You Say You Want A Resolution...

Watercolour Horse - Nov 2018

“Year’s end is neither an end nor a beginning, but a going on with all the wisdom that experience can instill in us.”    Hal Borland

“To promise not to do a thing is the surest way in the world to make a body want to go and do that very thing.”    Mark Twain

Oh look, it’s that time of year again - the start of a new year (or  should that be New Year, just to denote its importance and significance?)  Yes, the time when my bonkers brain tries once more to get me to sneak into my life yet another plan, under the cunning disguise of new year’s resolutions.  Because, of course, a resolution is completely different to a plan (well actually, no, it’s not).  And of course, it being the New Year will make all the difference to my ability to be able to follow and stick to any plan  *ahem* resolution I mean (not at all the same as a plan) because, you know, it’s different.  I insist - this time it WILL be different!

Yes, yes, I know I’ve never yet, in all of my fifty-one years of living on this planet with this brain, been able to stick to any of the hundreds of resolutions I’ve ever made (strangely reminiscent of my inability to stick to any plans I’ve ever tried to implement, outside of the routine I have installed to keep me functioning on a daily basis).  But I live in hope (or a delusional state of magical thinking, and a stubborn resistance to accepting reality).  You never know, this might be the year I achieve the impossible improbable highly unlikely (and, while I’m at it, I might just stumble upon the land of Narnia in the back of a wardrobe - if I could only find the right wardrobe).

Let’s face it, I love a plan; I love the idea of following a plan; I’m OBSESSED with plans; I just don’t have the genetic disposition to be able to stick to one, without tweaking, complicating, or abandoning it five minutes after I’ve made it.  I’d have to have my brain genetically modified to get me to be the person I dream of being - super-efficient, rigidly structured, hyper-productive.  

You know, when I look at it like that, what I basically mean is that I want to be a robot.  Or someone else.  Or both - someone who is a spontaneous robot, but who doesn’t have all of those confusing and messy feelings that get in the way of me functioning efficiently.  Oh, isn’t that what the scientists working on Artificial Intelligence are trying to achieve?  Something that resembles a human being, but with which you can replace the inefficient, inconsistent, unpredictable human workforce?  And it’s not like they haven’t already made inroads, replacing them with automated services, thereby putting people out of work, and reducing the amount of jobs available.  And here am I, offering myself up on a plate.  What a dodo.  

To get back to the point, then, giving a plan another name (or ‘re-branding’ it, as they say), and re-packaging it in shiny new wrapping is not going to change the results one iota.  I still won’t be able to stick to it.  

One day I’ll fully accept this, and stop living in the future.  One day… (Oh, is that a plan I see before me, for how I plan to live in the day at some point in the future?  Well, golly gadzooks, how on earth did that sneak in?)  

Long story short, I have no plan to make any resolutions for this or any other year to come… but I’m sure that, if I contemplated that statement for long enough, I’d find that I’d somehow managed to sneak in a plan.  Oh bum.  *rolls eyes*

Iceberg Ahoy!

What I spent five hours doing with my paints instead of painting.  Plus a sample selection of my new paints.

It started with a discount voucher: which happened to be contained within a catalogue.  Two things I have a difficult time resisting.  Add in the fact that it was the biannual art supplies catalogue from Ken Bromley’s, promising a five pound discount IF I spent fifty-five pounds, and that it happened to coincide with my recent desire to extend the range of paints which I own, and I was basically sunk - Titanic, meet iceberg: Lisa, meet paint.

To elucidate further, this means that I have just spent at least two weeks, that’s TWO WHOLE WEEKS (even I cannot quite believe it), trying to decide which new watercolour paints to buy.  

How, in the name of Van Gogh, does a person take so long to make such a decision?  I mean, we’re talking paint here, not whether or not I should have a kidney transplant.  It defies belief; it defies logic; it defies the nature of time, space, and the laws of physics.  But defy all those things I have done, because that’s what I do.  Just don’t ask me how - I’m as baffled as you.

It wasn’t my intention to take so long - but then, as I am slowly learning, nothing I intend ever actually translates into action.  In fact, you can guarantee that the moment anything even vaguely resembling a desire or intention escapes my subconscious and manifests itself either as thought or word, it will sink without trace.  Like the Titanic (I think I see a theme here).

My actual ‘intention’ was to briefly (I obviously have no grasp on the meaning of the word brief) peruse a few art sites with which I’m familiar, in the misguided belief that they would aid me in simplifying and clarifying what to choose.  Already I begin to see the flaw in my argument.  Why would I need someone else to tell me how to choose paint?  It’s not like I’m a complete novice anymore: I know the kind of colours that I like; I know the kind of paintings that I prefer doing.  

But no, all of that knowledge goes out the window because, you see, it’s not about the paint colour - it’s about the pigment.  (Yes, that was just the tip of the iceberg.  No, I couldn’t see the rest of it, hidden beneath the sea of paint waiting to sink me).  And for that I needed an ‘expert’, which required more research: which translates as more time spent on the internet.  Hence two weeks of “research” - more commonly known around here as another obsession.

So, I may not have been doing a lot of painting (nothing new there then), but I now know an awful lot about paint and pigment.  Of course, I can barely recall most of the details, given that I’ve saturated my brain so much that most of it seems to have dribbled out of my ears.  

But I did eventually buy some paints, and then proceeded to avoid actually using them for their intended purpose.  Instead I spent two days ‘testing them out’, and boring myself into a near-catatonic stupor in the process - because, once again, I’d read a load of advice from a bunch of non-autistic artists, all saying the same things about how useful these exercises are to the improvement of one’s art: which translates in my mind as “it’s what ‘proper’ artists do”.  

Oh God, when will I learn that I come from a different ‘planet’, and what works for them doesn’t work for me in quite the same way!  Ah well, it’s done now.  Next I just need a few new brushes...  Oh lawks, I think I see another iceberg looming. *scrambles for lifeboat* 

Confounding Co-Factors

Here’s a conundrum - what sometimes looks like addiction, feels like addiction, sounds like addiction, but isn’t?  Answer - autism.

How so?  Well, take, for example, my perennial problem with the internet.  Regular readers might already be aware of my on-going struggle to reign in my obsession with it, and may be bored out of their brains with my seemingly constant references to it - as I am myself.  But bear with me: this time I may actually have had a genuine epiphany.

As usual, I have not posted for so long because I’ve been stuck on the web.  In between bouts of trawling, I’ve been tying myself in knots trying to work out why I can’t seem to stay away from it, and how to manage my use of it (which, ironically, is all part of the obsession - so even when I’m not on there, I’m worrying about how to stay off there, etc).  

This time around, I finally determined that it’s an addiction - that I’d been “in denial”, minimising and rationalising my behaviour (for example, by blaming it on my ADHD).  After all, did it not fit within the simple AA definition of addiction in the Big Book:

‘If, when you honestly want to, you find you cannot quit entirely, or if when drinking, you have little control over the amount you take, you are probably alcoholic.  If that be the case, you may be suffering from an illness which only a spiritual experience will conquer.”

Substitute internet use for drinking, and it described perfectly what seemed to be the problem - inability to choose to stay off there (away from my compulsive web-trawling, as opposed to my “responsible” use of the internet for things like communication, or blogging) for any decent length of time even when I wanted to, or needed to in order to get anything else done; and lack of control over what I would do once I got on there, which not even extreme tiredness, or physical pain, could induce me to stop.

And, also as described in the Big Book, I have tried all ways to control it (egs setting up rules, using a timer, hiding the router AND the computer at times) - and failed.  All that’s done is driven me round the bloody bend, obsessing about how to stop being so bloody obsessed with the bloody thing!

I’ve tried fear, I’ve tried guilt, I’ve tried coaxing; and I’ve done what I do with everything, which is to compartmentalise it into two distinct and extreme camps (because I really don’t do middle ground) - those being my responsible, sensible, creative, productive use of it; and my unproductive, wasteful, negative use.  They haven’t worked.  

The unfortunate effect of categorisation is that, by extension, whenever I ‘give in’ to my compulsion, I judge myself to be choosing to be irresponsible, unproductive, and slothful; that I could stop myself if I really wanted to; that I just need to ‘pull myself together” (like a pair of curtains), and pull my socks up (as if having droopy socks are responsible for me not applying myself, or trying hard enough?!)   

Yet Step One of the AA programme says that, when it comes to addiction, we are unable to exercise free choice when we are in the grip of an overpowering mental obsession and physical compulsion to use whatever substance or behaviour it is to which we find ourselves enslaved, no matter the damage it may be causing. 

So, having arrived at what I thought was the right conclusion, I set about applying the solution: part of which involved the practical first step of trying to ‘detox’ (AGAIN) from my compulsive use of the internet.  Only this time (I thought) it was going to be different, because I believed I’d got to the root of my dilemma - finally identifying what the problem actually was.

Then I had a conversation with my sponsor/best friend, who mentioned that we’d been here before (with alarmingly frequent regularity) - having an obsessive conversation about my obsessive use of the internet; and that perhaps it wasn’t an addiction after all.  Did I not recall that being obsessed is part of being autistic, she asked (for probably the ten thousandth time since I’d been diagnosed back in 2010)?

And something clicked.  Perhaps she was right?  And perhaps it was time to try to make a wholesale shift in the way I think about myself, because I still seem to have some vague, unconscious idea that there are still parts of me - like my alcoholism, for instance - which are the same as the neurotypical version, and aren’t influenced by my autism: as if I have a brain that is separated into two halves (one being the autistic part, and the other the neurotypical), and they operate in tandem; and I just need to find a way to tap into the NT side in order to overcome the influence of the autism/adhd.  Fuck’s sake!  I thought I’d got over this ‘split personality’ business already!

I realise I haven’t gone into any specific details about the confusing similarities between autism and addiction, which I intended to include here, but this post is already long enough, so I’ve decided to split it up, and (hopefully!) I’ll write a second one about that stuff, soon.  I’m just relieved to have finally got something written.

May you find clarity and truth about your own life.    

Blunting The Edge

My Lady Wren

Hi.  It’s been a little while since I’ve been able to sit and focus on something longer than a Literary Inspiration post (hence three in a row!).  Not that I’ve lacked ideas - just the ability to develop them beyond the initial draft.  Ironically, it wasn’t even as if I could claim that it was the internet that was distracting me, because it wasn’t.  

I’ve just had two weeks free from my compulsive internet trawling, using it only for essentials, like Sype.  But then I seem to remember the same thing occurring the last time I stayed abstinent - I gradually felt better, my brain calmed down, my mind got clearer, and my attention and focus improved, but I got very little or no writing done.  I did, however, do other things.

And it’s been the same this time.  I have actually managed to paint a picture (the first since July last year).  Whilst that in itself was great, the best thing about it was the fact that I enjoyed it, and there wasn’t the same amount of angst which usually accompanies it.

Whilst I have struggled to write any posts, I actually managed to write a bit of fiction, which I have done in the past, but have struggled with since.

And then there’s the fact that I have rediscovered the joy in my yoga practice, rather than it just being a necessity to my well-being, which is how I regard it (my alternative version to medication to help manage my anxiety and adhd, because I cannot take drugs due to being an alcoholic/addict).  Being obsessed with the computer means that my interest in everything else falls by the wayside - which includes my beloved yoga.

So, two weeks of freedom.  Again.  Two weeks appears to be my sticking point, at the moment.  It’s the longest I’m able to manage before I drift back to the internet.  I used to have the same thing occur when I was trying to become abstinent from overeating, which I used to find frustrating and disheartening.  

But I didn’t give up, and I got beyond that point when I was ready (which is usually not when you think you are), so I know that it’s just a part of the process, and not to listen to the Voice of Doom that tells me I’ll never be able to get completely free of this compulsion; or that I should accept it as part of the erratic nature of my adhd, and give up trying to manage it.  Accept that I need something to take the edge off of my anxiety, adhd, and all the other stuff about being me that makes everything I feel so acute, and that this is the lesser of the evils I have used (alcohol, medication, food, television). 

Except that it only works to take the edge of whilst I’m on there.  And then I’m left not only with the compulsion to keep going back, but also an increase in the symptoms that I was seeking to relieve.  My anxiety ramps up, I become more agitated, my focus and attention is shot to bits, and my brain feels like it’s melting.  Plus, I forget who I am, because I’m absorbing other peoples’ opinions again.

And here’s the other thing: I actually do have practical ways of taking the edge off, but without the negative consequences - with faith in a higher power, prayer/meditation, yoga, the change in my diet, and the barest bones of a daily routine to keep things ticking over and manageable - but no plans!!  They’re not instant, and they don’t render me unconscious (ie functioning, but not quite all here - like the walking dead, rather than someone in a coma), but they work to bring everything down to a manageable level.  

So, what happened to bring that ‘golden period’ to an end (other than me forgetting, yet again, the inevitable consequences of me web-trawling?)  Because there’s always a reason, as I learnt with alcohol, food, and any other addictive/compulsive behaviour - it doesn’t just happen that I find myself back trawling the internet, or with a drink in my hand, or bingeing on food. There’s a build-up which, if it isn’t being dealt with, turns into a mental and emotional tsunami.  

It may be the quietest tsunami you ever saw, because I am so poor at self-awareness, and so slow to process what’s happening to me, that it mostly doesn’t look like anything is wrong at all; but you’ll know it by the end result - me seeking ‘comfort’ and distraction on the internet from the feelings of restlessness, which I don’t recognise as being related to what’s happening in my life.  

Of course, this ‘comfort’ is only temporary, and not very comforting at all, given some of the stuff I sometimes inadvertently come across whilst trawling, and all that happens is that my life then becomes chaotic (more so than the manageable chaos which seems to be an intrinsic part of who I am - a trait which I have yet to accept as a fact, whilst I still strive to be Mrs Meticulously Tidy and Organised).

Here, then, are the events.

In November last year, I had to fill in an assessment form for the new disability benefit which is replacing the old one.  The DWP scares me to death, and I’m hopeless at filling in forms.

In January my friend Dee (who lives in Scotland, and I haven’t seen in person for about two years) visited on two separate occasions (staying overnight each time).  The second visit was in order to accompany me to the medical assessment I’d been called to attend for the new disability benefit.

Leaving aside the assessment, you’d assume that her visit would be a nice thing - and it is.  Except that I’m autistic - EXTREMELY autistic, and I don’t deal well with being around people, even in my own home, even when they are my closest friends.  It’s not relaxing, for either of us, as I have no idea how to behave, and I end up hovering around her.

As to the medical assessment, I haven’t had to go to one of these for quite a few years.  This ramped up my anxiety about the possibility of them taking away that money.

In February they informed me that, not only had I been awarded the new benefit, but that it had been increased substantially.  Yet again, you’d think this would be welcome: and it is.  But that doesn’t change the fact that, whether it’s good or bad news, I’m still clueless as to how to deal with it. 

Also as a consequence of both Dee’s visit and the assessment, she told me that I’m a lot further along on the autism spectrum than we thought - closer to the Temple Grandin autistic end, rather than the Asperger’s.  Whilst I know that I am extremely affected, it still comes as a bit of an unwelcome surprise to be told just how much so. 

Around the same time, I extended my circle of contacts from one (my friend Dee), to two.  And then, in the last week, I added another.  This is a big deal for me.  

I have been perfectly content to only engage with one person for a long time now (in this regard, I am classically autistic, preferring my own company to that of other people because of the stress engaging with them induces.  Plus, too many people offering too many differing viewpoints and opinions confuses me).  

But, as she said, she is coming up to her seventieth birthday this year, and, assuming she dies before me (jolly, I know!), I have no-one else with whom to share, or for support.  And whilst I may prefer my own company, and to have as few people in my life as possible, I do actually enjoy my limited interactions with her; and even I know that I need to have some people with whom to converse at a deeper level than simply to exchange polite greetings, the way I do with neighbours. 

It is also my fiftieth birthday coming up which, whilst I’m not consciously aware of it causing me any conflict (mostly because I just ignore it, the way I do every birthday - it’s just a number to me), no doubt there’s something going on.  

For one thing, I have found myself thinking more frequently about how I’ve got less time to do stuff, and how I wish I’d got my act together a lot sooner (particularly with regard to writing and art, but also with accepting and managing my autism/adhd).  I also sometimes find myself envying those who’ve been diagnosed earlier, which is not helpful, ‘cos it just leads to me feeling regret about my life. 

And then, in the last few days, I found out that one of my Aunts has died.  She is the last of my dad’s six brothers and sisters, and she was the oldest.  It wasn’t a shock (she was into her eighties), but, due to the distant and confusing nature of our relationship (of my relationship with the whole of my family), I have no idea how I feel, or what to do.

This culminated in me having the ridiculous idea (given that I cannot paint to order) that, rather than buy a card, I would like to paint one to send to her family (these are people I haven’t seen, or spoken to, for over twenty years).  And so I came on here to look for photos of appropriate flowers.  And got overwhelmed. And then got distracted.  And got lost for three days.  And now here I am, trying to drag myself back out of it.  Well it inspired me to write, anyway, which is the ultimate irony.

So there you have it - the anatomy of an autistic meltdown.

I hope that the only things melting in your life are food-related.

Śanti

Olympic Madness

Okay, so I’ve checked my blog to see when was my last post, and it’s been just over a week…  Classic Lisa, boundless enthusiasm for a short while, and then nothing.  So, to stop the rot, and do what I said I would do (post something regularly, to keep a sense of continuity), here are a few words.  Well, two words - Olympic Games.

Yep, that’s what has taken my focus this last week, and back onto the internet, to randomly, purposelessly trawl (thinking, as I do, that I could “just have a bit of a look”, and then come off and go straight back to being focused on my writing and whatnot.  Yeah, right: like that’s ever happened, or ever likely to).

And here’s the ridiculous thing - I can’t actually ‘watch’ the Games, because I don’t have a tv licence (along with not having a television, which I gave up about fifteen years ago), so instead I read the instant updates about it, and then watch the clips when they’re available.  And in between waiting, I drift off and look at some of the other topics I’m interested in/obsessed about (the most recent ones being books and reading).  Just my mind’s way of finding a way to get back on the internet.

The other ridiculous thing is that I don’t actually agree anymore with the idea of competitive sport, despite loving sport, and being competitive by nature.  I used to love doing sport at school, and I was good at it, but it brought out my competitive nature to the extreme - I was an appalling team player because I would even compete with my team mates.  I didn’t know how not to: I just am not a team person (like I’m really not a people person, though I’ve moved past the “I hate people” phase I was in for many years.  I’m just not comfortable or happy around them).  I’m not the type of person who should be let loose with a hockey stick… or any other piece of sports equipment that could double up as a lethal weapon.  

Even when playing ‘friendly’ games, I couldn’t help myself.  My friends hated having to partner me when we played badminton doubles, because I would simply take over the whole of our side of the court, and hardly allow them to get a touch of the shuttlecock.  I couldn’t share, I didn’t trust them, and I hated to lose.  And boy did I hate it when there were five of us, and I had to take my turn off the court…

And whenever I used to watch sport on tv, I would become vicariously competitive, and turn into one of those awful, judgemental, nationalistic fans, shouting at the television about how great my side were (I’m English when we’re playing Scotland, Ireland, or Wales, and British when we’re all clumped together, as we are for the Olympics; and if no-one from my nation is playing, I’ll ‘adopt’ someone else’s team/athlete); how shit the others were; and how they'd cheated if we lost.  Or I’d turn on our side if I couldn’t blame the others, and say how useless we were.  Such a lovely person.  Sport brings out the monster in me.  Here’s the irony - I’m actually a pacifist at heart.  I hate conflict.  

Having grown more thoughtful about what I do, think, how things affect me, and who I am, etc, I now understand that in order to not feed a negative character trait or behaviour, I have to do the opposite (yeah, I know - I should maybe give it a go with the whole internet trawling thing…).  It’s one of the reasons I don’t do sports anymore, and only do yoga.  

Mind you, there are people who have managed to corrupt yoga.  Can you believe there are yoga competitions, and people who actually want to turn it into a competitive sport?  Here’s where my tolerance of people gets a little flaky (where thoughts of violence float up, and I want to bash them over the head with their yoga mats, or maybe a bronze statue of Shiva - much more effective) - ARE THEY FUCKING BONKERS?!!

Do they not know the meaning of the word ‘yoga’, or the purpose of it?  It translates as ‘union’ or ‘yoke’, and means to unite the mind, body, and soul: to become whole, one with ourselves, God, and the rest of the universe - which includes other people.  Competition is about separation, trying to prove yourself to be better than everyone else.  How does that bear any relation to yoga?  ARE THESE PEOPLE DUMB, OR WHAT?  No doubt we’ll see it included in the Olympics some time in the future.

I know there are those who say that sport brings people together, and that it’s a safe way to channel and burn off energy.  And I agree that maybe it does for some people.  But I think for others it’s merely more fuel to the fire of their nationalistic pride, their hatred of others, and their desire to conquer and subjugate, just played out in a sports arena rather than on a battlefield.  

I don’t think you can make the blanket statement that participating in sport is a substitute for war - if that were the case, we’d have less wars going on: yet (unless I’m really missing something) that doesn’t appear to be the case.  For some people it seems as if sport is a substitute, but merely to pass the time, and keep in shape, for when the next war comes along.

And people wonder why our world is divided, and in such a mess, with countries, groups, and individuals all competing with each other for power, glory, and money/material gain.  And no, I don’t mean that sport is to blame (or the Olympics specifically).  I guess it’s just a microcosmic view of what goes on in the whole world; wherever there are people, there is competition, which can sometimes engender conflict.  It’s human nature.  It’s a bugger.

So there we go.  I’ve probably wandered from my original point, and said more than I set out to do.  It was meant only to be a brief update.  But what do I know about how to be brief.  And at least I’ve broken my duck (it’s a cricketing term, ironically - means to finally score after being on zero for a while).

I hope that if you are watching the Olympics, that you are enjoying them in the true, Olympic spirit - by that I mean that you are able to admire the skill of each athlete, regardless of which country they represent; embrace the ethos that says “it’s the taking part that matters, not the winning”; and not turn into a maniacal zealot.  

So, here’s something that confuses me, though - if it’s the taking part, not the winning, that counts, then why give out medals?

Wishing you peace, health, and wholeness.

Namaste

Obsessed Much?

Some of my obsessions

Why yes, now that you come to mention it, I believe I am.  Why do I sound so surprised by that?  After all, obsession is my brain’s default mode.  It’s not as if I discovered this only recently.  But there you have it: Lisa + obsession = surprised.

So it’s been just over a week since I had The Talk with my friend about my blogging, and decided to alter the way I approach it.  Since then I have posted four times in the last week - a bloody miracle!!  It usually takes me a lot more than a week to write one thing.  Last year I only managed to post four times in total - FOUR TIMES IN FIFTY-TWO WEEKS! - so I’ve already equalled that amount, and am about to surpass it in one month.  I must have had a REALLY bad year last year, ‘cos I also only managed to paint one picture, so I can’t blame it on the fact that I was doing more painting.  Bugger.

But it’s not only that I’ve posted more, there are also the photographs.  I can’t believe I’ve not tried that before!  It’s so much fun.  What is wrong with me that I’ve not thought to do it until now?  It’s not as if I haven’t seen other people doing it on their blogs.  It seems that nearly everyone does it.  And I like it.  It brightens the place up, makes it look more interesting than just a lot of words on a page.  

But no, for some reason to do with my one-track brain, I decided that I was going to stick to one form of illustration, and that was with my painting.  Keep it all uniform; boring; rigid.  Makes it a bit difficult as well when I’m not actually doing any painting.  I think I thought that this would serve as some kind of motivation for me to do more.  Yeah, that went well.

So yes, I’m obsessed with blogging.  It only took me ’til a week later to realise it.  But I got there.  And then I started worrying about it ‘cos obsessing is bad, right?  And what would happen if/when I lost interest (as I usually do), and then reverted to how it was?  How could I stop that from happening?  Blog more.  Panic blog.  Obsessively blog!  Hello?  Wasn’t that the thing I was worried that I was already doing?  Are there any brain cells at all inside my head not running around deliriously without a clue, like little people with their arms flailing about in the air?  Is anyone in charge up there??

I have a problem with the word ‘obsession’.  I will talk about being excited or enthused, but not obsessed - unless it relates to something negative, and then I will happily whip it out to beat myself around the head with.

Another obsession

I have come to associate it with negative connotations (due to a great extent to my time around the AA community), so I assume that it is a bad thing, which needs correcting.  To admit that I am obsessed is to admit that I am somehow at fault; that I am doing something wrong; that I have ‘allowed’ myself to get distracted by something that invokes the obsessive gene in me; that I am not using or applying my 12 step programme correctly.  

And what also confuses me, and makes this worse, is the fact that neurotypicals of all descriptions (even alcoholics, and suchlike) use the word arbitrarily, usually to describe something they’re really into - which sounds like what I’m experiencing, but isn’t quite.  But I just can’t explain what it is that’s different, so it sounds like I’m making a distinction based on a false technicality, in order to excuse myself for something which I think I should, actually, be able to get over if I really wanted to.

You have no idea how much I’ve really wanted to get over the way my brain works (or maybe you do, especially if you’re autistic or have adhd).  Except that the way that I stop obsessing about one thing is to move on to the next: there’s no break from it, no interim period of ‘normal’ thinking.  Just one thing after another.  

Now to a non-autistic this might sound really awful, or sad, or limited, or any number of things.  But the fact is that, unless I’m obsessing about the fact that I obsess, I don’t actually notice it because it is just the way I think: it’s as natural to me as breathing.  There is no ‘obsessive gene’, as such, which only gets triggered by certain things.  It’s not the things that cause the problem, but the brain.  I just think this way about everything.  

Nor is it always a problem to me, unless the thing I get obsessed with is negative, or leads to something negative (like internet trawling), or someone points it out (to basically let me know that I’m boring the arse off of them).  And then I start worrying about it: obsessively.  Endless fucking cycle. 

So, I have a pattern.  Lock onto something (yoga, for instance); get consumed by it (read, think, talk, possibly do if it’s action-based); either lose interest and move onto the next thing; or integrate it into my life, and gradually (hopefully) lose some of the initial intensity of the obsession.  This is what happened with yoga, and I now mostly just do it, and don’t talk or read about it because that just serves to fire up my obsession.

Much as I hate to admit it, I haven’t got a fucking clue how to manage this thing.  My go-to solution is always to follow a plan (another bloody obsession of mine - plans!), and the one thing guaranteed to fail is a plan.  I have yet to find a satisfactory method for dealing with this, other than the vague notion that I should be turning it over to God; but then I have no clear idea how that translates into practical action.  I’m not even certain that what I’ve just written about it in this post is correct.  What appeared to be a perfectly logical explanation seems to get all wobbly once it’s outside of my head.  Ho hum.

But apart from the whole issue of obsession, I have enjoyed my new-found enthusiasm for blogging this week.  I just would like for it to continue, and not to burn out from being so hyped-up.  I fear that the word with which I have but a fleeting acquaintance, in both understanding and practice (‘balance’), is going to make an appearance somewhere as part of the solution.  

I wish you peace and joy (and balance!) in your life.

Namaste

Christmas Crackers

So, that was Christmas, eh?  And I hardly felt a thing.

Did you feel it - the Christmas spirit?  And, if so, could you enlighten me as to what it feels like, ‘cos I haven’t got a clue.  (I realise that I am lagging behind somewhat with my dissection of the festive season, but there we go: it’s time I got used to the idea that I’m hopeless when it comes to trying to work to a deadline, so I shouldn’t even bother trying - it’s not like my life depends upon it.  I’m just never fully prepared for any event: so christmas, and new year, have been and gone, and I’m only just digesting them.)

There’s a Christmas song called I Believe In Father Christmas, which contains the line, “The Christmas we get we deserve.”  I used to think it was like an adult variation of the idea that Santa Claus wouldn’t bring you anything if you’d been bad, which I considered was rather gloomy and depressing: but I’ve reassessed the idea, and come up with a different understanding.  And it’s really quite simple (which explains why it’s taken me so long to grasp it).

I think that it’s basically saying that however you have been throughout the year, is how you’ll be at Christmas: the person you are the rest of the year is not going to have a sudden personality transplant and become someone completely different just because it’s Christmas.  All that Christmas does is magnify already existing conditions and emotions, what with all that extra stress piled on top. 

So if, for example, you are envious, competitive, depressive, angry, short-tempered, lonely, greedy, materialistic, etc then that’s what Christmas will likely bring out - an increase in such characteristics, exacerbated by the influence of those sections of the media which target and promote such a negative traits as greed, materialism, and consumerism.  Alternatively, if you happen to be a generally happy, content, sharing, joyful person then Christmas will just be another opportunity for more of the same.  

As for me specifically, it has highlighted things like the fact that I still have a tendency to make my happiness, and other emotions, dependent on things outside myself (be they people, places, or things), which contributes to the desire to want to control said outside circumstance in the misguided belief that that will change how I feel; that I am extremely gullible, naive, literal, and childlike (believing, hoping, that there is such a thing as the magic of christmas); having high, unrealistic expectations, which always lead to disappointment; taking things way too seriously (apparently, there are people out there who don’t tie themselves in such knots about the whole thing, despite the apparent frenzy that appears to go on at this time of year); comparing myself, and what I’ve got, to other people (or what I imagine they have, which is not necessarily their reality), and trying to copy them; and, of course, simply finding myself caught up in, and being distracted by, yet one more obsession.  All of which I do quite happily the rest of the year.  So what’s so different about Christmas?

As much as I hate to say it (and I really do hate to say it), there is no such thing as ‘the magic of Christmas’, contrary to what the media (or my mind) says.  But they’re very good at selling it (both the media and my mind), especially to someone like me, whose gullibility and naivety is just begging to be taken advantage of.  And every year I’m left feeling disappointed - though, I have to say, I have noticed that the disappointment is lessening with each passing year, as I try to accept that Christmas isn’t any different to any other time).

You know the irony of this is the fact that my whole lifestyle now is completely in conflict with everything that I’ve learnt that Christmas is all about - stuffing oneself on turkey dinners, mince pies, Christmas puddings, and other rich foods; alcohol; parties, and family gatherings; presents; cards; Christmas television; carol services; and the birth of Jesus.

I’m a single, non-religious yogi, vegan, alcoholic/bulimic/compulsive overeater with a sugar sensitivity, anxiety suffering autistic with ADHD.  Which, just to clarify, means:-

I live on my own, and have little contact with the family I do still have - so no family get-togethers, and Christmas dinners, and no gift-buying; 

I don’t socialise ‘cos it’s too stressful, it makes me anxious, and I don’t enjoy it - I’m happiest when I’m by myself, which is good ‘cos I’m by myself most of the time;  

I have a faith in a Higher Power, which I choose to call God, but I don’t believe in Christianity, or any other religion, so I can’t honestly claim to celebrate Christmas for its religious symbolism - especially as I know that Jesus wasn’t born on the 25th of December: a person chose that date, so it really holds no magical significance for that reason: so there go the church services, and carol singing;

I don’t eat meat (so there goes the turkey!);

I don’t drink alcohol (so there goes the mulled wine, hot toddies, and getting sozzled   at parties);

I don’t eat anything with sugar, or sugar substitutes (so there goes dessert - all the chocolate, pies, cakes, etc), or any of my other many binge foods which were once staples in my diet;

I don’t send cards, because I no longer wish to do what everyone else is doing, being coerced into doing the dutiful, but meaningless, thing of remembering people at this time of year, whilst forgetting about them for the remainder.  Plus, think of all those trees;

I don’t own a television (so there goes my Christmas viewing);

And I do yoga, and follow a Twelve Step recovery programme, the principles behind which are in complete opposition to the general excess and mayhem which Christmas seems to have become.

So it’s really rather daft for me to be comparing my circumstances to other peoples’, and attempting to copy the way I see (or imagine I see) them celebrating Christmas, or the way I used to do, when I no longer have the necessary requirements.  But I’m nothing if not tenacious - I do hold onto things way past their sell-by date.  And I think my ideas about Christmas are far beyond outdated.

Of course, I also have a very poor short-term memory, so no doubt next year I’ll be experiencing exactly the same ‘problems’ as this year (and every year prior to that).  But Ho Ho Hopefully it won’t last as long.  At least now I don’t start dreaming of a White Christmas at the beginning of September.

The Declutter Bug

“The ability to simplify means to eliminate the unnecessary so that the necessary may speak.”    Hans Hoffman

“Keep It Simple”

I’ve been decluttering for the past week or so (I’ve kind of lost track of time, as I am wont to do when I get locked onto one of my little ‘projects’).  I say “been”, but the fact is I’m still in the midst of doing it, though it has calmed down to a trickle rather than the flood I had going on last week.  But, even though I had the physical evidence as proof of the extensive clear-out (a massive pile of bags, boxes, and random large items, all carted off to the charity shop), my home doesn’t look that much different.  In fact, if you were to see the state of it, you’d maybe wonder whether I was being delusional, and a tad optimistic: it looks more like I’ve been doing the opposite, what with the chaos that abounds, kind of like the aftermath of a mini tornado. 

So what has it taught me?  Well, apart from the obvious, which is that I hoard things (even though I hate doing it), my approach to the process of clearing out has been an illustration of certain of my ADHD, and autistic, traits running rampant.

Of course, I never meant for it to be - I had every intention of approaching it like a sensible, neurotypical person would, the way I’d read about it on the internet (of course I ‘had to’ go and read about it first, and then keep returning in order to re-motivate myself.  Nothing at all to do with getting distracted by being on the internet… not much).  It’s a wonder I actually managed to get anything decluttered at all.  And it’s why it has taken me so long - ‘cos I don’t really have that much stuff, nor that much space.  I live in a small, one-bedroomed flat.  But there we go.

So I started off in typical fashion - not accepting that, as someone with ADHD and autism, reading about something that is actually very simple was a bad idea, especially given that it was being espoused by a lot of non-autistics/ADHDers; only to find myself, once again, comparing myself to them, and using them as my template.  

And I discovered that, for something so simple, there were a lot of variations, and an enormous amount of blogs/sites out there dedicated to the art of decluttering/living simply/minimalism.  I guess when you’re making a living out of it you’d have to stretch it out, otherwise you’d have nothing to write about on your blog (or in your book/s).  It’s kind of ironic that we apparently need a book, or a blog, full of instructions on how to live simply.  But hey, I’m dumb (and willing enough) to buy the idea.

Of course, when I set out I didn’t really make a decision at all.  I just sort of fell into it, with the desire/need to empty out and get rid of a set of drawers, which I duly did: and then it simply escalated - as these things have a tendency to do with me.  I kept making vague murmurings about needing to slow down, focus on one bit at a time, and not move onto another area until I’d completed that.  But, in true ADHD fashion, I ended up starting in one place, becoming overwhelmed, being distracted by thoughts about what needed doing elsewhere, losing interest in what I was doing, and abandoning it to go start somewhere else, ad infinitum…  

Hence I’m now sitting in a flat in a state of semi-completion, with smaller piles of unsorted clutter in each room - but, still, piles all the same.  I’m beginning to think I might be allergic to order and tidiness, because I never quite get there (‘there’, I think, being a kind of utopian state where everything has a place, and it’s always in its place).  Or I do, but it only lasts for about sixty seconds.  Or I get one bit, or most of it, done, but never quite finish it (I have a problem finishing things in general - and starting them.  But I’m okay with the bit in the middle).  

It’s as if I see the finish line, where the spectre of neatness stretches out in front of me like an endless desert (a bit like an extreme minimalist’s home), and then I seemingly panic and baulk at running through the tape.  I don’t know whether my mind subconsciously worries about what I’m going to do if I haven’t got anything to distract me, and so basically sabotages it all; or whether it’s as simple as me needing to accept that I’m a bit of an untidy person, that it’s a character trait of mine, but as long as I don’t end up hoarding, and let it get overwhelming, it’s okay.  It’s not life-threatening (I’m not going to die from chronic untidiness), and it doesn’t make me a ‘bad’ person.

I’ve been chasing after the illusion of wanting to be a neat person for years, and so far it’s eluded me.  That’s a lot of years.  Perhaps if I stopped chasing it, my own version of order and tidiness might come to me.  After all, there isn’t only one way to be ordered - there are those people who find order in chaos, or enjoy creating order from chaos - perhaps I’m one of those, and I should stop trying to obliterate what might be an essential part of my personality.

When I was on my web-trawl (doing my ‘research’ on decluttering) I saw a photo of Steve Jobs’ office, and it could only be described as looking rather messy and chaotic - and yet he created, and managed, Apple.  Obviously to him his ‘chaos’ was inspiring rather than distracting, and he looked to create order and simplicity in the computers he built, rather than in his environment.  Just think if he’d done what I do, and spent his time worrying about the fact that his room was untidy, and how to go about decluttering it - his Apple tree would still be a sapling, and never have grown enough to bear fruit.  

“To each their own”, as they say.  Now, if I could only stop trying to follow everyone else’s…

Write On

“On action alone be thy interest, never on its fruits.”  Bhagavad Gita

I have recently realised that I need to do more writing, that I WANT to do more writing, that I really love writing, that writing for me is really important and good for me, and as such, should be something I do on a regular basis – namely every day, the way I do yoga, meditation, and prayer (which are also very good for me);  but that I have been fettered by my own beliefs about writing, and being a writer. 

I have been obsessed with the idea that the whole aim is to become an author, to write and publish books, that this is the epitome of writinghood (no, it’s not a real word, I know, but who cares?  All the words in every language in the world weren’t ‘real’ until someone first made them up: and even then some of them are a bit suspect).  And so I’ve believed that each thing I undertake to write is merely fuel for the fire of authordom, that it is simply the means to the end of becoming a ‘proper’ writer/author, and that I need to get my skates on if I’m to reach that elusive goal of one day writing a book.

I am abetted in my misguided aims by the society in which I live which is chiefly concerned with the acquisition of things – wealth, possessions, prestige, power, etc.  And the teaching of this credo starts in school, a place where learning is not about simply taking pleasure in the acquisition of knowledge for its own sake, but as a means to an end, the end being that you’ll be able to use it in order to pass your exams in the not-too-distant future, thereby assuring yourself of better prospects of a good job. 

Is it any wonder kids hate school, having to live with that kind of pressure, and being taught stuff they might have no interest in, but because it is what society dictates will be of use in their future lives?  And me?  Why, of course, I have dutifully copied that which I have absorbed beautifully from our society – I abandoned art because it wasn’t considered useful, and I took Maths (a subject I loathed, was hopeless at, and failed every time I sat the exam, which turned out to be thrice) because I took it literally when I was told that we would need it and English if we were to have any hope of getting a decent job.  And hence still being driven to prove that I am a writer by the fruits of my labours, and the lure of money and possible prestige and fame if I manage to become a published author of novels.   

Then, as the consequence of a conversation with my best friend, I came to see that, contrary to this belief, I am actually not novelist material.  I am a writer, and my strength lies in writing short pieces.  I guess, to use a sports analogy, I am the equivalent of a sprinter in the athletics world, rather than a long distance runner; some of which is undoubtedly shaped by having ADHD.  I don’t have the stamina to last a marathon or a ten thousand metre run – I cannot sustain my interest.  But I’m a bloody good sprinter, working well in short bursts.  (Ironically, I really was a good sprinter at school, and had hopes of being a professional athlete – which also did not come to fruition, it not being considered a viable career choice either.) 

So, rather than lamenting the fact, envying all those people who can and do write novels, and insisting on aiming for the impossible, I’ve decided that it’s time to accept, and adjust to, what my strengths are, be grateful for the gift that I have, and bloody well get on with practicing them, rather than continually giving myself a bad time (not to mention yet another reason for procrastination) by comparing myself, and compounding the lie that I could write a novel like everyone else seems to be able to do if I tried harder.  But where would be the point in that if, in the process, I simply ended up emulating everyone else, fitting myself to a genre, and, more importantly, didn’t even enjoy doing it?

So, as part of taking action to do more writing, I decided that I would do some every day, no matter what I wrote – I would try to stop restricting myself; stop being focussed on, and obsessed with, the outcome (the now ingrained belief that it has to be something that is going to be read by other people, otherwise it’s not worth the effort), and simply get into the process.  Because, ultimately, it’s the process that counts, not the end result.  It’s actually doing the writing that makes me happy, not having my eye on where it’s going.

Also as a consequence of becoming audience-focused (which is basically about feeding my ego), I have ended up, inadvertently, restricting myself to mainly writing for my blog (with the very occasional poem thrown in, which also gets published on here), because of my resistance to simply exploring an idea on paper and seeing how it develops.  Instead, I make the decision beforehand, so I basically set my own limitations.  And, being autistic and having difficulty with being inflexible, I have got locked into doing only one thing, and so become rigid about the way I write. 

My blog has ended up becoming the sum total of my whole writing experience; and, as such, I use it as the place in which to practice things which really don’t belong here, because I have denied myself the opportunity to do them anywhere else due to the limitations I have unconsciously set up.  Instead of being the place in which I primarily share my thoughts, ideas, and experiences, it’s become somewhere for me to practice my grammar, and the art of writing – so no wonder it often can seem so dry and heartless. 

Plus, it takes me so long to write one article because I’m so busy crafting  it, then editing and re-editing it, until it’s polished to my liking - all skills which really belong to a different mode of writing.  By the time I’ve completed an article, whatever I’ve written about is old news in my life, and I’ve gotten bored with it anyway.  There’s nothing spontaneous about my blog, except for when I get the titles popping into my head.    

So now I’m trying to do things differently.  The last article I wrote was a miracle – conceived, written out, typed up, and completed within the space of two days.  And I’ve told myself so many times that I can’t do it like that, that I can only write one way, the way that I’ve described.  Obviously that’s not true.  Ten years ago, before the advent of blogging, I was writing short stories.  Now I tell myself I can’t do that anymore because I struggled in the interim with writing anything at all. 

And, having acquired the magical label of autistic, one who struggles not just with social stuff but imagination, it’s as if I have taken to heart and absorbed the idea that my imagination is limited in all areas of life, including creativity.  Which, based on the evidence, is patently not true, nor logical.  But, as the saying goes, “What you believe you become.”  And I have become a rigid writer.  

Now I have to believe differently, and change what I do to come into line with the new beliefs.  And, I have to say, I feel rather excited, and hopeful, about it.  No more labouring under the illusion that I have to, or even want to, write full length novels.  Thank God for that!  My brain was on the verge of meltdown from the effort of trying to conceive an idea that I could string out over the length of a whole book!