As I said a little while back… I’m sorry for not updating. I’ve been not feeling well, and busy at the same time. Plus, I am also registering for school this year… and ugh. Too much, too little time. I’m supposed to be sleeping already.
At this point, I’ve tried to work Leslie back into my life little by little. Some may argue that this isn’t the best of things, but the reality is that she’s been around so long she’s pretty much family (she’s not some woman my dad met in a bar, she’s his childhood friend and I’ve called her “auntie” for as long as I can remember), and that her and my father are still “together”. As long as they are still trying to work things out in their relationship, there is a chance, however small, that we might wind up living together again. I’ve pretty much accepted that as truth. That, and I’m no longer angry. I won’t go into details (it would be boring, believe me) but I recognize that I was part of the problem and I’ve accepted the situation. It’s stopped bothering me.
That’s not to say that things are not still awkward, that there aren’t times when we get on her nerves and she snaps at us, and that we are seeing her every day. We are working at making things comfortable again, but I’m not just going to let her march back into our lives unless she shows me that she regrets what she did (I know I do) and shows that it won’t happen again (which I have). But my expectations aren’t high. The first time we saw her, she didn’t talk to us once and she spent most of the time crying.
About the schooling… well. The last time I tried to go to school, I didn’t know about my diagnosis, and had a large amount of anxiety with nothing to focus it on (I’ve figured out that if I can zone all my senses – sight, hearing, ect. – into one thing, that I calm down faster). That, and I started out attempting to go 5 days a week… which is too much. I’ve already worked out what I am going to do at first. Since I can contact my teachers by e-mail, none of this should be a problem, but I’ve promised to at least attempt to come in Tuesday and Thursday in the beginning to show that I am there… and gradually work my way up to attending every day from noon to three o’clock. Hopefully, this will give me some time to adjust, and it won’t cut into my other activities (such as sleeping extremely late due to my internal clock being off, which is something that I cannot seem to stabilize for a long period).
I’m both excited and worried about school. On one hand, it feels great to stretch my wings again and attempt to fly, but on the other I am deathly afraid of failing… well, not so much failing. I’m afraid of what will happen if I fail. What my dad will say. What he will think of me. What everybody I know will think. Oh, there goes Jacinta. We understand. Maybe it’s better if she doesn’t try to go to school yet. She’s a burden, but she should wait until her maturity catches up to her. I really, really do not wish to go through that again.
We are going on a trip the week after school starts. To the west coast. To the place we are going to be living when we ever get to moving. I’m looking forward to it but at the same time I have that fear I always have, and the insecurities when it comes to my female cousins. They are just so gorgeous, so social, so popular and mature and- well, let’s just say I envy them, and also am a bit intimidated, like I am with most women. While on one hand, I want to connect with them because we will be living there – eventually – I’m terrified that they are going to treat me like a retard or a stupid child. I don’t expect them to understand my disorders and dysfunctions. I rarely expect it of anyone, anymore, not even my family. I just do what I can for myself and hope it’s enough.
I really need to stop going to barbecues. Really. My extended family over here (Leslie’s father, his children, and his grandchildren, specifically) like to throw little parties that can stem from late night to over night. If it’s overnight, I cannot sleep, and even if it’s not I spend a lot of energy on the social interaction. After this last one, I slept for two to three days – almost straight through – and my body still aches so badly. While most of the time it’s fun, it’s so taxing on me, and it’s rarely fun for the days afterwards I spend stumbling around in a fog of Tylenol and Effexor withdrawal.
Speaking of barbecues, at that same barbecue I just spoke of, my young cousin got hurt. She’s eight years old, and bright as a bulb. She’s a great dancer (she takes dance classes and performs) and I swear to god she is going to be a genius. Anyways, at the barbecue, there was… well. I cannot remember what it was called, but it was one of those four-wheeled off-road vehicles that seats four, has no seatbelts and is basically for pulling things, hauling wood and screwing around. My cousin Dylan (younger brother of Leslie, he’s my brother’s age) was driving off of jumps and stuff. I also had a turn to drive, and although I was much smoother (no jerks – that’s what you get when you’ve practiced in the prairies with your dad since you were but two years old. True story) I didn’t go off the jumps. The thing is that there was five of us, and one had to sit in the back where you usually put whatever you are hauling. Well, you know kids – they always want to do what you are doing. So Jenna (the young cousin) was sitting in the back with me, and I was making sure she wouldn’t fall out.
Well, we went over the jump. On one hand, I think “thank god I wasn’t driving”, but on the other hand I think “shit, I was the oldest, why didn’t I know better and stop them?!”. I was in the back with her. I told her to move with the vehicle, to not let it jerk her around. I told her I had her. I didn’t have her. She banged her head on the crossbar, was screaming at the top of her lungs, and it was in sight of the camp, too. Her dad came running over instantly (who wouldn’t?) and we were scolded for having people in the back while we jumped the vehicle.
Jenna was screaming at the top of her lungs, people were fussing, I just couldn’t take it. I had to leave the camp after that and walk away, because if I didn’t I would have a full-scale meltdown. I’m not particularly empathetic to others, but I have strong feelings of my own – and I was really guilty. I couldn’t understand why I hadn’t said something, why I had allowed Dylan to drive us over the jump with her in the back. One could say it was everyone’s fault, for doing something so reckless… but the truth of the matter is that I was the oldest and I should have known better. Or at least, the people who came running when Jenna started screaming – their eyes told me so. So I walked out, off the property and down the road a long ways. Watched some horses. Then the sunset. Then walked around in circles on the shoulder.
Then, I threw my glasses down and I smashed them under the heel of my boot. It wasn’t a particularly good thing to do, and the fact that I hadn’t slept the night before did not help, but I tend to break stuff when I’m upset. It’s irrational. Something about feeling something break in my hand or under my foot diffuses some of my emotion. Now, my glasses are broken. Unfortunately for me, it’s getting dark, and after it does, my vision declines to the point where I can’t see my feet. Eventually, I found my dad and we made it back to camp, and I was able to see Jenna and give her hugs and talk. It had looked worse than it was – she only had a lump and a dark bruise on her forehead – not just for her, but for me.
I’m not sure whether there was really something wrong – the need for me to walk away at that time. A normal person could have stayed. But I felt terrible. I guess I just didn’t want to cry in front of all those people. I was tired, and even though I had taken my medication, I was still feeling sort of shaky. I don’t want to cry in front of others any more. Not only is it humiliating, but it makes me look like an easy target. Truthfully, some people find talking to another person helpful when they are upset, but for me it makes it worse. I cannot explain why I’m upset. I get frustrated. I get upset for reasons that the NTs around me cannot comprehend. I would rather suffer alone than suffer with another person around. I know that’s strange, because I’ve spoken time and time again about how nobody ever helps me… but there is a difference between taking the time to make a appointment, or to call to remind me about something on your lunch break, and sitting there unsuccessfully trying to console me while I sob and tremble and wipe my nose over and over.
You know… I wish I could be a strong, inspiring person. I wish I could help people like me. I wish I knew there was a reason that people would remember me, if I died today. I wish I had a message. Think of 65RedRoses. Of Eva. She struggled with cystic fibrosis all her life, and nearly died before getting a lung transplant, only to die when her body rejected the new lungs. Yet through all that pain, she just preached “love, love, love”. I followed her before she passed away, and I was so inspired by her… people still stop by to read her words, to wish condolences, even though she’s been gone for almost a year now. I wish I had the… presence… the strength to be someone who can bolster so many people up while fighting an illness. But mental illnesses are different from physical ones, and I’m not someone like Eva.
How could I change that? I don’t have the slightest clue.
I truly am grateful to everyone who visits Push Me Further, to everyone who leaves their message, their mark upon this blog. I want you all to know that when I’m feeling like I can’t take life anymore, I look through them all and they hold me up. You guys both inspire me to keep trying and comfort me. I know that is strange, saying such things to people on the internet, but we are connected – by Asperger’s Syndrome. With so few who understand, it’s important to make bonds – either one-way or reciprocated. I’m hoping that someday, I’ll meet someone like me in person.
P.S., Rotab – I saw your message, I’m sorry I couldn’t reply to it. I’ll jump on Skype tomorrow and we can talk about some stuff, okay? I have something that I’ve wanted to talk with you about – honestly, with no walls up – for a while now, and I’ve been afraid to do so.
P.S.S., Everyone – It looks like bacon wins, with a total of two votes.
P.S.S.S., Michelle – Are you still there?