6 August 2015

6kinds_of_crazy: stupidity demons (Default)
Really.  My brain hates me.  I have evidence.

I'm fifty years old, and I have recently been given reason to believe that I have some sort of Autism Spectrum Disorder.  Given what I know and have been able to learn, that pretty much translates to Asperger's Syndrome, in my case.  If it is Asperger's, I don't present quite typically, but hey-- that's why they refer to it as Autism Spectrum Disorder, I guess.

Then add in that a person whose entire job is to assess mental and emotional health told me that he's willing to tell my insurance administrators that it is a "medical necessity" for me to receive psychiatric and/or psychological treatment, and I hope you'll begin to understand my claim of brain-hate.

I've been trying to make my sister-- my closest living relative, the lady who pretty much keeps me (a little bit) sane, takes care of me as much as I'll allow, and probably more than is good for her-- my friends, and, as of today, my general practitioner, understand why things bug me the way they do.  I have a rather impressive shopping list of issues, and that's just the ones I'll admit to and am aware of.  So I'm gonna try and tackle them, make everyone understand that these things REALLY BOTHER ME, and, when I can articulate it, as least some of WHY.

Right now, it's late, I'm emotionally drained from having to be out in public today, and from having to talk to my doctor about some of the things that are going on with me.  That isn't easy for me.  At all.  That's another part of why I'm doing this.  I want to write professionally, to be a novelist, and I have some talent in that direction.  I discovered a long, long time ago that I can often say things by writing that I could never, ever say verbally.  That gets more and more true the older I get, so... I'm gonna take a shot at it, see if it holds true with my various phobias and neuroses.

I kind of hope so.  My friends are... well, these folks have the patience to be my friends, and I am self-aware enough (if only barely) to know that that isn't always easy.  That I don't make it easy, a lot of the time.  I'd like for them, and for my sister, and... well, a lot of people, I guess, to understand why the things that bother me affect me the way they do.  Why the way I perceive things makes those things bother me, I guess, because... well, because I know that my perceptions are skewed, sometimes.

That's a part of the problem, right there.  Call it my first confession.  (Yes, the raging anti-theist just used that phrase.  Deal with it.)

I know that my perceptions are skewed, sometimes, that I'm not seeing things correctly, that I'm not interpreting things correctly  Knowing that I'm wrong, that my perceptions aren't accurate?  It doesn't help.  In some ways, it makes things worse, because, rightly or wrongly, there's some shame attached to that.  I know that the perception is wrong, yet I can't make myself act on that?  I have to act on whatever screwed-up mess that I'm seeing/feeling/whatever?  That's pretty goddamned lame-- at least, it is over here in my head.

So, yeah.  That's where I'm coming from.  Not real sure about where I'm going, but I guess I'll find that out, sooner or later.

That's it for tonight.  You folks stay sane.  Somebody's got to-- and it's plainly not gonna be me.
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