Stepping Out

It's not that I don't want to leave the house, I do. But sometimes, I just CAN'T. I usually don't have a problem if someone goes with me, but going into an unknown situation by myself, is really not doable. I have missed out on so many things in my life, because when it came down to time to go, I couldn't leave. I have been asked by acquaintances to meet for lunch, or play dates for children, etc., in what would and should be a furtherance of a budding friendship, but I just go ahead and make an excuse. I used to say yes, excitedly, that I was asked to do something outside of work or school. Eventually, I learned to just say no from the beginning because I would end up canceling at the last minute. The acquaintance finally learns that I am not going to take them up on any of the activities that they invite me to do. There goes the budding friendship. They just quit asking and eventually quit trying to be my friend.

Sometimes, I feel deeply connected to someone, for some unknown reason, and I will do my very best to support them in their endeavors or make myself participate in an activity to further the friendship. This weekend, I had one such event. 

I have a friend at work, whom I have been getting to know through work and Facebook. I comment on her posts or pictures frequently, and she does the same. We talk a lot at work and I have really grown to love and respect her. She is such a beautiful and classy woman. Someone that I personally am trying to model myself after. I do not have many girl friends, especially ones that are girly and classy like her. But she is not one of those fake, shallow type women. She is real. 

I was excited to find out several months ago that she is pregnant. She started telling me about the baby shower that her friends were going to throw her. She was really excited about it and would bring in things to show me, like pictures of the color scheme they were going to use for decorations. I didn't really think much about it beforehand, but I never would have thought that she would invite me, because it was her personal shower for friends and family and we are just "work friends."  One day, she showed me the invitation and told me she is getting them ready and she is going to give me one. I was secretly thrilled. She is just one of those people, in my mind, that is on a pedestal, and you want to be better friends with them, but you know you will never be cool enough. Like the popular kids in school. 

When I saw the invitation sitting on my desk the next Monday morning, I felt a shiver of fear. Would I be able to go? 

I asked my friend if men were going to be there, so my boyfriend could come with me. She said he was welcome to come, but there wouldn't be many men there except for hers. I tried to get my sister to go with me, but she wasn't feeling well. If I was going to do this, I'd have to do it on my own.
 
The day before the shower arrived, I was feeling really nervous. I worked tediously on my gift to her: a basket of assorted things, tied up with pretty, curled ribbon and covered with one of those cellophane bags. I wanted to make it beautiful and special for her.


I usually never fix myself up, unless I'm going somewhere special, for several reasons. I get so hot and terribly sweaty. It is like my body cannot regulate temperatures. I never blow dry my hair because I can't stand the noise or the heat and it's bad for your hair. Since my hair is like my security blanket, I do everything I can to keep it healthy and soft. Today, however, I dried my hair, curled it a little (this is a big to-do in our house), and I had to sit unclothed in front of a fan to cool off so I could hope to get some makeup on my face. By the time I cooled off enough, and slapped the makeup on, I had to throw my dress on and rush out the door. 


I did not mention that my friend is very stylish. I, however, am not. I told her that she needed to come and be my personal stylist because I just am clueless. It is strange, though, because I can look at others and tell whether what they have on is stylish or not. I usually just throw something on, anything that's half way clean really.


I tried, I really tried, to look great on my friend's special day. I knew all her stylish friends would be there and if I looked frumpy, they would all look at her like, who is this frumpy girl that you have invited to our inner circle event? I wore a long, brown beautiful dress that I have never been able to wear before. Unfortunately, I didn't have shoes that really looked OK with it, so I just had to wear some stupid sandals. 


I had to speed in the car to get there on time. I was so worried that I would be the last one in and all these beautiful people would turn to look at me, the frumpy girl, and wonder if I've walked into the wrong room. To beat all, I really had no clue where the shower was and I totally forgot the invitation and to Google Map the directions. Thankfully, I asked her on Friday to give me a roundabout idea of where it was. I was doing my best not to panic on the way there.


I arrived a few minutes late, unable to find a spot in the parking garage. I was on the lookout for anyone who looked like they might be heading to the same party so I could tag along with them. Once I finally found a spot in the very back, darkest part of the garage and walked to the elevator, I was out of breath and sweaty. My makeup was not going to be pretty by the time I got there.


Thankfully, I found a couple of ladies on the elevator whom I could walk with. They made me feel uncomfortable, like I didn't belong, but whether that was them or me, I really couldn't say. 


When we walked into the event room where the shower was being held, I definitely felt out of place. There were maybe 25 tables with 4 seats each. Many of them were already filled with black ladies. I was the only white woman there. I looked around hoping that I would see someone that I knew. Nobody. I quietly put down my gifts and sat by myself at a table. I felt like they must have been wondering who is this white girl and why is she here! 


Thankfully, someone that my friend and I used to work with came in and asked me to join her table. One lady at the table, used to work with us, but I never met her before she quit. The other lady, none of us knew, but she was a joy. 


I just want to say that I do not state the fact that all these ladies are black for any negative reason, except to allow the reader to feel my own discomfort at being the only white person. The fact cannot be denied that there is still racism alive in the world, and I didn't know who of these ladies may be racist towards me encroaching on their time together.

As I sat at this little table with these four ladies, I had the best time that I have had in a very long time. I was so blessed to be a part of this special event. I really felt more at home there than I have in many, many social outings. It was joyous to talk to other mothers about the joys of motherhood, breastfeeding and pregnancy. I felt overwhelmed at being welcomed into the inner circle of my friend's friends and family. I was absolutely the only person that currently works with my friend that she invited to her shower. I felt really honored because of that. 

As I left, my feet did not touch the ground. I was floating on air. The laughter and joy I shared with about 40 black women that day brought me back to life. I thank God for my friend and for these ladies. I am proud of myself for stepping out and I hope that I will continue to grow and get better. I have more life to live!

Here at the End of All Things

I keep hearing this phrase in my head. It is from the movie Lord of the Rings. It is so suiting. I feel like I am at the end.

I am to the point where I cannot take it any longer. Work is adding too much stress to my life. I would feel better about it if I was single with no kids. Actually, I wouldn’t. This particular job would not work for me. I need to be able to stay home. I need to be able to keep my own schedule and decide my own work flow.

I cannot function as a normal adult does. Why am I forced to keep up the charade as if I can? I would like to try to ask for accommodations at work, but what I need is not possible at this office. I need an office, or at least a cubicle away from everyone else. Only the “bigwigs” get the offices, of course, and there really isn’t anywhere out of the way that I could have a cubicle. I would like to ask to have the florescent lights overhead turned off, but they also give light to the others near me. And also, I have to be diagnosed first.

Speaking of diagnosis, I have an appointment with the psychologist this Thursday. I am truly horrified. He is not one that specializes in this sort of thing and he is probably going to tell me I schizophrenic or something. I don’t know… That would be fine, I guess. Maybe it would provide me some way to quit work, go to a mental institution, work from home, get on disability, something…anything.

I don’t want to be a grown up any more! I can’t. I cannot do it. I cannot play this grown up game any more. I posted a question on an Adult Asperger's Support Group website asking if people work and if not, how they support themselves. Most responses that they did not work. I don’t understand why everyone else can find a way and I cannot.

I really feel that I have more to do with my life than to sit behind a desk and process papers. I feel like I am called to help children, pregnant women, mothers. I want to help people. I had some ideas, but how to carry it out and support my family while doing it… well, that I don’t know yet.

So, here I am at the end of all things. Is this the end or is this a beginning?

Enchilada Sauce: Catalyst for WWIII

Oh, enchilada sauce. Who knew you were such an antagonizing condiment? My boyfriend usually fixes dinner for us because... well, I suck at cooking. He was making bean burritos and gave the call to come and get it. I was busy doing double duty with my young son and my obsession, cityville. 


He walked into the living room with his plate of burritos and some sauce on top of them. I asked if it was enchilada sauce. ****BOOM****


He went off on me because apparently I had asked him this same question numerous times while he was cooking (if he was using enchilada sauce). I have absolutely no recollection of this. I'm afraid I do this all the time. I will ask a question and in the time it takes someone to answer it, I have forgotten that I asked it and forget to listen for the answer. 


I also have a lot of trouble hearing and if I do hear, most of the time I don't understand. Needless to say, he is constantly having to repeat himself. 


Sometimes I feel so stupid. Sometimes I feel like he needs to get over it, because this is who I am. I have asked him to research Aspergers and being in a relationship with someone that has it. He feels that I should be formally diagnosed before he gets all crazy with reading up on it. I am not sure why that matters. I think he may have read a little yesterday at my most recent prod, but he will not delve very far into it. I think he just doesn't like to sit and read stuff. When I got home from work, he shot a bullet at me from something he had read, "you can't love, so why does it even matter if I try any more?" UGH. 


I really wish that people that don't have Aspergers would quit trying to explain Aspergers. I really, really don't think that you can even begin to understand what it's like...


Even the DSMIV or what ever it is, the official diagnosis criteria for doctors... I personally think it is lacking. Just my personal opinion.


Back to our argument.  His reaction was WAY out of proportion for the event. He has been doing this lately and I am not sure why. He literally went off on me for having to repeat himself a few times. He yelled, screamed, cussed. I didn't understand. I didn't know what was happening. I was scared. 


I honestly just shut down. I couldn't process. I had to just stop what I was doing and go to bed without a word. This was at maybe 6 or 7 pm. I hadn't had dinner. I actually hadn't eaten all day and was starving. I was looking forward to eating and then playing with my son before bed. I had to just go to bed and put the covers over my head like a scared little kid because I didn't know what else to do.


I have tried to talk to him about these things since, but we haven't really gotten any where because he never does anything wrong and I am "crazy" and "ridiculous."


I have my first therapy session in a long time tomorrow. It's with the Employment Assistance Program through work. I hope that I can get some stuff figured out.

Best Laid Plans

I always sit at work in my cubicle every day thinking for eight straight hours about what needs to be done at home. I make lists and lists and lists. And then one more list for good measure. I put them in my purse and leave at 5 with the best intentions. I am gung-ho. Something happens on the way between home and work. Sometimes it might be a little tif with the boyfriend. It might be having to run errands and being tired. Usually, it's just walking in the door and seeing what needs to be done and the enormity of it. Yes, it's gotten out of hand. I just don't know where to start. I am too lazy/tired/upset/frustrated to even get the damn list out of my purse.

I beat myself up nearly every minute of the day for all the things I am not doing. I am not being a good mother. I am not being a good employee. I am not a good housekeeper. I am not a cook - good or bad. I am... what?

I am not going to make excuses. Aspergers. Childhood. I could, but I won't. This is me... all me. My laziness. I am a child in a grown up's body. I do not know how to function in the adult world. I do not know how to get my shit together.

All I want is for my child to grow up and be a kind, loving, good person, have a good life and know, truly know, the love of his mother. 

I know, absolutely, the only reason I have the blessings that I have is because of the grace of God. I have a great job, co-workers, a nice home, a good car, the most wonderful son that someone could ask for, the best friends of ten and more years, a good family. None of that is because of me. If I were left to my own devices, all those good things would not be in my life now. 

Today, I realized that I must have some kind of plan. As someone with Aspergers, I thrive on plans, routines and schedules. I have had no plan... no sense of a purpose. I have just been being carried on the waves of life and whatever I felt like doing at the time...which mostly means sitting on the couch playing cityville which is my current obsession between caring for and playing with my son. Nothing else has mattered. No housework, no sleep, no nothing. Just bare minimum. 

I took a good look at myself today and didn't like what I saw. My son has been my priority since he was born, but I have not put enough action into the priority. Thinking/saying it is one thing, but doing it, even when I'm tired/run down/aggravated, that is another thing.

A long time ago, the Lord gave me help with dealing with my stepchildren (no longer married to their dad). It is hard to explain... it's more of a feeling that I had, but it's something like this... No matter what small or big thing you do for a child, you do it for them, for their entire life. This little thing may impact them when they are 18 or 30. Everything you do for a child matters. So make sure you are doing good things and treating them with love and respect. God was telling me then that I should not take into account my husbands ex-wives when dealing with the children and not resent the children because of their mothers, but love them. That was a life changing lesson. And nearly 10 years later, it is still changing my life.


Today, I am learning that every little thing I do, is going to benefit my son. Even if it is something I doing for myself, like exercising, I benefit my son. If the house is cleaner; if the food is healthier; if the money is budgeted better, it will benefit him. 


I, of course, wrote out my lists today, but I did it differently. Instead, I made real goals and set out my priorities and specifically what actions I can take to make sure they are actual priorities. I had to specifically set goals/tasks for myself daily, weekly, monthly. Now, every day when I get home from work, I will do my very best to not get on the computer. I will spend quality time with my son,  feed him a healthier meal, wash and PUT UP at least one load of laundry and sweep the floors. Every other week, I will give the dog a bath. Once a month, I will have a Big Project Saturday - to do an all day house project, like cleaning up the storage area or hanging photos. 


I know it must seem absolutely ridiculous to "normal" people to have to make a schedule, written down and constantly checked for things like sweeping the floor. Unfortunately, it's normal to me. If I don't have something on the schedule to do, I will do nothing, except what comes naturally, which is whatever I am obsessed with at the time. 


I hope beyond hope that I can hold to these decisions. I am going to take it one day at a time and not put too much pressure on myself at first. Huge changes all at once are not good for people like us.



I am ready to quit beating myself up everyday for what seems like normal to me.
 

Just Smile and Nod

I'm driving to work. I'm rushing, but I'm fine. I'm alone. In my quiet car. 

I scan my key card to get into the door to work and I am instantly assaulted by the florescent lights, the noise, the hustle and bustle. Welcome to the office.

Lots of people hate their job, but I don't hate my job. I hate the things that no one else notices or ever even thinks about. It is affecting my work. Instead of getting 20 files done before lunch like my fellow slacker co-workers, I only did 11. If there were a medal for Slacker of the Year, it would be mine. It's not that I want to be like this,  but the assault on my senses makes me just shut down. I can't focus long enough to meet my quota. Between intermittent work, hiding out in the bathroom and too many smoke breaks, I google "dealing with Aspergers at work." I am trying to find some help. Instead, all I find are links to sites which try to help parents deal with their aspie kid.


I get frustrated, I decide I must write a blog about being an adult with Aspergers and the things I go through every day. Just to get it out because there is no one I can really talk to about these things.


[As I am writing this, my boyfriend is on the couch, watching tv. It is much too loud for my ears and I cannot concentrate. I should have my own remote that controls the volume.]


In preparation for my blog, I must make a list. Lists, lists and more lists! I look around my desk for pad of paper. I don't have a new one, so I head to the supply closet. The only one left is one of those brownish, recycled paper kinds. Ew. No. The paper feels weird and its brown. What will I do! I need a pad of paper NOW! While I'm there, I want to grab another hi-lighter cause last time they ordered some that I really loved. Now, they have a different kind. I want to pitch a fit about them not ordering the same things every time, however, I don't. That is not what responsible grown ups that work in offices do.


A co-worker walks in to make some copies. I am "friends" with her. One of the people that tells me about intimate details of their life while I smile and nod.  I really can't stand to talk to her because she has one of those things about her I can't stand and its all I see. She has those teeth where it looks like she sucked her thumb for way too long into childhood. And people with those teeth usually have this pointed tongue thing going on that I can't really explain. It really bothers me. I just keep looking at the cabinets while she talks so I don't have to see her teeth. She says some stuff, but I don't know how to reply, so I just do my fake laugh and say, "that's funny," which is a move I have perfected over the last 30 years I have been talking. 

Finally I get away and get back to my desk. I suppose I will have to use white, unlined copy paper. I really want a fresh, new pad of paper. My anxiety ripples just underneath my skin. I start writing my blog.