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

Thought Bypass

This is what I need when attempting to navigate my mind...

“All action is born of thought.”  Author unknown

Okay, so I just checked my blog to see when I last posted, and it’s been just over a week, again.  It doesn’t seem that long, but then I have no sense of time, so how would I be able to tell?  This is why I now have a calendar notification set to alert me once a week: so I get the question, “When was the last time I wrote my blog?” popping up every Friday as a reminder.  I need something to prod me, given that my initial, over-enthusiastic posting has rather drastically waned to the more familiar dribble.  Ho hum.

This is not to say that I haven’t actually been writing this last week - or trying to.  I have started five separate pieces (they’re all sitting there, in various states of fruition, at the bottom of my screen - waiting…)  

But, unfortunately (as I mentioned last week), my attention has been divided between them and the Olympics - and when something like that happens then you can almost kiss goodbye to the writing; or, at least, to my being able to stick with one thing, and see it through to completion.  

My brain cannot cope with two things or more at once demanding my focus, and it will always choose the most stimulating, but least taxing - the one that gives instant, easier stimulation and gratification.  Writing does stimulate my brain, once I get going, and give myself over to it; but it requires no distractions, otherwise it just ends up as a sporadic, rambling mess, which needs a whole load of editing (if I even manage to complete it).  

It can also seem like too much effort when directly matched against the immediacy of the internet - one click of a button and I can be zoned out within seconds.  This is why I bang on so much about my problem with the internet - it’s a quick-fix to me, which is not good.  It certainly isn’t any good for my creativity and productivity. 

So, kind of moving on…  

... and this is what I imagine my mind looks like.  Scary.  No wonder I get lost.

… to the quote at the top of the page.  Whilst I agree wholeheartedly with this saying, I also think there should be a companion to it which goes, “All inaction is born of too much thought.”  This would perfectly embody my problem with thinking.  

I think too much.  I can think myself into, then out of, a course of action within seconds.  And then back in, and out, in and out, on and bloody on, ad nauseum…  I tire myself out with my thinking, which is why it’s never a good idea for me to give too much thought to what I’m going to do (or to anything at all, really, ‘cos by the time I’ve finished I’ll be too knackered to do much of anything).  

This is partly why I don’t do plans - ‘cos I think myself into and out of them, changing my mind about them every sixty seconds, redesigning them, changing the parameters, worrying about them, blah blah blah, and basically living in the future with the plan, and missing out on the moment: ’cos I am not one of those people who are able to make a plan, and then get on with what’s in front of them in the day.  

It’s like giving my mind the opportunity to talk my way out of it in advance; much better to catch it unaware by simply living in the day,  trying to bypass the receptacle of noise that is my mind, and tune into my higher Self (God - who exists only in this moment, ‘cos this moment is all moments rolled into one - deep, I know) for direction on what to do now.  

Easier said than done.  But I keep trying.  Plus, it is the essence of yoga (and I am, supposedly, a yogi).  Note to self: this might explain why I’m taking so long to reach ananda (the state of bliss that comes with being one with the Divine).

Interestingly, the time when thinking before acting would come in useful is the time when I don’t do it - or, at least, not conscious, considered thought.  I’m talking about just before I leap onto the internet with gay abandon, which I do with the vague idea that it’ll be alright this time.  And it never is. *heavy sigh*

So, once again, as with everything else in life (it seems), it all comes down to balance: too much thinking, and I turn into a catatonic potato; too little, and I turn into a fried potato (from jumping into the frying pan without looking where I leap).  And I don’t do balance.  I do erratic swings and roundabouts.  I guess I’ll have to get used to being dizzy, then.  You’d think I’d have grown accustomed to it by now, I’ve been doing it so long.

Right, I’m off.  Hey, look at that, though.  I managed to focus, and get this written all in a few hours, on the same day.  And I didn’t give it much thought beforehand: just had the title and a vague idea this morning, and off we went.  Yep, thinking is definitely overrated, in my opinion.  Just wish I could get my mind to agree.

I wish you peace and blissful union in the moment you’re in.

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

If You're Happy And You Know It, Flap Your Hands

“When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness, and the desire to be very grown up.”    C S Lewis

Are you a flapper, a rocker, a spinner, or maybe even a twitcher?  In other words, do you stim?  For the uninitiated it means self-stimulation (think hand-flapping, body rocking, spinning around in circles, etc - not masturbation!)  

I stim, though, up until recently, I didn’t really understand why.  I kind of thought it was just one of those peculiarities attributable to people with autism: yet another example of the difference between us and the non-autistic population.

Strangely enough, given its conspicuity, it’s one thing about myself of which I’ve never felt self-conscious.  Of course, this could be due to the fact that I’ve been largely unaware that I’m doing it (difficult to feel self-conscious when you’re not even conscious); or that it’s considered an odd thing to do.  Why would I?  It’s part of who I am, what I do, so to me it’s perfectly normal.  Plus, having perfected the art of avoiding looking at people (because I cannot read their facial expressions, nor simultaneously listen to, and look at, them), I have no idea whether they are looking at me, or exchanging questioning glances.  

So it wasn’t until after I’d got my Asperger’s diagnosis, years later, that I discovered that people do, indeed, notice what to them is considered to be my odd behaviour.  My best friend told me how some of the members at our local Alcoholics Anonymous meetings would stare and point at me in concern, directing their silent questioning at her to find out what was the matter with me, whilst I remained blithely unaware.  

After all, it was perfectly logical to me to bend my body into a pretzel-shape to make myself as small as possible in order to hide (I also happen to have a problem with sitting ‘properly’, and stationary, on a seat); avoid all eye contact by staring at the floor; and then soothe myself by rocking.  I was astounded to learn that it produced the opposite effect - that I made myself conspicuous, which to some people would even appear as if I was attention-seeking.  Dread the thought.

My particular preferences are for rocking, hand-wringing, stroking (myself, particularly upper arms; and, if available, dogs, cats, soft toy animals, and anything else with a soothing texture), and patting/drumming/tapping (especially my upper chest, which produces a pleasant sensation, and a satisfying noise).  I do these for their soothing and calming abilities, which makes perfect sense - think of how people rock, pat, and stroke babies.  And yet some of those same people think we’re odd.  Have they forgotten how soothing, and effective, such things were?  Perhaps it’s  because they expect us to have grown out of the need for such things: but then they don’t have a highly sensitive nervous system like ours. 

I’m also a bit of a flapper, sometimes, though I don’t do it as frequently.  This I do when I get excited about something - it’s like there’s a surge of energy that needs releasing, so madly flapping my hands helps.  It makes me look like a sea mammal flapping its flippers, so we now refer to it as me doing my seal impersonation.  

Oddly enough, until I found out I’m autistic, and then read about flapping, I don’t recall ever doing it before: unlike the others, which I know I’ve done throughout my life.  It’s like I unconsciously started copying what I’d read.  I did it with stammering, too: never stammered in my life until after my diagnosis (I’ve always been more prone to becoming mute than babbling, when anxious), then suddenly I couldn’t stop tripping over my words!  

Having discovered that what I do has a name, I have become increasingly more aware of when, and why, I am doing it, which has given me the ability to choose whether I continue to do it or not in that moment (for instance, my best friend will sometimes tell me I’m rocking whilst we’re on Skype, which can make her feel a bit dizzy, and be rather distracting for her).  What I have not consciously tried to do, though, is attempt to control it.   And yet it has lessened, seemingly of its own accord.  

I put this down to a number of factors.  One is that, remarkably for me, I have accepted it as being part of my autism, and so haven’t tried to force myself to stop doing it (an approach which has never worked yet).  Another is that the level of general anxiety I experience on a daily basis has reduced phenomenally over the last few years, which means an automatic lessening in the need to sooth and comfort myself via stimming.  You can tell when I’m really anxious because I turn into a restless, rocking rambler again.  

I believe that my improvement is due in part to the practice of the AA programme, which has led to an increasing faith and dependence upon a God of my understanding (spiritual, not religious), one of the results of which is a reduction in my anxiety about the world around me.  Then there’s the practice of yoga, which has taught me how to calm myself, and control my anxiety, through the breath. 

So, this may well sound like it’s a post about how to reduce stimming, which would totally conflict with the title, not to mention a large proportion of the content.  On the contrary, it is, in effect, a celebration of what is, essentially, an intuitive, benign tool for self-care; and the fact that I have recently discovered a socially acceptable way of stimming.  I kid you not.  

Yoga.  Seriously.  

I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to realise it (I have, after all, only been doing it for twelve years), but it makes perfect sense.  When we stim we are unconsciously stimulating the autonomic nervous system (responsible for, amongst other things, heart rate, breathing, and the fight or flight response).  The practice of yoga does exactly the same thing.  However, it wasn’t until I started supplementing my regular practice with Kundalini yoga a year or so ago that I made the connection.

Kundalini yoga employs a lot of quite vigorous exercises, which are called kriyas - a number of which actually look as if they were designed by autistics!  Truly.  So, not only am I absolutely, positively induced to try to bend myself into a pretzel shape with my usual yoga routine (something I was naturally drawn to doing before I ever came across the formal practice of yoga), but I now also get to spin in a circle, rock backwards, forwards, AND sideways, and flap to my heart’s content (with variations).

So I say flap like a loon if you feel the need; and if anyone questions what you’re doing, just tell them you’re practising yoga!

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.

Analyse This

“There’s no limit to how complicated things can get, on account of one thing always leading to another.”      E B White

Apparently, I complicate everything.  I don’t know how I do it, but I can’t keep a thing simple to save my life.  It appears, though, that one of the main techniques I use to inadvertently achieve this state is by analysing everything.  Funny thing is, I didn’t realise that this is how I complicate.  

I was under the illusion that my attempts at analysis, and being specific (trying to attain a definitive explanation for everything) were actually helpful in simplifying things, aiding my ability to understand and accept.  But when I honestly look back at my life, and how much I have achieved by means of this process, the fact is that it has actually hindered rather than helped me to do anything, or to change.  And it continues to do so.  Any change that has taken place in my life has occurred despite my tendency to analyse, rather than because of it.

Much as it wounds me to have to do so, I have to admit that these particular thought processes of mine are part and parcel of that wondrous gift I have for procrastinating.  If I can think my way out of doing a thing then I'll will.   

According to the Chamber’s Dictionary, analyse means “to resolve or separate a thing into its elements or component parts; to ascertain those parts; to trace a thing or things to the source or cause; to discover the general principles underlying individual phenomena by doing this; to psychoanalyse”.  

Umm, yep, sounds like what I do: except that I’d found another word to separately describe the part about separating a thing into its separate elements - I call it compartmentalising.  Of course I would.  Why have one definition when twenty will do?  Let’s face it, keeping things simple is a concept I have only a fleeting relationship with - I tend to wave at it as I’m floating by on my cloud of analysis, getting wrapped up in, and distracted by, the minutiae of life.

But the point is that it’s rather difficult to identify something in myself when I don’t know or recognise what it actually encompasses.  Or perhaps, sometimes, it’s more a case of when I don’t want to know or recognise it.  My self-will has a vested interest in keeping me in the dark, and reinforcing certain beliefs in order that I don’t do anything to change the status quo.  I am, after all, a person who fears, and hates, change, and if I continue to believe that I can’t change then there’s no need for me to deal with the possibility of maybe having to do so. 

I guess the truth is also that I’ve got used to thinking like this, and been doing it so long, that I’ve become convinced that I can’t do it any differently.  And having the handy rationalisation of being autistic/ADHD has become a useful block to change it - I’ve talked myself into believing that my mind is wired to do this, so I can’t not do it.  

I’ve realised, though, that this is not true.  It dawned on me that analysis is only one part of the thinking process, and that I don’t analyse every single thought I have, much as I might feel and appear as if I do sometimes.  Yes, there have been times in my life when I have become completely obsessed with something to the point of analysing myself into a state of paralysis.  But in recent years I have actually made some progress, mostly through the practice of yoga, which has taught me to be in the moment, using the breath or what I’m doing as a way to bring the focus back to the present (rather than on what I’m thinking).  So the actual evidence is that I can manage my tendency to analyse.  I just have to want to.

Of course, there’s nothing intrinsically wrong with analysis - lots of people do it.  It’s one of the functions for which the human brain was designed, I believe.  My problem, though, is that I over-analyse, and I tend to analyse that which doesn’t actually require analysing (which, at its zenith, means basically everything).  I can get to the root of a thing, and then bypass it completely as I whizz by in a tornado of obsession, chewing endlessly over the same thing, trying to find an answer to a question that’s already been answered.     

I frequently don’t notice that I’m doing it, it’s become so much a part of who I am - like breathing.  But then I’ve learnt through yoga that whilst breathing is something that we all do instinctively, not everyone breathes efficiently or effectively.  However, you can learn to change and improve your breathing technique to attain the maximum benefits, which I have done.  

As a recovered alcoholic/addict I cannot risk taking medication at all, so I have had to find a way to manage my anxiety, along with all the attendant difficulties of having ADHD/Aspergers.  Yoga has literally been a God-send, along with the AA Twelve Step programme (which can be adapted to suit any ‘problem’ or condition), and the change in my diet (which came about as the result of me being a compulsive overeater/undereater, bulimic, with a sugar addiction, which was way before I ever knew I’d got ADHD/Aspergers, and that diet could make a difference).  

I no longer eat sugar, except that contained in fruit; I became vegetarian/vegan, so I gave up dairy as part of that change (plus certain foods, like cheese and yoghurt, I could not stop eating once I started); and I prepare everything from scratch, and don’t eat pre-prepared meals, processed food, junk food, or anything instant.  I believe that, like everything else, being a compulsive overeater is a blessing, the necessary motivation for having to change my diet, because God knew in advance that it was going to help manage what I wasn’t aware of at that time - especially the ADHD. 

Of course, none of this happened as the result of me overanalysing any of it.  In fact, my insistence on analysing and questioning everything kept me delaying taking the necessary action to bring about any of these changes.  It’s only when I stopped thinking, and started doing, that anything different happened.  As it says in the AA Big Book (page 449, third edition): 

“When I stopped living in the problem and began living in the answer, the problem went away."

Advancing Backwards

“I have not failed.  I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.”   Thomas A Edison

Sometimes you have to go back to the beginning in order to be able to move forwards.

I really hate having to do this.  It feels like a failure, like time wasted, like all that I have done so far has been pointless.  This is the belief that I have acquired but, like all beliefs, it doesn’t mean that it’s true or right, merely that this is how I’ve chosen to view things; this is the message that I have absorbed.  And now it is time to check whether it serves a useful purpose, or whether it needs to be discarded in favour of a new belief.

In this instance the answer is a resounding no, it doesn’t serve any useful purpose to view going back as a failure.  It condemns me to continue on to the bitter end with my present course of action, with my refusal to accept the need to abandon it, thereby allowing me to start over, choose differently, learn from the mistakes that I’ve made.  Doing this allows me freedom – freedom to choose, freedom to grow, freedom to not have to get it ‘right’.  And freedom scares the shit out of me.

I have no idea why this is, but I know that it does because I have the material evidence – why else would I refuse to give up and start over?; why would I continue to punish myself by continuing on with a course of action which causes me pain (whether physical, mental, or emotional)?; why would I keep trying to live my life according to someone else’s rules and beliefs?;  why would I persist in copying other people, looking to them to tell me how to do everything, seeking out the ‘right’ way to do a thing?; why would I avoid thinking for myself?

The fact is that starting over is not a failure at all – it’s a god-given right, and one of the only ways of learning.  How else will I learn except by first experiencing what doesn’t work (the way that Thomas Edison beautifully describes in the above quote)?  But is it any wonder I fear this when I have placed such constraints, attached such harsh judgements to the whole idea?  And, again, I am abetted by a society which places such high expectations on the idea of failure and success, which rewards only those who succeed in ways that have been determined by someone else (failure to pass exams at school, failure to pass tests, failure to get a job, failure to come up to someone else’s definition of what it means to be a successful, healthy, well-balanced, popular, attractive, productive person, etc).

The only ‘failure’ is to refuse to risk changing direction; to decide that, rather than go back, I’d prefer to blunder on, whilst ignoring the continued chaos and damage I’m doing.  Or come to a complete halt, and refuse to do anything at all, but simply give in to the defeatist attitude of “what’s the point?”  And sure, I might need to take some time out, to regroup, take stock, and determine a new course of action based on what I’ve learnt, in order to avoid simply blundering off and retreading old ground.  This is called being sensible, taking in the bigger picture – two things I’m not known for doing.  But hey, I can learn.  I may be autistic, but my human ability to change is not defunct – no matter what some people might misguidedly believe.

Starting again is part of the experience of living, so why would I try to avoid it?  Why would I constantly aim towards this unattainable goal of perfection, the one that demands that I never get anything ‘wrong’; that I have to get it ‘right’ first time, otherwise it proves that I am deficient in some way, and especially if I keep repeatedly making the same mistakes (which is a talent of mine)? 

According to the spiritual truths that I profess to believe in, the world is already perfect as it is, even in its imperfection, because that is how it was created.  God never creates anything without there being a reason for it, without it already being perfect, and S/He/It never makes mistakes.  The problem comes from man having to then make a judgement about everything, having to define what’s perfect and what isn’t, what’s right and what’s wrong, what’s good and bad, etc.  

Perfection, as I understand it from this skewed point of view, is all about everything being flawless – like the air-brushed pictures of models and celebrities you find in magazines.  The fact that this kind of perfection can only be achieved through unnatural means, through force of will, is actually a sign of its imperfection.  Anything which goes against the natural flow, which seeks to distort that, is imperfect – to use a man-made definition.  It has to be – it’s the opposite of how it was designed.

Step Three in Alcoholics Anonymous says, “Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God, as we understood Him.”  The relevant part here is ‘turning it over’ – which means looking at the other side, seeing the opposite of what I believe, if what I believe in is not working.  I have believed one definition of perfection; I have believed that making mistakes is a bad thing; I have believed in the concept of failure.  I have believed in a man-made definition of all those things, and more.  I am now choosing to turn that over and see it from the other side – from a spiritually directed perspective, God’s will for me, not mine.

So, in light of what I wrote yesterday about my yoga practice having become more like a punishment rather than a joy due to my approach to it, I have decided to go back to the beginning, and start again – having taken stock of where I have gone ‘wrong’.  It should be an interesting and, hopefully, enlightening journey.  And the journey is what yoga is all about, not the destination – which is why I believe that I was brought to it in the first place, because it has so much to teach me.  I just have to be willing to learn, which requires that I have to let go of the idea that I already know everything.  And, based solely on the evidence of my experience with yoga, this is patently not true.  So, with that in mind, I now happily sound the retreat.         

A Force Of Nature

Just lately I’ve been thinking, and talking, a lot about the need for me to learn to go with the flow of life, rather than banging into it, like walking into a brick wall.  And I was thinking about the analogy of water, which is so frequently used when describing the best way to approach life - and with good reason.  Water has the incredible ability to get everywhere, and to dramatically shape and transform, but with very little effort.  Just look at the Grand Canyon, an amazing testament to the power of water (and wind), to make astounding transformations over time.

Whilst in the middle of my yoga practice yesterday, it struck me that the reason I still keep hurting myself in yoga (and in life in general) is because I don’t flow like water: I flood.  Not for me the gentle trickle of a babbling brook or a gurgling stream.  Nor the soft, feather-like caress of a light breeze.  Nope.  I don’t flow, I flood.  I am like a dam breaking, or a hurricane sweeping wildly across the plane of my existence, leaving in its wake more damage and destruction.  I approach life like a whirlwind, attempting to flatten all obstacles in my path, ‘cos I’m in too much of a hurry to get to the other side – a force of nature, trying to force nature to bow to my demands.  I should come with an in-built tornado warning device so that I can at least prepare myself for the approaching chaos.

My yoga practice is a perfect example of my impatience in action.  I began doing it ten years ago, for the simple reason that I needed some form of regular exercise because I wasn’t getting any, but it had to be something which didn’t buy into my eating disordered mind’s obsession with weight loss and body image.  So I chose yoga, because it’s gentle, and spiritual – well, at least, that’s what it’s supposed to be.

At that time I had poor posture (from permanently slouching in an attempt to hide myself from the world), and such a weak back that I couldn’t sit upright without needing something to lean against.  I didn’t find this out until I tried sitting cross-legged on the floor to do meditation.  As I practiced yoga, though, both my back and my posture improved dramatically, and I gained other benefits.  But then impatience, and goal-setting, reared their ugly heads.  I wanted to move onto more advanced stuff: I wanted to be a ‘proper’ yogi, someone who could do handstands, and headstands, meditate perfectly, and float serenely through life without a care.

So the steady, gentle stream turned into a fast-flowing river, with regular flooding (the days where I would push myself over the limit because I’d been too impatient to slow down enough to identify what my limits were, and end up hurting myself yet again).  I was constantly driven by the storm of emotion that said I had to keep pushing harder or I’d never get ‘there’, to the goal, to the end result, to the pinnacle.

The result of this whirlwind approach is that I have now acquired a whole new set of exciting injuries, to the same parts of my body – my weak areas, which I have managed to weaken even more.  So, my back now hurts, but in a completely different way – it is stiff and unyielding, and I have back pain on a regular basis, and a delightful feeling as if it’s on fire, burning up on the inside.  And my knees, of which only one was slightly on the dodgy side, giving me the occasional twinge, are now both knackered because I insisted on forcing them into full Lotus position before they had become pliable and strong enough to do so.  Lovely.

To top it all, I now approach my yoga practice with a great deal of trepidation, as if I’m about to go into a lion’s den, wondering what new injury is going to befall me.  It’s a long way from the unbounded enthusiasm and excitement that I used to feel; I no longer leap from my bed in the morning, eager to begin.  If anything, I now find any excuse to avoid it.  This is not good, on a number of levels: one of which is that I am so worried and tense about my back that I find it difficult to relax – and relaxation is central to the art of yoga, it’s part of what stops you getting injured.  Relaxing and going with the flow, not coiling in on oneself, then unleashing it in a spiral of dammed up destructive energy, like a tornado.

So I have decided that I shall try to be more like a stream and less like a flood, and maybe then my life won’t frequently resemble the aftermath of a cyclone.  Just an occasional heavy rainstorm, perhaps.

Critical Art Bypass

So.... I’ve been suffering for my art just lately.... again (claps hand wanly to forehead, and sighs deeply in an affected manner.  Not really.  But I could be doing). 

Every so often I feel myself filled with an over-abundance of self-doubt about my ability - usually when I’m beginning, in the middle of, or finishing a painting.  So that’s approximately every time I pick up a pencil or a paintbrush, then.

But this time I seem to have been filled with even more than the usual amount.  It’s not even as if I’m experimenting with anything different.  No, I did that with the last painting, when I took the plunge and delved into the world of mixed mediums (and no, that’s not a reference to confused spiritualists).  I’m not even trying to paint anything unusual.

Yet, for some reason, I have got it into my head that the way I paint is now no longer any good, and it’s time to move on up the artistic ladder (hopefully not getting distracted and falling off half-way up), develop my technique, and start painting the way other people do it – ‘other people’ meaning ‘proper’ artists. 

You know, the kind who wear smocks and get paint everywhere, who have studios (or at least a space in which to permanently leave out all of their artistic equipment), use an easel, and have a collection of brushes that would have drastically reduced the sable population (or, at least, the tail end, since that’s where the hair comes from, out of which the brushes are made).  Oh, and who’ve had basic instruction in watercolour techniques.  And I forgot to mention the ‘seriously proper’ artists – the ones who live in a garret, and eat, drink, breathe, sleep, and suffer their art.

Not people like me, who don’t wear smocks or special clothes ‘cos, basically, I am the neatest painter in the world.  Even my tubes of paint are clean, and sit in an orderly manner in their original box.  And, given the size of my home, I have to paint at my kitchen table, which means there’s no room for me to leave things lying around – unless I want to risk getting food all over my art.  I guess it could be a new art-form – painting with mung dal.  Mind you, someone’s probably already done it; and it would be so messy (which, as you may have gathered, is something I don’t much care for).

Nor do I have an easel – just a multi-functional, drop-leaf kitchen table.  But then I don’t do ‘big’ art: you won’t find me attempting to paint a masterpiece on a life-size canvas.  Good thing, too, or I’d be crowded out within a month.

As to my brush collection, it would probably be considered a little on the sparse side, and devoid of all the relevant equipment (since I have very little idea as to what I “should” be painting with – other than it should look like a stick with some soft bristles sticking out the end).  The sables can breathe a deep sigh of relief with me around, especially as I’ve recently decided to go the vegan route and buy synthetic instead.  I hadn’t realised that they actually kill the animals for their tail hair, as well as their pelts which are used in other goods.  I really don’t want ANYONE suffering for my art. 

Which kinda excludes me from the ‘seriously proper’ art set: although I do tend to do a lot of suffering – just not quite in the dying-in-a-garret style.  For one thing, I love my food and my sleep too much to give it up for painting (although I can lose interest in the one and be deprived of the other when I get seriously obsessed about something).  And for another, I’m just too flighty and easily distracted.  I’d get bored if I had to spend all of my days just doing art.  I’d want to do wood-whittling, or stonemasonry.  Vincent Van Gogh I definitely am not.

All of which is tediously familiar territory.  I have the same doubts about everything I do.  I’m not a ‘proper’ writer because I haven’t written a book yet; I don’t own an extensive library; I don’t read ‘proper’ grown-up literature (‘Winnie-the-Pooh’, and ‘The Chronicles of Narnia’ are what my tastes run to: along with an occasional foray into the ebook world of erotic romance literature, with which I seem to have developed a peculiar fascination just lately.)

I’m not a member of a writer’s group; I don’t read extensively (except when I go off on one of my web-trawls, and end up reading anything that pops into my view); and I certainly don’t have a study, with a ‘proper’ desk, at which to do my ‘proper’ writing – something I thought at one time was an absolute necessity, if I was ever going to become a ‘proper’ author.  As if I’d ever get any writing done, sitting in a room surrounded by shelves filled with books from floor to ceiling! 

Now I sit at my laptop, which sits on a desk that used to be a dressing-table, which stands in my living room: and I’m as happy as a seaside donkey wearing a bonnet.

I’m also not a “proper” craftswoman ‘cos my homemade cards look... well... home made.  I think that I’m supposed to be aiming for having them look ‘professional’, like the glossy, mass-produced things that you get in card-shops.  Except then I wouldn’t actually be able to describe them as being either home or hand-made – which kind of defeats the object, really. 

And as for yoga....  I just feel myself to be a fraud half the time, when I refer to myself as a yogi.  I’ve never been to a class, I don’t ‘hang’ or even speak with other yogis, yet I’ve somehow managed to bumble through teaching myself with the sole aid of a book (two books, to be precise, by the same author: ‘Introducing Yoga’, and ‘Yoga In Practice’, by Katy Appleton – beginners, and more advanced).  As a consequence of which, I have probably taken a lot longer to progress than your average yoga student – what with the added impediment of trying to follow a book with an autistic brain ( I mean that I have the brain, not the book, of course!)   

Then there’s the fact that, unlike the ‘proper’ people who do ‘proper’ yoga in their ‘proper’ yoga clothes at their ‘proper’ yoga classes or in their ‘proper’ sacred yoga spaces in their homes, I do mine in my kitchen.  Yes – my kitchen.  That multi-purpose room where nearly everything creative I do gets done. 

My kitchen is my sacred space – a sanctuary to which I can retreat and enjoy the calming influence of yoga... done to the accompaniment of the fridge-freezer merrily gurgling away when it decides to kick into gear; the gas boiler firing up every five minutes; the dulcet tones (I’m being ironic here) of my downstairs neighbour drifting up through the floorboards to gently caress my eardrums, along with the heavenly aroma of his cigarette smoke encompassing me as it, too, insinuates its way into my flat; and the heavy bass of my next door neighbour’s music filtering through the walls, when he has a musical moment.    

And not for me a statue of Shiva, Krishna, or even a Buddha to meditate upon and salute to during the Sun Salutation.  Oh no.  When I bow down, I do so to the ever-present figure of my Hoover Optima Wash System1600 washing machine (they do say cleanliness is next to godliness, do they not?)  And I wonder why my journey is taking so long, when I’m surrounded by such an abundance of distractions?

So no, there’s nothing ‘proper’ about me.  I’m not even a ‘proper’ person, being autistic and all.  But I keep giving it a jolly good try.  And, in an attempt to move myself up into the ranks of the “proper” artists’ set, I have been on a wild goose-chase for the last couple of weeks, surfing the internet, trying to find out how to do watercolour painting ‘properly’, whilst not doing any actual watercolour painting at all (it’s my favourite avoidance technique, looking on the web). 

And you know what I found?  A lot of convoluted confusion, which just added to my anxiety about picking up a paintbrush again.  As my friend frequently tells me, the internet is not designed for me, and the answers are not ‘out there’ on the world wide web.  Nor are they to be found in a book, or on a DVD, or in a class.  The answer is to simply pick up a brush and just paint, and trust the process: stop analysing exactly how do you paint, which does nothing but bring me to a grinding halt whilst my mind kicks into obsessive gear. 

I have nineteen paintings to prove that I can paint (most of them on my walls, and all done within the space of a week – that’s how long I’ve ACTUALLY been painting, when you add up the art time I’ve had in my timetable over the last year and a half): but do I look at them as a reminder of what I’ve achieved, and that I can do it?  Nope.  I look at them and worry that I won’t be able to repeat the process again.    

So now I’m proper pissed-off with the whole bloody world of trying to do it properly, when it turns out there isn’t really a proper way to do anything anyway – just a lot of different peoples’ versions of what they all think is proper.  And, to be perfectly honest, I’m not even sure I know what ‘proper’ means anyway, in this context – other than ‘the way that everyone else does it, which isn’t the way that I do it.’ 

Therefore, I shall go forth and continue to bumble through with my improper manner, and trust that it’ll all come right in the end.  Or not.  As the case may be.  Depending on how you want to look at things.  Perhaps there’s a proper way to look at things that I’m missing out on...?