I run along the rails of routine.Am I a Stereotype?
The trouble is... as I watch myself I wonder whether I am being myself or whether I am merely exhibiting a set of learned behaviors with the aim of fitting in. What makes me suspect this? I get little nudges from my conscience - a feeling that I should be, say, flapping my hands or talking at length and in detail about some topic of personal interest. Things I used to do as a child but have suppressed as I've grown.Since discovering that I have Aspergers I have become more aware that a number of things I used to do instinctively were characteristic of the condition. I see my innate Aspie traits on one side of a balance with my acquired "normal" traits on the other, and as one side rises into prominence the other side sinks from view. I've been feeling more and more that I am out of balance and I need to take corrective action to restore the equilibrium.
I've found that whereas in the past I had been led into thinking of my differences as aberrant behaviors to be corrected, I now consider them to be natural aspects of the way I am. I have accepted that I'm different - and the reasons underlying that - and I try to be more myself rather than struggling to "act normal". That said, there are some areas where my instinctive reactions are a hindrance to living independently: it's not possible to go through life without interacting with strangers at some point.
Identity and Self-confidence
My sense of self - my identity - is moderately strong: I know who I am and my core values are well-established in my mind. I might not always have the strength or confidence to actively uphold them but I find that I am incapable of acting against them. My self-confidence on the other hand varies according to the situation from bulletproof to non-existent. And that's where my anxiety creeps in.The Sum of All Fears
First a bit of background: there is a psychological theory of learning usually referred to as "The Four Stages of Competence". Briefly, the four stages are:- Unconscious incompetence where you are not aware of your lack of a skill.
- Conscious incompetence in which you become aware that you do not understand or know the skill.
- Conscious competence which is having the knowledge but not grokking it: knowing a sequence of steps and able to follow the sequence but without fluency. One still has to think heavily about the task.
- Unconscious competence where practice - rehearsal - has made the skill so familiar that it has become habit and little or no conscious effort is required to perform it.
When I am faced with a situation that is unfamiliar or where I can't predict what turns events may take I become anxious. I lack self-confidence in my ability to perform the task, whether it is making a phone call or interacting with strangers. I know I can manage well-defined, structured interactions such as ordering a pizza or going to the doctor because I have become familiar with the routines involved: I am around stages 3-4 in those cases. But with something that is off-the-wall where I would have to react according to the context I find myself back at stage 2 where I am all too aware that I don't really know what to do.
Breaking the Circle
At the moment I find myself trapped in a vicious circle where I have evolved strategies of avoidance when faced with anxiety-inducing situations. This prevents me gaining the experience to deal with similar situations in the future, and results in greater anxiety if I can't avoid them. I recently raised this problem with my GP and I've started a course of therapy to try to manage my fears so that they don't continue to be an obstacle to me doing things.Square One
One of the first tasks has been to analyze the roots of my anxiety: what triggers it, what is it I am afraid of? Many people have a fear of judgement: what will the other person think of them? But that's not it for me. My core fear is of failure, of not being able to complete the task. Fears of this kind in particular can affect people who grew up with a "gifted" label as I did. A lack of experience of failing makes any failure, however small, appear catastrophic. This leads to risk aversion, a strong drive to avoid the possibility of failure. Perhaps if I can learn to accept failure than I will be able to attempt things where I lack confidence. I can hope.Thursday, 30 May 2013
Going Back
There's a saying that might appear familiar to readers of Terry Pratchett: "You can't cross the same river twice". If it wasn't for the clue in his books that the obvious interpretation is not the intended one then I don't think I'd have worked it out. I'm too literal a thinker to have realized, unaided, that the river here refers to the water rather than its course. I'm not going to take the metaphor too far and start considering the water cycle through evaporation and rainfall by which the same water molecules could be crossed again. For the purposes of this metaphor, once the water has flowed downstream it must be considered "lost" as different water flows down, replacing it. The river crossing in this instance is an event in space-time: the time coordinate is key to understanding.
So far, so what? Is any of this relevant? Well,... yes. You see, I sometimes get nostalgic. I recall places in terms of past events and some of those events evoke memories of happiness. I feel a longing to experience a particular event again that going back to the same place in the present can't satisfy: it's not the same river.
This unsatisfied longing to go back to an event - a situation - in the past can be so overwhelmingly powerful that I feel a profound sense of loss because there is no way to return, wind back the clock. This can be a problem when I find myself in the same place doing the same thing, whether it's socializing, playing darts or watching a band. Association triggers memories of the historical event and I can be left feeling that there is something missing, some vital piece of the puzzle that would complete the picture.
So I'm left with my memories, replaying the experiences, going back in my mind instead of in time. Maybe I can't cross that river again, but it will always be there.
So far, so what? Is any of this relevant? Well,... yes. You see, I sometimes get nostalgic. I recall places in terms of past events and some of those events evoke memories of happiness. I feel a longing to experience a particular event again that going back to the same place in the present can't satisfy: it's not the same river.
This unsatisfied longing to go back to an event - a situation - in the past can be so overwhelmingly powerful that I feel a profound sense of loss because there is no way to return, wind back the clock. This can be a problem when I find myself in the same place doing the same thing, whether it's socializing, playing darts or watching a band. Association triggers memories of the historical event and I can be left feeling that there is something missing, some vital piece of the puzzle that would complete the picture.
So I'm left with my memories, replaying the experiences, going back in my mind instead of in time. Maybe I can't cross that river again, but it will always be there.
Monday, 20 May 2013
Wish You Were Here
Outside the Wall
To be a fly on the wall, an unseen observer. How many people have wished that at some point? Usually because of curiosity: they want to be in on private events that they would normally have no access to. It's a normal human feeling... and I don't experience it; I don't have that curiosity about the minutia of other people's lives.Eclipse
What I do experience is a desire to be unnoticed, to fade into the background, to become invisible, hidden. Not so that I can observe others but so that they can't observe me as I go about my daily activities.Paranoid Eyes
Obviously I'm not the invisible man. But is what people see really me or am I hiding behind this fleshy facade? Looking out through the eye-holes in my mask? Like a mask, my face doesn't show much of what I'm thinking or feeling: this is a common autistic trait. And I like it that way. I'm not comfortable with the idea of my private thoughts being broadcast involuntarily by a traitorous subconscious via facial expressions or other body language. I want to have full conscious control over every aspect of my communication.In the Flesh
That's an aspiration; the reality falls short and I find that people are able to "read" me in a limited way. But I find I get misread almost as often, so I guess I'm sending mixed signals. I've been wearing this body for nearly 40 years and I still don't have effortless control over its motor functions: it doesn't always move in the way I want so I can be physically awkward and clumsy. And this also applies to facial expressions and even speech: it takes me a degree of concentration if I'm not to speak indistinctly, mumble or slur my words.Speak to Me
I normally speak softly, only raising my voice when I'm overloaded or in meltdown when I don't have much control. Sometimes too softly and I get asked to repeat myself, which is fair enough given the number of times I have to ask people to repeat themselves. That or I just stand there for a spell while I try to decipher what I just heard into meaningful words. Chinese whispers has got nothing on what I think I've heard at times! It can be quite amusing but mostly it's just confusing and distracting.Us and Them
What is behind this desire to be apart rather than to be a part in social situations? It's partly a lack of affinity with in-groups: I have never identified with any group or class. Most people maintain an identity based on attributes shared with others, whether they support the same football team, listen to the same bands, go to the same church. I am, and always have been, just me. While I am well aware that my interests and activities overlap with those of other people I know, I don't feel that this makes me part of any social group.I'm just me, on my own, always on the periphery. Not so much a fly on the wall as outside the wall, looking in through the windows. The eternal outsider.
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