I’m sorry…

I’m sorry… I sit and stare at you until you tell at me to stop.

I’m sorry… you say you love me and I look right thru you. I heard you and I love you back – I know you “need” to hear that, I sometimes forget in the moment.

I’m sorry… you needed a hug and you jumped in to get one and I moved you out of the way and continued the path I was on.

I’m sorry… you talk to me and I look over your shoulder and notice the stain that is on the curtain.

I’m sorry… the stain seems more important than what you were saying. I just don’t belong there and that disturbs my world. I’m sorry its not an excuse but more of an explanation I feel I owe to you.

I’m sorry… I snarled my lip at the surprise.

I’m sorry… I look at you when you conversate with me. I’m my mind I replied to you. I projected the thoughts threw the air. Unforchantly you and I don’t always speak the same language and all you see is me staring blankly at you. I attempted to convert my response to words but it just didn’t happen. Sometimes I can not find the words. Sometimes I forget the word. Sometimes echo meanless words I’ve heard elsewhere in a moment of panic like some verbal stage fright. Sometimes I’m too exhausted or too ignored. Other times I find it too much work or fear that it will lead to more talking or worse arguing. Many times I feel a response was not needed or the topic does not effect me enough to speak. Other times I feel like I’ve already said that and there’s no need in repeating it again.

I’m sorry… you looked at my screen without warning and I jumped and hit what I was writing. I’m not cheating on you or hiding things from you, necessarily I just caught me off guard. I was not expecting it.

I’m sorry… that I appear secretive and that bothers you. I love you and I share more with you than ANYONE ELSE. That itself is HUGE. Trust me when I say I need this privacy. I have a quirky little thing about allowing one person to know EVERYTHING. It just can not happen… I’d say I can tell you but then I’d have to kill you but that’s not true… but I would have to be extreme and unpredictable in order to do something you do NOT know to settle that imbalance void I MUST have!

I’m sorry… I do most of my talking at night when you are falling asleep.

I’m sorry… you say I’m sexy and I look at you funny.

I’m sorry… my face never aligns to my true feelings or mood.

I’m sorry… I’m so stubborn. Things have to make sense to me first.

I’m sorry… I pet the cat more than I do you. You are manly and rough the cat is soft and fluffy and never grabs or pets me in return. Again no excuse just explaining why it is what it is.

I’m sorry… I asked the same things several times.

I’m sorry… I’m sorry BUT

I’m not sorry I’m just being me!! If you want someone to do those things you will need to find someone else that is able to. But because you love some of the strange things I do (not listed above) that no normal chic can do!! I know you except me for me and I accept you for you – our flaws and all! 🙂

toon

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Life folding

Image

This is what best describes my life right now. I have faked my abilities as long as I could. I pretended and fooled the world with my ninja faking skills all the way until the end. The deck is complete, the last card placed on the house. I take a step back and admire my work. But in the blink of an eye the house crumbles.

I guess what I’m trying to say is my card house is just a fake house built out of cards. No matter how good I made it, its just a card house and as far as I know, nobody can live in one. That’s pretty much how my life is. I have pretended and faked my way to the top and I do not have a next move.

When I was a girl, I would look weird, walking in line with the rest of my class, jumping from crack-to-crack. I was trying to step on the cracks in the “correct” spot, just so, ensuring that the left foot felt exactly the same as the right foot. It was a game, a game I MUST do. It was both soothing and frustrating but its what got me from point a to point b when I was actually in with the regular class for part of the day. My teachers had to notice my unusual behavior but they knew I was a quirky special ed student, so they never said anything about it or appeared to notice. Or did they and I just failed to notice them noticing me?!

I recall a day when a girl in line near me jumped in my way causing me to miss my move. I did not say anything. I never said much. Back and forth talking seemed useless and I felt it was a “waste” of my precious voice. As if, a voice was something I could run out of by using too much! We were getting close to the music trailer and I knew I must act fast to “catch up” on that missed move. Left foot needs two cracks near the toes to match the right. But I must carry on the left right left pattern and make up the difference BEFORE the stop. I’m guessing my behavior became more abnormal as the girl continued to poke fun at me. This time stepping on my shoes and “cutting” in front of me to slam on the breaks at the cracks and when I’d crash into her she would stomp on my feet. Then as we walked into music she asked why I was such a freak. The teacher must have heard her because she was pulled a side. I heard her arguing her side as I placed my hands on my ears trying to drown out the rest of the class practicing rhythm in the form of whacking two sticks together. The girl asked if I was happy now in a smart alecky voice. I did not catch on but I was happy and happily said yes. At the last crack I completed my game and my feet for even! So yes, I was happy! 🙂

The teacher returned, she went to the music teacher and whispered something to her, she then came and tapped me on the shoulder and had me leave. I started to wonder if I was in trouble is that what that smart elkie girl had was talking about. The teacher did not speak a word to me as she walked in front of me. I was trying not to step on any cracks along the way because that was easier than catching up. Besides my mind was elsewhere. What did I do? She lead me to my other classroom where I was not scheduled to go until later that day. I was the only one in there. The teacher finally spoke and asked what I like to do best in there? I stood quiet and looking around. The room was different  I guess it just felt that way since the teacher and other students where not there. I pointed to the large apple computer that sat together in a row along the wall. She walked over to it pushing a button or two  and checking the plugin and announced she’d be right back as she walked out. She was taking to long. I was now in the mood to play one of those silly number muncher games. I walked turned the computer on. Found my game, loaded it up and was quietly playing it when the teacher returned asking what else I’d like to do before realizing I had turned on the system myself. She sad down beside me as I clicked away on the keyboard not missing a beat. She was amazed and asked how I knew how to do that?

Now that I’m older I assume she was missing her break. I smile now and wish I didn’t live 900 miles away from the school and wish that I could actually remember what her name was or even what she looked like. I’d love to tell her thanks for being kind to me that day. I’d love to tell her how much computer are a part of my life and that I know she ate her lunch in that room because she was amazed at what I was doing. Until that point she probably assumed I was helpless and I would grow up needing to be saved regularly for the rest of my life. Then I had no clue but not long after I started noticing more things like this and the little girl who thought I was weird.

Later on in the year, I concealed my game I took a val to only play it at home or on the way to or from school. And secretly when I was walking without my class! I was proud I had worked hard not being weird and felt I was not weird anymore! For several days, I was not in my contained class. I was going outside for recess and I watched the girls playing games. I saw my chance to jump in and play too and was quickly rejected. Apparently they had a secret meeting to not allow me in the snotty girls club. Girls were so mean. So nasty. They would say snarly things I would not get the meaning then they would laugh at me for not understanding. While I had my share of bullies and have been hit the mental abuse from these snarly little girls was the worst by far. It scared the insides and stuck with me forever.

I learned valuable life lessons from it all. I learned to build up a shell and fuck the world in whole attitude. Trust no one. Only fear, fear and expect the unexpected. Stop look and listen and ask yourself how could this be bad. Not that I’m negative or look for the bad in others just to please myself. I do it in self defense as a way of life and being able to survive. I’m at a disadvantage and this stratagus is all I know, from experience.

I scream but nobody hears

I scream who I am, but nobody hears. I scream what I am, why I am, because I am, but the echos go unheard; and misunderstood.

I’m much more than the surface shows. I have a personality. I have reasons. I have wants and needs just like everyone else.

It’s not often, I want to share more than the surface shows. But when I do  – no one is here to hear what I say.

The way I communicate is probably much of the reason. But its all I know. This is the only language I speak and now I’m figuring out I’m the only one who knows the basic grammar on the language I scream.

I pretend so much. I avoid so much. Even my best friend don’t know me like he used to. He got me before. Well more than most. Now he knows the least. He’s right there above the stranger in the store than stairs at me while I nervously tremble, sweat building up under my pour, fighting to stay “logged in” while I eagerly count the seconds until I’m  save to shut down.

The more I explain, the harder I try… the less I’m heard and the more I’m more than just a misfit. The anxiety that is triggered by this all…  I remember why I stopped talking and trying to get it out. My best friend and my mom both my besties kill me, shoot me dead. Bang, Bang.

Then BAM happy little world. I get on a high with myself excited about something I latched on to for my new interest. In hear everything makes sense.

Was that it? Was my best friend, the father of my children, only my interest for the past 10 years? Did I complete it? That’s it? WTF!? Have I lost interest? Yeah so I know I have  lost some interest. I’ve grown very board and unsatisfied… But this is everything against human nature. Am I really that alien-like?! Nah, but I am maxed-out, and he’s not “getting” me. He’s not making the right effort. He’s not keeping my interest, any longer. Instead of the want, it’s now much more chore or work, but without a paycheck or reward, without a “purpose” – at least one that satisfies me and makes me want to…. $%^&*#$%

I float and drift through lots but sometimes I need to release more creative energy and he’s been pushing me down and pulling the plug on it. It don’t make sense to me I have not fully decoded it so I can not explain anymore but I’m feeling explosive!

Finding My Voice

I started this blog to find my voice.

Let me clear this up. I can talk, speak, whatever. I’m talking about MY voice, my words!

Although I can speak and I have learned over the years what is expected (much like a dog would) but those things are learned. Just because I have the knowledge and abidance does not mean I actually mean the words and actions that come from within.

I have always felt that others, mainly my mom, has told me how to feel, act, think, etc. I always felt differently than I was told I felt. But I quickly learned I fit in much better when I just listened. But this became difficult and I began feeling like I was lost in the person I was.

Saying how I feel is not easy. Finding a way to put my own thoughts into words is hard for me. When I speak for myself I botch my feelings completely. I’m sure that is why people told me how I felt because they picked up on the difficulties I have finding my words and wanted to “help” me explain better. However they did not understand either.

Over the years, I have tried to voice myself in different ways. So far I have found that writing it helps me best. I know people get mad at me when I give them a letter but that is the only way I can speak my thoughts. It’s difficult for me to find the words to say, let alone the courage, since I know it bothers them. It would be nice if people would be a little kinder and understand this is not idea but its the only way for me. I wish that I could be snappy and blurt out what I want to say in a split second notice, like they do. I’ve tried. I’m a mean, mean, person when I do that. My voice stern, my choice of words are not well thought out and do not always reflect the clearest picture of my thoughts and they come out seeming kind of mean. I get drained much faster and I will end up melting down, if I did this too much.

Sometimes my voice is just silence. Sometimes I don’t feel a response is needed and feel that no voice is the best voice. I’m sorry if you expected me to reply to something you said. If you do not ask me a question, or ask me what I think, do not get mad at me when I do not respond. The same thing is reverse, people get when I answer them when they did not ask anything.

Image

I love this image. This is how I feel. Most of my friends are inside my computer too. In fact I’d probably be very anti-social (more than I already am) if it were not for the computer and facebook.

Adult: Sexual or nonsexual

“Sex is beautiful and natural and everyone wants to have sex so it’s nothing to be ashamed of!”

And I agree, sex is nothing to be ashamed of. But there’s one little detail there: not everyone wants sex or gets pleasure from it. They’re roughly 1% of the population. And with 7 billion people on the planet, 1% equals 70,000,000. Seventy million people is a lot of experiences to erase.

So, roughly 70,000,000 people on this planet don’t want sex. Or they want sex in certain contexts. Or they kind of sometimes want sex but not often. Or they have sex to satisfy a partner, but don’t get much out of it for themselves. Or they have a sex drive, just… not towards other people. Or they can’t stand the thought of sex.

And that’s okay too.

Sex positivity for me is accepting that whether you have sex a lot, or you never have sex, whether you have a million kinks or you can’t stand sex outside the missionary position, whether you are gay, straight, bisexual, pansexual, omnisexual, sapiosexual, autosexual, objectumsexual, or asexual, the way you look at sex and attraction is valid and normal, as long as it’s not hurting anyone.

via I am. I am. I am.

Three bucks in the parking lot

My partner tells me a story. I was beyond confused at the point, middle, just all of it. I had a WTF movement. I silently sat trying to make since of what this man was trying to say. Before I asked him what the fuck kind of story is this! f

“I was walking into work. I looked up and saw three bucks floating right in front of me. It was pretty much right in front of me and I couldn’t have missed it if I would have tried….”

So five or one, hell, even twenty bucks floating is one thing but THREE wow, together?! Damn. Hmmm. Did you get em, I asked?

No are you crazy? He replied.

Well were they blowing or something?

Blowing what? He was about as confused as me.

The fucking three bucks. Did you go and get them? Or just let them pass on by?

He says, I just let them go.

Oh ok. Yeah three bucks don’t go far now days.

His responses, nope I see them almost every morning in the same place.

I blurt out, I’d probably got them anyway though. Three bucks is three bucks, yo!

I hear what he had said and now I’m more confused. Really not a FIVE, not a TEN, or just a SINGLE. You see the same fucking three bucks floating by you in the parking lot every damn morning and NONE of you assholes bother to bend over and pick them up.

He is frustrated and growls at me about it being BUCKS and not money.

I seriously went on with the topic imagining this asshole seeing three one dollar bills blowing in the wind! 😀

When you throw it back in my face…

I’m least likely to share things with you anymore. I have been picked on my entire life because people do not agree with my way or my point of view. Maybe nothing is ‘wrong’ with me. Maybe it’s just them.

I have a tenancy to cut people out of my life. Just. Like. That. I don’t just do it for no reason. Their is always reason but I typically do not bother sharing the reason why. I do not see a point in telling them. It’s not something negotiable. I’m not giving any extra chances to prove their self to me. It’s not going to be pretty. So why bother? Just fuck off, yo! You’ll get the hint.

Crowded & Alone: Just one of those days…

Today has felt like one of those days when I feel over crowded, yet still alone. Alone in a world where I don’t seem to fit in. I feel like sometimes sense I learned I’m an Aspie that people deliberately try to confuse me or push the clear “don’t push me” buttons. So not only does it feel like I’m alone, it also feels like I’m the butt of some joke. Maybe its just others not taking me seriously. I keep a lot of my strange traits to myself. I never speak of them, ever. But the ones I do are really major in the since of comfort and happiness.

When I don’t clearly understand something and I ask questions, I  am not pretending to be stupid. I do not ask so to piss people off. If you are talking about something to me. I try to understand. I replay in my head attempting to make sense of it. If I do not understand, I will do one of two things: look at you – look down – then walk away or ignore you, or I will ask questions. When the person becomes irritated with me and raises their voice I shut them out. In my world I see LOUD unhappy voices as a threat. Out they go. Then later on, that person will calmed down and try to talk to me again. They become irritated again with me because I’m not listening. Again I naturally assume “threat,” “unpleasant,” “chaos,” “unhappy,” “don’t like me,” “bully” (ctrl + alt + delete) carry on with what you were doing… When I don’t feel like I can be apart of the convo because I don’t get it and feeling like I messed up by speaking up or made to feel like a stupid person then I don’t have interest in it.

To a normal – I would give them this example: listening to a guy speaking Spanish to you sounds like a story but and you do not know a single word in Spanish. You can not make out what he’s saying, when you tell him you don’t understand he begins shouting at you and making obscene gestures and you feel uncomfortable. You are going to think he’s crazy and walk away. If you see him again later that day you are not going to give him the time of day.

What I’d do for a {Klondike Bar}…

Let me start by saying I can not resist the urge to say shit stuff like the title of this post. I was simple going to say “What I’d do for a…” Then my brain had to dig up an old memory of that stupid Klondike commercial from the late 80’s & early 90’s. It seems foolish that I can remember the jingle from way back when I can remember what all I need to do tomorrow. Nuff said. ~

I’d do just about anything  to spend time outside with my kids, without feeling so over whelmed with my surroundings. I would be so nice to maybe resist the urge to “do something” and enjoy those little moments with my kids doing “nothing” but do “everything” in their eyes.

I often feel like I’m in another world watching them play. Watching them while “do something.” or rocking back and forth in my swing, just starring. Something other than spend quality time with them. I want to be with them. As in actually being there with them and not alone in a world somewhere with this head of mine. I can’t seem to find a way to pull myself out of my world and interact with them like I want to. When I do pull myself out, it seems that one of us gets annoyed with the other and I scare myself back in the the shell I was in. I have a major hard time communicating. I really am just seeing how bad it really is. Of course, I’ve known this almost forever but now I see it more so.

 

When mommy doesn’t talk

I’d like to think that I have came along way since being the awkward child I once was. But then I missed one little detail that’s huge that suddenly bring me back to reality and that my weirdo guard can never be let down.

My mommy doesn’t talk much. She is usually quite and rarely responds to anything. It makes me feel like my mommy just don’t listen to me much.

— The words of my sweet little 8 year old daughter

I heard my daughter say this the other day. These words break my heart.

I try so damn hard to be a good mom to my kids. Often times I don’t respond. I see that. I can blurt out off the wall shit when I fell forced to speak or attempt to comment about everything. The world really does not want to know what I think at the very second!

In my defense: At the time, I didn’t see that a response was needed or I did not know what to say so I was quit. I need to work on this. I LOL in my head wondering what kind of crazy woman I look like sitting quietly not responding when I was expected to. I need to show her someway I hear what she says I love her sweet little voice and I hear every word she says even when it starts converting to random blabber to my brain. I would never tell her that last part. It’s not her, its everyone. My brain can only process so much. I hear it all, I really do, but I can’t make it all out and that’s why I seek the point so quickly.

An Older Aspie Mum

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Tania A. Marshall, M.Sc.

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