Tearing at my flesh- A Poem (TRIGGER WARNING)

BEFORE YOU READ THIS, PLEASE BE AWARE THAT IT COULD BE A TRIGGER IF YOU SELF-HARM. I DO NOT WANT TO TRIGGER ANYONE AND AM MERELY TRYING TO GET MY OWN THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS TOGETHER.

It’s tearing up inside me
This pain that radiates
Causes my depression to
Tumble into darkness
My fingers seek out
Traditional ways to
Concentrate the pain
But my heart reminds
Me of a promise that
I solemnly made
I ache for some control
In this crazy world
Stimming helps
But is not enough
At times it’s all I can
Do not to pull at my
Own skin and watch
The blood form as
Nails dig into flesh
I made a promise
Which I intend to
Keep even though
My mind and body
Scream as if to
Break it once
And for all
But it’s a promise
I cannot and
Will not break
And so I allow
The stims to flow
I sketch and write
I read and play
Games in the hope
That the desire
To mutilate flesh
Recedes for one
More difficult day
Her words remind
Me that to tear
Skin from muscle
Hurts not just me
But her as well
She gave me truth
I did not ask for
Trusted me to
Carry on my
Current path and
Stay away from that
Which tears us both
Into a million shreds
It’s a difficult
Path to follow when
Pain not of my own
Pulses through
My body and
Leaves me unable
To do the simplest
Of my daily tasks
Without sobbing
Or faltering to stand
But in not giving
In to temptation
I am maintaining
Some semblance
Of control and
That is what I
Need to remind
Myself of when
I want to scratch

(C) N.A. Le Brun/scribblenubbin 2016

Travelling as an Aspie with other disabilities

I love travelling. I love being somewhere with different sights. In that I’m not that different from my NT (neurotypical) sister. But I have a checklist that relates to my Aspie nature as well as my Arthritis, my Irlen Syndrome, my PTSD, my Asthma, and my Endometriosis that others wouldn’t even think about.

If I’m travelling I need to look at the following:

• Am I going alone? If so can I avoid being in crowds for too long? If not, will I be able to find somewhere to escape to before the Sensory Overload kicks in?
• How much pain medication am I likely going to have to pack?
• Which pain meds do I bring?
• Can I access want I want to do with my walking stick or crutches?
• What are the potential triggers I face on this trip?
• Do I have enough antidepressants and anti anxiety meds?
• If I am going with someone can they recognise the signs of a meltdown and do they know how to handle it?
• What sort of air quality am I facing? Do I need both inhalers? Have I packed my asthma card in my wallet in case I get hospitalised?
• Do I need travel insurance? If so does it cover pre-existing conditions? How much of my holiday budget will that take up?
• What sort of lighting do the places I want to see have? And will my tints be enough? Should I pack my baseball cap too?

These are the things I look at before I even book my tickets. As an adult I have less meltdowns but I still stim. I’ve stopped caring what those stims look like to others. But there was a time I would have factored that into my list as well. 

You would think that cities are ruled out by that list. But they aren’t. Even somewhere busy like London has quieter spaces. The Starbucks I’m sat in as I write this is calm, lit softly, relaxing. I’m here with my sis but able to retreat into my quiet calm space after facing the crowds. And I know should I go into a meltdown, have an anxiety attack, a flashback, an asthma attack, or go into sensory overload, she knows what to do. 

I can enjoy travelling in my own way. But I will always be grateful to return to the comfort of my own home at the end of the trip.

Meltdown – a poem

Wanting to crawl out of my skin,
Creatures move as anxiety sets in.
Doubts rush through my head,
It’s the frustration that I dread.
Vocal chords and brain detach,
Can’t find the key to open the latch.
Lights are too bright to see,
Sounds seem to deafen me.
Hard to explain to an NT,
How difficult a meltdown can be.

(NT means neurotypical… Someone whose brain functions in a typical fashion).

(C) scribblenubbin 2016

Grief with Asperger’s

If you read my blog regularly, you know that I recently lost my Grandad. It’s been tough. Grandad was and is my first hero. He was the man who gave me a love of so many things and taught me about language. I still feel like I’m caught in some terrible dream.

Everyone goes through grief at different speeds, it comes out in different ways, and yet it has it’s similar stages. There’s denial, anger, sorrow, acceptance… And a few more I forget. But as an Aspie, going through the stronger emotions can be a terrifying experience.

For me, this particular loss is harder to deal with than others as it sets off some of my PTSD triggers as well. But overwhelmingly I see the Aspie traits intensified. 

I feel like I’m trapped in my head. I want to scream and shout and cry most of the time. But I find it hard to do so. It’s not that I’m not an emotional person, I just can’t figure out how to let those emotions loose. It leads to frustration and more stimming than usual. I press my fingers into my thighs and arms as hard as I can in order to try and feel pain which might release the tears. I’m snappy, seriously snappy, how JDV is putting up with me I don’t know. I’m also constantly shutting down.

My negative emotions are the ones  I find most difficult to deal with, and so it’s when I start to feel them bubble up that I go into meltdown. They taste sour and feel spiky, kinda like cactus spikes pressed into my internal organs. I forget to breathe and my arms and legs close inwards, my fingers finding somewhere to press into tender flesh.

When I’m like this, whilst I’m physically shutting down to close off the pain, I’m also hyper aware of every little thing around me. It sounds contradictory, but it’s true. I feel the individual fibres of my clothes, hear every noise at ten times its actual loudness, lights become brighter and moving even an inch seems like some epic task of passing through the space of an alien territory. I find it hard to sleep and I wake at the slightest sound or breeze. 

When I do sleep, my dreams are in vivid and lurid colours, which I know is a reflection of my state of mind. Normally my dreams are colourful but not to the point where things are the wrong colours and my brain screams at the wrongness of it all. 

For me, grief is an overwhelming mess of the senses. It consumes my thoughts and cycles through my head at a speed I can’t describe, round and round, constantly repeating the same thoughts as things I touch, see, smell and hear, become too much. If I could turn it all off I would.