It usually ends up being the case that the comment threads are the best part of a post. In the last post, a discussion about...not church, but specifically the church setting...has ensued. Much to think about, since for me (when I was growing up) the problem was never feeling excluded at church, but feeling overwhelmed by the inclusion. A lot of difficult ironies to sort out when it comes to balancing sensory/social difficulties with such a sensory-intense, highly social environment.
I could link to the last post, but it's just right there...a scroll or two away from this sentence. You can even see the title from here. Bloop.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Holiday Affective Disorder (part 2)
January 2007
(This is a few weeks after the session from part 1).
Doctor: So...I've been curious...did you go home for Christmas?
M: I did. Since I skipped out on Thanksgiving I felt like I had to go home for Christmas. It's a big thing for The Parents. I was going to feel too bad if I missed it.
Doctor: Er. How did it go?
M: Usually it's just boring and I feel like a stranger around everyone. This year was quite a bit worse. It sucked. I made the mistake of going to church with them.
At this point in time...early 2007...I've been socially isolated for a long time.
M: It's the first time I've been around New People in forever. I had forgotten how...well, I don't know. It was stressful. I had forgotten how much crap you have to pay attention to during a social interaction.
D: I'm surprised you went. I thought the plan was to go but keep everything low-key...keep the interactions to a minimum.
M: Once I was at their place, I just sort of went along with things. And I've been feeling a lot of guilt about the fact that I feel so distant around my family. My parents are nice...and they always try to include me in everything...and I feel bad when I turn them down over and over. Holidays, birthdays, I avoid them...and I know that I'm a grownup, I can make whatever decisions I want, but I still feel guilty. I know it hurts them. So...they really wanted me to attend the Christmas service at their church. That's an important thing for them. I thought I would go, sit through it, get it over with. But I was unprepared for how stressful it was. I have to get better at avoiding my parents and not feeling bad about it.
D: I guess the question is: how many people were at the service?
M: Thousands.
D: Whoa.
M: I know. That's what I said. My parents told me they were going to a new church...they didn't mention it was one of those freakishly large mega-churches. With thousands of people. Everywhere. Talking. Saying things. All at the same time.
D: That's precisely why it's okay to avoid your family. There is zero consideration for how you might react to something. You can't take someone with a history of sensory and social difficulties and throw them into a room with thousands of people. That's so wrong.
M: They can't see that kind of thing. They have their sense of the world...and it's so meaningful to them that they can't see how it might be uncomfortable for someone else. A Christmas service...it's all about interacting with people and...you know, The Jesus. Two of their favorite things.
D: So...how did the morning play out? You just got there...met people...had a traditional service?
M: Yeah. Everyone stood around in this lobby thing and mingled for awhile. Then Christmas songs happened. A preacher said preacher things. Then people went back to the lobby and re-mingled. It was intensely social.
I rub my eyes.
M: I couldn't get over the discrepancy in realities. I was so anxious that it hurt. Other people were laughing, mingling...just enjoying the fact of being around one another. I stood in a corner and pretended to read a pamphlet...tried to avoid people. Everyone else had on their fucking snowflake sweaters and holiday smiles and it was like they were on a mission to talk as loudly as possibly to as many people as they could find. Do you know Heironymous Bosch? The painter?
D: No.
M: I was thinking of him that morning. Anyway.
D: Probably tough to hide with that many people around. And I know the social component of church is big for your parents.
M: Right. They introduced me to a lot of people. The small-talk aspect wasn't so bad. With that many people around, all of the conversations were brief, easy to figure out. People would say, "Merry Christmas." And I would...very appropriately...pump my fist and yell, "Boo-yeah! Go Jesus!" No, no. That didn't happen. I just had to fake-smile and say "Nice to meet you" and that seemed to work.
D: I guess I'm wondering more about the sensory issues. That's close-quarters with a lot of people...
I don't say anything.
D: You've refused to discuss that. I'm just saying...that must have been tough.
I don't say anything.
D: Probably had to shake a lot of hands. And I could be wrong...I've just had the sense that you don't like to be touched.
M: That's not true. It's not that I don't like it. It's just intense. I can never find words to describe it, so...I don't know. I don't like talking about something when the words aren't there.
I pause, chase ideas around.
M: That morning, touch wasn't the problem. It was...I don't know how to put it. The rules involved with touching...like the social patterns...I can never figure those out and I tend to get confused about it.
D: I'm not really clear on what you mean.
M: I've always noticed: people like to touch one another in churches. Like, that morning, there was this festive atmosphere and everyone was hugging and shaking hands and patting arms. I didn't know anyone at all aside from my parents, so people were introducing themselves left and right- and this gets to the weird thing about churches: if you're in a grocery store, you don't walk up and suddenly hug a stranger. In public, you don't grab the hand of a passing stranger and shake it; you don't slap them on the arm or back. You know better. But in a church, all of the rules are different. There, you can apparently do whatever you want to a stranger...it's open season. And for whatever reason, church-goers are drawn to new people, it's this compulsion. They want to say nice things and ask lots of questions and initiate you into their obscure touching rituals that make no rational sense whatsoever. I had three completely unfamiliar women hug me that morning; close friends of my parents. Two of the hugs were the "facing-each-other" hugs. One of them was the more informal "shoulder-to-shoulder" hug, where you and the person are facing the same direction. How are you supposed to know which one is coming? Without ever planning it in advance, most people seem to know which hug the situation calls for. Every time someone initiated a hug, I would freeze up and then try to throw my arms at them in a vaguely hug-like manner. I've counted: I'm on a three second delay with hugs.
The Doctor doesn't respond.
M: I'm kidding. About the hug delay. You can laugh at that.
D: Hmm.
No laugh.
(In this session...with the first psychologist, the crappy one...hugs were described in more detail. Because of that session, which The Doctor later read, she won't laugh about hug issues. I periodically try to get a response. But: nothin'.)
M: And the handshakes were over the top. Nearly every guy who shook my hand used the "two hand method": they would put one hand in my hand and the other one on my forearm. Overly-intense. Redundant. I've never understood that move. The whole morning felt like a Steinbeck novel. Five thousand of these happy, benevolent Lennie's. And they all wanna pet the new rabbit.
I pause. I drink coffee and stare at my shoes.
M: I forgot what I was talking about.
D: Hugs.
M: Oh! I finished that, though. I guess I'm...that's it.
D: One thing that is interesting to me: when you describe growing up, you always go back to church as a major source of stress. A lot of adults on the spectrum, in the literature I've read, focus on school as a core difficulty. You mentioned that as well, but church seems to pop up more often as a setting that created a lot of anxiety. It makes sense...from your descriptions, I can see why that would be the case. It's just...not something you hear a lot.
M: When I was a kid, I had to go more than the average person, so that's part of it. The Parents did the Sunday thing, but they also went during the week, to various activities. They were church oriented people. And it's just...different than school. I guess it is worse, relative to my personality.
It's quiet for awhile.
M: I'm trying to think about other settings where I had to be social. I never had major problems in college. There, I was surrounded by students all day and it was stressful, but completely bearable. I did well in college. I guess when I compare it to high school, it helps me understand why, growing up, church was so overwhelming. People in high school formed peer groups and excluded others. It's like in the lunch room, you sit clustered into little groups; you don't let just anyone sit with you. This was a brand of social politics that I found to be mutually beneficial. Most kids didn't want to socialize with me; I didn't know how to socialize with them, so I was able to stay in my own little world. The pressure at school was never to join groups, it was to stay away from them and that was great. At church, the rules were reversed. You're expected to clump. If you're an adolescent and you sit alone in a church, people feel uncomfortable with that. Every church had a "youth group" and you're supposed to mingle and mesh and take part in all of the various activities they do throughout the week. It would drive youth directors crazy, the way I would keep to myself no matter how many pep talks they gave me. When I was a teenager, those guys were the bane of my existence. At school, I was left alone. At church, I had to constantly put up with youth directors...who were incapable of grasping the concept of solitude. That was a challenge to them, I guess...a problem to fix. It's their job to corral the teens. Not in a bad way, they meant well, but that was a constant battle. I deflected and confused a long line of youth directors. Anyway, with this diagnosis, I'm able to see the nature of my problems more clearly...and a church setting amplifies every single one of them. It makes sense now that it effected me in ways other places didn't. In high school, college...I was in a room with lots of people but it was all very regulated and mechanized. You can robotically walk into a classroom, sit, listen for an hour...and then walk out using the same set of movements. And everyone else follows set patterns. Some of them talk to one another, but it's not compulsory. It's all scheduled and predictable and there's not this constant threat of social pressure from intrusive questions or random touching. There was just a very specific rhythm to college that I could see and hide inside of.
D: Hiding inside of appearances, the marionette: all of that is the past. That's what you want to avoid from now on. Maybe that's one positive thing about the Christmas service. It's a little reminder: going through the motions on other people's terms, that's not what you want anymore. That's what you did for a long time and it never created a good result. So...we're wanting to find a way of living that incorporates you're differences. You're not operating with an undiagnosed condition anymore. We can find a way of pursuing goals, creating situations, on your terms. Last week: it was a glimpse of the past, what you're wanting to change.
M: You've helped me understand what hasn't worked and that's helpful. But that doesn't say anything about what does work. Anytime I'm around people, I feel distant, artificial. Yet I'm sick of being alone. So I'm not able to see any options here. A "next step" only makes sense if there are details, and I don't see what those would be. I've been around people. I've isolated. What else is there?
D: It's going to take more time to work that out.
M: That's an extremely unsatisfactory answer.
D: Oh yes. That doesn't worry me. You want answers. They don't exist yet. You'll deal with that part okay.
I laugh.
M: Which part am I not going to deal with okay?
D: The answers. That's going to be the hard part. Once we establish goals...and begin to work on them...that's going to involve huge changes and I'm not sure what you'll think of that.
M: I think it would be a relief to have goals that I actually buy into.
D: Are you still writing out our sessions?
M: Yes.
D: Write that down: you'll be relieved to have goals. I'll be reminding you of that down the road. Frequently.
(This ends up, of course, being prophetic. It's annoying.)
(This is a few weeks after the session from part 1).
Doctor: So...I've been curious...did you go home for Christmas?
M: I did. Since I skipped out on Thanksgiving I felt like I had to go home for Christmas. It's a big thing for The Parents. I was going to feel too bad if I missed it.
Doctor: Er. How did it go?
M: Usually it's just boring and I feel like a stranger around everyone. This year was quite a bit worse. It sucked. I made the mistake of going to church with them.
At this point in time...early 2007...I've been socially isolated for a long time.
M: It's the first time I've been around New People in forever. I had forgotten how...well, I don't know. It was stressful. I had forgotten how much crap you have to pay attention to during a social interaction.
D: I'm surprised you went. I thought the plan was to go but keep everything low-key...keep the interactions to a minimum.
M: Once I was at their place, I just sort of went along with things. And I've been feeling a lot of guilt about the fact that I feel so distant around my family. My parents are nice...and they always try to include me in everything...and I feel bad when I turn them down over and over. Holidays, birthdays, I avoid them...and I know that I'm a grownup, I can make whatever decisions I want, but I still feel guilty. I know it hurts them. So...they really wanted me to attend the Christmas service at their church. That's an important thing for them. I thought I would go, sit through it, get it over with. But I was unprepared for how stressful it was. I have to get better at avoiding my parents and not feeling bad about it.
D: I guess the question is: how many people were at the service?
M: Thousands.
D: Whoa.
M: I know. That's what I said. My parents told me they were going to a new church...they didn't mention it was one of those freakishly large mega-churches. With thousands of people. Everywhere. Talking. Saying things. All at the same time.
D: That's precisely why it's okay to avoid your family. There is zero consideration for how you might react to something. You can't take someone with a history of sensory and social difficulties and throw them into a room with thousands of people. That's so wrong.
M: They can't see that kind of thing. They have their sense of the world...and it's so meaningful to them that they can't see how it might be uncomfortable for someone else. A Christmas service...it's all about interacting with people and...you know, The Jesus. Two of their favorite things.
D: So...how did the morning play out? You just got there...met people...had a traditional service?
M: Yeah. Everyone stood around in this lobby thing and mingled for awhile. Then Christmas songs happened. A preacher said preacher things. Then people went back to the lobby and re-mingled. It was intensely social.
I rub my eyes.
M: I couldn't get over the discrepancy in realities. I was so anxious that it hurt. Other people were laughing, mingling...just enjoying the fact of being around one another. I stood in a corner and pretended to read a pamphlet...tried to avoid people. Everyone else had on their fucking snowflake sweaters and holiday smiles and it was like they were on a mission to talk as loudly as possibly to as many people as they could find. Do you know Heironymous Bosch? The painter?
D: No.
M: I was thinking of him that morning. Anyway.
D: Probably tough to hide with that many people around. And I know the social component of church is big for your parents.
M: Right. They introduced me to a lot of people. The small-talk aspect wasn't so bad. With that many people around, all of the conversations were brief, easy to figure out. People would say, "Merry Christmas." And I would...very appropriately...pump my fist and yell, "Boo-yeah! Go Jesus!" No, no. That didn't happen. I just had to fake-smile and say "Nice to meet you" and that seemed to work.
D: I guess I'm wondering more about the sensory issues. That's close-quarters with a lot of people...
I don't say anything.
D: You've refused to discuss that. I'm just saying...that must have been tough.
I don't say anything.
D: Probably had to shake a lot of hands. And I could be wrong...I've just had the sense that you don't like to be touched.
M: That's not true. It's not that I don't like it. It's just intense. I can never find words to describe it, so...I don't know. I don't like talking about something when the words aren't there.
I pause, chase ideas around.
M: That morning, touch wasn't the problem. It was...I don't know how to put it. The rules involved with touching...like the social patterns...I can never figure those out and I tend to get confused about it.
D: I'm not really clear on what you mean.
M: I've always noticed: people like to touch one another in churches. Like, that morning, there was this festive atmosphere and everyone was hugging and shaking hands and patting arms. I didn't know anyone at all aside from my parents, so people were introducing themselves left and right- and this gets to the weird thing about churches: if you're in a grocery store, you don't walk up and suddenly hug a stranger. In public, you don't grab the hand of a passing stranger and shake it; you don't slap them on the arm or back. You know better. But in a church, all of the rules are different. There, you can apparently do whatever you want to a stranger...it's open season. And for whatever reason, church-goers are drawn to new people, it's this compulsion. They want to say nice things and ask lots of questions and initiate you into their obscure touching rituals that make no rational sense whatsoever. I had three completely unfamiliar women hug me that morning; close friends of my parents. Two of the hugs were the "facing-each-other" hugs. One of them was the more informal "shoulder-to-shoulder" hug, where you and the person are facing the same direction. How are you supposed to know which one is coming? Without ever planning it in advance, most people seem to know which hug the situation calls for. Every time someone initiated a hug, I would freeze up and then try to throw my arms at them in a vaguely hug-like manner. I've counted: I'm on a three second delay with hugs.
The Doctor doesn't respond.
M: I'm kidding. About the hug delay. You can laugh at that.
D: Hmm.
No laugh.
(In this session...with the first psychologist, the crappy one...hugs were described in more detail. Because of that session, which The Doctor later read, she won't laugh about hug issues. I periodically try to get a response. But: nothin'.)
M: And the handshakes were over the top. Nearly every guy who shook my hand used the "two hand method": they would put one hand in my hand and the other one on my forearm. Overly-intense. Redundant. I've never understood that move. The whole morning felt like a Steinbeck novel. Five thousand of these happy, benevolent Lennie's. And they all wanna pet the new rabbit.
I pause. I drink coffee and stare at my shoes.
M: I forgot what I was talking about.
D: Hugs.
M: Oh! I finished that, though. I guess I'm...that's it.
D: One thing that is interesting to me: when you describe growing up, you always go back to church as a major source of stress. A lot of adults on the spectrum, in the literature I've read, focus on school as a core difficulty. You mentioned that as well, but church seems to pop up more often as a setting that created a lot of anxiety. It makes sense...from your descriptions, I can see why that would be the case. It's just...not something you hear a lot.
M: When I was a kid, I had to go more than the average person, so that's part of it. The Parents did the Sunday thing, but they also went during the week, to various activities. They were church oriented people. And it's just...different than school. I guess it is worse, relative to my personality.
It's quiet for awhile.
M: I'm trying to think about other settings where I had to be social. I never had major problems in college. There, I was surrounded by students all day and it was stressful, but completely bearable. I did well in college. I guess when I compare it to high school, it helps me understand why, growing up, church was so overwhelming. People in high school formed peer groups and excluded others. It's like in the lunch room, you sit clustered into little groups; you don't let just anyone sit with you. This was a brand of social politics that I found to be mutually beneficial. Most kids didn't want to socialize with me; I didn't know how to socialize with them, so I was able to stay in my own little world. The pressure at school was never to join groups, it was to stay away from them and that was great. At church, the rules were reversed. You're expected to clump. If you're an adolescent and you sit alone in a church, people feel uncomfortable with that. Every church had a "youth group" and you're supposed to mingle and mesh and take part in all of the various activities they do throughout the week. It would drive youth directors crazy, the way I would keep to myself no matter how many pep talks they gave me. When I was a teenager, those guys were the bane of my existence. At school, I was left alone. At church, I had to constantly put up with youth directors...who were incapable of grasping the concept of solitude. That was a challenge to them, I guess...a problem to fix. It's their job to corral the teens. Not in a bad way, they meant well, but that was a constant battle. I deflected and confused a long line of youth directors. Anyway, with this diagnosis, I'm able to see the nature of my problems more clearly...and a church setting amplifies every single one of them. It makes sense now that it effected me in ways other places didn't. In high school, college...I was in a room with lots of people but it was all very regulated and mechanized. You can robotically walk into a classroom, sit, listen for an hour...and then walk out using the same set of movements. And everyone else follows set patterns. Some of them talk to one another, but it's not compulsory. It's all scheduled and predictable and there's not this constant threat of social pressure from intrusive questions or random touching. There was just a very specific rhythm to college that I could see and hide inside of.
D: Hiding inside of appearances, the marionette: all of that is the past. That's what you want to avoid from now on. Maybe that's one positive thing about the Christmas service. It's a little reminder: going through the motions on other people's terms, that's not what you want anymore. That's what you did for a long time and it never created a good result. So...we're wanting to find a way of living that incorporates you're differences. You're not operating with an undiagnosed condition anymore. We can find a way of pursuing goals, creating situations, on your terms. Last week: it was a glimpse of the past, what you're wanting to change.
M: You've helped me understand what hasn't worked and that's helpful. But that doesn't say anything about what does work. Anytime I'm around people, I feel distant, artificial. Yet I'm sick of being alone. So I'm not able to see any options here. A "next step" only makes sense if there are details, and I don't see what those would be. I've been around people. I've isolated. What else is there?
D: It's going to take more time to work that out.
M: That's an extremely unsatisfactory answer.
D: Oh yes. That doesn't worry me. You want answers. They don't exist yet. You'll deal with that part okay.
I laugh.
M: Which part am I not going to deal with okay?
D: The answers. That's going to be the hard part. Once we establish goals...and begin to work on them...that's going to involve huge changes and I'm not sure what you'll think of that.
M: I think it would be a relief to have goals that I actually buy into.
D: Are you still writing out our sessions?
M: Yes.
D: Write that down: you'll be relieved to have goals. I'll be reminding you of that down the road. Frequently.
(This ends up, of course, being prophetic. It's annoying.)
Thursday, November 5, 2009
shiny new labels
This has been talked about for awhile, but with the new DSM being readied (the big diagnostic manual), the New York Times has this article about Asperger's. (The new edition of the DSM will be out in 2012).
Sounds like this is actually going to happen: the diagnosis will be officially discontinued...the symptoms lumped into one broad diagnosis, Autism Spectrum Disorder.
My plan is to post about this later, maybe within the next week or so. But...I'm almost certain that my views on the matter are in the minority...though I'm very interested in and open to different viewpoints. Still: me...minority opinion. Details to follow.
Sounds like this is actually going to happen: the diagnosis will be officially discontinued...the symptoms lumped into one broad diagnosis, Autism Spectrum Disorder.
My plan is to post about this later, maybe within the next week or so. But...I'm almost certain that my views on the matter are in the minority...though I'm very interested in and open to different viewpoints. Still: me...minority opinion. Details to follow.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Holiday Affective Disorder (part 1)
Session: December 2006
I'm in the waiting room, crumpled, bleak. The Doctor walks out and says she'll be a few minutes late. After a bit, I see her previous client leave and the Doctor waves toward her office.
M: You're actually going straight from one client to the next. That can't be easy.
Doctor: Usually I have ten minutes or so to re-adjust, but I like the quick transitions too. I do apologize though, for being late.
M: That's okay. Always take longer if you need, just to have a few minutes alone. Like, if a session goes long and you need a little time just to decompress, I would definitely understand.
Doctor: Thank you, but it's okay.
M: I've tried to imagine what it must be like, seeing a different client every hour of the work week. I would get exhausted. I thought about how strange it would be, from my perspective, to leave here and immediately see another psychologist for an hour...and then talk to another one right after that. And then another, all day long, five days a week. I wouldn't be able to keep any of the discussions straight.
She smiles, tenses her shoulders.
D: I thrive on it. I love it.
M: You're weird.
Doctor: So. Tell me about your week. What's up?
M: I did end up skipping the whole Thanksgiving dinner. I just stayed home, slept through the day.
I start to have trouble talking. I'm a bit of a mess today. Choked-up, broken.
She doesn't say anything, it's quiet for a long time.
M: Fucking holidays. Everyone has been calling...a lot of different family...and they're all having these get-togethers. I missed Thanksgiving, but there's stuff going on every week through Christmas.
I rest my head in my hands, wait for a bit.
M: Which is boring to say...everyone gets depressed around the holidays. It's just been harder this year because I've decided to avoid everyone. I can't handle...
D: You seem really upset. Maybe we should slow down for a bit.
M: No.
D: Are these all extended family events?
M: Yeah, my cousins are getting together one night. I have a lot of cousins. And some uncles are inviting guy relatives over for a football night, there's a particular game they're wanting to see or something. Then there's the regular Christmas get-together coming up. That's a whole thing. A whole day of mini get-togethers.
D: Well, tell me about last week. You skipped Thanksgiving.
M: Yeah.
D: How did your family react?
M: I don't know. It's sort of compulsory with my family, people just clump at the holidays. My extended family...everyone is close but they're really not aware of how isolated I've been the last couple of years. My parents...they know and they sort of view these get-togethers as a test.
D: How so?
M: To their way of thinking, if I go to these things, it keeps my Normalcy Indicator in the green. You know? Going through the motions is important. A few times a year, all I have to do is eat turkey, watch football, trade chit chat with relatives...and that's it. They can kind of ignore what's going on if I'm going through the motions.
D: And I'm assuming the important thing for them is not that you go through the motions...but that other people see you going through the motions.
M: Exactly. And when I don't go, they get tense. Like this year, mom was pissed. She kept asking, "What's wrong? What's going on?" and I didn't really have an answer. I just can't handle it anymore. I've never been able to communicate with them anyway...they brush aside anything I say, tell me to pray more...start dating. They always want to know what's going on, but if I try to tell them they just throw out their stock "Jesus and Normalcy" answer. Pray. Be normal. Rinse, repeat.
D: They've always been reluctant to see what's going on...but if you're starting to avoid holidays, they really might start to wonder what's happening.
M: They will, but they won't become more receptive. And I don't even know what I would tell them anymore. I've never known what to say, but now...I think getting this diagnosis has been a real shock. It has really hurt to look at where I am in my life versus where I wanted to be, and now to have this diagnosis...it explains things, but it also...I don't know.
D: It makes sense that you're more reluctant to attend these gatherings now that you've heard about the diagnosis. Your family has always pressured you to go through the motions. And with no diagnosis, a way to understand yourself, going through the motions seemed like the best option. It was a protective thing: you were able to keep people at a remove...by being with them on their terms. You've always known internally that there were differences, difficulties...but you compartmentalised them behind the appearance of "everything is fine". And this time of the year lends itself to compartmentalization. The average holiday get-together is filled with images of normalcy. All of those group behaviors, rituals to hide behind. "Eat Turkey, watch football, chit chat". A lot of opportunities to go through the motions, all in a short period of time. But now you know some things about yourself...and that's going to erode the effectiveness of compartmentalizing your identity. It's not going to feel right.
M: The idea of sitting there, being the marionette, does seem more repellent.
D: If your family were emphasizing connection, sharing, you might feel differently about these gatherings. But at least with you, they're wanting to see displays of normalcy. And now...as you develop a more clear sense of self...that's only going to feel more false.
M: It's just weird because the rest of my family seems to enjoy it. Everyone seems relaxed, engaged. It just never works out for me. I do seem to elicit a lot of negative reactions at these things. They really push with all of these questions, about why I'm not working a better job, why I'm not married. And I already feel hurt about these deficits, so it's just too much. It's painful enough when I have these questions, I don't really need to hear them from everyone else. Anyway. I'm avoiding everyone this year...we'll see how that goes.
D: Would you be willing to at least consider telling your parents about the diagnosis?
M: No.
D: That might give them something to...you know? Some sort of framework for things.
M: There's zero question about how that would go. They'll reject it out of hand. There's no way they'll talk about it, absorb it...it would just be this confusing thing that they'll ignore. I don't see any good options. With them, or my extended family. Being around them feels awkward, stifling. But isolating the way I am, cutting ties with family...that doesn't feel good either.
D: I wouldn't think of it as isolating. These are difficult interactions, and it's okay to protect yourself. You're at a transitional stage here...you're not happy about this diagnosis, and we're working on defining what happens next. And I think it makes sense to hold back on these holiday things, protect your sense of self while things are difficult.
M: Ugh, you're re-framing. You're calling it "protecting" when the truth is that I'm just isolating, hiding. I'm never able to make these word swaps that you make.
D: No, you're not. That's why I make them.
I laugh.
D: I want you to be hearing a different point of view. You're working on some things here....this has been a really rough year. It's okay to give yourself a little breathing room, skip out on some holiday things.
M: I was worried about this...about getting down over the holidays. Then I thought, "Wait, I've felt this way all year." So that's a bright-side: no downturn to worry about.
D: Hey, you're re-framing. I'll take it.
M: Yes. Things aren't so bad. It's just a Seasonal Affective Disorder that last all four seasons.
I'm in the waiting room, crumpled, bleak. The Doctor walks out and says she'll be a few minutes late. After a bit, I see her previous client leave and the Doctor waves toward her office.
M: You're actually going straight from one client to the next. That can't be easy.
Doctor: Usually I have ten minutes or so to re-adjust, but I like the quick transitions too. I do apologize though, for being late.
M: That's okay. Always take longer if you need, just to have a few minutes alone. Like, if a session goes long and you need a little time just to decompress, I would definitely understand.
Doctor: Thank you, but it's okay.
M: I've tried to imagine what it must be like, seeing a different client every hour of the work week. I would get exhausted. I thought about how strange it would be, from my perspective, to leave here and immediately see another psychologist for an hour...and then talk to another one right after that. And then another, all day long, five days a week. I wouldn't be able to keep any of the discussions straight.
She smiles, tenses her shoulders.
D: I thrive on it. I love it.
M: You're weird.
Doctor: So. Tell me about your week. What's up?
M: I did end up skipping the whole Thanksgiving dinner. I just stayed home, slept through the day.
I start to have trouble talking. I'm a bit of a mess today. Choked-up, broken.
She doesn't say anything, it's quiet for a long time.
M: Fucking holidays. Everyone has been calling...a lot of different family...and they're all having these get-togethers. I missed Thanksgiving, but there's stuff going on every week through Christmas.
I rest my head in my hands, wait for a bit.
M: Which is boring to say...everyone gets depressed around the holidays. It's just been harder this year because I've decided to avoid everyone. I can't handle...
D: You seem really upset. Maybe we should slow down for a bit.
M: No.
D: Are these all extended family events?
M: Yeah, my cousins are getting together one night. I have a lot of cousins. And some uncles are inviting guy relatives over for a football night, there's a particular game they're wanting to see or something. Then there's the regular Christmas get-together coming up. That's a whole thing. A whole day of mini get-togethers.
D: Well, tell me about last week. You skipped Thanksgiving.
M: Yeah.
D: How did your family react?
M: I don't know. It's sort of compulsory with my family, people just clump at the holidays. My extended family...everyone is close but they're really not aware of how isolated I've been the last couple of years. My parents...they know and they sort of view these get-togethers as a test.
D: How so?
M: To their way of thinking, if I go to these things, it keeps my Normalcy Indicator in the green. You know? Going through the motions is important. A few times a year, all I have to do is eat turkey, watch football, trade chit chat with relatives...and that's it. They can kind of ignore what's going on if I'm going through the motions.
D: And I'm assuming the important thing for them is not that you go through the motions...but that other people see you going through the motions.
M: Exactly. And when I don't go, they get tense. Like this year, mom was pissed. She kept asking, "What's wrong? What's going on?" and I didn't really have an answer. I just can't handle it anymore. I've never been able to communicate with them anyway...they brush aside anything I say, tell me to pray more...start dating. They always want to know what's going on, but if I try to tell them they just throw out their stock "Jesus and Normalcy" answer. Pray. Be normal. Rinse, repeat.
D: They've always been reluctant to see what's going on...but if you're starting to avoid holidays, they really might start to wonder what's happening.
M: They will, but they won't become more receptive. And I don't even know what I would tell them anymore. I've never known what to say, but now...I think getting this diagnosis has been a real shock. It has really hurt to look at where I am in my life versus where I wanted to be, and now to have this diagnosis...it explains things, but it also...I don't know.
D: It makes sense that you're more reluctant to attend these gatherings now that you've heard about the diagnosis. Your family has always pressured you to go through the motions. And with no diagnosis, a way to understand yourself, going through the motions seemed like the best option. It was a protective thing: you were able to keep people at a remove...by being with them on their terms. You've always known internally that there were differences, difficulties...but you compartmentalised them behind the appearance of "everything is fine". And this time of the year lends itself to compartmentalization. The average holiday get-together is filled with images of normalcy. All of those group behaviors, rituals to hide behind. "Eat Turkey, watch football, chit chat". A lot of opportunities to go through the motions, all in a short period of time. But now you know some things about yourself...and that's going to erode the effectiveness of compartmentalizing your identity. It's not going to feel right.
M: The idea of sitting there, being the marionette, does seem more repellent.
D: If your family were emphasizing connection, sharing, you might feel differently about these gatherings. But at least with you, they're wanting to see displays of normalcy. And now...as you develop a more clear sense of self...that's only going to feel more false.
M: It's just weird because the rest of my family seems to enjoy it. Everyone seems relaxed, engaged. It just never works out for me. I do seem to elicit a lot of negative reactions at these things. They really push with all of these questions, about why I'm not working a better job, why I'm not married. And I already feel hurt about these deficits, so it's just too much. It's painful enough when I have these questions, I don't really need to hear them from everyone else. Anyway. I'm avoiding everyone this year...we'll see how that goes.
D: Would you be willing to at least consider telling your parents about the diagnosis?
M: No.
D: That might give them something to...you know? Some sort of framework for things.
M: There's zero question about how that would go. They'll reject it out of hand. There's no way they'll talk about it, absorb it...it would just be this confusing thing that they'll ignore. I don't see any good options. With them, or my extended family. Being around them feels awkward, stifling. But isolating the way I am, cutting ties with family...that doesn't feel good either.
D: I wouldn't think of it as isolating. These are difficult interactions, and it's okay to protect yourself. You're at a transitional stage here...you're not happy about this diagnosis, and we're working on defining what happens next. And I think it makes sense to hold back on these holiday things, protect your sense of self while things are difficult.
M: Ugh, you're re-framing. You're calling it "protecting" when the truth is that I'm just isolating, hiding. I'm never able to make these word swaps that you make.
D: No, you're not. That's why I make them.
I laugh.
D: I want you to be hearing a different point of view. You're working on some things here....this has been a really rough year. It's okay to give yourself a little breathing room, skip out on some holiday things.
M: I was worried about this...about getting down over the holidays. Then I thought, "Wait, I've felt this way all year." So that's a bright-side: no downturn to worry about.
D: Hey, you're re-framing. I'll take it.
M: Yes. Things aren't so bad. It's just a Seasonal Affective Disorder that last all four seasons.
signs of m life? possibly?
Delays! Too many of them. I receive demerits. I do have several posts nearly ready: all holiday-themed. And by "holiday-themed" I mean "depressing".
Topics to be addressed:
- M versus Thanksgiving dinner.
-M versus a Christmas church service.
- The time I revealed the Asperger's diagnosis to my parents during a Christmas visit in 2006. (Fun!)
- My holiday exegesis on the subtextual themes of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.
More. Soon.
Topics to be addressed:
- M versus Thanksgiving dinner.
-M versus a Christmas church service.
- The time I revealed the Asperger's diagnosis to my parents during a Christmas visit in 2006. (Fun!)
- My holiday exegesis on the subtextual themes of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.
More. Soon.
Monday, October 19, 2009
shifts
I tell you, I love going to the grocery store in the middle of the night.
Because...I don't know if you know this...there are some screwed up people at the grocery store in the middle of the night. I don't think I need to elaborate...you can probably visualize the scene. But it's just prime, quality people watching.
When I'm there, having this realization, I always have to rationalize my own presence. "Look at these disheveled weirdos. I mean, I'm only here because of my overnight work hours. I'm not one of them. Obviously..." I say as I'm purchasing cookie dough, fuzzy socks and a one-dollar DVD of 1970s retro cartoons.
I'm not strictly adhering to graveyard hours anymore. For a long time, close to ten years, my schedule never changed. Went to sleep at 2p.m., woke up at 10p.m. Every day, seven days a week. Had breakfast when I woke up, lunch around 3a.m., dinner around 9a.m.
Days off were great. I could drive around town, no traffic. Dark streets, quiet nights. I enjoyed it. Much weirdo, midnight people-watching ensued. Freaks at diners. Freaks at grocery stores. They're everywhere at the right hours. Way more interesting to watch than the Blando Blandymen of day time.
These hours made having a social life impossible, but that was the point to some extent. Social avoidance: my thing. I was good at this. Light avoidance: also a strength.
In 2005, I started making an effort to meet people...and the hours just weren't working anymore. For a few months, I basically skipped sleep on days when I would go out, interact with New People. It sucked. I stared a lot...overtly lapsed into random bouts of confusion. "What? Where am I?"
I continue to work a graveyard shift, but now crash out immediately after work, around 8a.m., and sleep until 2 or 3pm. On weekends I almost sleep normal hours. It was incredibly difficult to change my sleep hours after the 2 to 10p.m. schedule had been in place for so long. But: ambien exists. And booze. Have you ever tried booze? You really should. But it's important to never mix the two, the ambien and booze. I don't know if you've ever clicked onto this site and found a very weird, very rambling post...but that's what happens when they're mixed. Posts about...I don't know. Girdles and transparent cave-monkeys. It gets strange, the mixing.
No, no, I'm teasing. No mixing. That I'll admit to. But the ambien helped enormously with the schedule change, made the switch to a more socially-friendly mindset possible.
I don't really have a reason for focusing on this topic. I've had a terrible time posting lately. One of my regularly scheduled word-droughts. So, I'm throwing this out there. Trying to kick start the thinkery. Worst case, I may just post an ink blot, let you project a topic onto it, fill in my lack of ideas. Ambiguous visual stimuli: a crutch for the verbally wayward.
Because...I don't know if you know this...there are some screwed up people at the grocery store in the middle of the night. I don't think I need to elaborate...you can probably visualize the scene. But it's just prime, quality people watching.
When I'm there, having this realization, I always have to rationalize my own presence. "Look at these disheveled weirdos. I mean, I'm only here because of my overnight work hours. I'm not one of them. Obviously..." I say as I'm purchasing cookie dough, fuzzy socks and a one-dollar DVD of 1970s retro cartoons.
I'm not strictly adhering to graveyard hours anymore. For a long time, close to ten years, my schedule never changed. Went to sleep at 2p.m., woke up at 10p.m. Every day, seven days a week. Had breakfast when I woke up, lunch around 3a.m., dinner around 9a.m.
Days off were great. I could drive around town, no traffic. Dark streets, quiet nights. I enjoyed it. Much weirdo, midnight people-watching ensued. Freaks at diners. Freaks at grocery stores. They're everywhere at the right hours. Way more interesting to watch than the Blando Blandymen of day time.
These hours made having a social life impossible, but that was the point to some extent. Social avoidance: my thing. I was good at this. Light avoidance: also a strength.
In 2005, I started making an effort to meet people...and the hours just weren't working anymore. For a few months, I basically skipped sleep on days when I would go out, interact with New People. It sucked. I stared a lot...overtly lapsed into random bouts of confusion. "What? Where am I?"
I continue to work a graveyard shift, but now crash out immediately after work, around 8a.m., and sleep until 2 or 3pm. On weekends I almost sleep normal hours. It was incredibly difficult to change my sleep hours after the 2 to 10p.m. schedule had been in place for so long. But: ambien exists. And booze. Have you ever tried booze? You really should. But it's important to never mix the two, the ambien and booze. I don't know if you've ever clicked onto this site and found a very weird, very rambling post...but that's what happens when they're mixed. Posts about...I don't know. Girdles and transparent cave-monkeys. It gets strange, the mixing.
No, no, I'm teasing. No mixing. That I'll admit to. But the ambien helped enormously with the schedule change, made the switch to a more socially-friendly mindset possible.
I don't really have a reason for focusing on this topic. I've had a terrible time posting lately. One of my regularly scheduled word-droughts. So, I'm throwing this out there. Trying to kick start the thinkery. Worst case, I may just post an ink blot, let you project a topic onto it, fill in my lack of ideas. Ambiguous visual stimuli: a crutch for the verbally wayward.
Friday, October 16, 2009
grade school correctional
Tanya's post, at Teen Autism, is very much worth reading.
It's about the bullying her son has experienced, her concerns about how school officials have responded to it. Her previous posts on this topic (this one for example) are are painful to read, heart breaking.
In the newest post, she makes a point that's impossible to over-emphasize: "In my opinion, schools focus far too much on 'fixing' the ASD kid and not enough, if any, on the bullies."
If nothing else, I wish school officials...principles, teachers...could understand that.
When a kid is bullied: if the response is to "help" that kid, it can very easily send the wrong message. If a kid is beaten, humiliated...and the response is to tell that kid, "Let's learn some new social skills"...it implies that the kid has done something wrong. That they're at fault. At the very most, bullies tend to receive punitive measures spelled out in their school handbooks. "Fighting = suspension. Teasing = detention." Something along those lines. It's a reaction, but it's an obligatory reaction, one that just goes through the motions. The kids at the receiving end of the bullying? They get therapy. They're taught, "Here are better ways of interacting with your peers".
Not a bad thing in itself. But this approach can very easily signal to the bullied child: this is your fault. The pain, humiliation...it's something you brought on.
No one ever used those exact words when I was a kid. But they didn't have to. The message was obvious.
The bullying I went through was nowhere near as persistent and awful as what Tanya's son, Nigel, went through. He experienced humiliating, systematic aggression from his classmates. My experiences with it were violent...but random, infrequent. Mine were the result of unspoken social rules...rules I was too mind-blind to understand...rules I would break with well-meaning, but painfully awkward behaviors...and that would, in those moments, elicit violent reactions. I was never targeted and pursued in the way Nigel was.
(I was even aware, at the time, of the degrees of bullying, the fact that I was lucky. I was getting it bad. But the poor kids: they were getting it the worst. On the playground, I would watch as the poor kids received endless verbal teasing...for their clothes, their inability to purchase the big-name items...and the physical violence that would follow. The interplay between visual symbols, social codes and violence...it was like something out of a wildlife documentary. And the poor kids, always, got the worst of it.)
But it was the case: after each incident where I got hurt, the bullies involved would receive a textbook punishment (e.g. parents called, suspension, etc.) and I would be sent to a counselor...or worse, I would be put into sports, or taken hunting, as a way of "toughening" me up. No one said this explicitly, but I was very much hearing the message: "this is your fault; you are doing something wrong".
I felt humiliated by the bullying. I also felt humiliated by the way my teachers and parents responded. I've mentioned this: in sixth grade, one kid punched me in the face...and a tooth perforated my upper lip, split it open. And this was after a long series of random attacks. My parents were exasperated...when I went home, mouth bandaged, they sighed. Dad said, "That's it. We're putting you into karate." I could feel their disappointment. And the idea of karate was beyond confusing. I spent a lot of time trying to piece that one together. "I'm getting beat up at school. And now I'll spend my free time around kids who have permission to hit me?" It was not exactly a boost to my confidence...and what little trust I had in my parents, it began to erode considerably after that.
The year before, in fifth grade, a few kids noticed that I liked to touch walls. I was obsessive about it, but careful. Even though I was very young, some part of me understood: this was a behavior that I needed to hide, keep to myself. I know now that it was a sensory seeking tactic...a way of balancing out some of the proprioceptive difficulties I experience. I was careful to touch walls only when I was alone, or when I thought no one was looking. Still...some people noticed. A few kids thought it was strange. One day, I was punched...knocked down. They held me in place, bent a finger back, broke it.
The response? The kids were suspended...that was good. But I was told to visit with the school counselor twice a week (not helpful). I wasn't making friends...was getting bullied, so counseling was the answer. And every part of this...the violence, the counseling...it made me feel like a freak. There was no way for the teachers, the counselors to understand: they were perpetuating the violence, participating in it, by not making clear: the bullies were wrong. They had the issues. By trying to "fix" me, they just confirmed the sense that I was at fault, broken.
As a result, I became increasingly anxious around other people. Slowly...by seventh grade...my personality changed. I went from being extroverted and awkward...to introverted and guarded. I closed up, slowly removed my personality from the social stage.
Shame. I felt a deep sense of shame about myself. When Tanya says, "...schools focus far to much on 'fixing' the ASD kid and not enough, if any, on the bullies"...she's pointing to one of the big questions that schools, teachers, parents have to face: how do you help a child without sending the message that they've done something wrong? How do you intervene...help...and empower all at the same time?
It's about the bullying her son has experienced, her concerns about how school officials have responded to it. Her previous posts on this topic (this one for example) are are painful to read, heart breaking.
In the newest post, she makes a point that's impossible to over-emphasize: "In my opinion, schools focus far too much on 'fixing' the ASD kid and not enough, if any, on the bullies."
If nothing else, I wish school officials...principles, teachers...could understand that.
When a kid is bullied: if the response is to "help" that kid, it can very easily send the wrong message. If a kid is beaten, humiliated...and the response is to tell that kid, "Let's learn some new social skills"...it implies that the kid has done something wrong. That they're at fault. At the very most, bullies tend to receive punitive measures spelled out in their school handbooks. "Fighting = suspension. Teasing = detention." Something along those lines. It's a reaction, but it's an obligatory reaction, one that just goes through the motions. The kids at the receiving end of the bullying? They get therapy. They're taught, "Here are better ways of interacting with your peers".
Not a bad thing in itself. But this approach can very easily signal to the bullied child: this is your fault. The pain, humiliation...it's something you brought on.
No one ever used those exact words when I was a kid. But they didn't have to. The message was obvious.
The bullying I went through was nowhere near as persistent and awful as what Tanya's son, Nigel, went through. He experienced humiliating, systematic aggression from his classmates. My experiences with it were violent...but random, infrequent. Mine were the result of unspoken social rules...rules I was too mind-blind to understand...rules I would break with well-meaning, but painfully awkward behaviors...and that would, in those moments, elicit violent reactions. I was never targeted and pursued in the way Nigel was.
(I was even aware, at the time, of the degrees of bullying, the fact that I was lucky. I was getting it bad. But the poor kids: they were getting it the worst. On the playground, I would watch as the poor kids received endless verbal teasing...for their clothes, their inability to purchase the big-name items...and the physical violence that would follow. The interplay between visual symbols, social codes and violence...it was like something out of a wildlife documentary. And the poor kids, always, got the worst of it.)
But it was the case: after each incident where I got hurt, the bullies involved would receive a textbook punishment (e.g. parents called, suspension, etc.) and I would be sent to a counselor...or worse, I would be put into sports, or taken hunting, as a way of "toughening" me up. No one said this explicitly, but I was very much hearing the message: "this is your fault; you are doing something wrong".
I felt humiliated by the bullying. I also felt humiliated by the way my teachers and parents responded. I've mentioned this: in sixth grade, one kid punched me in the face...and a tooth perforated my upper lip, split it open. And this was after a long series of random attacks. My parents were exasperated...when I went home, mouth bandaged, they sighed. Dad said, "That's it. We're putting you into karate." I could feel their disappointment. And the idea of karate was beyond confusing. I spent a lot of time trying to piece that one together. "I'm getting beat up at school. And now I'll spend my free time around kids who have permission to hit me?" It was not exactly a boost to my confidence...and what little trust I had in my parents, it began to erode considerably after that.
The year before, in fifth grade, a few kids noticed that I liked to touch walls. I was obsessive about it, but careful. Even though I was very young, some part of me understood: this was a behavior that I needed to hide, keep to myself. I know now that it was a sensory seeking tactic...a way of balancing out some of the proprioceptive difficulties I experience. I was careful to touch walls only when I was alone, or when I thought no one was looking. Still...some people noticed. A few kids thought it was strange. One day, I was punched...knocked down. They held me in place, bent a finger back, broke it.
The response? The kids were suspended...that was good. But I was told to visit with the school counselor twice a week (not helpful). I wasn't making friends...was getting bullied, so counseling was the answer. And every part of this...the violence, the counseling...it made me feel like a freak. There was no way for the teachers, the counselors to understand: they were perpetuating the violence, participating in it, by not making clear: the bullies were wrong. They had the issues. By trying to "fix" me, they just confirmed the sense that I was at fault, broken.
As a result, I became increasingly anxious around other people. Slowly...by seventh grade...my personality changed. I went from being extroverted and awkward...to introverted and guarded. I closed up, slowly removed my personality from the social stage.
Shame. I felt a deep sense of shame about myself. When Tanya says, "...schools focus far to much on 'fixing' the ASD kid and not enough, if any, on the bullies"...she's pointing to one of the big questions that schools, teachers, parents have to face: how do you help a child without sending the message that they've done something wrong? How do you intervene...help...and empower all at the same time?
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