Works In Progress

I’m aware that blog posts have been a little erratic of late, and it might seem that I’m doing less writing or losing interest. In fact, that’s not the case at all, and what’s actually happening at the moment is that I’m trying to work on a couple of projects, both of which will probably extend to multiple blog posts, and both of which I really want to get right and be as accurate and clear as possible, since both are important for different reasons.

One is the story of my final autism assessment, the one where I received my diagnosis. I’ve started work on this, but remembering back and trying to write exactly what I want about it is taking quite a lot of energy and is quite hard work, so it’s not happening overnight. It’s more of an “end of term assignment” than “this week’s homework”. It might take another week or so for me to complete this project.

The other is a write up of what happened on Tuesday of this week when I attended the National Autistic Society’s conference on Autism and Mental Health. I’m trying to write up the experience and what I learnt (I took 11 pages of notes), and my thoughts on the day as a whole. There are many of these thoughts and sorting them all out into presentable form will take a while. I’m currently working on them as fast as I can.

Furthermore, as is obvious from the preceding paragraph, I’ve actually been out in the world again doing things quite a lot recently. I’ve been to the conference, met up with a new friend, played quite a lot of music, and am also meeting up with old friends over the coming weekend. Furthermore, I’m starting to organize my life and plan for the future a bit too and have started thinking about goals and plans for the next few years in a way that I haven’t done for a very long time. Most of these things are taking a massive amount of social, sensory, and executive functioning energy and I’m needing to undertake a certain amount of self care (downtime in between, remembering to eat, etc) in order to cope with my increased activity levels while still continuing to recover from burnout. It’s a tricky balance to achieve.

So I’m still here, still working on these things, and still trying to do a good job of giving information and my viewpoint and doing so as clearly as possible. I’m still also working on tidying up this blog and making a complete list of posts and so on, but all this will take a little time, even though I’m very very determined. I’m doing, as I always do, my absolute best with it all.

But I’m only one human with a rather erratic mind, and I’m acutely aware that I need to protect my mental health so I don’t relapse, so it might take a few days for me to catch up on everything I’d like to say.

I’ll get there!

Low Confidence

Today is one of those low confidence days.

One of the days where I’m not sure if I’m getting it right, or wrong.

When I keep opening blank boxes on Facebook and Twitter and closing them again.

Where I can’t quite make my thoughts into words properly.

And I’m really uncertain that people will understand what I mean.

Because I am full of big feelings that I can’t translate.

When I look at the jobs list it seems long and complex and insurmountable.

I’m still trying to work out this new identity. Still trying to explain.

Still trying to write the posts I really want to for this blog.

My head is screaming at me that I need to do EVERYTHING. NOW!

Surely with enough willpower all is possible?

Wanting to be strong. Wanting to be efficient.

Wanting to sort my life out and achieve and succeed.

But the inertia is high and the functioning is low today.

I am still recovering after a busy time and a shutdown.

I am still having to remind myself that I am autistic and my mind needs a more forgiving approach than I have previously given it.

Now that my act is gone. Now that I’m working out who I really am.

These days I do not have the protection of a mask, nor the ability to recreate one.

Remembering what I have been through these past few months.

It’s perhaps inevitable that I struggle a bit.

I need to take things gently.

An Event

I sit at the back, in the corner,
Quietly rolling the ball on my fidget cube
While my leg moves, involuntarily,
Hardly noticed by me.
Maybe I rock?
I can’t remember.
Since I stopped actively preventing what feels so natural
I am not always conscious of it,
Just like I do not always observe my breathing.

The parquet floor reminds me of years
Spent in public buildings.
I adore this pattern and its pleasing geometry.
It calms me.

They read poems, the poets, proper poets.
The theme of the evening – mental health.
Bipolar disorder all over the place.
I almost wonder if anyone in the room has not experienced
That wild fluctuations in mood and behaviour
That so many of us do.

My own system is on high alert.
It has been for hours.
I nearly didn’t make it.
Mid afternoon I felt so anxious, so unable to cope,
That I thought my entire being would shatter into a million pieces from the strain…
Like the glass panel in our sitting room did, ending up like crazy paving.
But 15 minutes beating my head against a cushion
Helped.

I sit, my legs now folded up beneath me, playing with my hair.
Machinery from the coffee shop behind me a persistent aural backdrop.
Traffic noise, horns, bicycle bells, the sound of footsteps in the street below.
British history books in my line of vision.

And words. Surrounded by words
(Not just the ones in the books,
But the loud ones, in the air).
I know I have to listen and make pictures from these words
Because there are no subtitles at a live poetry reading.
Maybe I should have acquired books of the poems at the start.
Never thought of that.

They speak well.
This is all good stuff. Mental health awareness.
Yes yes yes. It is. This is right.
So much of my own experience described.
These people know. They talk sense.
And it’s like they have been inside my crumbling head…
They have taken the same medications, felt those same effects.
I relate to what is said, even though I cannot say.
I would contribute, but my words are drying up.
There is open mic
(But no actual mic – so open air?
But we are indoors. Oh confusion!).
I stay silent. I am not a poet.
I leave the poeting to the poets
And the writing to the writers.
I am a foreigner in this world.

Afterwards, people chat.
I feel it, the heat, the familiar nearly nausea, as the sound of talking starts to overload my system.
The beads of sweat start to trickle down my back, just like they do every time I go shopping.
I retreat round the corner
And focus on the Russian history books.
Ivan the Terrible, Catherine the Great, Peter the Great.
Romanovs, Rasputin.
Trotsky, Lenin, Stalin.
Gorbachev, Putin, Litvinenko.
I am bizarrely fascinated by Russia
So this is a good place to be.
I covet a thick volume on Rasputin.

My husband finds where I am hidden.
I hug the poets, friends of mine, known online for years, some only just met in person.
All I can tell them is “Yes, all the things, yes…”
Or something like that.
I hope they understood what I meant.

As we get into the car I speculate that folk didn’t seem to mind me being there.
He makes some comment about me being the person in the dark glasses.
I had totally forgotten I was even wearing them.
I’m so used to that part now!

By the time we get home making words is difficult.
Exhaustion engulfs me.

But I did it.
Gradually working out
How to be in the world again.

But in this new life I am going out there as myself,
No longer pretending to be someone else. The act is gone.
It is all new.

Takes time
To adjust.

Maybe a Poem…

I was never
A poet.

Aside from:

School creations

And a few rhyming ditties,
Lost
When an old blog server
Closed
And an old computer
Ceased
To function.

Yet,
Since last year,
Since I discovered
I was autistic
And everything
Changed…

Sometimes
Brief
And structured
Words
Have become
The way
That thoughts
Emerge
From my mind.

They are sometimes
More accessible
Than
Crafted prose.
When the machinery
In my head
Is operating
A slow
Translation service…

From
Thoughts…
To
Words.

I don’t even know
If they are poems
Or not.

They are what they are.

And they say what they need
To say.

Apparently
It is World Poetry Day
Today.

And for the first time
I wrote something
That might,
Or might not,
Be a poem.