Anxiety, is something I struggle with on a daily basis. When I did confide in a friend about my anxiety, she said I don’t seem particularly anxious. That is likely true from her point of view. When she sees me, she doesn’t realize how much I panicked before coming about slipping on the ice. She doesn’t see the hour I spent the night before not being able to sleep because it might snow tomorrow, and the roads might be bad, and I might not be able to go. She doesn’t see the hour it took to pick out an outfit, worried I would be dressed differently. She doesn’t see that I almost bailed because I might be asked to stay for dinner, and I am picky and might not want to eat what they are having. She doesn’t see that I came 20 minutes late, not because I couldn’t be bothered, but because I forgot something, and the panic about leaving anything I planned to bring was so bad, that I turned around and went back for it. She doesn’t see that I spent the first half the car ride trying to assure myself no one would be upset I was 20 minutes late, again. She doesn’t see that I spent the second half of my car ride telling myself not to worry about the stairs, I am always careful at others houses, and I won’t fall down them.
She only gets to see the finished product, as I walk up to the door, with a big smile on my face happy to be there.I express only the smallest parts of worry, failing exams, not being accepted to seventeen, etc. So I am sure what she says is true, I don’t seem particularly anxious to her.
I write this because today I spontaneously booked a long weekend getaway for October. Which doesn’t sound spontaneous, but I booked something with no idea what I will be doing then. In a rundown hotel, with a good location, and now I am second guessing myself. Its a three floor hotel, 8 hours away, and I am sitting here worrying about driving that far, and about falling down the stairs…for something I am doing in October, literally over 9 months from now. This, is living with anxiety, its not worrying about the real stuff, cause that makes sense, its worrying about everything, all the time, with zero ability to rank importance. That is anxiety
I was never particularly fond of the TV show big bang theory. Mostly because anything with a laugh reel sets my teeth on edge. Also because people like to “mock” me by comparing some of my autistic traits to those of Sheldon Cooper.
I know a lot of people who know of this show think Sheldon is on the spectrum. There are those who point out that Sheldon is obviously autistic, and there is something wrong with him, and those who say they actually have children with autism and this isn’t it. The problem as I see it is that as a whole people see things as black or white. They don’t do shades of grey well, and can’t seem to understand what a spectrum is, and how you can be more or less functional than another person with the same diagnosis. But I digress.
The biggest continuing problem I have with big bang theory is that while they represent Sheldon as someone with autism traits, they act as if there is something wrong with him. Like wrong as in it needs to be fixed.
In recent seasons he got a girlfriend, moved in, basically completely mainstreamed. The implication here is that there was something wrong with the way Sheldon was before and that he is better now. More upsetting is the implication that the way he was acting was basically a choice, and once he chose to, he could overcome all his problems and become normal. So those of us with spectrum disorders could you know, just choose to stop being so weird and get over it.
I don’t care that Hollywood doesn’t understand how these things work, but they need to stop representing mental health issues that they don’t understand as things that are easily fixable. The last thing we need is another source of misinformaton telling the neurotypical what they always secretly suspected, if we just made an effort we could be just like them
Warning Here, I am going to discuss sex, kind of, but not really.
So I am a virgin, and I am 30. I don’t tell this to people because they think I am weird. So I really don’t tell them I haven’t kissed anyone. Only really dated someone once. Overall I found it to be more touching and more social interaction than I could put up with. It was seeing someone once or twice a week outside of school, and talking to them at school which we attended together. Not even every class, we only shared like 2/6 that semester. FYI this was University.
I find the male form attractive, and the occasional woman. I even like the idea of a companion to share the load with fairly attractive. My problem comes with the fact I am fairly happy on my own. Really happy actually. When I do want to go out, I don’t want to spend it man searching, I wanna spend it playing board games with my friends.
I do have a sex drive, I do read pornographic fiction, and I masturbate, more or less depending on the time of the month. I have no particular desire to have sex with someone though. Like I occasionally have the desire, but at some point my brain is like, you know you are going to have to like touch them right, and then its like meh, I could do this solo.
The idea of having a boyfriend, husband, even children some day, sounds great. But I have never really had the ambition to go after it. Now at 30, I am getting the clock ticking speech from people. Many assume I am a lesbian because I am not seeing anyone. I can’t figure out a way to tell them I am a far closer to Asexual then a lesbian, and given that I want to spend several hours a day alone, I can’t see dating someone let alone marrying them working out unless they are the same.
Also given the amount of control I like over my environment I can see that not ending well with another person. Basically me here, rambling about how to get close to other people while literally keeping them at arms length….
I must admit I drive most places. Public transportation in my area is a joke. Usually when I do take it I take it from a place near a campus so it’s a drive then a walk to get there but it’s end of the line comes every 20 mins during the week and it isnt so unpleasant.
Tonight it’s the weekend and I am heading downtown for a student /social function and there is no way downtown. While I was offered a ride home I had no way of getting there without driving part way. So I am taking a bus, midway through its route.
I panicked the entire time I would get on the wrong bus, or the right bus going the wrong way. Miss the bus, not have money for the bus, and the list goes on. Getting home will be interesting, and I haven’t even transferred to the metro on the way there and I already am concerned how difficult it will be to get home.
Anyone who has melted down has probably cried in the middle of a store somewhere, or walking down the street to a book shop. My problem with crying is that I do it primarily when I am frustrated. Not when I am sad. This means that 98% of the time I cry when I am frustrated. The other 2% often comes from over empathizing with fictional characters.
I do not however cry when I myself am sad. That being said, I do not often feel sad. Usually my reaction tends towards disappointment, anger, or sometimes a complete lack of processing when I am given bad news.
This evening I was told that the man my grandmother has been dating, 25 of the 30 years of my life, has cancer. We knew he was unwell for the last year, and his recent rapid decline made this a possibility, and yet due to the lack of rush in testing, and his own doctors assessment of acid reflux, I at least assumed he would be fine. He isn’t and the pain he feels when eating is from a tumor pressing on his esophagus. While the x-rays thy took a week ago didn’t show any lung cancer, apparently an endoscopy and blood work did.
So my mother came out, tearful, delivered the news, and I continued to make dinner. After a few minutes she went into the living room to watch TV, giving me an odd look. While I believe this news to be tragic, there isn’t anything we can do, we won’t know how bad it is until he goes for CT next week, and we live in another province.
I actually stopped writing this for an hour because I had to call my cousin, because I just realized that no one had probably told her, and that well she needed to know. That was the most awkward conversation of my life.
I have no idea what really to do now. I don’t do well with new situations, and with my mother grandfather he had a heart attack, and died within about 2 days. This is going to be very different…