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?

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.