Days of Gratitude - The First Days.

I said on January 1st in a post about things for which I am grateful that I have joined a group on Facebook run through the Sunday Assembly in Newcastle.  It's a gratitude group.  The idea is that you post a picture and/or description each day of something for which you are grateful.

It's good to be able to focus on gratitude because often the days can be hard and sometimes the challenges are immense.  But if we can focus on gratitude then that can help to change our outlook on our lives.

The first days.  Here are my gratitude pictures from December 30th (I started two days early) until January 7th.  There will be a blog post soon covering my gratitude pictures from January 8th to 18th.  I've been away from home - giving them some peace there - and have so much to be very thankful for.  A few more blogs of photos are planned too which will be a relief to anyone who struggles with the amount of words I can usually scribble.

Looking back on these nine days brings me nine smiles.  I can recommend this practice to you all.  Smiles when you experience things.  Smiles when you record them.  And smiles when you look back on the recorded experiences.

 

 

December 30th

Today I am grateful as I remember the simple pleasure of Sunday morning, sharing the sunrise with my child.

December 31st

It's still a day early for posting. But. This calendar.

Not just the calendar. But the friend who sent it to me. One of the new friendships in 2015.

This calendar and friendship may get a repost in a few weeks on the day her cat is featured.

January 1st
I am grateful that at the start of this year I understand myself a hell of a lot better than I did a year ago, that I was able to accept something I'd been denying for a very long time. Understanding brings hope and a place to begin to build a life I can do, rather than keeping on trying to build a life I could never do.

January 2nd
Today I am thankful that I am finally being brave enough to play and not worry too much about the (nearly complete) result. And that some things take attention, not skill.

I wanted to walk but the weather put me off so this happened to sheet one of the first pad of art paper I have ever bought.
 

January 3rd

Productive use of insomnia last night. Another three feet of books cleared out that don't belong in my future.

I am grateful because - and this is miraculous - there is now a 10 inch gap on one of the sets of bookshelves in my bedroom.

A gap! Woo hoo!

January 4th

Grateful to be able to walk through Jesmond Dene in the rain with child. Grateful for the noise of the waterfall even if I couldn't have a lie down on my favourite rock, just to the left of the middle of the water. Grateful for the store of grateful photos taken in the last 24 hours.

January 5th


I forgot to take a picture. But this place.

A friend got me to come along to an art group there this morning and I played with oil paint for the first time ever. I haven't got the foggiest idea what I'm meant to be doing with it but that's okay. It's about fun not perfection or finesse.

January 6th

Grateful for this book which arrived in the post this week (and which cost 51p) One exercise down, 365 to go. 500 free written words Above all, this is about fun and play but it should help lots with making my writing more, er, existing.

It was so much fun chuckin' down words that the book got a blog post - and if anyone wants to do the exercise too I'd love to see the varied results that fall out of people's heads. http://reborn-as-woman.blogspot.co.uk/

January 7th
Grateful for the meeting I had this morning, that there are people like that in the world.

Grateful that she is very understanding and was happy to traipse across town with me in the wet because the cafe I'd suggested, that is normally quiet enough for me, felt far too loud today.

Grateful that this potentially sizable project we have in mind is actually likely to happen and that by the end of the year something good may exist that currently doesn't. All we want as a social support and advocacy organisation that is also an information centre, campaigning group and provider of education and training on a particular subject. Nothing big!

But I didn't take a photo. So here's a happy three-legged unicorn that was seen on a post somewhere a while back.

 

The Write-Brain Workbook. Day 1. Exorcist, Insensitive, Massage

I received a little money at Christmas.  I've spent it on books.  Some are about autism.  Some are about art.  And a couple are about writing.  These are three of the areas on which I want to focus right now.

One of the books I've treated myself to is "The Write-Brain Workbook" by Bonnie Neubauer.  An exercise for every day of a year that should "liberate your writing."  Okay this is me and day two doesn't necessarily immediately follow day one, or day three follow day two.  But the exercises are there.  It wasn't a costly treat - fifty-two pence plus p&p.  But that's more expensive than "The Artist's Date Book" by Julia Cameron which is on order and I am looking forward to receiving.

The Write-Brain Workbook is about free writing.  It's about all kinds of ways to get over the fact that sitting down in front of a blank page can be a scary experience.  Each day gives an exercise to do and a little bonus exercise too.  Each exercise - and the exercises are pretty varied - gives a prompt and you write from it, with a few basic rules:

Keep Writing.
Don't Edit.
Let Yourself Go.
Be Specific.
Don't Negate Your Work.
Have Fun.

For most of us these simple rules can be quite difficult to follow - and the option is given to rebel against them if that is more free for us at the time.  The rules have more information, for instance:

Let Yourself Go:  Don't worry about the end result.  Give yourself permission to write junk.  Don't hold back.  Don't filter.  Go on an adventure.  Play.

I'm trying to learn this.  I've been beginning to explore art recently - tentative steps - and not worry.  I've always tended to stop myself doing anything artistic because I'm not Rembrandt or Shakespeare or "as good as" those around me.  Thanks to the enthusiastic prompting of friends I have finally begun to learn that it doesn't matter one little bit and that art and creativity is primarily about fun and self expression not about producing something popular or dignified or worthy to be hung in a gallery or recited at the Hay-on-Wye Festival.

Today was day one.  The book says any day can be any day.  But I've started with one.  Here's the exercise.

_____________________

Circle Game one

Circle the one word that most appeals to you:
Alabama    Banister    Carousel    Diesel    Exorcist

Circle the one word the most appeals to you:
Flatulence    Garage    Harried    Insensitive    Jambalaya

Circle the one word that most appeals to you:
Keepsake    Lamb    Massage    Nonsense    Oriole

Use these three words in a story.  Start with:
Sometimes I feel just like a gerbil, running around and around in his wheel!

If you like.  Stop reading now.  Go away, complete the exercise.  And then, if you like, post your writing as a comment here.  I'd love to see what other people make of this game.  And it is a game.  It's not a chore.  It's not something with a deadline, paid by the word.  This whole book is meant to be fun - fun with a purpose, but fun.


One exercise done.  I think the other 365 are going to give me a lot of pleasure -  far more than worth the £3.31 including postage that I invested in the book.

A photo, to give you a pleasing place to sit if you don't want to be thinking about running on the wheel.

This was taken at Tynemouth last month on a really windy day when sitting and soaking in the view wasn't a desirable choice.



Here is what I wrote.  I followed the rule:  "Give yourself permission to write junk!"  And so I just wrote.

Sometimes I feel just like a gerbil, running around and around on his wheel! I am compelled to keep going, determined to make progress but I achieve nothing. Stepping off is not an alternative because what would I be stepping into? He has his home, the safety of a nest and all the food and water he wants is given to him without him even asking. But I'd be stepping back into that mess and nothing would have changed. All I can do is keep running, keep hoping that the next turn of the wheel will change something and there will be hope of life, hope that I can forgive the past and that the future will be one free of the wounding, the bloody injuries to my mind.

I've tried everything. I've tried to clear the mess, attempted to sit in quiet acceptance of it all. I've worked through countless self-help books and visited all manner of gurus and light-workers and charlatans and snake-oil peddlers. I've convinced myself of my own insanity. I've turned to the extremes of religion and they could not see any reason for my predicament unless I was demon possessed. And so they sent an exorcist. Another year, another religion, another attempt at exorcising my soul from the literal demons or the demon-like ways of my mind. But they failed, and failed and failed over and over and every time I thought I saw the light and the glimmer of freedom it was snatched away from me in the error of the system, the brokenness of the theory, the crazy wide-eyed enthusiasm of the zealot doomed to discouragement and disillusionment when the joy of the way turns to the despair of just another stupid dead end.

So I keep running and the past chases me. I keep running and the terrified screams of my mind run with me. It has been so long that I hardly hear them. I am so used to all this that as long as I keep running and running and never letting go of hope I am insensitive to the sound, to the painful unending torment. I can't stop running because then I hear and I fall and I am lost again to brutality and the slow death. I can't stop because then I am tempted to look back and see everything that I have failed to escape. I can't rest. Never rest. Rest is impossible.

The limbs of my mind ache. The breathing of my thoughts is forever laboured and the heart of my soul is constantly pushed to the limits of endurance. I would love to stop. Love to find another hope even if it's another false hope. Because at least those gave me a break. They were like a relaxation therapy, an inner massage and a chance to recover energy. True, each time they led to me being kicked so hard that I thought I would never recover from the pain. But while they lasted they were relief from the agony.

And so I run. Onwards. Onwards. I can imagine the end in sight but it never comes closer.

Will I run forever? Or will the wheel break, and I be broken upon it?

Grant me hope. Grant me life.

2016. Day One. Things For Which I Am Grateful.

It's a new year.  An idea was suggested at the last Sunday Assembly that there would be a facebook group on which people would post pictures each day of things for which they are grateful.  I've signed up and started posting early.  Celebrating our gratitude and the gratitude of others is a good idea.  And in the spirit of that, here's a blog post filled with some of the things for which I am grateful.

2015 was unexpectedly hard for me, perhaps the hardest I've ever had.  That is saying a lot given what's happened in previous years - not least 2013 and 2014 in which I came to terms with my gender, my precious faith fell apart, my dad's health deteriorated rapidly and my mum died of cancer.  In 2015 my mental health has been worse than it has been for a very long time and there have been some awful times.  Awful times.  Many tears.  Near despair.  Meltdowns.  Shutdowns.  Sometimes very publicly.  I am currently on four different waiting lists relating to different aspects of my mental health.  But today I don't want to focus on the bad parts of the year because there has been so much good.

So.  Some positives.  There are many to choose from.  These are just a few.

Autism.

2015 has been the year of accepting myself as autistic, starting to learn what that means for my entire life and for the future.  It's been the year of gaining a lot more self understanding.  It's been very difficult for me but worthwhile.  The way that certain unconscious survival techniques fell apart and I learned what it's like without them has been staggeringly difficult.  But I am glad to know who I am at a base level and to be at the point where I can begin to learn to live as who I am rather than as who I am not.

The process of reading and learning and of examining my entire life has been wild.  It affects pretty much every aspect of how I see my life and of how I should seek to be living it in the future.  And through the year I've found excellent people to read online and then met great people.  That led in August to Autscape, a four day gathering/conference for autistic people.  Such a wonderful time.  My name badge from Autscape hangs by my bed.

Autism will affect the rest of my life.  The hopes for this year include learning a lot more about it, seeking some training in how to help and educate others, to be involved with a network in Newcastle for support, advocacy, campaigning and education and to go back to university and study autism in an academic context.  The hopes for the rest of my life are to live it more fully, as someone who can be wonderfully autistic rather than thinking she is a dysfunctional neurotypical.  There will probably be many surprises.

I could write much about autism and my life, and I'm sure much will be written this year.

The Church.

My faith has seen highs and lows and most of the time I don't particularly believe in a creator God-being.  But church is still a home and the people there have stuck by me through everything - even the time where my mental health was such that I pulled out of leading worship half way through a service in which I was helping lead worship.  I haven't been able to go back to that role or any other role.  I am grateful for what Northern Lights MCC has been in my life for the last two and a half years.

Friends I didn't know a year ago.

In particular:

The autistic friend who helped me accept that I might be autistic after all and helped me get to the point at which I had to face myself.  She also got me to read the first of a series of books that I mention later.  And I am grateful for her company, which is always relaxing because there is open encouragement to be who we are and to accept each other in all our perfect imperfections.

The wonderful Christian friend I met at an atheist gathering.  She is so accepting and has encouraged me consistently to be myself, that it's okay to be me, and has encouraged me to explore creativity.  And she tells me how I've helped her which is great to know.

The wonderful witch friend I met at a day singing Christian songs.  Her company is relaxing and I just know whatever happens time with her won't be predictable.  Case in point:  The day I went for a walk in the country with her and ended up leading a pagan funeral for someone's dog.

The wonderful people who are a part of Autism In Mind, a charity based in Sunderland that does so much excellent work for autistic people and in campaigning and education.

Two of the Blue Babes.  Wonderful people I met at Autscape.  We started a little group to talk (and mainly text) and we've been in contact since.  I hope to see them both before Autscape if I can.  The cat pictured belongs to one of the Babes.

And last, but most definitely not least, the other member of the Blue Babes.  Another wonderful person.  We have become very close and she is massively precious to me.  I am extremely thankful that we met and that we have become what we have become.  I guess I may be writing more about us through the course of this year.  There have been quite a few surprises in the last year but she is the biggest surprise I've had and I am grateful to be surprised in this way.  We love each other so much and are both incredibly thankful that we have each other and can share what we share.

This is Portal.  She made Portal for me.  Portal is named partly because we can't be together much but can be connected by a Portal.  Portal is also named after the Archbishop of Canterbury.

Hearts.  To represent us.  Together.  We love.

One of us is blue.  The other is purple.







Just a few positives.  I could talk of my home, my wife, my child, the way people were understanding when my mental health stopped me doing things that I could really have done with doing.  I could talk of Shape Note singing and the joy of that terrible noise!  I could talk of living in Newcastle which is a place that's been so good to me.  I could talk of playing in the sunshine in the water fountains of the Olympic Park when visiting one of the Blue Babes.

I could talk of encountering Broadacre House, of being able to help with the work for refugees - if only for a brief period of good mental health, of the mindfulness groups I've been to there.  And there will be a Broadacre post sometime - with some of the photos I took wandering round the place a few months ago.  I reckon there will be more unexpected Broadacre things in my life this year.  Here's a collaborative picture a few of us made in a session during the Peace Conference there in September.

I could talk of drinking tea in Tea Sutra.  There was a lot of tea drinking in 2015.

I could talk of the joy of having a concessionary bus pass.  The joy of being able to get to the coast easily, not having to buy a ticket, and seeing sights like this.

I could talk of the way I endlessly find new music to enjoy.  Of how much I like my noise cancelling headphones.  I could talk about how 2015 was the year in which I made my first steps into playing with art and how it looks like that will develop this year.  Art is freedom.  The future can be freedom too.  This is my first art attempt - made for a friend's birthday.

I could talk of spirituality and the exploration in the last year.  Or of the free meditation group, Soul Food Spaces, that I have been introduced to in the autumn.  I could talk about an incredible series of children's books, Skulduggery Pleasant.  (If you haven't read those books, read those books)  And of the first post-Skulduggery book by Derek Landy and how fun the signing evening was when we got him to sign two full sets of his books.

I could talk about how my hormone treatment as a transgender woman is progressing well.  I could talk of how I was able to see a friend again who I hadn't seen since 1988.  I could talk about the fact I've taken more photographs in the last four months than perhaps in the previous forty-four years.  I could talk about how we replaced our very collapsed sofa with a lovely, comfy three piece suite, which cost us £25 plus delivery.

I could talk of so many things.  That's not an exhaustive list.

Yes, 2015 has been one of the most difficult of my life.  But there is so much good.  And today I choose to focus on all that is good.  And a year that starts out surprisingly very different to how the last one began.  There are a lot more challenges.

But I firmly believe that the future will be better than the past.

Things People Said to an Autistic Person Like Me

This is something I wrote at that point when I had worked out that I am autistic and began to tell friends about it and get autistically obsessive about the subject.  I posted it elsewhere at the time - somewhere I knew that nobody would read it.  I just found it again and post it here without edits:

 ____________________

Amazing how many of these things have already been said to me.  I know I talk incessantly about autism but I haven’t been doing it for long as it was only recently that I was able to admit this about myself after years of denial and even of shame.

On mentioning it for the first time to a small group of intelligent people from the local philosophy society I got the following reactions.  I’d said that I was seeking assessment to get this diagnosis made official.  The philosophers responded:

“But you don’t look autistic.”

“But isn’t everyone on the spectrum?”  That person went on to “prove” that he must be on the spectrum because he likes the Rubik’s Cube.  As if that proved a thing.  In any case, his best time was rubbish compared to my best time - from the year I spent with the cube in the early 80s using what would now be thought of as primitive solving techniques.

“But autism doesn’t even exist.”

I’m not always sure that the local philosophers are particularly philosophical.

A few days ago I was told that I shouldn’t “be doing all that autistic stuff” because it might affect my child.  As if I have any choice whatsoever about doing anything I’m doing to discover and accept myself.  And I have been told that I’m avoiding my family by “jumping on the autism bandwagon.”

Yes.  It will affect my child.  But there are a lot of things that people don’t know.  Long term this will affect my child and my family life for the better.  We talk about it, discuss it at length.  Coming out as transgender brought my family closer together in honesty, openness, compassion, the freedom to be who we are.  What we’re all going through in this autism exploration is having the same effect.  Yes, there are many challenges in all this.  But they lead to a much healthier way of living in this home - the sort of health that self acceptance and the unconditional acceptance of each other brings, the sort of health that means we can all be increasingly open and authentic in our difficulties, knowing that all we will get is support from each other.  It may be a strange thing but my coming out as transgender and now my self acceptance about autism has increased the support my child gets, the safety they feel, and the knowledge that they can be who they are and still have that support - and, giving no details, my child is not exactly “average.”

Yes.  It’s true.  People, well meaning, caring people, really say things like that. Not sure they have a great deal of insight into how this particular family ticks.  They speak from a position that is loving.  It is compassionate.  But it’s a position that lacks knowledge of the inner world of this actually quite amazing and complicated little family unit.

This particular friend feels that the label of autism will drive people like her away because it makes her feel that she will never understand me.  Which is totally backwards:

The label (as much as it is a label) should help her to understand me in a way that she couldn’t understand me before.  It should increase her understanding of me.  In fact it may show that while she may have never understood me before (Unintentionally I never gave her the key to do so) it will now become a lot easier to see me and know roughly how I function.

The only future problem there should be regarding understanding is that the label points to the fact that I will continue to have problems understanding other people.  The only difference accepting the label and the truth makes is that I no longer have to feel so guilty and ashamed about it.  Which should, in time, help with all relationships.

The video is over.  Youtube recommends others. I’ve seen one of the autism ones before when my child showed it to me.  It’s certainly the same video maker - I can tell.  I can’t recognise the person but I recognise the bookshelf behind her!

________________

Much has happened since writing that.  I've grown in knowledge of autism.  I've grown in knowledge of myself.  I've met lots of autistic people and found new friends.  I've grown into more self acceptance.  And it really has not been easy.  There have been very difficult times.  And I've screwed up more than once. Dealing with accepting myself as gloriously autistic is worthwhile and will lead to a better future but it's been the hardest thing I've ever done.  There is still much to work through and more to learn about myself and how best to live and learn to function and even thrive in this world.

Six weeks ago I was officially diagnosed as autistic which is good.  There are benefits to that beyond not having people refuse to believe that I might be autistic because a medical professional hasn't given me a piece of paper that "proves" it.  I didn't find a single person in the autism community who disbelieved me on account of not having a medical diagnosis.  But I found a lot of neurotypical people were unable to accept me as autistic.

By the way, the video maker mentioned at the end is Amythest Schaber.  She posted a video and transcript of a talk a couple of days ago that is really worth watching or reading.  You can find it at this link.  Highly recommended.

The only other thing I posted where I posted this was a haiku.  A company called Stimtastic offered the prize of a stim toy in a random draw.  To enter you had to post a haiku about stimming on a particular day.  I didn't win.  But here's the haiku:

Beads held; caressed, pressed.
Balance in centred comfort,
They become my breath.

How I love my beads.  And how I love the metal chains I grabbed at Autscape.  I wear one round my wrist most of the time and play with it lots and when the light reflects from the little metal links in the chain I can get lost and just hold them in front of my eyes until they become my entire universe and then the feelings of wonder and bliss might overtake the feelings of sensory overload or being socially overwhelmed.  My world shrinks to a tiny point in space and time and it's wonderful.  A year ago I would never have allowed myself to stim or to find this enjoyment.  Now I am learning to and learning that it is a part of who I am, a part to be embraced and celebrated rather than rejected.  A part to be lived even when it looks odd or when the social rules say I should act "normal."  There's still a part of me that shouts at me, "Don't stim, it's bad."  And still people who would prefer I didn't do it, that I wasn't publicly fiddling with a chain or getting lost in the light on it or chewing it.  From the video at the top of this post - I have actually had someone grab my hands and say "Quiet hands!"  But no, these hands weren't made to be constantly quiet.

Three months ago today was the last day of Autscape, four days that have changed my world. One day I may write about it.  There are so many things I should be writing about.

Thoughts on Autistic Hair-Dryers and Neurotypical Toasters.

I've said this before:  I thought that coming to terms with being autistic would be simple but the reality has been that it's possibly the most difficult thing I've ever done.  Yes, this is another one of those "Learning to be Autistic" posts.

As time goes by I begin to realise some of the reasons why it's so hard.

Last night I was writing to someone and used a metaphor for my life - that I'd tried for decades to be a washing machine but it turned out I was a bicycle.

This morning I mentioned this to someone else, who said "Great metaphor ... it's like this ..."  And she showed me a blog post, "A hair-dryer kid in a toaster-brained world."  And that's a much better metaphor so for this little post I'm stealing it.  I hope she doesn't mind me borrowing her rather fabulous metaphor.  If you're not stopping right now to read that post, I can recommend that you do so.

The metaphor explains some of the reasons why I, along with many undiagnosed adult autistics, had a difficult life and why being diagnosed throws up so many more difficulties rather than it just being a pretty rubber stamp on a piece of paper.

The author of the blog explains some things - as to how the autistic brain is quite simply different to the NT (neurotypical) brain and how autistic people thus have different skills to NT people and can have great problems in a world that simply isn't geared to autistic people's needs.  So if you grow up knowing you're autistic you can grow up knowing that you are different - but never less - and learn to be the best version of you that you could be.

But if you are autistic and grow up not knowing that then things become harder.

If you don't know you're autistic then you grow up ignorant of your hair-dryer self and are taught to emulate the toaster people.  You spend your life trying to make toast.  And you keep trying.  And keep trying.  And you fail so many times.  And even when you spend an age working very hard to make toast it ends up looking like very strange toast.  You spend your life wondering how everyone seems able to make toast so easily.  You look at the way the toast just pops up in their lives, how they have heat settings, a defrost button, a neat tray to catch all the crumbs.  And you do everything in your power to toast bread, muffins, crumpets just as they do and to toast in different ways.  Life becomes a frustration of failing to toast bread and you know you're failing and a failure because you think that you're created to be a toaster.  You're a bit useless because your toast making capabilities have obviously been destroyed.  But you keep trying each day to fit in as a good, functioning toaster.

So life can become very difficult and then you can be given all kinds of diagnoses as to why you're a rubbish toaster.  You're a toaster with borderline personality disorder.  You're a toaster with schizotypal personality disorder.  You're schizoid.  You're schizophrenic.  You're narcissistic.  You're depressed and that can only be solved by drugs and then therapy to become a working toaster.  I've received all those diagnoses and all those experts who diagnosed me completely missed the truth that I'm autistic and transgender.

In short you're a complete mess.  Because you can't make a decent slice of toast.

But then, eventually, you learn the joyful truth:  You're not a toaster after all.  You're a hair dryer.  Bliss.  Wonderment.  Excitement of excitements.  You were never meant to make toast at all.  You're not a failure, you just can't do something that you weren't made to do.  Then you read and study and learn that as a hair-dryer there are lots of things you can do.  And you think that's the end of it.  I'm autistic.  Hallelujah! That explains it all.  Let's move on with the rest of my life as an autistic hair-dryer.

It doesn't work out that way.

What I've learned is that learning you are autistic changes everything.  Everything.  Your entire life has to be seen and understood in a brand new, unfamiliar way.  And that process can become more difficult than you could possibly have imagined.

Today I've been thinking hard about just one aspect of this process: the coping mechanisms and all the things I learned over decades to get through life.  And today I come to a stark conclusion:  All those things were learned in order to get through life as some kind of toaster.  I sought so hard to be what I'd now call neurotypical, rather than seeking to be gloriously autistic and proud of who I really am.

That means I've now got to set myself to examine everything I ever found to get through life.  Because I am not a toaster and no longer want to be a toaster.  I don't want to try to make toast and be a terrible version of something that I never was in the first place.  I want to be me and learn to become the very best version of myself that can exist in this world, to become free, to become fully human, fully myself, fully at one with autism and and with every other aspect of myself.

I need to look at every coping strategy.  Every bit of therapy.  Every self-help technique.  Every little tip I've got in order to get through the day while trying to make toast.  And I've got to ask myself serious questions about them:

Will this strategy help me to become free as myself, or will it hinder that process due to being wholly centred around toast making?
If the strategy is a toast-centric strategy, can it teach me anything about how to be a hair-dryer?
What strategies are equally applicable for a toaster and a hair-dryer?  And I know that there are many things that are good tools for everyone to use.  Because we're all human and whether autistic or NT we share our humanity and share so many traits as individual human beings.
If a toast strategy does turn out to be of use, does that actually make it something I want to continue with, or are there other strategies that would more effectively help me learn to be myself?
What strategies are stopping me shine, stopping me live - even though I might have spent many years using them in order to try to shine and live?
And what new strategies could I learn to replace the old?  Strategies that will help me be who I was always meant to be.

I don't know the answers to any of those questions yet.  It's going to be an interesting ride finding the answers.

Mental Health Hell and the Positivity of My Life

My mental health has been pretty damn naff recently.  There have been horrible days and even worse hours.  Mental health has stopped me doing many of the things I wanted to do.  It's paralysed me at times.  It means that instead of going to Sussex for 11 days I have had to stay in Newcastle.  I've cried lots, broken down very publicly in the city centre, hurt my head through banging it, had a constant headache from sensory overload, and really struggled to keep going at times.

Yes.  I could look at the last month and choose to say that it's been a terrible time.  I could focus in on the bad things.  I could focus on the painful meltdown on Tuesday and the way I stopped being able to function when sorting things for refugees and the way I had to walk out of my mindfulness session and cry in the corridor.  Or I could focus on the good.

I could focus in yesterday on how awful I felt in the morning, how I didn't even have the spoons to get back on the metro and come home from town.  Or I could focus on how good the day got when it became a surprise.

I have a choice.  To focus on the bad and the pain.  Or to focus on all the good things, accept the bad, and move on from there.  Because the bad is bad.  And the pain is pain.  I can't deny it.  I can't pretend that all the rubbish isn't there.  But I can choose to focus elsewhere and see that, even with all the rubbish, life is a wonderful thing.

Because there is so much good and so much hope and so many good people.  Taking - as examples - my Saturdays:

Four weeks ago I danced with a new and very valued friend, barefoot in a thunder storm at Autscape, a conference/gathering run by and for autistic people.  Four weeks on I know that Autscape was very important to me and there are things that happened there and things it taught me about myself that I haven't even begun to process.  In some way Autscape will affect the rest of my life.  That weekend I met awesome people.

Three weeks ago I went to a barbecue from which arose decisions that are majorly affecting my life.  Majorly.  Three weeks ago I found somewhere that has almost become my second home.  Somewhere that I hope will become a big part of my life.  That barbecue was just a barbecue and the person who invited me was really just inviting me to a barbecue.  Neither of us knew that it would lead to so much in such a short space of time.  That weekend I met awesome people and because I met them I went on to meet more awesome people.

Two weeks ago was a day I could say was rubbish.  Because the first half of it was pretty bad in terms of mental health difficulties.  I wouldn't wish those difficulties on anyone.  But then there was a wonderful message from an awesome friend, a message that really helped me face the day.  And then on what had been that rubbish day I had a surprise meeting with another awesome friend.  We pretended to have an appointment at the optician in order to help ourselves to hot chocolate (my awesome friend does things like that!) and then we sat in the street drinking and laughing with each other.

On the worst days there is good.  On the day I broke down so much in town my friends came to the rescue - especially three wonderful people from Autscape who stayed with me as much as they could through constant text messages until I was recovered enough to get myself safe.  I count myself as massively fortunate in the people who have come my way recently, some of whom I've met in surprising ways.  It's like I suddenly have this brand new extended family of people who I love, who love me and with whom there are all kinds of unexpected connections.

A week ago I belatedly got involved in the work going on in solidarity with refugees.  It took seeing people and donations in my new second home before I finally decided that I couldn't stay away from giving something to the cause.  It's entirely possible that the future will see me continue to be involved in that in bigger ways.  And I've met awesome people.  It takes a lot for me to stand up and do something positive.  But I think right now I am standing and I don't want to sit down again.  The work is there and will continue to be there and, if I allow it and choose it, there is space for me to be useful.

And tomorrow I go to a meditation group for the first time.  The start of what will be a weekend I am really looking forward to - though a very different weekend to the one I would be having had I not had all the mental health issues I've had recently.  There will be awesome people there too and awesome people throughout the weekend.

So.  My life has been a mental health hell.  And I could choose to see it that way.  But it has also been a time of massive and unexpected blessings and of meeting the awesome people - many of whom I would never have met had I not experienced the mental health hell.  For the future I can only see more blessings and more awesome people even if the hell continues.

I had an hour this morning when my head was not hurting from sensory overload.  The first hour in a few weeks.  It was bliss to not hurt.  And sometimes it hurts so much and that pain inside my head falls down and across my body too.  But in this life, painful life, I rejoice and in the last weeks have become more and more thankful and more and more able to see the light that comes from without and the light that I have been becoming from within.

My painful life is one of positivity.  And overall, I love the way it is becoming.

Because the fight for LGBTQIA... rights is not just a gay rights issue.

The more I read articles about LGBT issues, or LGBTQIA... issues the more I think we need to separate the T, and Q, I, A, from LGB.  Yes, we've all been persecuted, legally and socially. Yes, we still don't have full equality and the situation worldwide is still atrocious.  But lumping the TQIA with LGB when they're such different things doesn't come without problems.

So many times the headline will use an acronym such as LGBT but the article will consistently speak of "gay rights" which is an unintended exclusion of heterosexual transgender people and of all the other people under that LGBTQIA... umbrella who are not gay.

Perhaps we need to stop speaking of gay rights and gay equality and gay anything else unless the issues only surround gay people.  Otherwise, just speak of rights and equality.  I fully support gay rights.  But the issues surrounding trans rights can be very different and so often end up being sidelined and forgotten in what is a praiseworthy celebration of the varieties of human sexuality.

I just read an article on four big companies and their stance on equal rights.  Hey, I'm glad big companies want equality.  But while the headline is LGBT, the article is "the fight for gay rights", "gay parade".  (Can we please, please stop talking of gay pride parades?)  And the T has naff all do to with "gay" because it is a gender issue, not a sexuality issue.  Just like cisgender people, a transgender person may be straight, or L, G, B or have any other sexuality and trans people, especially straight trans people, get lost under the crush of gay, gay, gay.  And intersex people get even more forgotten and lost in the lumping it all together and just talking gay, gay, gay.  Heck, even bisexual people can get lost and forgotten in the crush and that is part of that variety of human sexuality.

So can we agree not to speak of gay rights unless we're actually talking just about gay rights?

How Are You? A most difficult question to answer.

I got up this morning and wrote my Morning Pages - three pages of long hand writing about anything and everything.  Three weeks into that practice and every day they churn something up and lead to discoveries and decisions and things that need to change.  That's about 1000 words every morning.  And then I got sidetracked online by a one frame cartoon based on the question "How are you?"  And then the following happened.  Another 1000 words.  Typed - which is so much quicker than using a pen and feels very different inside.  So that's 2000 words of dubious quality and equally dubious meaning, written down by about eight in the morning.

_____________________________

 

OK.  So this is going to show me to be a bit weird.  Or possibly very weird.  That's nothing new.  There are seventy posts here already, most of which show up some kind of weirdness.  Yes, this is weird - but at least I know I'm not unique.  I know at least one person who feels exactly the same way I do and complains about this very thing.  And he's not even autistic!  Another person who doesn't deal well with those parts of social interaction that are just acceptable nice rituals.

 

One of my least favourite questions to be asked is "How are you?"  A question that is asked every day.  Part of the small talk and formal social banter we're all expected to participate in.

It's part of that social ritual that means we have to talk about the weather.  Someone is standing next to us and we tell them it's a cold day or warm, or wet, or dry.  As if they don't know that for themselves.  And then they have to respond with something equally banal.

I've learned the weather thing - I just agree with whatever the other person says.  Which becomes hard for me when one person tells me how cold it is and a minute later someone is telling me how hot it is.  That happens.  For me it's quite confusing.  I want to argue with the second person on behalf of the first!

 

But I have real trouble with the question, "How are you?"

 

That's because - as anyone reading this knows - very few people actually want to know the answer and I am a pathological truth teller.  I'm generally a very open book and the only secrets I keep are about other people. I have trouble interpreting the words "How are you?" as "Let's enter into meaningless ritualised talking for the next few seconds" rather than as "How are you?". I find it hard enough to give the meaningless "I'm fine" answer to complete strangers and have to force myself against all instinct to say it when asked by people I know.  Because while I know in theory that the question is just a piece of social fluff that doesn't mean anything, in practice, in the moment, I have to work really hard to remember that people don't actually want to know how I am when they ask me how I am.

Most days I can manage to do the polite thing:  "Hi.  How are you?"  "I'm fine.  How are you?"  "I'm fine too.  It's sunny today isn't it?"  "Yes, but they forecast cloud on Tuesday."  "Oh no, I hope it stays sunny."  "Yes.  I've got to go now.  It was good to see you."  "Great to chat with you."  "Bye."  Such a conversation is a bit like two animals passing each other and giving each other a quick sniff, though I dare say the animal conversation contains far more information.  But it's a conversation most of us have very regularly.

 

But sometimes I'm so drained that I can't manage to override instinct, honesty and openness about pretty much everything.  So what tumbles out is an actual answer to the question.  And that gets me in social trouble pretty frequently.

Please don't ever ask me how I am unless you want the answer, whether it's from the height of ecstasy or from a place of dark pain. Because for me, anything else is physically painful.  Yes, physically painful.  To answer "I'm fine" when I'm not actually hurts me.  To be asked a question that actually means "Please lie to me now" isn't easy for me.

Please don't ask and then tell me off if I respond with honesty.

If I ask you the question it means I actually want to be told the answer, or to be told that you don't want to tell me the answer. It doesn't ever mean that I am making polite and completely meaningless small talk.

 

If I ask you the question then I don't want the answer "I'm fine" unless you are fine.  Tell me you aren't comfortable with answering.  Or give the answer, whatever that happens to be.  But please don't lie to me just like most people lie to each other dozens of times a day and just like it's become our instinct to lie, avoiding proper relationship while pretending we have it.

If I ask you the question it means that I am seeking relationship with you, based on truth and integrity, on authenticity, not on social rules that force us to be dishonest with one another.

If I ask the question on my own initiative - not as a polite answer to you asking the question - it is an actual question.  It's not small talk - because I'm rubbish at initiating small talk.  It's not ritual.  It's not part of the liturgy of most people's social interaction.  It's a question.

I know all that is strange.  I know that the world doesn't work like that and that such questions will continue to be asked without meaning what the words say.  But it is the way this head instinctively works.

There is another reason why I have trouble with the question "How are you?"  It's open ended and can mean too many different things.  It's not specific enough and I can panic about what the question might mean before coming out with an answer.  Honestly, there are several reasons why I have trouble with the question and I've learned this year that these reasons are common for autistic people.

Some of them are echoed in the comments on this page.  Yes, I could be that aspie friend in the original post.  I'm not, but it's nice to know I'm not alone!

It's fascinating for me to slowly look at my life and thoughts and ways of being through the lens of autism.  It's bringing so much understanding that I never had before.  And with understanding and time and work I'll be able to learn to function so much better in society.  Whether it's the little things like small talk and questions like "How are you?" or the big things like the sources of my temptation of self harm in times of stress, or the ins and outs of sensory issues, defences and social work arounds the whole process is being a revelation for me and is turning out to be a challenge of a size I never could have believed.

Sensory Overload - An Autistic Hell Day And A Difficult Recovery

Yes.  Yet another autism post.

This was written long hand in pen at six o'clock this morning.  I have thought hard about whether to type it up and share it, without any editing because of the nature of that writing.  OK, so I admit one edit because the original was just planted onto the page in one long paragraph so I've separated things out to make it more readable.  This writing is part of a course I'm starting on unlocking creativity, a course that will be wonderful.  But the pages of writing every morning - yes, EVERY morning there's this amount of writing, in pen, on paper - aren't really meant to be shared.  Today I am breaking that rule.  Because this may explain part of my life to people who can't see it because it's not visible.  Here I share a little of what sensory overload can mean to me.  The effects of doing something I wanted to do - and to be able to do.  It is very nice to be able to admit to all this and to be honest with myself and others.  It is horrendous that my unconscious coping techniques and defences took a running leap off the nearest cliff when I started to examine them and bring them to light.  Right now, things are fucking difficult.  I'd say "Excuse my language," but really, don't.  I can't be British and polite and stiff upper lip about this without being dishonest about the whole thing.  And if I'm dishonest about it then what really is the point of me talking about it at all.  Here goes:

____________________________

There are moments when I wish autism could go and take a flying fuck out of my life. Last night. And this morning. Moments when it would be nice to be able to do normal things, the simple things that normal people do, without it turning into a living hell, without having to retreat and recover until hell subsides.

Yesterday I spent time with people. Unexpected people. For maybe 45 minutes in a noisy bar. Thankfully not the first bar we entered which was too much for me in seconds. I try to act normal for the randomly met people. But it's so hard when everything else is happening, when every second is an inner pain and every moment an overload of sensory input. I try so hard but it is hell. And I just don't know the social rules. Didn't really know how to function and that would have been the case even if we have all been on a deserted mountain with only the sound of the breeze through the rocks and the heather to keep us company.

Perhaps I should have said no, and not done it. But damn this. I want to be able to function in a reasonably normal way. I know I wasn't. I know I was finding communication tough. Drifting into a mode where every word is forced and where being non-verbal is the option I want to take. It was nice to be with a very verbal person so I didn't feel an excess of pressure to talk, just guilt for not talking enough and drifting into stimming with the sleeves of my top in order to stay relatively centred.

Yes. I want to be with people. But I need to learn to say no. To be totally honest and say “I am autistic. I choose not to do this because it is harmful to me.” “I am autistic, and while this may be normal life for you, it is misery for me.” For my own well being I need to learn this.

Because it wasn't just that the situation hurt all the time. It continues. The bar is left behind. The noise, in the past. The people left. But that's not the end of it. My hell does not end the moment the situation ends. It takes me time to recover.

Last night was a quest to recover. Yes, there were good things. K's enthusiasm over stones. The blessing of a double rainbow. Writing to a friend. But the evening was recovery, still feeling the physical pain of sensory overload. Still in a state of shock, in a state where the terror and craziness and over-whelming chaos of that bar stayed with me. Every second, no matter how distracted, was a continuation of my pain. Just as a tuning fork takes time for the note to fade.

And last night I didn't see any sign of the note fading. I was in tears more than once because I still hurt so much. And because I know that there is nobody who can really help. Nothing I know that helps. As such times there is always the temptation to self harm because I know that would instantly relieve much of the stress, anxiety that can accompany the effects of overload. But self harm is out. I refuse it and don't ever want to walk down that path again.

Yes. There were good things last night and I hold onto those. But they were fleeting flowers in the fire.

I am fortunate to be taking medication. Because it does make falling asleep easy, no matter what state my head is in. The drug takes me gently away rather than it taking hours to sleep, until total exhaustion means sleep comes. Without that drug, last night would have been worse, have gone on for far longer and the pain would have been with me at every second of it.

So what of this morning? Am I recovered? Simple answer: No. I am not.

I do feel better than last night but the noise and the difficulties of the social area still with me. The noise is still humming through my head. Repeatedly the sounds clamour for my attention even though they ceased to exist in the existence of my outer world, fourteen hours ago. In my inner world they remain, in full surround sound. So glad we were near a window. It means that if I focus to the left of my brain it is a lot quieter.

No. I am not recovered. And I hate that. Fourteen hours and I am not recovered from doing a perfectly ordinary things that perfectly ordinary people do. Fourteen hours and my non-recovery makes me want to cry again for this shitty, shitty life. No. It's not shitty. This is only one side of it. There are many good things and my life is better than I'd ever thought it could be.

But to wake up still wounded from something so simple is scary. It's distressing. It's a picture of how limited I still am. And of how limited I might always be. And I have no been able to accept these limitations. I try not to punish myself for them but that's difficult. And I try not to get frustrated knowing there are normal things I can't do.

Get this through your head Clare: You are disabled. Deal with it. Accept it. And seek a life that sets you free in it.

Waking up like this isdistressing. When pain continues so long after the cause has ceased to exist. Irrationality rises up and says, “Snap out of it. It's just in your head.” Yes, of course it's just in my head. But that doesn't mean it isn't real.

I am so glad to have accepted this autism label – because at least it explains my reality. At least it tells me I'm not just a useless nutter at these times.

So today. I must continue to recover. And then go to church and be the social animal again, the smiling face welcoming everyone, the friend to everyone there. I so much want to be there, with my family who are the church. And I hope to recover enough by then so that I can be back in that quiet place beforehand.

Today is the day when I must start to learn to say no. To not worry if that makes me look selfish or anti-social. Today is the day when I must start to put my own self-care first so that I can care for others from there and not fail to care from my own hell.

I am autistic. It's time to say it. To BE autistic and explain that when I know something will do me harm. Today. Say No. Because the reason is sound.

Being Transgender: A Sudden Decision? No. Of Course Not.

I entered into a facebook discussion again just now having been asked to weigh in and be the person to answer all the questions that can be asked about transgender issues.  Again.  Maybe I should just write a book about it and then when the same questions get asked again and again and again I can just say "Buy my book, the answer is on page 82."

My plan was just to say that I'm not up to answering questions.  Instead I was forced to correct a mistake that had been the basis of much of the conversation up to that point - the quite common belief that the word "woman" is derived from "womb."

The discussion, as too many are right now, revolved around Caitlyn Jenner and whether she could possibly claim to be a woman.  (She can.  Case closed!)  And the accusation emerged that her decision to transition was of a man suddenly deciding to be a woman.  (There's no sudden.  Case closed!)

My plan tonight was to write something about myself.  Because it was two years ago tonight that I stood in front of my mirror and everything that I'd been hiding from for so long, in terms of gender, could not be hidden from any longer.  Two years ago tonight I said hello to myself as Clare - a name I already knew - and welcomed myself into freedom.  Two years on and I have not regretted it for a moment.  The last two years have had lots of difficulties, as those close to me know well.  But my life is vastly better now than it was then.  Once you learn to love and accept yourself it changes everything, no matter what happens in your outward circumstances.  My only regret is the same one that so many transgender people have - that we didn't do it all a lot sooner.

Instead of that writing, there's this.  A single response on facebook.  Much longer than planned because it gives so many reasons why this "sudden" decision is delayed by so many transgender people.  And in some countries and societies there are far more reasons for delay than here.  Sometimes good reasons why someone will never be openly transgender at all - such as wanting to stay out of prison or wanting to stay alive.

Apologies for the bluntness in this.  Actually I don't apologise.  That's a lie.  But if you are offended by swearing, don't read this - there are a few naughty words arising from feeling very strongly about these things, feelings that come from my own experiences and the experiences I've heard of in the lives of friends or seen in the lives of others who I do not personally know.  Some people have experienced far, far worse than me.  Compared to many, I've really had the whole experience of transitioning very easy.  But compared to NOT being transgender, it's been bloody hard.

No need to read on.  Of course, there's no need to have read this far either, but thank you. I'm mainly blogging this so I can look back on it myself and remind myself, not that I'll ever need reminding, of all the reasons why there's nothing sudden about the choice to come out and live as the person you are rather than the person you were told you had to be.  The following was just typed straight out and has not been edited in the slightest for posting here.

___________________________________________

The word "woman" is not derived from womb. Not sure where that erroneous idea came from, but: http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=woman There's loads online about the etymology of the word.

In any case, there are medical conditions in which cisgender women are born without wombs. Is anyone here accusing those women of not being women? Is anyone here going to define a person's gender by their genitals or their reproductive organs, rather than by the actual person? Is anyone here going to reduce such questions to body parts? Is anyone here going to say that those women cannot be women because there were born without something "fundamental" to being a woman? I sincerely hope not.

I am the friend in question but I'm really not up to answering all the questions at the moment because so much is going on right now that's taking pretty much all of my energy. There's so much good information online. So anyone who wants to learn can learn, from loads of transgender people who have written a ton of good stuff about their experiences. Just google it. Take time to research it and read just what transgender people have gone through in order to be able to live as the people they are.

But here's a rant I accidentally typed:

Just to say, it's not sudden. By no means sudden. This has always been with me in some way but I couldn't face it, face myself and accept myself until two years ago. Because from earliest childhood society told me that I couldn't be me, that such thoughts were evil, even that I am an abomination. With such crap thrown at you through childhood and adult life it's hard to accept yourself. And when you know that shit will be thrown at you when you do deal with it, by idiots, by the ignorant and by bigots, it's hard to act on that acceptance. And when you start to deal with it and get rejected by friends and family and when every time you leave the house you are abused by people then it's fucking hard to continue. And when you haven't got the privileges and riches of Caitlyn Jenner and the cash to pay for everything she's done then it's even harder. When private health care isn't an option it's difficult. When national media insults you. When hatred is thrown at you for even daring to live as the person you are then life can be more than a bit difficult. Overcoming all the crud that's been thrown at you for decades when you have done your very best to deny who you are because of who society thought you should be when you were born is never easy. Never. When people fear you. When news agencies and politicians try to get other people to fear you and think that you're only doing it because you're some kind of sexual predator who wants to assault and rape women in a toilet. When you are at far greater risk of being beaten up, and in many countries murdered. When obstacles are put in your way or it's made impossible to be legally recognised as your own gender. When in many countries even trying to be yourself would result in a prison sentence. When you see transgender friends assaulted. When you are sexually assaulted in a transphobic attack (which happened to me). When churches reject you. When they throw you out of ministry. When they seek legal help to try to make it impossible for you to even enter the building. When ministers try to exorcise the devil from you for daring to openly be who you've always been inside. When you are told you are damned to burn for eternity for being transgender. When friends turn from you and family members won't even speak to you at your own mother's funeral (which happened to me). When all these things happen it's just fucking hard to even consider coming out and saying "Yes, I am transgender. Yes, I am going to live as myself rather than as a shadow, a wraith. Yes, I am going to accept myself and love myself". So difficult.

So no. It's not sudden. It's not sudden at all. It's just very, very difficult because of all the crap that gets thrown at us and which makes us feel worthless until we find that immense courage needed to turn round and live as the people we already know we are.

To accept myself is a decision I made two years ago. In my early forties. Two years ago tonight. A decision which pretty much instantly ended a period of thirty years of constant depression.

Dreamscape. When Dream Lingers into the Waking. And Calls Unto Renewed Death.

An hour after waking:

I hate that dream.

I hate that house.

It's not happened for a while in any of its variations.

Tonight was the worst, not necessarily for the events but for the place.  Other dreams have far worse events.

Dream events are nothing compared to this place.

This place is entirely the essence wrongness.  I have no better word.

Every wall, passage, room, staircase is wrong.  Physically the walls look just as walls, ancient wood.  But psychically they exude the stench of something far beyond simple death.

The fabric far beyond darkness.

The wood, the walls, the house itself is hard to survive inside my own being.

And it has HIM in it.  Whoever he is or represents.  HIM.

There is no light in HIM, none.  None.  Just venom, hatred.

Somewhere in that house, he will be.  Always writing, whatever HIM writes.

Tonight he saw me and moved with more resolution and speed than I've seen before.

Urgency.  Urgency.  Desperate to come to me.  To steal all light from me.

He is fear.  That place is fear.

The whole place is twisted by Presence, vile presence, manifesting whatever it wants and able to exclude Spirit-Source from the house, able to transform calls to Spirit and fight back, increasing the wrongness and the manifestation.

But worst of all is HIM.

I feel HIM now.

I see him grasping for me because this dream takes too long to fade.

If I must go to a dream house, can't I go to the other one?  Yes, there's a door there that passes through to an Elsewhere that isn't right.  And I can't not go to it.  But that Elsewhere feels like Hell has passed away and the place just needs to be brought to life.  Tainted but not threat in any major way.

Tonight's house, ancient wood, is entire threat, entire psychic danger, sometimes physical danger.  And tonight's house remains into the waking and calls for me to return.  Return and have the hope of Spirit, of the creative, of Being, ripped from your being.  HE can do it.  There is no Spirit there to stop him.

And I see him now because whatever HE is, that is still within me.

Mother of being, protect me.
Father of light, protect me.

Because that place, that HIM, are within and they want to return me to my death.

Inside.  That place is real.  And it wants me to return. To stay.  In waking and sleeping.  To stay.

If dream is manifest psyche then inside me, that place is real, HIM is real.

And he must one day, in my waking, be addressed and fought.

Mother of being, guide me.
Father of light, guide me.