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.

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Short post

My yet unfinished post about sensory seeking behaviour includes a side rant out about calling out the government on its "war" on disability payment recipients, including the bedroom tax.

Now, understand I recieve no money in benefit form as, rightly, I meet none of the criteria (it makes me feel like a beacon of health reading the assessment forms, as I can do more than is required). 

This popped up on my news feed just now:

I can't post the link without logging into Google plus, so I'm afraid a screen shot will have to do.

Be back soon with posts.

Night.

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.

 

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.

Control

How do five days vanish into nothing and I find myself behind?

I want to talk about control.

It seems to be a common tread amongst Aspy and autism, that we enjoy control, be it of our environment, what we watch, what others are doing, how life runs.

I have developed all sort of control. I control situations by being subtle, by seeming timid, seeming charming, making others feel that I am the one who can get jobs done, by making people do things because I can show them the persona or attitude they want. I'm the good guy, solid boyfriend, totally loyal, thoughtful.

However, for anyone who's had a look behind the armour, I'm most likely not the nicest person ever. But I can control others using a persona that's required. Oh, and sarcasm.

Control does have intrusion in my life in other ways. I hate cinema, mainly because I can't turn if off or flip channels, I don't like other people showing me stuff to watch, as I get no control over that either. I love TV, because I can mess with that, I can turn it off, change it and generally choose what I want to watch.

This leads me to the Internet. I love watching clips on a popular tube type website (YOU work it out). The Internet not only feeds my control, but also my sensory seeking behaviour (more on that later) and I can claim its educational (it is, if you know where to look, or how to lie).

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.