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.

Autistic? My kid is just a spoiled brat who would get better if we would just (fill in the blank)….

As a parent with a child on the spectrum, I’m annoyed by these kind of comments, like most other parents in shoes like mine (ha we must shop at the same place!)

I love my mom. Really she’s one of the few people who get me. I feel comfortable with her. Not completely but she’s able to be those pieces that fill the blank spots when others don’t come close.

One thing she never got was my autism. As her only child she assumed she just spoiled me. That perhaps if she would have just done *fill in the blank* I would have been different.

When the school suggested something wasn’t right she was defensive. She saw a smart kid. A kid that was advanced at xyz and learned easily with her non professionally teaching me… and if I was having problems learning abc… perhaps the teachers were not professionally trained or doing their jobs.

When they begged her to test me. She angrily declined.

Yes I was smart in areas but I struggled in others. Yes I was spoiled but I was not just being a spoiled brat. Everything had a purpose. Everything needed to be so… EVERYTHING. Play. School. Friends. Sleep. Breathing. Clothing. Shoes. EVERYTHING! It not needed to be a “good” reason to you. I didn’t need to be acceptable either.

When the suggested placing me in the seclusion class anyway, she flipped out. Whoa I remember being there for that meeting.

An IEP was put in place for me. A few teachers requested it on my behalf. I team was created and I assume knowing what I know about my own child’s “team” and what they can and cannot do; she was invited to “join” the “team” but the team can still move on without her. Again I assume this is where she was “forced” to consent.

I finally was able to get minimum services through the school. But I missed out on so much. I wish my mom could have accepted me and not fought to not get me help. I needed help. Now that I’m an adult I struggle each and every day, in silence, unable to deal with the chaos in the real world.

Mom spanking me would not have worked. When you gave into my quirk request from frustration  you were not being a bad mom. You were doing the natural thing. I needed to sooth myself and by hitting me, again, or re-spanking me, you fixed the problem that I needed. I would not have stopped. I would not have given up. I can tell you now I could outlast you and run circles around you. To me it makes since. I don’t expect you to make since of it or my autism but simply to accept it.

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!

I love him, I love him not

I’m sure that I am not an easy one to live with. I’ve been told. My mom was eager to get me out, even before I was 18. I graduated High School at 18, with an apartment.

Since then I’ve been independant. My whole like I had people making choices for me and now I could do it for myself. I didn’t like the change at first. I missed sleeping with my mom. I missed the smell of her house. I missed my mommy. But once I got settled, I got set in my ways. Hey if I want the table here. Here is were it will go. If I need the couch and chair to line up – fine – Its mine!

But then I met him… he lived with him mom and pops, never had what I had. He was childish, outgoing, and fun. Something I desired. Something I was not but not by choice. Remember I never knew why I was the way I was. Always happy with myself I saw I was different and I saw that I was the same. Nobody could ever see that. Nobody could see this side of me because it hid inside and masked itself in a quirky artistic way. So I hung out with you and we had a really great time. You were my best friend. What you don’t know my name? You asked me hey aren’t you that girl at my school. So maybe it was just me having a good time watching you have a good time. I was posted on the wall like the fly. It was the best time of my life.

Well when I met him , he made me feel like that but he remembered my name. I may have been a fly on the wall but he noticed me and played with me. He kept the conversation going. When he was loud it was goofy stuff and it made me laugh. I never laughed before unless it was me being the “funny” one with my bbf (my true friend that saw past the shell) or my bub that was stranger than I. He could be somewhat obnoxious and it was awesome to have that taken from me and be able to find humor in it.

But then somewhere things changed. Me saying shit thats down right mean because I thought thats they way to but the way I felt into human words. And the lack of shutdown time. I needed recharged and I didn’t and still do not know how to get this out (well I think I do but nobody listens- so I guess its not quite right) .

I want a family. I have a family. But I feel like I’m doing in alone with him watching. I’m the watcher and if I’m not watching get your ass up here with me. I’m tired of not being heard. Hes tired of me not talkin or “bitching.” I see it as I’m right and honestly I’m not willing to change much. I’m me. I’m who I have always been. He is the one that changed. The only change is he has not grown up any. Except hes mean now and it rare that hes funny. Its not cute being a kid when you have kids.

gwigfwgf gfuegfi nothing got out. Not only can I not talk but I can’t seem to get it out anywhere other than my head -Which BTW fully understands. Since he has came back – I’m not so happy. He yells a lot. He scares me – no startles me. He touches me. He asked me what I’m doing and makes me want to stop doing anything. (I don’t know why) He makes me feel down. I’m not a down person although I appear to others as a sad depressed person. (But I am not!) He says stuff he don’t mean and then he don’t follow through. If you say you want to leave and move out this weekend – of course come Monday I wonder WTF you are doing here. Wait what monday? Fuck. This shit confuses me. We certainly did not make up. I went to sleep I woke up. Nothing changed. I don’t understand this crap. He says to tell him when I need help. I was raised that a “real” man would do it when he was it was needed. But I compromised and started asking him. He ignores me or complains or acts like a hooker that would only do whatever if I gave him something. Huh. Now we have two problems you were a lazy fucking loser who was not man enough to do the “dirty” work and you ignored me. Then you are made when I do it myself and other guys asked what the fuck is wrong with my so called man. Then you get mad when they help me do what you should have done. And he call him my boyfriend or start stuff with them. Or wait you didn’t want it done at all. I’m confused. Man up or get over it.

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! 😀

Whirling Twirling Around

I’m here.

I’m there.

Wait… you missed me. Now I’m over here.

I’m all over the place. Fuck this world spins too fast sometimes.

Chaos feels my head this summer. So many “changes,” so little time. SO many pushy people and nowhere to run.

I’m desperately seeking my escape but can seem to grasp something long enough to hold my attention. I twirl, whirl, all around looking for my next niche to bury myself into, abandoning the others once loved interests. I’m sure once the dust starts to settle and the air clears I will see them in the rear view and find my way back to some of them. I guess in the mean time I will just twirl around jerking the e-brake for a spontaneous sideways drift that fills my mind with overload and chaos.

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.

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