Mental health

Yes, I'm being unsubtle but screw prose, male mental health is a serious issue that should be openly discussed.

So, if you read back I've talked about throwing away boxes of antidepressants, taking drugs and drink (ironically as therapy) and suicide. No spoilers but I'm back in therapy.

So during the break, I lost a job (and how to frame that might be the challenge of this series of blog posts). Id been doing so well but as a manager I decided to grow and more to a different warehouse unit and well, in my biased opinion, being halfway competent didn't endear me to management.

Long story short, that job loss triggered my anxiety and depression, as well as hidden Complex PTSD. Funny how getting dragged to therapy can uncover things. To paraphrase the Titanic Muesem, I was fine before I went to therapy.

I'm by no means the only one in my circles with mental health issues. I'm all too familiar with the feeling of being FINE, even when you aren't and others can see it. Guess it just took a trained professional to see it.

So currently in therapy.

Anxiety is a hell of a mind fuck, constantly telling me im wrong  and I've missed something vital, but when coupled with depression, it's an absolute burning storm because your mind simultaneously tells you you've cocked something up while also robbing you of your drive to fix it, even when vital things like jobs depend on it. Add to that the autistic paranoia that you're missing social cues and tones (the joke translation of the phrase: "as per my last email" meaning "learn to fucking read" is a good example), and I'm honestly surpised I get out of bed some days.

But then I realise that there are people much worse than I and I guess another day in work won't kill me. Oh woe is me with my job and sustainable income and life partner and dog.

This month is autism awareness month, so I should find some way to capitalise on that. Oh well next week......

No post this week

So, unless you follow me on Facebook or Twitter (hint, hint, click click), you'll be surprised there's no full post this week.

Why? 

Because I'm a fat lazy sod who decided he liked the blog the way it were and don't need no fancy new regimen to boost credibility or help people......

Obviously.

It's more that the new job has loaded a whole load of training and education into my time table and I am determined and obligated to complete that training in a timely manner and it will give me a good basis for productive work. 

I take longer to complete reading and comprehension tasks, like reading policies or doing self directed online learning. Although half the time I think it is simple bone idleness on my part, I do take more frequent breaks and I find more diversion tactics that are synonymous with dyslexia (while it's being mentioned, why is dyslexia so hard to spell?). I'm the worlds greatest avoider of paperwork and book learning. 

It's a common tactic for dyslexics, to find something that either delays having to do a task until it's too late or something that replaces that task. I did it in school like nobodies business, telling convoluted stories or chattering mindlessly to delay written and reading work. 

Work have given me two weeks to do all the work, so I'm in very good hands.

To add to this, I have not discussed the blog with management or given them details and while it's not a work blog, work as you know features heavily, because it's the activity I do the most. There's nothing saying I have to tell work, but to misquote something I read recently: dance like no one is watching but blog like it's going to be read out in a court. For this reason alone, I want management on board, at least tangentially, before I write about the (amazing) support.

Moving on:

The 2nd of April is autism awareness day, so let's talk about that.....

It's old, but lighting up blue is seen as supportive for people with Autism, however Autism Speaks has been attacked as oppressive. I'm including links because I have not had first hand  experience of Autism speaks, mainly because they are American.


In the UK there's a number of charities, and instead of listing them all here, I'm going to add them in as widgets to the site, that way they are easy access.

To any of my international audience, Google is your friend.

Anyway, happy Autism week!

Ongoing support

So, like always, I'm typing this at 23:46 (Greenwich mean time, HELLO AMERICA!), and am clearly not smart enough to come up with a deep thoughtful post about the philosophical insights into having a brain that's been wired like a blind electrician with Parkinson's fuse box.

This might be a two part post, I don't know, but I'm hoping to stretch it out like pair of worn tight wights, mainly because I'm projecting a bit into the future (next month to be exact).

If you have been paying attention, and I'll forgive you if you haven't, what with this blogs complete reliability and regular posting, I have recently moved jobs. OK, not entirely, because I'm working my notice, but anyway there's a new job on the horizon. This has been met with mixed reactions from: "But the current job is great, how can you give up such a great thing!" to "Yes, new opportunities are worth moving for." Both of these are understandable for people who know how hard it can be for the disabled to hold a job (trust me, disability is NO OBSTACLE to employment, or even running ones own business), but also know that we need to grow and develop to find our true potential (and become masters of the universe or something, I never finished the Aspergers for beginners book).

Back after London (and I'm totally calling my tell all book that, after my Patreon takes off, hint hint), I had plenty of support to get into work. My own Aspie Nurse came into my then job and gave them some helpful pointers (or gave me a helpful pointer: run and don't look back), two Occupational therapists sat me down and gave me some advice (short shifts and good management) and always said they where contactable if required. Fortunately, my current job was hugely supportive and no further external support was required. I put huge store in understanding management and actually busting your own backside at being good and meeting people halfway and not talking for hours about toy soldiers.

Anyway, the new job had occupational health ring me (after I filled in another form, and tacked on another sheet cos those boxes are always too small) and they want to see me before I start so we can slide in support if required. This hugely endears me to both the job and the management because this shows they care and are willing to work with me. It also means that if they decide I need support, I can contact external support and swing "reasonable adjustments" into place.

And this is why it's a two part post, I have yet to meet the Occupational Health team. So will update.

yes, I know I've changed the Aspie spelling, frankly I don't care.

For sarcastic Tweets and articles check out Facebook and Twitter. I will figure out how to put these in a side bar soon enough.....

My obsession.

The most popular Aspie trait that gets showcased by TV and the recent Movie, The Accountant (which I will not be reviewing thanks, ) is that to make up for the social awkwardness, crippling inability to interact and occasional difficulty finding and keeping gainful employment, all Aspies have a specialised hobby or trait. This can either be something that makes the audience put their hands up and yell "quirky!" or it can be a hyper-analytical mind that can dissect any problem and find an out of the box solution. I guess it gives NT types a warm fuzzy feeling that even though these weird people walk among us, at least they have their uses for society or can be relatable as the one kid in class who thought the history of the penny from 1974 to 1982 was important.

Sadly, idiot savant and Aspie don't over lap as much as we'd all like. Many Aspies are just regular humans with a different brain make up. Ask any one legged dog if different equals better and they will tell you no, although most dogs don't care as long as there's kibble and bits and maybe a post man to bark at, I don't know, having never been a dog and only occasionally enjoying the company of dogs, and post men. This means that more often than not, social anxiety is not cancelled out by some great ability to count cards or meld with technology.

So, aside from trains (OK, not that deeply but come one, technology) and toy soldiers, what do I obsess about? Money. Or change more exactly, and what I can do with it (buy more toy soldiers!!). Or you know, put it into savings. It's watching my savings grow, in multiple accounts, and seeing how much I can get before the money needs to be spent. It's reached the level that its hard to release the money for stuff I need, like dental work (you're welcome)or buying  a car. You know, stuff I might actually benefit from owning. So, when people say I am a contributing member of society, yeah, the building society.

This should then translate into a need to gain said money through any means necessary, right? (this is called foreshadowing kids, so NO ONE can complain when I start doing Patreon or putting ads on my blog). Well no, because money is nice but trade offs are required. Could I work a full month with no days off? Yes, but by the end of it "offensively aspie" is redundant. Could I be working in a job that pays £50K+ a year? Maybe, but I lack the imagination to know what kind of job makes that money or how to get into it (trading stocks, the hell?). Can I ask for it in job interview? Maybe, but there is nothing more off putting than someone in interview demanding money or a raise on the basic offer. Knowing how hard work is to gain for Aspies, I'm mindful that while I can change my lott in life, maybe accepting the things I can't change immediately is a good plan. You may have guessed I'm currently being interviewed for a new job and this topic has resurfaced while dealing with my new employers (I stay stum about money, it's nice to have, but not a factor in getting or keeping a job).

I also love my tech. My Lord, technology. If I don't have at least two gizmo's on the go at once, I'm either sick or asleep (or driving, let's be reasonable here). But that's for another post.......


Check out some other stuff fo distract you from work: Facebook, Twitter, Patreon (made you look)

textures

OK, so last week (also known as Tuesday, remind me not to have weekends out while feeling smug), the post was a little dark and unpleasant, and as funny as a dead badger in a birthday cake. In a change of pace, I think we'll go with something a bit odd, and unusual but at the same time mostly familiar, because we're all weird.

I am horribly adverse to smell, with a fairly sensitive sense of smell. Now, dad has this too, so I'm assuming its genetic, and I do enjoy it as my super power, because if my Aspy traits have yet to make me an idiot savant who can add complex numbers and know my 56th birthday is a Tuesday (I'm guessing here, but if I'm right BOOYA! guess we can ignore the rest of this sentence), then they have yet to manifest themselves.

I can tell a valeted room has had a smoker in it, I can whiff dinner down the road, and I cannot stay in Lush for long. I end up being the boyfriend stood out side (while my partner no doubt runs wild inside with a credit card selling our future to the devil for lavender scented bath bombs and never ending candles). Last time I went in voluntarily I spent exactly two minutes and found the first bath bomb that looked vaguely interesting, grabbed it, threw money at the general direction of the cash register and ran. It's not that I get overwhelmed, as such, but i begin to get the cloying smell up my nose and it causes me to feel nauseated. It's great. So I'd rather be outside, rather than queasy.

The same goes for texture. I prefer soft cotton, mostly in bedding. I can't stand cheap silk, or generally silk, texture bedding. My mother has pillow cases with  faux fur strips and I need to flip it over and sleep on the clear side (there I said it, watch her stop reading), equally fur pillows put me off. I like my bedding and it better be 100% comfy and soft because I am the highest level of under cover agent and I swear to Zod if I need to be out of bed it better be work or food. And prehaps not even the second one.  

I only mention all this, because Lord knows I'm not famous enough yet to have random people mail me bedding, because the other half went out and got silk bedding. Not Cheap silk bedding but still, I got back the dirty bedding out of the wash basket and wrapped myself in that, much to everyone Else's chagrin.

I'm also very keen on heavy bedding, sheets alone are for weirdos, although in hot summer nights even my love of being crushed into the mattress by massive blankets is beaten by the sweats. I actually don't know why, but i guess its a safety thing. I know some Aspies like being crushed to make them feel "normal". My skin isn't that sensitive, so nudity is fine, but I love the feeling of soft tight bedding.

Actually scratch that, I do have hyper sensitive skin when touched and dissolve into fits of giggles and shudders (shivers? I dunno, not a doctor) and often flinch before being touched. believing a lovers hand will be rough as sandpaper and heavy on me. One ex asked if I'd be beaten as a child. Apparently the answer that beatings continued until moral improved was "not funny" and "sick". Good for her.

Recently, I went to a job interview. Nothing fancy and I felt the sit down in a suit bit went fine, but showing me round the facilities put me off. They had a garish yellow and blue decor that made me feel deeply and weirdly uncomfortable. Nothing I could put my finger on, but even typing this makes my skin crawl. I just couldn't see myself working there, simply because the colours would make me feel off. So no new job, yet.........

Anyway, I'm off to bed, it's missing me already.....

Usual begging BS here: Facebook & Twitter

The Sociopath in Me

Quick note before I get into this topic, the blog will be changing as I go on, both in style, added whidges and content. If you follow my Twitter and Facebook (Plug, Plug), you'll already know that I wish to include more political posts as well as my own journey (there's only so much I can wax about my feet after all and on reflection I wouldn't be surprised if some people are thinking this is a foot fetish blog, and if there's one thing you never want is a fetish about MY feet). The reasons for more political posts are, you know, Trump and Brexit. I am a left leaning humanist, so if you don't like refugees and the EU and all that hippy consciousness then I suggest you skip these posts (I'll try to make to title obvious).

It is well documented that Aspergers and Sociopath are almost opposite in traits and have very little in common. However, this does not mean that parts don't over lap, or at least they don't in me. I have a well developed charm (it's the oIrish, I swear) and a fairly decent sense of humour. I only know these because I use them in work, or dating, or you know interacting with humanity. It's fairly clear from my blogging that I have no problem attracting girlfriends (the one I suggested I write the blog, the next one who distracted me from the blog and the current one, who's lost about the whole idea of blogging, three may not be a high score but I'm not studly macmuffin), but keeping them involves slightly more complex skills.

In my report, it states I can grasp the concept of a friend, but am unable to run the mechanics of friendship (you feed them and let them watch TV right?). The same, I at least believe, would apply to girlfriends (you feed them and let them mind your credit cards, right?). I'm like a toddler, I can be charming and sweet, but I'll lose interest once I have what I want, the precocious little scamp that I am. It has led at least one girlfriend call me a sociopath for being heartless and cold. It's not that I'm eaither of those, I just don't have the skills to build a relationship and do all those little things that make a relationship. Yeah, yeah typical man, insert woman not coming with a manual mysogonist joke here. Relationships take a whole load of little things, like friendship (so I'm told by numerous cutsey items in my local novelty gift shop), and it is doing those little things that I find hard without reminders, because that's not stereotypically male at all.

So, how does this superficial charm come in handy? Well, work. A bit of a charm offensives on customers does no harm at all but it also means that during inspections or any promotional work, the disabled worker can be trotted out and showcased as diversity in the workplace. My old manager used to joke that if I told everyone I was gay, it'd tick all the boxes and, I dunno, boost the company's image to the world, win us that all important award of the modern world: equal employment.  It gets a solid laugh in the office, even if it is cheap humour.

During inspections season I get brought out like a pinstriped dairy cow that makes chocolate milkshakes. I'm being superficial for laughs but I can't help but feel that I'm a boon to the company in diversity figures alone. The fact that I'm articulate and high functioning (go watch the video I shared to Facebook about that, it's funny because it's true) inspectors engage with me and think it's really nice the disabled employee is getting on so well. Of course they don't see the hours of work, the slog it has taken to get to this point, and I mostly forget the slog because I need space in my head for Simpsons quotes and D&D trivia (not that I've ever played a game, I'm not that lowbrow). Having a decent, if sarcastic sense of humour helps too, and like I said last week, British people are good at the dry wit stuff.

Going back to the girlfriend side, it's not that I'm heartless, it's that I don't feel love, or at least the jumble of confused emotions are unfamiliar to me and I am constantly unsure if it is love or just really bad gas. I made the girlfriend cry last night because I genuinely explained that I do not feel love, but I can fake it to a fair degree. It must be hard to fall in love with someone who cannot love you back, or at least will always be unsure of their feelings. My previous relationships, since diagnosis, I have explained the issue early on and those that can live with the idea that "I love you" is code for you are the one I hate the least and feeds my Aspy.

I'm getting de ja vu writing this, so i'm sure it's a topic I've covered before, but given my dementia and forgetfulness, its not  a bad topic to cover and I'm sure this will be updated regularly as people give me insight into my behaviour and traits.

Sorry about the delay, but no one reads this stuff anyway (hello MOTHER, I know you do) so no ones put out.

Follow the Aspy Journey on Facebook and Twitter, where I post interesting articles and updates (and reasons for skiving).

Next week, textures........

New Cracked.com article

So, I've been reading Cracked articles since about five minutes after I discovered the internet. My friend Charlie sent me a link I'm sure he intended to freak me out with and I simply got engrossed. I love list articles (which I'm sure I've mentioned before, like Listverse).

Their newest list article is about living with Autism. I find it really relatable, except for the sarcasm bit because I use sarcasm regularly to prevent me actually saying nasty things in a nasty fashion. A friend I used to work with said her son hated sarcasm because he really didn't understand it, and I can see why. I often find real praise hard to understand because I can never tell if someone is being genuine or not. 

I suppose I do fall into the charming but not tactful type Hollywood loves, and looking at some of the stats posted about non verbal and low IQ people with autism it is obvious why Hollywood skips the reality and goes for the sugar coated 1%, the ones who seem adorable or sweet in their obsessions and hobbies and can control their screaming melt downs. No one wants to have a comedy or drama ruined by a faeces eating screaming human that many would associate with a horror flick. I guess its hard to portray a rounded character who, without good insight, many " regular people" would find distasteful. Many people with Autism disorder are more difficult to engage with and to build meaningful relationships. They take a more nuanced approach, more unorthodox approach and can have little positive results in return. Often their hobbies and interests aren't the inner workings of speakers, or something that others would consider at least a contribution to humanity, like astrophysics, but more like sheep or colours. 

Even those of us who are higher on the spectrum can have impenetrable hobbies, interests and social lives. With the creation of the internet, nerdom has become cool, mainstream and accepted, at least in the portrayal of Anime, Games conventions and even LARP. On the surface, people now readily accept that Dungeons and Dragons is a game to be enjoyed by all, but when complex math gets involved and we're rolling twenty sided dice and making jokes about 'TEH' (a common internet misspelling of the) it quickly alienates people. If you start waxing lyrical about your level 20 Mage with +69 staff of penetration at a dinner table, you're more likely to get condescending comments. No one needs to know the entire back story to Mrs Marvel, thank you......

The article touches nicely on emotion. I suppose I don't feel much emotion, possibly because I do bottle up what I feel or because, as my partner is currently stipulating, I'm a sociopath (more on that in another post). I do however, get angry. Screaming melt down angry. If the late, rediculously great Sir Terry Pratchett taught me anything (and who didn't learn that Luguage with legs is hilariously funny), it is that anger can be turned into greatness fuel. Stoke your fire with anger and anything is achievable, be it Sir Terry's anger at being told by teachers he'd never write well enough to get published or my own anger engine when I'm told I will never amount to anything. A screaming anger fit can be turned nicely into an hour of rapid productivity. I know that is only me, but still.

As for an autism charity, I've never fulled engaged with the UK one. I guess I don't need their support that much and they have their hands and rescources full trying to help and support those who do need it, so I can't comment on whether or not they view it as a disease to be cured. I know from my own interactions with healthcare there is certainly a focus on helping aspies control more outlandish parts of themselves, as least in public, so that we can fit in. While it might sound a bit eom goth, I think fitting in may not always be what's needed, but it certainly helps streamline the everyday activities of living.

The one thing on the list I haven't touched on is work, because this entire blog seems to stray back to that topic regularly and we don't need to hear more about it now.....

Be safe.     

What IS love?

So, as any regular reader may have noted (as it is most likely my parents), I have managed to hold together a fairly succesful relationship that even my manager feels is doing me wonders (that one has her head screwed on right). 

I'm not going to lie now and say I understand the complete ins and outs of women and relationships. Previous relationships have just ticked by until the girl decides she's had enough and that things aren't progressing the way she would like, and she ends it. At that point I just find another girl and repeat the cycle, not thinking of how it affects the girl or how a friendship should develop.

It was noted in my original diagnosis report that I understand the concept of friends, that theoretically I know how friendship should work, but that I was unable to put that into practice or to develop friendships beyond rudimentary basics. That's not to say I don't have friends, just sometimes it takes a special person to understand that for me maybe friendship is more of a transaction rather than anything more complex, we hang out, we swap stories, we do stuff. For this post, I am simply taking the concept further to include romantic relationships.

Sure, I understand the concept of romance too. Boy meets girl, boy fails to understand girl, boy convinces girl they should be together, babies ensue. Something along those lines, interspersed with romantic moments  and gift giving. I dunno, it's all murky and odd.

It probably doesn't help that I view love as a chemical imbalance, designed to let us couple together to create life and continue the species. Yes, that is a terribly cold way to view it, but it's the point of all romantic relationships, to generate the circumstances to allow the next generation to be created. Oh, we humans think we are all higher purpose, gifted with intelligence and as Carl Sagan put it, we are free from the reptile brain to change ourselves, think of the possiblities. Frankly, that may all be true, and we can all wax lyrical from Shakespeare's sonnets to Philip Larkin (oh cut me some slack, he captured me as a youth with his liberal use of curse words), but really, at the end of it all, we simply create and propagate the next generation, which is the basic drive of life. Dung beetles roll up wads of poop, Emperor penguins freeze to death and turtles flee down beaches in this need to create.

Honestly are human concepts like love and romance really anything more than constructs and chemicals to drive us further?

My partner gave her notice on her apartment and job last month, intent on moving closer to me and my job. This morning, I asked her what she was going to do with her bed. A simple question and she said she would sell it. I suppose it only hit me then the enormity of whats he was doing. She was moving her entire life, packing it all together, to move closer to me and to support a job that I am currently excelling at.

It prompted a conservation in the car, to the airport, where she was dropping me off (because sensitive coversations and topics should always be handled when time is short), about her depth of feeling for me and her conviction in moving.

How do you tell a girl you don't love her? 

Not in the i don't love you but type of I don't love you, but in the i don't have love. That "you'll just know" feeling. The million ways poets and amatures and love struck idiots describe the inner feeling. I just don't have it. Never have. Oh I can FAKE it, but I don't feel it. 

So then my partner asks why I use the words "I love you" when most likely what I feel isn't what she feels and that the words are just meaningless filler.

Simple answer? Convention. 

Ease of communicating an idea. It's what language is for, the simple and effective means of communicating an idea or feeling. Oh sure millions try to twist language into gaudy unnecessary drivel, using allegory and metaphor to express simple concepts to make themselves and others feel smarter. The needless deciphering of these nonsense statements simply hads to the difficulty and complexity of modern society. No one ever suffered from making a blunt speech. (Oh they may have suffered from the consequences but that is what one gets for saying things nobody else wants to hear, there is a time and a place to tell someone exactly what you think of them and that is usually when you are beyond range of reprisal). 

I love you means I don't have to explain myself to any casual eavesdroppers. Society knows the weight of those words and while it rings hollow in both my and my partners ears it saves me having to create some new phrase like you are the one I hate least (thank you Finland) or I tolerate you the most. The concept ingrained in my i love you is you get me, I make sense to you, even when I'm curled in a ball in bed in the middle of the day trying to shut out the surrounding world.

Of course, in a rushed car journey is maybe not the best time to say I don't actually love you but I still want to spend my life with you. My partner simply traded her love for my trust and fedeltiy, which if anyone reading knows me, despite all my faults in social understanding, I am a complete womaniser. Case in point while Christmas shopping, I made four separate female cashiers in four separate shops genuinely laugh with my charm and flattery. Oh I can do the first part no problem, it's the longer term grind that I seem unable to keep up, either with the persona of a good boyfriend (yes, my partner has seen behind that, and yes I have managed to make her doubt what she saw by being honest)  

Dreaming

This continues not to be a work blog.

I haven't dreamt in a long time. Not sleep dreaming, I'm sure I do that every time I doze I just never remember it, I mean work dream. To dream of a long term secure future in a job of my choice, where I'm not the only applicant for a short staff company or the average no prospects drone.

First some tactful, anonymous history. 

Straight out of university, I was placed in a decent, if a little dead end, job. This was under direction of the university and with pensions and security, it was perfect. But it wasn't what I wanted to do, so I applied elsewhere, believing that I might not qualify for anything beyond that job, but knowing the longer I stayed the less likely my chances got.

However, just before my Aspergers diagnosis I landed a dream job, working for a perfect company. It is important to note, that while I don't want this to sound defensive, I had not been diagnosed but a condition of taking this job was to have my dyslexia reassessed. 

This dream job however, did not last. Despite managers best efforts to provide support, Aspy traits that had never been recognised, or more likely I had learnt to mask, where too obvious and I lasted less than four months. During my "garden leave" from this job, I had my dyslexia reassessed, and with information brought from my then devastated "current" job, the educational physiologist did Aspergers tests, marking my Empathy Quotient at 26, therefore on the spectrum. Her advise, actually, was that my Aspy markers did not require follow up if I felt it wasn't warranted. 

I had at that time more pressing issues, like finding a job. There was a two month gap, where I had little money and spent much of my day job hunting. So I retreated to menial drone work. Something I knew without a doubt I could handle, something similar to my first job. Once acquired and settled, I went for testing, feeling it was worth exploring. 

This isn't called the Aspy Journey blog because those tests came back normal...... Although I am normal, thank you.

That "retreat" job showed me the ugly side of no support and passive discrimination from management, and taught me tough lessons on what to look for in a job, and who to work for. I didn't hold out hope of ever being more than a menial drone, but maybe I could find a manager who would at least not pressure me and declare to the world my disabilities in the guise of helping. My Aspy nurse came to save the day. She originally came to talk to my management about supporting me and helping with behaviours that they wished to curb, and ended up giving me the best advice she could after watching two managers tear me for precieved infringements (I know I wasn't at fault because I had an independent Neurotypical in the room: my nurse). Her advice? "Quit, now."

Before I continue I feel its important to clarify my stance on the whole work support and health care support issue. The law protects me, I'm sure if I joined a union, they'd protect me, I have a right to a job and management have to make "reasonable adjustments", with help from professionals, to suit my work environment to me. I need a five minute break every two hours to clear my head? Done. Work is stressing me to the limit? I can simply walk out, without explanation, and leave a mark for my manager so they know. I can use a scale system so my colleagues can run interference on me, making me a drink or taking something stressful off me. What constitutes reasonable however is up for debate, and I have heard stories where companies can make reasoned arguments that an adjustment will damage business and that's the matter closed.

I understand that with bad attitude, or an entitled attitude, I could be nothing more than a millstone waiting to be passed to someone else. What it takes is a little quit pro quo, where I must strive to meet any reasonable adjustment half way, to try and overcome my faults through private education and support, and by extension this blog is part of that. It forces me to confront certain issues, uncomfortable ones, like how  i thoughtlessly upset people because I don't think before I speak sometimes.  I don't feel good about myself when I'm told I've upset someone. So I try to tackle those behaviours and while I am currently discharged from Aspy services, I wouldn't hesitate to contact them again if needed, or to join groups (which reminds me, I should search for groups in my area).  

So I quit. It was tough, I had held the job for just under a year, my second longest, but almost immediatly found a new job with an excellent manager. She also met my support nurse and was horrified by my previous jobs behaviour, encouraging me to retain a lawyer and do some active challenging. I didn't. The job to begin with hadn't been worth it, I was only a drone, it presented no growth or advancement opportunity, unless I threatened to quit, in which case suddenly I was the toast of the job. 

My new job took off, it was secure, I made friends, I really enjoyed it. 

Out of the blue I recieved a recruitment text. When my dream job had collapsed, I went into over drive, applying for every job and putting my CV on every recruitment website going. I still get emails and calls asking if I am interested in jobs that I am no longer suited for (in a good way). The recruitment agency had found my Cv online and where offering me an interview with a good company, with a chance for advancement, development and doing a job that would be exciting, rewarding and stimulating. I was back in dream job territory.

I went, not expecting to get the job. In the run up, I spoke intensely with my recruitment handler, discussing how to broach the topic of my disability, how my work history looked without context, gaps and short stays. Previous interviews for jobs that sounded interesting had gone flat when I couldn't with ease explain gaps and short employment, I had been ridiculed in one interview for taking the current drone job at my age. I was afraid to discuss disability, afraid it would ring bells, alarms, that I was not a candidate to hire because I might take supporting, and it all may just fall flat in a short period anyway, but without explaining undiagnosed disability, I couldn't offer decent explanations for gaps. I had done no research into interview techniques and they simply came back with cold "nos".

I wish I could remember the name of recruitment officer who spent hours on the phone, coaching me in how to phrase my previous trouble and to be direct. The honest answer is the best, and be up front about disability, stressing what you can do, what you are undergoing in terms of support and how much you want to work and meet them half way. He also said to turn my disability to company advantage.  The government requires that a certain number disabled people to be employed, and it makes a company look good and inclusive. The best advice I had ever gotten. 

So I went. There where five candidates and I was first. That's code for I was not a hopeful, I was a name. Inevitably the question about my dream job came up.

"Why was your stay so short in a job similar to the one for which you are no applying?"

I took a deep breath and answered honestly. I had undiagnosed Asperger's syndrome.

The interview opened. At some stage, when it became clear I was being handed the job I was asked a very poignant question:

"Are you saying this dream job collapsed because you where not provided with support?"

To say "yes" was the simplest but also untrue answer. I remembered the manager trying hard to support me, repeatedly. But without all the facts, neither of us could implement the correct support or fathom what was wrong.

I gave what I still consider one of my best interview answers: "WE didn't know."

I walked out of that interview room with a three month contract. I had to ask the manager who showed me round the offices if it was a serious job offer three times before I believed it fully.

Three months at my dream job was better than nothing. It was then extended by another three months.

Close to the end of the second three months, when the next management decision would be to either give me  permanent   contract or let me go, a job promotion came up.  I applied and was offered interview, more of a courtesy and learning experience than any real prospect of advancement.

I walked out of that interview with a permanent contract, a project to manage and promises of management orientated courses. The other candidate, rightfully, got the promotion. 

That was almost a year ago. I called this post dreaming, because ever since my initial dream job, I haven't dared dream. It has been unreal. But my first "dream job" taught me not to dream, it crashed. And while I worked as a drone I had no dreams. Maybe vague formless thoughts that further education might pluck me from a mundane dead end job that sapped my will and was not financially rewarding, but nothing solid. A stunted imagination really can be a draw back. 

Early this year I went for a job, regular hours, very good pay, in another office. I hate keeping secrets, I really do, but after I had interviewed and been offered a job, I decided my manager deserved to know that I was jumping ship for another job.

His reaction caught me off guard. He was neutral, but also asked why I was leaving a dream job to work somewhere that may be the equal of my current job, but may have different orientation and goals, work methods and ethics. It gave me pause.

Since my loss of the initial dream job, all I had wanted was to get back into that territory. It didn't really matter with who, or what I was doing day to day, just as long as I was lifted out of the drone work and into a platform from which maybe I could spring into what I really wanted to do. 

But now, now, I was in my dream field. I was jumping because my brain was stuck in "any fancy job" mode, the I'll fine tune it later, for now: leap type job.

My manager told me exactly what he expect out of my "five year plan". A plan I didn't have, and hadn't had since really leaving university if I am honest. He told me if a job came up he would encourage me for it, if he thought I was right, either with my current company or in a new company. He, unwittingly I believe, set me goals, dreams, things to accomplish. He told me if a job came up in a field I am passionate about,meh would pack my bags himself and March me out the door. I began to form a five year plan.

After that, I began to dream again, just a little. A little bit of hope and colour filling my mind, but I never really gave to much thought.

In a recent appraisal my manager put it as strongly as they could that I should apply for the next advertised promotion.

And that's why I am blogging at 5 am on a work day. I have applied for a promotion. One they kept the application window open long enough for me to return from holidays and apply. 

I've been told I won't get it, but that is no reason not to play a stormer. I am doing research, speaking to managers who I will be working under about what their expectations are (the advert says it all, but no harm in hearing it from managers), and preparing interview questions. My best suit has gone to dry cleaners and I will be buying a new shirt for the experience. Just because I won't get it is no excuse not to look amazing and grasp a learning opportunity.

I best get some sleep. Night/morning.

 

Sensory seeking behaviour.

After that last gruesome post, something a little less graphic and more thoughtful this time around perhaps?

This blog will have a number of overarching themes (there will be a quiz at the end so pay attention). These will include (but are no means limited to): behaviour, coping mechanisms, side effects and meltdowns, personal achievements and failures, social interaction and medical changes (hopefully minimal and not interesting). As you might imagine, these will overlap and intertwine as nothing in life is simple and various posts might encompass many different themes or topics. With this in mind, I am going to try to break down certain behaviours into individual posts, just for clarity and to highlight some topics that affect me (with this in mind there may be some opinion pieces, don't worry Dave my Etonian chum, it may not be my remit to advocate for the "disabled community", as many have their own voices, but I will be commenting on the perceived persecution of the disabled).

The last post was very much a sensory seeking behaviour, and I want to follow on with a broader topic of sensory seeking. I don't remember who exactly suggested I have some form of sensory seeking behaviour and I have a sneeking suspicion it was a friend who working with the intellectually disabled rather than a professional diagnosis.

While I enjoy narrow pursuits, I also enjoy them to an extreme extent. I read various internet sites, although none constructive to do with work or with my disabilities. In fact to compose a post about the recent disability cutbacks and the bedroom tax, I am going have to do some research, not only because when I hulk out, I like to be the credible hulk, but because my only information comes from the occasional news story on my Facebook feed. I spend hours on various funny websites, or meme apps, as well as Facebook and Twitter, following what is essentially meaningless comments from people I hardly, or don't, know. Life on the internet is delightfully anonymous, I can comment on anything I like with at least a veneer of anonymity. People can comment on this blog anonymously, because I am a benevolent god, and I believe in freedom of expression and response. 

I spend hours online, and while it can be varied content, between videos from people I follow, or memes, or any social media site or games, it still tethers me to a device and a wifi signal. Blogging is probably an extension of this, and I find a world without wifi a little less rich. I haven't read a full book in about six months, as my time is eaten wholesale by vapid internet browsing. I used to be able to read four books at once, one in every room of the house but, while I still read four books, they take months to complete rather than weeks. This also means my backlog of books is ever growing, as I buy books constantly. In the last week I have had to put books down simply to stop the fill of books pouring into my limited space. It has been this way since before my diagnosis, and it has taken off and been fed by my access to always on fast speed direct to my door broadband and wifi that is prevalent. I can go to any public space, practically, and use a smartphone, tablet or laptop to access the information superhighway. I recently ditched my smartphone and bought a brick that's letting me relive my youth nicely, and I must admit, with the exception of a camera, I miss nothing. Gone is the constant need to browse and upload content. This, at least in part, proves I can break certain routines and behaviours, although I am more often than not logging onto wifi before I have sat down in a restaurant, or unpacked in a hotel, or made dinner at home. 

My internet browsing also impacts another interest (for the purposes of the test, it counts as an interest). My partner recently complained that I wasn't taking a romantic interest in her, devoting more time to the internet than to her. Surprisingly, she isn't my first partner to make this complaint. I have been "diagnosed" by an ex partner who did a sex addict quiz on my behalf and scored me firmly in the addicted section. Mind you, I also scored 28 on a narcissism test, and I only have Facebook, Twitter, a blog, and a full time game account linked to a community and a YouTube account (which I don't upload to), so these tests can be wrong. The sex addict quiz score may have some bearing on my life, as I do have more than the normal appetites. I need to remember my parents read this blog, so I need to word this paragraph tastefully. 

The internet keeps me up at night, constantly feeding information into my brain and I chase it with thirst  and excitement. I am constantly tired because I sit behind a screen constantly, even in bed, on the toilet, when cooking. I am currently watching a video steaming supine, texting and blogging. 

My thumb is certainly a sensory seeking behaviour, and even today it has begun to split again. This time it's bleeding and sore. 

This topic will crop up again, but for now, goodnight.

Also: hi to my readers in America, Germany and now China, welcome. To my closer readers in the Uk and Ireland, thanks for the support.

.

Hidden

Ok, so that last post was a little lacklustre. Mostly caused by a lack of thinking critically (like all of life's problems) and my current ill health, it only skimmed the surface of my control issues and how I both misuse them and switch between various personas and shields to both protect myself and appease others. While that is a topic I will come back to after further thought and examination (and examples), I want to talk a little about how intellectual disability is often hidden, although from my "twice now" post, I can either walk when I am tired or wear my stylish glasses.

Dyslexia, dyspraxia and aspergers are all variously hidden. There's no guide dog acting as my life companion or a wheelchair, which is so synonymous with disability it is used as the national symbol for disabled access or services or parking. Although, reading that last part, a dog life companion sounds fairly awesome.

Before I continue I want to just go off on a slight tangent. I am incredibly lucky. Occasionally I feel that this blog could very well devolve into a whine fest, full of the internet popular "white whine" although, perhaps more a "disabled whine". (Although, maybe disabled wine might sell like those monks booze). I have both natural luck and family luck. The ins and outs of my history doesn't make good reading, but being able to produce a blog at all is a minor miracle, and having escaped one fate, even with caveats of disability, cerbral palsy, dyslexia, dyspraxia and aspergers, I have all four mildly. I am not wheelchair bound (although I will joke that is my destiny), I am variously able to write, read and while I am delightfully uncoordinated, I can drive (who just gave up driving for life?). I do blend in to regular neurotrophical society with remarkable ability. Some of it is self taught, some of it is cultural, a lot of it is excellent parent support, people being very understanding (being given out to for calling myself a retard by colleagues, college professors, partners and others is both hilarious and disappointing). Right after that foreshadowing paragraph, let's continue.

Being able to "hide" helps mostly, I don't suffer perceived discrimination or snide comments. The idea recently that there are levels to every disability certainly applies to me. George Takei, a  man I love not just for his Star Trek fame and roles, but his championing of gay rights and his highlighting of uncomfortable truths about the American WW2 record, was hounded for sharing a meme of a wheelchair user standing to reach alcohol (whether this is right or wrong I will leave to my readers) but it highlighted that disability is not a black or white issue. Anyone with a disability is very capable of doing anything. It is not disability, but this ability. We can do more than we are often credited for. 

This issue is turning into a delightful minefield, you may want to pretend to be a penguin at home.

The story that jumps to mind is one from a text book from my youth. The tale of two ladies who go for coffee every week, and the lady in the wheelchair is talked about, not to, as staff ask the "able bodied" lady "does she take milk?" 

Because I blend, it is when I open my mouth that I give myself away. I have gotten better at this, silence being a safe refuge, or topics of bland yet not weather related subjects. I often find the party trick of when surrounded people you don't know at a party, ask questions and make others talk about themselves, thus making the silent approach acceptable as someone tells you facts about their lives. This lets me soak facts for later use, both with that person and when bored in work I can leave my colleagues baffled.

My ataxia is now beginning to signal something is wrong, and to trained eyes it is a fairly obvious sign of cerbral palsy. I am hoping my exercises will minimise my ataxia and the delightful obviousness of my condition. Still, joking that I shouldn't be allowed make the tea and carry it to the office does tKe the sting out a bit.

Right, that's a solid page for now, plenty to revisit I am sure. Goodnight.

Smells

Talking about super powers.....

I have a really sensitive sense of smell, to the point where I can tell someone has been smoking in a room that's been empty for a long time and cleaned fully.

I'm not sure if this is an Aspie trait, as close family members have strong noses, but it does have impact on my life.

Silly things, like I went into a bath soap shop and almost immediately had to leave as the smells became over whelming. I don't suffer meltdowns as they might be pictured (tantrums and screaming) but when it feels like electricity is sparking down the back of your skull, it can be mildly unpleasant. I can identify these moments and leave as soon as I'm able.

The only real trouble is when something has been cleaned. It might smell clean to everyone but I can get the afternose of the vile previous smell.

Anyway, I'm off to tie a sheet round my shoulders and sniff things.......

Selective pressures

Repeat after me: this is not a work blog, this is not a work blog, this is NOT a work blog.

Right, now that we have that out of the way, lets talk about work.

Aspies struggle in work, I have struggled in work, and there's some key things that I have discovered about managing in work.

Work, as much as it gets moaned about ("we wouldn't call it work if it where fun"), is an essential structure in life, and it forms a framework for me, at least. It gives me an abundance of human interaction, it gives me achievable goals and relatively easy tasks. I am incredibly lucky (repeatedly) that I do something I love, that I can manage, and that I find rewarding. Without work, what else would I do?

I've already discussed the idea of getting a support worker/nurse to speak to a manager, who can provide skills, insight and management techniques. It also gives the support worker a chance to get a feel for the work environment and the management team, giving them the ability to give tailored support and if needs must, tell the Aspie when it's time to find a new job (something I'll accept is tough for Aspies as it is).

The Internet loves lists, so here goes (on a side note, I hate slide show lists):

First rule: Be honest. "I have this difference, but these are my coping mechanisms, this are my behaviours, this is my support worker and this is what I do well." It's how I got my current job, I was brutally honest, and here I am more than a year later going for a promotion and have extra roles.

Second: As mentioned, bring in that support, ask for reasonable adjustments, whatever is required.

Thirdly: Try to gauge a good manager. This is tough, I know, but again this is where a support worker or nurse can do wonders. They will spot the managers who actually care, as opposed to those who want to just do the bare minimum and then wash their hands as someone struggles. I have repeatedly turned down jobs because the manager has come off wrong, or I didn't like the work environment. I have stated that money won't buy me, but a decent manager will.

Fourth: Find a job that encompasses a field of interest. It is repeated as major trait of Aspergers that we have a few special interests and social situations, and this is certainly true but that doesn't mean an aspy cannot do something they are gifted at. I've been told my speciality interest is women (Ladies) and the handling of social situations with them (read: flirting), but honestly my current job, and the current speciality certainly, is an interest of mine (I totally didn't buy the book for the next course before the course has been announced, I swear). This special interest become a TV trope of course, claiming we all have superpowers, but unless being able to nap anywhere is a superpower, I haven't got one. (Narcolepsy Man: STOP! or I'll zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz).

Five: Pick a specific area to work in. Yes this sounds obvious, but in my current field if I worked in a large workplace, with many departments or sections or offices with uncontrolled workload coming in I would not do as well as I am. By selecting the pressures, I am thriving, eliminating certain factors that may put me in a spin by picking a workplace that automatically eliminates those factors.

I am very sure this list isn't exhaustive, but right now I'm drawing a blank (I got distracted by TV).

I'll revisit it as soon as my brain starts working.


 

The Atheist Aspy

Wish I'd thought of that as my blog title. Oh well, too late now.

Straight into this minefield, because I'll annoy Aspys, Atheists and the religious community. Moments when I wish I was a penguin......

I was raised Roman Catholic, and many of my life references and touch stones, even still, revolve around this world view. I enjoy Christian holidays, I understand Western view points because in the majority the West is Christian, although this is changing (no I will not be dissecting the move of Islam into western culture, or the divide etc. I find Islam to be a very sensible religion. SHOCK an atheist said he finds religion sensible on the Internet, bring out the pitchforks).

Now, as many may know, RC isn't a religion one simply leaves. I don't mean a priest stands at the door with a gun and a Bible or that they ask you to return forms in triplicate with references from every teacher who ever had to suffer you as a student, signed in the blood of at least one martyr. RC just moves you in category from active to lapsed.

Now I'm sure there is an official way to leave, involving forms in triplicate and questions about what I was doing the third Sunday of May in 1997 at 16:45. Life appears a bit too short for these things, and I don't even fill in half the forms I should fill in (like job applications and birthday cards. Sorry Mum/Dad/random family), and it never hurts to have a back up plan (I cite Voltaire as my inspiration).
Slowly, like a flan in a cupboard, I've collapsed into Atheism. Not angry atheism, before anyone thinks I'm out to rip up Bibles and take a hammer to Churches. Just no real belief in anything organised about God. It has led to some insights and thoughts, and some very strange discussions.

I generally find that a live and let live policy works best, and an almost American Libertarian view of: 'you do what you want all you like, as long as it doesn't impact me.' Unfortunately American atheism and its current battles impact my views (thanks YouTube), but also inform my thoughts.

There is nothing wrong with believing in something that might (and could even plausibly) be true, like a God in general, or even a Christian God specifically, and i know many good people who's lives are shaped and informed by their beliefs. One of my favourite moments in the last year was discussing respect for others beliefs and the idea laid down in the American Constitution that freedom of religion means freedom from religion with a friend and despite the fact that she is a believer and I'm not particularly inclined, our world views and policy run along very similar lines.

So we come to the crux of my argument (because there is a lot of ground to cover, and one post won't cover it all, I'm not St Bridget with my magic cloak). I like science, I use science every day, it provides a foundation for the knife edge that modern society is based on (we're three square meals away from anarchy may no longer be the case, we are twenty four hours with out wifi before the collapse of modern civilisation). Science is a way of knowing, a way of learning about both ourselves and the universe. Science shows us everything from the first millisecond of the universe, to where humans came from, to how to feed humanity. It is based on fact and rigorously reviewed and checked. It is self correcting, things we thought we knew thirty years ago, we don't know at all. science is what beats diseases, is currently fighting to contain Ebola ( arguments over whether or not the with holding of treatment is politically motivated or runs along racial lines is for a different post or blog, although my faith in humanity would be shaken to the core if someone provided proof that people would be left to suffer because of their skin colour.)

This is when my hand starts going for the lead pipe, when people start telling me that science isn't true, that it is disproved by incomplete, non peer reviewed studies conducted by people with questionable degrees and morals (yes I went there: who can honestly tell people they will get rich by giving money to church?).

The most eloquent response to this is Dara O'Briain, an Irish comedian. I'll share a link but in essence he says:

"Science knows it doesn't know everything, otherwise it would stop. That doesn't mean you can fill in the gaps with whatever fairy story you like".

http://youtu.be/uDYba0m6ztE

While having an original thought in my head is more entertaining, I really cannot put it better than more prominent figures who actually have traffic, unlike small timers like me who blur into the back ground along with every other blogger. That said, another voice in the darkness that's not shouting 'I told you so' when it is too late might just help. Its why i started this blog (although I started it to share my Aspy experiences, not expressly my love of science), as a voice to show that Aspys can function and are people and we walk amongst you, and if there was anything I learnt that might help others.

This post has to end at some stage, and I went wildly off topic, so this topic will be revisited, although its a heavy one to talk about.

for now lets be Penguins in minefields.......

(That clip covers a lot that i agree with, this is blogging for slackers)

Twice now.

About three years ago, a while after my London reassessment, I went for an eye check mainly to utilise the tint test that I had undergone. I had never worn glasses in my life, but I had friends in school (in London, because in Ireland learning differences simply mean you're stupid and should be held back a year to catch up to the other classes. Oops, the stuff I say when I'm tired!) and I remember that the glasses went down like a lead balloon, the sixties having passed in a haze of smoke and tinted glasses no linger being groovy. 

But with a diagnosis of dyspraxia (seriously considering getting a counter plug-in that pings every time I mention a difference), and the tint specifics in my pocket, I headed to the eye doc. Turns out I have a stigmatise too, so I actually need glasses for reason beyond needing to look off. And that is how I felt. That wearing purple tint glasses was just a giant billboard declaring:

"Warning! Defective product." 

As I went to collect them, I ran into a friend who told me they would look cool due to the return of hipness and girls in alternative bars would swarm me (this has yet to happen, but I live in hope). A friend accepting that I needed tinted goggles made it easier, but every time I used them they got commented on, and while not always negative, made me self conscious. So the glasses went in a box.  One pair got scratched beyond use and the other pair popped a screw. 

Recently, under some "guidance", I repaired my glasses and began using them again, only for them to fall out of my pocket in work and pop a screw again. This time, the tiny screw managed a Houdini, so it was a walk down to the local optometrist. While repairing them, for free I might add, he mentioned an article in the Lancet recently that threw doubt on the usefulness of tint (I'll link in a future post, if I find it).

How does this all tie into the title?

Well turns out I have had a bigger billboard that I didn't realise and no one seems to spot, or comment on, and in the last two years I have had two random, friendly people, comment. 

Last year in a cafe, a gent at the next table watched me walk in and then told me it was Cerbral palsy. We talked and he kindly bought me tea, tell me that we should stick together. It was touching and while I am biased, confirmed the diagnosis I was awaiting.

The second time it happened was today, a gent on the bus asked as I sat down, making me smile. I now have a nice letter telling me what's different with me.

It makes me comfortable with my glasses, with how i walk and how I am.

Just a thought.

The biggest change

So, during our short commercial break, a few things changed. 

I moved job. 

I changed partner. (Her observations will feature in this blog, as often they are both hilariously true and scarily insightful.)

And I moved house.

The last bit is the biggest bit of news. I have lived on my own before, and for some Aspies it is a huge achievement, something some community nurses strive to achieve as an end goal to give an Aspie some sense of independence and freedom. 

I have never successfully lived on my own before. As discussed previously, success can be measured by many different yard sticks, and I suppose that by some degree, simply being an Aspie living on my own is a success. However, to quote the aforementioned partner out of context: are you reconsidering acting like a functioning person. 

Yes. Yes I am.

Previously while living anywhere, my living quarters has devolved into a pile of unwashed clothes and takeaway food cartons surrounding a bed made with sheets that didn't know what the inside of a washing machine looked like.

When I started my blog, I was house sharing with two guys and living in a variant of the aforementioned mess. I can now proudly say that I have moved into a two bed apartment, one room for sleeping, the other for reading/doing office work/having guests stay (now if only I had friends), and it's been relatively mess free for an entire month.

Achievement unlocked, living like an adult.