There is a fiction post under this. It’s good.
I am in a great mood. Crying into my blog helps more than anything. It’s a way of ranting, understanding and working my way out of the fog–which actually feels like muscles twitching but only I can see them. I had forgotten what a non steam heat panic attack felt like. The steam heat ones make me think I’m going to die. They began when I was 25 and first had steam heat. This is something else entirely. It overtakes me and I feel as if every area of my body is out of synce, and twitching. Jerry on Boston Legal actually does. I just think that I do
I threw in some pictures just to see if I could actually do something. The button is under the calender on the right sidebar. It’s really impossible for me to stay in a bad mood after I write about it. If I cry into my blog on occasion please indulge me. Thanks to Lisa and Chris of ewebscapes for making it seamlessly fit Courting. Thanks to Bone for all the help.
I understand children coming first, of course I do. But I did a Google search on Asperger’s and all the studies and most of the articles were for children.
Last night I had my first full blown panic attack in many years. I understand that it was caused by many factors all having to do with me feeling powerless.
I can’t do anything about my 30% increase in coop costs for the next two years though I have watched the Board blow money for many years. Once a certificate of occupancy is issued, everything for that apartment is finalized. The super keeps them, and every time I have asked to see mine, he has had some excuse. So there is a less than one percent chance it was never issued for my apartment or I have no idea, but will let you know.
I somehow share an Imac blog template with somebody else. Have to hit the Mac geniuses with that one and can’t make podcasts until the problem is solved.
I’m really bad at putting buttons up. I’m really bad at many things.
I can write but I have the non-linear thing going, and why should any publishing house take a chance on me when they can get less complicated young people?
I used to find blogging so exciting. Now I rue the day that I began to talk about my problems because they only served to make me feel them more and to make me less publishable.
Why should I care about inspiring other people when putting things out only served to make me anxious?
Last night, for the first time in years, I had a full fledged panic attack where I became unable to do something. The irony is I was going to a workshop and was very nervous because I had written in depth about living with Aspergers for the first time.
Stupidly I took a cab because I wanted to zen out. I’m a New Yorker, on the subway later, I realized how easy it is to zen out in a crowd. The frigging cab driver wouldn’t shut up. I had to keep my gloves on because he kept asking questions about my husband, asked me out and probably would have asked me to marry him if I had shown the least bit of interest.
I had to lie and say that I had a husband. I didn’t think that I would have to buy a cheap wedding ring and wear it to avert situations like that.
I thought that there was an upper age limit on that type of thing? I never enjoyed it when I was young and have been finding out that I enjoy it less now.
Rafe would like to thank him for the beautiful hair comment. La Mer would like to thank him for the beautiful skin one; my dentists would love to thank him for the beautiful teeth comment. Then I have a voice that I don’t find attractive–too sort of preppy somewhere in the northeast, but other people like.
It’s stupid sounding to say that being flirted with put me over the edge, but if we weren’t on the West Side Highway I would have gotten out. Didn’t see a percentage in looking crazy, and possibly risking death by getting out there.
Horrible of me to take a cab and expect quiet so that I could feel peaceful. Had I realized how warm it was I would have walked down and calmed down.
I don’t usually allow myself to feel badly about my problems. I think we were all given problems of one kind or another. I come from a loving family, dysfunctional but they all are. I have assets but this city is determined to take them all. I’m healthy, have friends and some family. I did stop speaking to my hippie-Buddhist aunt after she told me that my mother’s death was harder on her. I needed comfort, I didn’t need to comfort her. I suppose in other families there would have been mutual support, but then most people don’t fall to their deaths in a city that suffered a terrorist attack the next month. Once again I had to invent new rules because there weren’t any.
And I’m tired of making excuses like that. When somebody dies you should treat their children with compassion in any case. I keep putting it back on me and saying that I was a bitch before the attacks. Life had been difficult for me. I don’t feel like rehashing that but I wasn’t that much of a bitch, and I really had been there for the people that I love.
I am at peace with my mother’s death but I don’t know if I will ever fully get back my love of New York, or ever have the belief in people that I had before her death. It is a dog eat dog world.
Moving is a major stresser on anybody. For people who are inherently disorganized it’s almost impossible. I keep finding excuses to stay here but really it’s unhealthy for me.
It’s horrible to put problems out there and be honest, in hopes that you can help people and really hope that people who have similar problems would comment, or therapists who could help, and never hear.
It was even more horrible when I realized that I had screwed myself by doing this. But I did and have to live with the consequences. In my life there are always consequences and I’m too damn responsible to pretend that they don’t exist or to shaft them off on other people. Of course, it wasn’t the cab driver. It was just one incident too many.
It feels as if it’s acceptable for bloggers to talk about physical problems. It’s acceptable to talk about being bipolar but it’s not acceptable to talk about issues that concern fewer people but maybe just as intently. Again I feel that I have no right to talk because I know my depression is situational, will go away and won’t be as bad as most bi-polars.
But anxiety and panic, somehow that’s not acceptable. There are no anxiety and/or panic attack rings. Maybe I should begin one. But most of the time I don’t feel anxiety intently and last night was the first time I had a panic attack since I was in the upper bleachers for a concert and somehow I don’t think that counts.
I’m putting comments on. I don’t need or want empathy or sympathy comments. I just really want to find somebody who could help me.
Over that now. It was very situational, began about a week ago, and I was able to deal with the issues.
Think I had to relive it to be able to write about Asperger’s because panic attacks were part of my daily life for many years. They were wonderful years, and I have been wondering if I had been diagnosed when young would I have missed out on a lot of truly wonderful adventures.
Even Zachary, the first day especially. It would have been such a great one night stand. But I was looking for a boyfriend, he was charming and cute, and looking for a girlfriend to anchor him. Didn’t catch on to that last part for, oh, three weeks. I was looking for an anchor myself but had to play mommy as one of us had to be responsible. Lucia and I attempted to write a country song about my relationship:
“Six months of heaven
Two years of hell”
We worked on that song for years and never got any further. We’re obviously not song writers.