beyond offensive

So, this post did open with a joke about having no prep, and not keeping notes and how I was winging it. Yeah, well, I had just finished the saga the post became and BAM! the app died and lost my entire thing. I won't lie, there was am iPad smashing melt down and I needed a few hours to distract myself. I will try to remember the original content as much as possible but all that springs to mind is some cheap Donald Trump jokes (don't worry, after his treatment of the disabled, they're staying).

Anyway:

Four times a year I work on a camp site. It's a lot of fun, but it also involves long long days, mostly starting at about nine am (or sunrise, if there's a problem) and running right through to about three am. It can be hours of dullness that needs to be filled with self provided entertainment (mostly in the form of taking the piss out of colleagues and eating), interspersed with various odd jobs. It can be stressful, as issues arise and I resist slapping people (its not "customer friendly" apparently), but it is hours of fun. As you might imagine, this can create an environment where Aspy traits can be exacerbated, and expressed in a slightly less than ideal situations, as tiredness and stress are major factors in loss of control.

The boss, Bee, is a skilled people person and has a good knowledge of any and all of my conditions. She often spots the beginnings of melt down, or the effect of tiredness on my ability to interact with customers, and provide a level headed response (without the aforementioned slapping). In these instances, she knows I need to be relieved and sent to my tent for a good nights sleep (I'll be in my bunk is said more times in a day than I care to count, usually to something repulsive). She has come up with a name for this situation, my deterioration and increased need to get away from social situations. That phrase?

"Offensively Aspy"

Hold! Stop. No, do not jump to comments to tell me a blog I've set up to spread awareness about Cerebral Palsy Aspergers is using something you find upsetting. Communication in Aspergers is vital, as many Aspys miss social cues, detest sarcasm and simply can't read between the lines. (I've blogged about communication here). The phrase "offensively Aspy" is a fast, effective, short hand to sum up my current behaviour and is an easy instruction to both myself and the team for what has to happen next (I get to go eat and go to bed). I am, obviously, unaware that things are going badly, so a quick verbal cue gets me out before something goes really wrong and there's fences to mend (or ignore in grumpy ways).

So what happens when I hit peak traits? When there's no Bee to tell me to get to bed? I go completely non-verbal. Total silence. It's as if my jaw clamps shut, the nerves refuse to work and my voice box packs it in. At the same time, my internal voice ramps it up to eleven. I swear its Donald Trump acting like a lobotomised gorilla at a rally (OK, so acting like himself), loud enough for the person next to me to hear it. It's like my own boom box, and it goes right up my nose, because it says everything I wish I could verbalise. Last time it happened, my local shop worker commented that I always put food in for the Food Bank and how sweet I am for it. I COULDN'T PHYSICALLY THANK HER, so I smiled (and thanked her a few days later). I can guess this is how it feels to be non-verbal all the time, and as part of that I find texting valuable (have yet to text anyone "help I can't talk"). It's a basic coping mechanism used in non-verbal but because I have high functioning Aspergers, my verbal skills are generally good (I pass my sarcasm off as dry wit and the British eat it up). It also only lasts until after I've slept, so it's clearly a transient phenomenon (someone told me big words make me look clever).

So, thoughts to ponder.  In silence......

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Yes, I know i said Sunday, but after last weeks schedule issue, I'm putting it up now.....

  

My left thumb

See? See? See what I did there? 

If you are in anyway weak stomached, this post may not be to your taste.

Since about the age of ten I have, with various pauses and breaks, religiously torn the skin off my left thumb. Why my left thumb? It is the one that the skin splits and blisters on the most. I remember then I was younger it was both thumbs, and occasionally my feet, but now it is almost exclusively my left thumb (although my feet aren't beyond reach). 

It doesn't require too much effort either. I don't need to chew it or wet it, recently there's still old lines,where I was able to reach the maximum expansion of weak skin before it either tore to a deep spot that was too sore to continue or I couldn't get purchase with my nails, while I have been able to start new expansions on newly formed skin that's already 'white' and ready to lift. It often starts along the creases of the tumb joint, where the skin will naturally begin to break as I bend my thumb in numerous ways. 

Sometimes only the very too layer comes away, sometimes multiple layers come away in one go. While strips, both shallow and deep, usually don't led to deep blood drawing damage, but once it narrows at one end, I usually expect the pinprick pain as it tears deep and does draw blood. That's not to say, often on my feet, that a broad stretch will with open a deep strip of blooded flesh or again multiple pinpricks, wells of blood that sting and cause reduction in function.

I am so adept at striping skin that I can do it one handed, while driving. Of course water helps and I often find myself in the shower helping it along. 

Whyi do it is probably more interesting, and my main answer is I don't know. I am sure it falls under some sort of self harm and I have never spoken to a professional about it. The girls in work know about it, although we never discuss it. My parents know about it, as does my partner.  

I often fob it off as a burn, stress, but mostly it's habitual boredom. It provides a feeling of release as much as it is entertainment. I don't stop until my thumb is either stripped or it has become to painful to continue. It is almost as if I trance when I do it, oblivious to the world around me, focused solely on the destruction of my thumb. As soon as I'm done I get mixed feelings, there's relief, freedom, satisfaction, but these are often overridden by shame, disappointment in my inability to prevent myself from destroying something that belongs to me, and a small pile of skin flakes that remind me of what I have done. Mixed with these are a confusing feelings of pride, pride at how much I have removed, how big the flakes are and how my thumb feels. It no longer has a ridges texture, after years of the tear heal cycle, it is smoother than my other fingers,

I suppose I should be concerned, worried about health implications and social implications from what is essentially self harm, but I never am. I just let it heal, with not real attempt to hide it any more, no real discussion of it, I have found this post hard to write simply dpbecause I lack the language to describe both the physical process and the feelings that ensue from it.

The photo below was taken as soon as I had finished an opening. It's raw and painful, but sometimes these things need to be shared.