Yesterday

All my troubles seemed so far away. But distance is all subjective. They felt so far away because my partner and I had enjoyed one good evening in each other’s company. It made the world of difference.

But it didn’t last. It never lasts. I embarked on what was actually an incredibly tough day, with little to no support from anyone around me – least of all him. Continue reading “Yesterday”

Jealous Guy

Another song title – this time John Lennon’s, but one I have had pounding through my mind this weekend, in anticipation of today, when my partner spent the morning with friends and their kids. Continue reading “Jealous Guy”

In-dependence Day

Which is veeeeeeery different to “independence”, in that I am probably, most likely, almost surely mired in dependence on my partner.

And he has gone away for three days with work, which shouldn’t be a big deal to me, but is.

Because it means my routines have changed. It means my environment has changed; emptied of his sounds and presence. And it means my responsibilities have changed, too. I now have sole charge of our dog, and must now try to remember and accomplish all of the things that are usually his job to remember and accomplish.

In short, I must, for these three days, be two people. Which is difficult when, on most days, I barely feel like one….

There may be trouble ahead

I’m not sure why all of my blog titles come to me as a song title, but there you have it. Enjoy this Nat King Cole classic.

The point of it, though… Well these last few weeks have been hard – personally, yes, but also, and mostly as a result of which, within my relationship, too.

“Turbulent”.

It seems, at every turn, another of my autistic traits comes under the microscope – or is placed on trial, depending on the context – and I find myself arguing in defence of it; a defence most often founded on the “but I can’t help it” principle. It holds little sway usually and it becomes apparent to me just what my poor partner is truly faced with.

On the face of it, at least, it appears that I am asking for a free pass to be infinitely selfish, unwaveringly rude and duly entitled to rant, rave, sulk and storm out as I see fit, all at the expense of his own feelings and any notion that he might be right and I, wrong. In truth, though, this is, of course, never the intention. In my own mind – and with my limited self-knowledge – I can piece together exactly how autistic traits lead me astray and into a dead-end minefield from which I cannot return.

To begin, I fatally misunderstand something he has said – because I have taken him too literally, and it doesn’t compute. Then I expend my energy on trying to make him see why I would take it literally. Usually I am adamant it could not be taken any other way. As such, it is either black or white. He either meant it the way I took it, or he didn’t mean it that in which case he shouldn’t have said it at all. There is, despite his protestations, never a shade of grey in my sights, in which he could have, of course, meant it differently to how I took it.

Once he has not backed down, though, or seen where I am coming from and why, then I am simply immovable from my position until he humbles himself and attempts to repair communications and my feelings – such is my stubbornness. Add to this a perfectionist level of expectation, and it is little wonder he feels he can never win.

That said, there are ways and means to combat this system, and if I can figure out how I work and what I need and don’t need, then so can he. Though he shouldn’t really need to, as he has been told multiple times.

But there, in a nutshell example, is evidence of how difficult I, personally, can be to live with. I am lucky to have someone in my life at all, and though, at the moment, he is not quite capable of supporting me through my condition – and especially not in episodes like the above example – it is enough for me that someone wants to try.

I will always be thankful of that at least.

I’m a problem-solver, a twisted problem-solver

Which is better in a way than being a firestarter. Though, in my own, way I start fires every damn day.

No, this is a topic that has only really come to make sense to me, in a broad kind of way., lately. I do not consider myself a problem-solver in a typically autistic way… Science and numbers are beyond me, as are puzzles like crosswords, Sudoku and Rubik’s Cube etc.

Instead, I can examine the pattern of my life – and analyse my own perspective – and see that it is all based, fundamentally, on trying to solve a problem. It explains so much of my past, and why I encourage others around me to just.. Give something a go. Because you just keep.. Trying. Whatever it takes, y’know… To solve the problem.

And I like it. On reflection, it has been misconstrued as resilience, or optimism, when in truth, I am an infinite, crushing mess inside. But still I like it. It is perhaps one thing about myself, and my journey, that I can say I am proud of and I like. I wonder if it is the case that others give up more easily in the face of things, but I – in my determination to solve the problem – keep plodding on and trying something else…

I wonder if that is my general fascination with people… That I don’t understand them and they are a constantly-evolving problem to try and solve…

Interesting…

Jane and George went to the supermarket.

George spotted a packet of biscuits that he fancied. They weren’t on the list, but he felt he deserved a treat so put them in the basket. That night, George opened the biscuits and had a few. They were very nice and he enjoyed them. He looked forward to returning to them another day.

Some days later, he went for the biscuits after dinner. There were half as many now as when he last had them. Confused, he asked Jane if she’d eaten any of them. Jane said she had. Jane said she thought they were for both of them.

George was very irate and spent almost half an hour telling Jane, in a very upset voice, that the biscuits were his. George explained that, in the supermarket, Jane had shown no interest in the biscuits and did not indicate that she would ever want some. George also tried to explain that he had chosen them and put them in the basket thus meaning they were, obviously, his.

Jane said it was fine, she would never eat biscuits ever again, and asked him if he was happy now.