Written out

Once again there's been a serious haitus.

If we look over the past few months, the summer archive of 2012 if you will, we can see a definite pattern forming: that of an overall depression, but trying to make the best of things.  I faced a lot of things in the summer, both great triumphs and fierce lows... and here I am in the middle of November (and really it all boils down to the middle of November, doesn't it?), having finally caught up with one of my best friends.  Three months is simply far too long, but as those on the great East Anglian coast know, time is the least of worries when compared to distance.

The problem is I am still pretty down; not for any reason in particular, but as any other depressive can tell you, you don't always need a reason.  I am particularly drained at the moment.  I'm not sleeping properly, and getting up and out is sometimes more a strain than it should be.  I remarked on this earlier, thinking that I had got through the bad part and was feeling better and now back to being generally low.  It gets in the way of a lot of things!  I haven't written anything here for ages, and even elementary social interaction is more difficult and tiring than it should be.  I'm worn out and I feel old,  Why?

I guess some questions are beyond the scope of some 20-something's mewling blog though.  I've let a lot slip though, and even thinking of that doesn't really help because of course I should be doing better than this.  Coming back to my chamber of an evening and feeling all played out even before the communal meal is a bit shit though.

I'm sure this mid-November slump will clear itself up; these things have a habit of working themselves out by themselves, just like I do.  I may well be single and unemployed again, but there's obviously something in there that I should be taking note of.  Employment is diffucult for autistic people, perhaps it's time I started taking note of my disability more seriously, as much as I hate doing so, even before you take into account fitting in with choir hours.  I know that if I keep looking and trying, something that is possible will turn up, and it's just a case of finding the right thing.

As for my love life, I consider myself formally in a position of semi-retirement.  Allow me to clarify: it just isn't my strong suit at the best of times so why bother with putting myself through more heartache.  Social interaction can be tough enough on a professional level (where I like to think I know what I'm doing), let alone in a more intimate setting.  Of course there are people out there, near and far that I am attracted to, but... I just have no idea what to do about it at the moment.  So I'm just not doing anything, which is for the best.

So there we are.  There's actually a lot of good things that have been happening that I've not said; I think at this point a little cathartic release is better while I wind up for a better tone.  Everything is in the process of changing, and perhaps that's something else that's driving this particular mood - after all, I hate change because I don't (haha)... 

And I'm still sat up at 1am!  Oy Vey!

Tenth Draft

It's been a tough old life recently.  Basically, this is the journal of a man who has immense diffuculty managing his shoelaces, let alone his depression, published onto the internet, where I invite you to read it.  Feast on my misery and solitude, and share in my passion and victory.  

After the desolation of last week I have been trying to find myself again, to reinstate what matters, my processes and practices.  One of my biggest problems when I get depressed is recognition, or in fact, the lack of it.  One of my go to phrases this fortnight, especially in a follow up to some obvious mistake or lask of answer is "I don't even know who I am, let alone anything else!", and comically exagerrated bewilderment aside, I actually haven't been hugely sure.  Looking in the mirror, I have met with an unfamiliar face, ravaged by massive weight loss, too much drink  and lack of regular sleep.  I don't even see any trace of the monster who used to look back at me, so I suppose that's a good thing at least... Members of my family have been greeted on the phone by one Travis Bell, and those of you who know who he is will appreciate my fugue to the ghost of a Japanese assassin who gives exactly no shits at all for the precious bullshit that gets thrown around.

I said that I was at loss, and I sure am still now.  Where and to who do I turn?  Really that's what it comes down to, loss.  The loss of someone precious and cherished.  The sudden loss of an accepted routine; not only one that I was simply used to but had become pleased with, which is of course a concession my life must make to my autism.

I am also very guilty of losing the recognition of my supporting players - the people who are there for me all the time even and especially when I don't remember.  To you all, thank you.  It's more than enough having the Big Man who would come down at a moments' notice, but friends old and new, family close and extended have reminded me that it isn't always going to be this hard, even though it feels like that right now. 

It was extremely refreshing this last week, however, to hear somebody else tell me how difficult things must be because of the effort I expend in managing my autism every day.  No, really!  Completely unprovoked and unprompted, and really very kindly meant.  It has been a struggle recently.  I haven't wanted to move for days on end, and the prospect of leaving my room to face everything literally everything else in the world so draining and, well, even frightening.  How shameful!  Not really.  There are plenty of other people out there who are just as frightened, just as anxious and just as depressed as I am, have been and probably will be again who give in.  Some days that door handle can be a powerful deterent just on it's own, regardless of what may be (or probably isn't) on the other side.

A few things have been coming back though.  And little things at that.  I've managed to put a little bit of weight back on, which means my waistline is back up to a healthy 29 inches, but my waistcoats are still a little loose, so I still have far to go.  I've upped my Bach on Banjo schedule too, adding the Sarabandes from the D minor, C major and C Minor suites to my programme of the G major suite.  The Sarabandes are the emotional centres of the suites; C major's triumphal majesty is balanced by D minor's lyricism in sorrow... but the C minor suite's essay in solitude and emptiness is a cold mirror for my self right now.  The delicate placing of the second beat almost matches my slowly worsening gait...

I'm cooking again though, and even treated myself to some new cookery books, courtesy of Nigel Slater and Jamie Oliver, the latter of whose latest opi, 15 Minute Meals, will be of some use in the Scholary where time is limited and appetites large.

What else can I say though?  There's still a lot trapped in my head that I just don't know how to express, should it even be expressed at all...but I have to get it all out somehow or the noise will just become too much and I shall go mad.  I often describe myself as mad; Insanity truly is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results, and there's noone guiltier of that than me.

Postscriptum

This post in particular caused me some problem, maybe more so than last week's.  Here I am, in the early hours of the morning performing last minute changes and edits to make sure I have used as unequivocal language as possible.  This isn't about guilt, or blame, or fault.  I only ever blame myself for things anyway, which really is a pattern I must get out of, but I have other things weighting heavily on my mind right now.  This is about me feeling so cut up that I don't really know how to cope, and nothing more.  

I told my brother that trying to put myself back together to the confident, outgoing, witty and well dressed man I know I have been was like building an Empire on a Grain of Sand.  His immediate response?

"I'll fetch the scaffolding."

Stop, Look & Listen

It's been a long Summer Vac.  And a lot has changed.  But there's still time for everything to change, after all.  Let's get to it.

I've been mostly living alone this summer.  No, not completely by myself, but rather alone.  My housemate, as is his wont, has often gone hither and yon and I have been the sole custodian of The Scholary in the meantime.  As for my girlfriend, well... She's been busy too, and has been here and there on holiday and trips and all sorts of things befitting those on summer holiday.  It's cool.

What I don't like though, is being alone, because being alone drives me absolutely insane, and I just go mad.  It's been a tough old time in many respects because of that.  When I go mad, my usual anxiety spikes and I have a little more trouble than usual controlling it.  Sometimes, it's not easy.  Oy...

I have often faced things about myself that I do not like this holiday as well: my insecurities, my anxieties, my deep-seated dislike of asking for help, my control issues... and so on and so forth!  Luckily for me, I have a good bunch of friends, a wonderful family, and, brave as I am to use such formal language, a significant other who is right behind me and does more than she thinks.

Things are looking up, just like always though.  The Scholary, horrific dosshole that it has been is now in a magnificent state, being cleaned, replumbed, decorated and partially refurnished in time for the new Choir year.  Right now I'm sat (although admittedly not in my seat...) on a reclining sofa; yes, things really are that good!  My chamber of course is furnished to my exact recquirements, what with my double bed, keyboard, and Banjo hanger screwed into the wall.  As always, I am black and white, indeed to such an extent that I now have a brand new Banjo (around £600 worth of instrument) hanging on my wall, this time with a resonator, brass tone ring and black Remo head.  It looks and sounds amazing, and I'm redoubling my efforts in order to be comfortable with the new sound, weight and neck profile in time for my Concert du Jour on the 16th, where I hijack the first Cello Suite by Bach.  That's right, 3 years in the making and after almost 8 weeks of at least two hours practice a night it's almost ready.  Opinion is already divided, but that's kind of the point.  I'm never out to do anything 'usual', and have no intention of stopping now.  Not being Banjo music, it is pretty tricky, but I'm getting there.  I'll be ready in time for the concert... (he says.)

Keen-eyed followers will also notice that I have been all but off-network for the past 5 days.  It's something I'm trying out.  I have more than enough on my plate with practicing and this job still before term starts anew without updating the internet as to my every move.  I'm doing okay, I've been back on today and will of course post this before being off again.  I just got so used to being on Facebook and twitter all the time, maybe it is time for a rest every so often.  Of course, if you want me, I'm still here, yeah?  I am still pretty forgetful about my letters, but that's another habit I have once again fallen out of.  Even as a correspondant I can get very serious, very quickly, and as I am learning, that's not always a good thing.  

The next few months will prove interesting, I suppose.  Financial decisions are not to be taken lightly, after all but there's still so much good work ahead of me.  I have a few personal milestones even before Christmas yet, and there's always room to improve.  All I have to do is keep paying attention.  I've gotta do something...right?

Turn Again!

Now really I'm still picking myself up.  I think I've happened upon an important clue as to why I am how I am. 


Essentially, I do not change.  I think this is mostly down to being autistic again, but I am more or less the same person I was the best part of half a decade ago.  How can that be?  Does it show strength of character or an inability to adapt?

I'd argue against an inability, because here I am still alive, still going doing things I never thought I'd be able to.  I'm not just surviving, I am (with some effort) actually thriving down here.  The problems only start when I get a bit down.  I'm a massive over-thinker, and I worry.  I worry about worrying.  I worry more than you could possibly imagine.  Being hyperactive has its downside here, as I can get more thinking done is less time.  It's remarkable.

This is great when I'm busy.  If I have a lot on my plate I have a lot to occupy my mind, and that is a fine thing, obviously.  However.  When I'm not terribly busy, like...well, right now, it can get a bit funny in here.  In an absence of activity I run out of things to think about, and start to invent nightmare scenarios that I then convince myself are true!  That people aren't interested in talking to me, that nobody ever wants to see me again...just stupid things like that really... Well, I start there and continue.  One thing in particular that haunts me dreadfully is that my uncle will die while I'm at work.  Real work at the stall, not this fake work at the desk.  I know he will eventually go, but he won't go until it's time.  Just sometimes, on a dark day, I can't help it.

This spills over into my relationships as well.  As far as I've come in my social interactions, and I am become quite a social animal now, this is my biggest stumbling block, the next thing to overcome.  It all stems from my low self-esteem, which while it's the highest it's ever been, is still mercilessly terrible.  I no longer see the Monster in the Mirror, but I still doubt myself terribly.  I convince myself that I am not good enough as a human being, and hold on to it.  I don't know why!  I know it's ridiculous but I clasp this idea beyond anything else sometimes.

And it makes everything worse.  It puts strain on everything I do, and everyone I talk to, because I bear this self-imposed curse.  I interpret social cues all wrong, and it puts other people on edge around me, which I then sense and take badly.  This makes me feel even worse, and thus we have a vicious circle.  It makes me needy and suffocating, and I've finally realised this.  This character fault must be worked through and got over.

Obviously, this has to change as well.  There's been so much change recently that I'm in need of some familiarity to help comfort me.  This is the first summer since the end of VIth form that I haven't gone home for the Vacation.  You may think nothing of it, but it's a big deal to me.  My Girlfriend gets to be on holiday too, and the amount of evenings and weekends that I haven't been able to see her has made me less than happy. 
I've taken to sitting in my garden (if you can call it a garden) and doing at least an hour's worth of Banjo practice of an evening, which is really a fine use of my time.  My fingers are being cut to shreds by the strings, which is of course the point.  I haven't restrung in over a year now, and the low C is getting very dicky, but I'm not sure if I'm going to string this Banjo up again!  I have the serious I-wants for an upgrade, which at £400 will take some serious saving.  It's between that and the holiday fund as the next financial project.

I hate change though.  Change makes me feel uncomfortable, like I lose a foundation.  I worry about it, and then try to plan obsessively around it so I only have to change as little as possible.  What must happen though, is a stop to this.  There must dawn a new age of Pebblez, or I will get left behind.  And that I cannot afford.

There's no need to change my character, but there is a need to change my ways, and amend how I act and think.  I still don't really know how to relax, and that's a major problem as well.  I'm not entirely sure how we'll do anything about that, but we'll see.  Who knows!  Maybe putting some hard work into relaxing will pay off!

Every cloud...

Let's get this straight.  I am in a poor state.

 

Long time readers and fans of the Captain everywhere will know that as an unmedicated depressive, I often have the odd episode of... a less than satisfactory mood.  This has been happening for years and years, possibly longer than I care to remember.  I know VIth form was bad at times, and we all know that my second year was dreadful... I am coming clean about my overall experience slowly but surely for that year; I cannot use my account as the emotional battering ram that you might expect, usually because it backfires straightaway.  I doubt I'll write about it so directly for a while, it's still a bad time.  I still feel the echoes even now, but what can you expect from someone who eschews both councelling and medication?

 

I knew something was the matter yesterday morning, when I started to write about my new environment.  No, I haven't moved house thank God, more that I have purchased built and made a double bed in my room in The Scholary.  A Double Bed!  Turns out 4' 6" is a lot wider than you imagine.  I got it for £50, delivery included from a gentleman in Redruth.  Purchased Sunday previous, and awoken in for the first time yesterday, I don't think I've done too badly.  It is... strange.  Having lived with a single bed for some 22 years, the readjustment is staggering!  I know many of you may have had doubles for a long time now, but this is very new to me; comfort is an odd concept.  But, it is the bed that Peb built.  I earned it, I payed for it with my own money, and I deserve it. 

 

One day, I will believe that last thought.

 

However.  Just what is the matter with me?  Assessing my position logically leads us only to confusiuon: Accomodation, employment, amazing relationship.  The three things that I've been after for so long now.  Really, under all this, I'm the happiest I've ever been.  While I may not have a megabucks job, waiting tables isn't really all that bad, and after all, it's a living.  My house, is of course The Scholar's Palatial Apartments, in the shadow of the East End.  It will always need a hell of a lot of work doing, but it's home now, especially after my furniture shuffle in my room.  And the girl?  Well, I'm not going to say anything more than she's really the best thing ever.  She has the kindest heart I know, and the only woman I respect more than her is my mother (I am a good Jewish boy, after all).  I can rely on her to clip my ear when I get silly, if only I myself could drop things as easily as I should.  I'm still working on it.  Promise.  Of course, my best work is always ahead of me.

 

 

I've all but lost my appetite, and I don't understand.  Perhaps the solution lies somewhere in my disability?  As an autist, I rely on routines and knowing where my boundaries are.  I've completely lost all my usual routines, and even changed my environment.  This change is massive put together, far bigger than I'm used to.  I also don't really have a 'holiday mode' as such, never having really gone on the things.  Had I have swapped my room in term, with services every day (my default mode of being), I would have taken it easily.  Something as simple as no evensong has upset me, obviously.  My new financial regime that I have had to impose to curtail my monetary ruin is a complete turn around as well.  This isn't as easy as saying that I have over-estimated my own strength, like that time I started working at Truro School; this is a change with more necessity behind it.  I can no longer afford to bum about in the nether regions of my overdraft, and at least working my way out is better than simply being on the Dole. 

 

Working what is technically 6 days a week is hardly exciting though.  I'm going to have to seriously reconsider this job once Choir term starts again, as working seven days a week will be a serious drain.  But...maybe that's what has to happen in order to improve my finances.  I'm not looking forward to it one bit, especially as I'll be working indoors all the time as well. 

 

 

As I've written this, I've actually started to feel better.  Just a little bit maybe, but still.  I've been on the phone to both my mother and my lady, both of whom in their unique and effective ways have chided me and got me to keep this pitiful chin of mine up.  I've come so far even in this past month alone, let alone the past year.  To err is only human; to admit divine.  To fail now though would be the end.  To pick the fight up again is more a personal hallmark, but sometimes tradition is what you need.  I feel pretty ashamed for allowing my depression to get the better of me at any time, and especially right now.  I think getting it all down has helped: being able to review in such a manner is helping me to think that I am just being ridiculous, and with a some corrective effort I can pull this up with a minimum of discomfort. 

 

Not everything can be easy every day, and I can't be happy all the time.  I need to stop taking it out on myself when I'm not though; not every little thing can be my fault.

Tonight's plan involves some kind of food - I may treat myself to a takeout of some description to help pick me up.  Other than that, quality time with my Banjo in the garden calls out to me.  I put a good two hours into practicing my Bach suite yesterday, and my callouses are holding up just fine now. 

 

Hiatus

 

Now at the final review before publishing, I do feel much better.  I've eaten, I've made the bed, I've made peace.  I'll need some serious chutzpah back soon, if only there was some sort of fast track?  Aha, nothing's ever that easy though, is it?  I've got far better things to do than mope.  This may well be a burst of a good mood, but I must make sure that it is not brief.  As ashamed as I am of not being with it today, I have to move on.  There really is no point dwelling on it, I know, but it is difficult for me to drop things.  But I must, and I will.  

 

How else will I see that paisley lining?

Fatigue

Quite a while ago now, I wrote an entry called Catharsis. It was quite popular, if the statistics ran by the web service I'm using are correct, twenty-something views solid. Obviously it wasn't as popular as the last one, but then again we all like having a laugh at some sap who goes ga-ga of a girl, huh? Especially when that sap is old Capitain Pebblez, eh? You know what happened there, of course. A few days after it hit the net madamoiselle in question went and listed herself in a relationship...with someone else. Right. Fine. Same as it ever was. I should hate for it to have turned out any other way.

I went out on saturday night for Brill Bri's birthday booze up, complete with her friends from way back when and a good few Spammers. I bank roll for one, I buy a lot of booze. I generally enjoy being attached to her side. &c &c, you know, I think she's just lovely. So anyway, I discus the matter of this particular with one of the sops; I did her a favour, so I asked her to do mine. Quote? "Don't even go there. Really don't. You'll find someone eventually." Jesus H. Christ. Turns out, yes that's right fact fans, she's already seeing someone else already. Whod've thunk it, EH? As per usual, I can't tell anyway, but what the hell man, better to have found out this way? RIGHT. Fine. Same as it ever was. I should hate for it to have turned out any other way.

This leaves me firlmy where I always begin: Square Zero. Null. Nowhere. RIGHT. FINE. Same as it ever was.
As ever, I can do nothing about it. So, I must leave off for now. For good! No, not quite, but certainly for the next fortnight. I needs must complete my degree first! Women will always be outside of my sphere of comprehension, grasp, jurisdiction &c, but a degree is almost there. I've done most of the technical work as far as my project is concerned. The write up awaits, as does the tuning of the instrument, which I'll do on 3" wind in the UEA Christmas Cracker. A simple releathering of keys and sureing up of the case has worked wonders. It's nowhere near as good as it could or even should be, but it's ok. It should turn out ok.
As for the Dissertation, I'm stuck. I haven't done any hardcore work for over a week now, as I've hit somewhat of a wall. However, all is not lost, as it actually stands at about four thousand words. I'm going to pull through! I know it. There's no substitute for hard work, right?

Actually, maybe there is. I just haven't discovered it yet.

I have of late - but wherefore I know not - lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of excercises; and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, - why it seems no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.

That's right you fuckers, how dare you call me inhumane, I quoted Hamlet. Let's get down to brass tacks though, and cut through all this crap, shall we?

I'm tired. I'm not just fed up, I'm genuinely wearing out. My patience is a nothing but a nasty rumour at the best of times, but now it's just a folk tale. My insomnia is peaking. My usually cast-iron eating habit is beginning to suffer as I start to forget to eat. Before long I shall stop concentrating on my sentences and start firing expletives at high velocity in every direction, including those you don't know about. A lot of things make me angry, and right now one of those things is Chamber Choir. Quite frankly we've bitten off slightly more than we can chew. Actually, it wouldn't be if various people knuckled down and just paid attention and just got on with it instead of fucking not. I couldn't give a shit that nobody else for your part has turned up tonight, you get the fuck on and do your best. Maybe you think it's not good enough? Maybe you think you can ruck up when you like and it'll all go fine? No. Actually it doesn't work like that. Sorry for spoiling your presupposed misconceptions about the world! My Bad! I didn't know you were so sensitive.

"Oh yeah", you say, "Here it comes, the bit where he says he's better than everyone". Well, frankly that's not true. I'm not better than everyone else. I still have to work for it. I work damn hard. Remember how much of a welcome I get for being a countertenor. I'll tell you what though, if you push yourself as hard as I do, I bet you'll even surprise yourself. I can take in a breath that last up to three times longer than an other beknighted member of the choir, because I know how to deal with my breathing and don't expect any less from myself. I pitch a descending flat 7th right every time because guess what! I fucking make it happen. I do the best that I can to keep in tune all the time. Sometimes it doesn't work, at least I admit to it. I haven't heard any of these pieces that we're singing unless I've done them before. I will find it inside myself to make them right without copying anything else. Maybe I'm not being fair though. Maybe I take it too far because I'm obsessed with singing. Funny, eh? An obsessive compulsive completely obsessed with the science and art of singing, which just happens to be his principal study at University? POW! WHERE DID THAT FASTBALL JUST COME FROM? JESUS H. CHRIST.

I've been snowed under from day one. You try being depressed 24/7 (actually, I wouldn't really advise it, but roll with it). You try feeling so empty and lost that you need an hour to look your door handle in the face and leave your own fucking room. I'm not saying that's every day, but I've been there more than once, and definitely more than I wish to be ever again. Looked in the mirror lately? Do you see a human being looking back at you? Good. I don't. What? Go ahead, read it again. Of course I don't think of myself as a human being like the rest of you. Newsflash! I will never be one of you. There's one person who seems to actually understand and critically, accept how I feel and think and work. I worry about him as much as some of you must worry about me. I've got his back and he's got mine; that's how we work.

I'm tired. I'm tired of all the things I said last time, you know. I'm tired of being alone and depressed and being single forever and importantly, being autistic and obsessive compulsive, and now I'm also really very tired of working myself to the bone for what seems to be no reason. I'm all but worn out, but I still have a way to go. I won't stop, because that's not part of the plan, and I know that I'm Indestructible. My last post isn't all that it seems; it's a second draft. I don't usually ever check these for vitriol, but I did last time. I had to start again because I was hating on myself so much for getting depressed and defeatist. I'll check for vitriol in this one, I won't be a minute...HA HA.
We're good. I'm an angry man at the moment. And I'm very angry about one specific thing more than anything else for once. I think that this should reflect a little clearer than I usually let it. I've been so bothered about trying to get a date/laid/whatever that I've taken my eye off the ball somewhat and not realised my temper's still on the boil. Whoops. SAME. AS. IT. EVER. WAS.


*collapse*

Waltzing Mathilda*

Last night I got very upset. I sat up til a rather small hour in the morning, feeling like a total idiot and mostly ashamed that I could let my spine go slithering out of me at so great a speed. Yes, that's right...

At the heart of this, there is a woman. Actually, more correctly that my heart is after a woman, a lady, a most beautiful girl. You know the drill. I'm going stupid over a girl. I'd seen her before and thought about how pretty she is but I was after other people at the time, and I can't even begin to describe the time I wasted doing so. That said, maybe I'll be saying the same thing is a few week's time? In a few week's time it'll be the Easter Holiday though, and the aforementioned young lady will presumably be going home for the month**. She was around the flat the other night with my favourite niece before they went out. I looked again, and saw, as the eye of the beholder always does, beauty. I haven't been able to stop thinking about her since the end of last week. She's absolutely beautiful. In form and moving how express and admirable! How like an Angel!

*a-hem*

Aw, how sweet! No. I don't do sweet. It's intrinsically in my nature to be an old-fashioned dating kind of person because you know what, I had it once and I enjoyed it. Deep joy! I say things like the above because I do, there's no effort behind it. I'm not out to be sweet. It's like sugar in the wounds. I have heard the phrase "Oh, that's really sweet...but let's just be friends" one way or another more times that I can care to recall (ok, maybe like 12 tops actually), or should I say, more times than is satisfactory. I won't move to ask someone unless I think there's a huge chance they'll say yes. I won't actually do anything if I have any doubt, which, honestly, I'm suffering from at the moment. There's only one of me, but I wish I had a one and only to go with me.

I operate on very basic principles. I'm not sure what they are exactly, but they have to be simple as I'm a man, and therefore have a low brain activity threshold. I'm hyperactive, yes, and that means I can be empty-headed several times faster than the average bear, nothing more. Sweet makes it sound like I'm going out of my way, which I don't think it is. I've said it before and I'll say it again, I greatly miss being with someone, going out and staying in, cooking dinner, watching a film...you know, all the usual things. It makes me feel comfortable thinking about it. I am excited, yes folks, excited about the chance of being able to live what can only be termed as a normal life...with someone by my side! I can hear laughter in the aisles! Why aren't you taking me seriously? You there, with the smirk, why can't you believe me? Good God.

I am tired of being 'just friends'. I am tired of being unable, through a lack of opportunity, understanding or otherwise to form a relationship that's both romantic and sexual. I am tired of being in second place. I am tired of being afraid because I don't know. I'm tired of being autistic, but there's the kicker ending folks! I don't get chance to not be!

I'm out of practice when it comes to courtship. In fact, I'm so old hat, I still call it courtship. My considerable courage that gets me out of the flat every day begins to waver with the involvement of an attractive lady, so much so in fact that I got sucker-punched like a little bitch by the double team of depression and anxiety last night.

When I get depressed at times like these, my famous and infamous "time of the month", I revert to almost what might have been had I not been brought up a fighter. That's right, I get affected by the emergence of the full moon; a true lunatic***. Wasted and wounded, the battle gets taken out of my hands though, and instead of railing against the heavens the heavens start to rail against me. I become depressed beyond control, anxious beyond measure and terrified by the new; in short, the crippling lack of social ability befitting an Obsessive Compulsive sufferer of Asperger's Syndrome.

Then, I get angry. Angry with myself. It's almost as if I'm trapped within a shell (glass cage of emotion?), locked in, able to see out but not able to change anything I see. This happens a lot, and stands as an explanation of much of my bitterness. It's directed wholly at myself, for my own shame of inadequacy, and not directed at the outside world half as often as may be assumed.



So anyway. There's this girl (please do not adjust your set, please do not cut/paste liberally from any number of my previous scribings, as similar as they may well be). And...well...she's just...yes, she's just that. I really like her, for no discernable reason except for the fact that I really like her.


So, what am I going to do? Well, what do you think I'm going to do, fair reader? Answers on the back of a postage stamp to the usual address. Someone out there will know who I'm talking about. Most of you might not, and there's even a chance that it's you, actually you. It's much easier for me to talk about things like this when I'm running the show, when I get to play King of the Jungle. You waltzed into my kingdom because I wanted you to. Don't forget to pick the wooden fruit.






* CLUE LOL
**Another CLUE LOL
***More accurately, the effect of the waxing gibbous

Losing it, or 'Lamentio in divers parts'

De* lamentationem de Ethan Ben Saul**, Cantorae...

Well, the dust has settled if only somewhat from the hurly-burly of last week's emotional endeavours, and now we look forward to the field of battle to be entered, that of the profession I like to think of as my vocation, yes kids that calling again, being a musician.  Only then can we truly say that it's over, because the worst is yet to come.  

So, what am I losing?  Surely I'm always on the losing side?  Victory doesn't favour me very often, that's true.  But let's look in that sideways fashion (if you're having difficulty imaging that just turn your head sideways as you read) like I always do, and see if we can learn anything through that most important of rabbinical teaching tools...sarcasm.  I'm going to take a two-pronged attitude to this; one prong will be my never ending campaign against the vicissitudes of emotion, and the other...well, the other will be everything else; finance, work, and the reality of being disabled.  I realise that in putting a like in my sidebar of my FaceyB removes much of the anonimity that I once enjoyed, but if you don't know me by now, you never will.  Or maybe you won't ever?  Hmm.  But I will be very careful with names &c...I don't want people working out that I've referred to them quite so quickly, for reasons that will become clear as we plough on.

Well shoot.  As I'm sure you can work out for yourself, things have proceeded in their usual fashion: I like a girl, decide to take the plunge and do something about it and end up being, well, you know...rejected.  Ugh, nasty, eh?  I decided to throw all caution to the winds and just go with my gut and that didn't really end in the fashion I was hoping.  The hell it did.  I ended up walking home through snow in the park to get back.  I say that and make it sound terrible, but I had always planned the long walk home regardless of the outcome.  I guess I can say that I held me head up high, and did and died!  While my courage might have been slightly dutch, at least I went.  But like always, it's a sharp reminder of the sad truth that I cannot, and never will be able to tell when is the right time or who is the right person.  I thought I had made made the right decision.  There's no way under the heavens I would have even considered it had I not thought it was certain.  Look, this isn't meant to be some sort of internet-based guilt trip either.  It is the way of all things, and of course as I like to say, the shape of things to come.  It's just how it went.

But what happens then?  I can only doubt my judgement.  Perhaps Descartes was right, and sensory information id indeed a total falsehood.  I can only perceive these things to be through my senses, and not through a priori reasoning.  In fact, using my powers of reason only leads me to one question: who would look at a freak like me?

Although it's not like this is an unique occurrence this term.  Long time readers and neighbours may remember that time at the end of September, when I lost it completely and ended up bawling my eyes out.  And then what about all the people whose names I've never dropped as well?  Apart from the loser I've had more than enough heart ache in between; passing fancies not accounted for (or indeed those already in relationships because I sure can't tell who is or isn't these days).  I was moved to pass a fresher until the eternal words "I hope you don't fancy me" happened and I also decided that I wasn't going to have another Stockholm Syndrome relationship.  Then there was her from the Other Place; it was always tenuous but after Saturday night's Crime of the Century, I fear it may not be just I who reassess my position.  More on that story later.  And of course, the lady I followed through sheer intuition.  The question truly remains unanswered (in my mind at least), but two good and close friends have told me to shut up shop and move on, to avoid the chance of future upset.  I have to admit, it's probably for the best.  I can't help but see the pattern formed.  What can I do though?  Being told to give up and leave off never sits well with me, due to the fact that my daily existence keeps me away from the majority of people being, y'know, autistic and feeling uncomfortably awkward in any social situation.  Perhaps it's my efforts of seeming normal that have made people forget that any gathering of any sort pushes me to the edge of my coping, and God alone help me with interpersonal contact and indeed any sort of intimacy.  Oy gevalt.

Which leads me to the next part.  Crime of the Century.  Ho ho.  I'm using this as my example, as it reminded me of well, everything, I suppose.  I won't name names.  Mainly because I suppose I won't have to.  The particulars are irrelevant, it's more that I observed and recalled.  Or maybe the disbelief.  

Watching two people, arguably with the aid of alcohol (but how much aid was really needed is a subject of much speculation), who became continually closer as time went on (but only a short space) and shared...how do we say...a succession of moments.  Suffice to say, it wasn't that this was happening that distressed me so much, more that I found myself thinking that I have almost completely forgotten how I would do similar.  There is no situation in my life now that demands a knowledge of one-to-one (or indeed, one-on-one) intimacy, even less that require the action.  It was just at that point that I realised it had gone completely and that I had lost it, that I decided to get completely smashed.  It made me remember what I had and what I lost, and I'm frightened I will never have it back.  

So where does that leave me?  A bucketload of self-doubt, a lack of self-worth, and certainly no belief in one's self.  And of course, the question.  Who would even look at a poor, mentally disabled depressed cripple?  Yes, I'm back on the stick.  Snow, freezing fog and a night temperature of minus FUCKING five means I am down to using my cane again.  I tread a fine line of having enough ankle support and keeping the blood flowing.  Oh, that and the fine dusting of grey hair I have now.  Feh.

So, anyway.  Sexual frustration aside, I am tired and I have had enough.  But I can't stop, because I never do.  You'd have thought I'd have learnt something by now, but OH NO.  Not me!  No sir.  I'm going to keep on until I go snow white.  And what about the girl who calls me Bubby?  Even in my iciest of dispositions I can't help but kindle warmth for her; she improves my day more than I should want to admit, but sure as hell I ain't gonna breathe a word.  Other than this, I'm keeping that one close to my chest.  Well, I should like to keep her close to my chest, but you know, I'm not even sure I'd know what to do anymore.  I'm repeating myself now, so I shall stop.  If you've read this far, then congratulations!  Hopefully there won't be another pathetic moan like this for another month or so.

I can't go on, I must go on.  I have no choice.  The less people can tell, the better.  Tomorrow is my recital day, and I must sleep to prepare.  

* 'Of' or 'from', 'out of' &c

** My name as originally intended, in its Hebrew form

End of the Month Syndrome

Alright.  Basically the last week and a half has been...crazy.  It's swung wildly from the sublime to the ridiculous without any warning, and is pretty much likely to continue in this fashion for quite a while.  

In short, I have had literally two of the best days ever within almost a week, I've been given a new name, and I'm trying to divert the Apocalypse.  Oh.  And I'm still very worried about my little brother.  And a little bit hurt.

Obviously this summer on the whole has been testing time for me, what with the depression and the unemployment and having to watch every penny and so on and so forth...and now I have to start thinking about going back to Norwich.  I don't really want to go back, and I certainly don't care for going back, but untold danger will ensue if I don't go back when I 'should', as I'll miss the start of choir term (...) and get it in the neck from a certain director and quite possibly lose the will to carry on.  I have bigger fish to fry though, and I doubt there could be any real threats made.  Definitely no promises.  

Last Monday I went to see Streetlight Manifesto live.  That's right.  LIVE.  In Derby.  More to follow.  Today, I went to Skegness with Mother and my Close Company.  SKEGNESS!  It was Awesome.  More to follow similarly.  I've seen my youngest brother off to Windsor for a year to be the Organ Scholar there, and will be making firm plans to see him when I'm settled in halls...and when he's settled in his apartment!  We're all so proud!  He is truly the master of us all.

However.  Life defining live music events and seaside trips aside, I'm coming to the end of my limited tether as far as life at this exact moment is concerned.  I'm beginning to wear out as my Chutzpah begins to wane, and what with a weekend flyover to Norwich for work before my Halls contract starts and having nowhere to stay is taking its toll.  I just hope I don't get a phone call before I get to make the one that might save me.  And to add to this I get the horrible feeling that someone else very close found his "group of friends who..."  Obviously, we're not right for him anymore.  I have let him down.  How though?  I can't make him want to talk, but you know, I can't help but feel hurt.  Just a bit,

Although.  Consider well that his musical life at university is roughly opposite mine.  Back at my old School, they still talk about me, and they remember me as the man who could do everything, and do it well.  A confident and skilled performer, at the top of everyone's list for anything.  Norwich?  I feel little more than a statistic.  Ouch.  

Anyway.  It's not so much time of the month but the end of the month.  And almost the end of the Vac.  It's hardly been a holiday this year sadly.  I've only got one more year and as long as I get back to the grindstone but keep my head above water, I can graduate successfully and actually make positive progress!  I will be making plans to permanently escape Norwich as well.  I do not see myself in Norfolk in 5 years, let's put it that way.

Oh, and I had a haircut as well.  So you know, it could be a lot worse, right?

Dead End or just Miss a Turn?

Surprise surprise, I'm reading several blogs from various authors from over the pond, in fact I've got a couple open simultaneously right not.  Always on my list is Mr. John DeVore found all over the Internet, (who even has his own website now!), [Redacted] Guy, Dater X...etc etc.  Any guest writer that catches my eye with an hilarious title gets a look in as well, there's no discrimination here Smith.  GuySpeak is also a personal favourite, often just for the silly questions people ask, or the questions that I wonder about appear or Michael Swaim posts something else...and while we're touching the subject of comedy let's not forget Gladstone.  Hate by Numbers might be on Asylum these days, but he still writes the occasional column for Cracked, which is brilliant.

Anyway, I digress.

The point is, as your friendly neighbourhood unfeeling subhuman Autistic person, I have extreme difficulty in the area of interpersonal romantic relationships, or dating as it is more commonly known.  So much difficulty in fact, that the last girl I wanted to go out with not only understood my uncomfortably and clumsily worded invitation, but then proceeded to run more than the usual mile (true story bro).  I then gave 'upset' my best shot, didn't sleep, eat &c for a while and beset my poor friends with enough moaning and "woe is me for I am alone" to last them several years.  I haven't spoken to her since and here I am writing about it all again.  Funny really.

Traditionally, I would suppose that Autistic people such as yours truly often don't realise (or maybe they do.  I apologise to anyone I might be insulting) that people pair up, go on dates, sleep together &c &c in such a fashion that the world seems content to proceed with.  For a long time (I have held my peace but now will I speak...no, hang on) I thought that it all just happened, you know, mummy and daddy are married (like mine weren't), and you live in a happy family house (like I didn't)...ok ok, so I observed other people's lives worked like that.  Enough already.  Elder siblings were undisputedly cool, you know, being older and cooler.  If they had girlfriends/boyfriends you didn't question it, they just were.  How this happened was a total mystery, as was what they did and indeed how and when they did it and so on and so forth.  

But like the Freak I am, I started to notice that at a certain age, people started you know...getting together with others.  Because I went to an all-male private Grammar School, I never saw the (male) homosexual side of the coin, as everyone from my school was pretty much expected to find a girlfriend from the all-female High School half a mile up the road.  School Discos were fraught with sexual tension (haha) and Valentines was the most exciting secular festival evar.  Roses were sold and VIth formers literally laughed their faces off at (comparatively) young children acting with that indisputable herd instinct, managing to stay at opposite sides of the hall, stand in smalls groups gossiping and giggling/trying to attract that 'special someone's' attention and of course general dickery.  That particular episode saw me give a rose to a girl who wasn't interested, but in her defence accepted graciously and treated me no different afterwards. (Ok, so every now and again it gets brought up for old time's sake or something, but we can all look back and laugh.  At me.)  

Fast forward.  

My first girlfriend was, and remains to be two years younger than I am.  We met at a choir rehearsal (Romantic!  Like it.) and there was no going back.  I had long hair.  It was almost as long as hers.  Funnily enough, I still have the rubber duck on my shelf.  I really didn't have any idea how to treat her properly though, so we finished before long and I was genuinely cut up about it but she found someone better for her and for all I know they're happy now so...great!  I don't actually begrudge her anything.  Mercy.

That was a long time ago.  Another two years pass, while almost everyone around me learns how to be sociable and polite and not KEEP LOOKING FOR THE NEAREST ESCAPE ROUTE ARGH WHO ARE ALL THESE PEOPLE and importantly with this new age demographic, the heady spectre of Sex starts to cast its coital shadow over the land.  Suffice to say, I find it hard to keep up with people, and most girls who know me view me as a Freak (and oh my god are you 'normal' people allergic to freaks) so I almost give up and once again, chew my poor friends' ears off with the whole "woe is me" routine...until...

Until I met her.  Talk about a split second decision.  One of my friends (with whom contact is now very patchy) was seeing this girl from (wait for it) ANOTHER SCHOOL SOMEWHERE ELSE IN DERBYSHIRE.  This might seem ridiculous to our new-age sensibilities, and our twenty-something eyes, but go back four or five years and think about it properly.  This is absolutely revolutionary.  Nobody knows who these people are.  They're not vetted by anybody else, and they're not pre-judged &c &c.  Anyway, kid's politics aside, my friend he gone bigged me up and got one of his girl's friends all all intrigued and so we end up going to see Borat.  Like, I dunno, four of us and four of them.  So we all go on this first 'group date' or whatever and we hit it off.  A week later, I go to Berlin, one of my totem holiday destinations.  I stay in touch via the power of MySpace but still feel anxious like hell.  I get back, and by some act of God, it's still on.  What happens next is (somehow) 2 (potted) years of learning how to deal with being with another person, making a bucketload of mistakes, being forgiven (most of the time) and you know, general rose tinted spectacle perception of reality.  And the L word.  Yes, that one.  How it ended is not a subject for discussion.  So don't even bother.  Let's just say...it was fatal.  I still regret the ultimate way it played out...and I might have just about finished my penance.  I don't know.  Do we ever truly?  

And now I'm at the end of another terrible year.  A disaster, you might say.  Domestically, Academically, and of course, romantically.  There was...well, something at the start of the year that was hard to class; a relationship of some sort that ended up breaking down because guess what!  I can't cope with interpersonal human contact.  Ha ha.  Great.  Well, it didn't work out because...not everything's meant to work out.  Fine.  

But that was in September of '09.  In a month's time it'll be September '10, and I'll officially gone an entire year without...well, anything at all.  It's been almost two years since I've been on a proper date, and you know, I actually like dating.  If it's done right then the rewards justify the gamble.  And yes, I'm just a twenty-something complaining about one whole year of being out of any sort of game, but this is a dangerous amount of time for a Freak like me.  Unlike the rest of the vast majority of society, I have almost completely forgotten how to deal with this or that situation without LOOKING FOR THE NEAREST ESCAPE ROUTE which usually gets tricky even with people I relatively know.  Perhaps it's time to give up again and wait for something to just roll up...

But it just won't happen like that again.  All the times I've been told to stop looking I remind both my conversational companion and indeed myself that my natural path through my day means that I see the least amount of people possible, preferably none.  It's nothing personal, it's just that I'm uncomfortable around well, almost anyone and I know you might take that the wrong way!  So please, don't  It's not you, it's really all me.  Just let me keep trying and everything will be fine.  And that's just friends!  Like I said earlier, the last girl who got a clue that I wanted to date her officially ran a God forsaken mile.  I really would rather not spend the rest of my days in an eternal bachelorhood either, I rather like having someone else.  I got used to it in that halcyon two year period, ok it wasn't perfect but nothing ever is, right?  I just like having someone there and being there for that someone on a...full time basis.  Yes, I'm always there for my friends, but you know what I mean.  

So looks like the only question left is the one that I used for the title.  Dead end or just miss a turn?  Will I sit this year out completely in order to find myself luckier after?  Or is this really it?  I've already used up all my relationship credits and I'm going to be one man for the rest of my days?  What a terrible melodramatist I am.  But it's a genuine concern.  From where I am it always looks like everyone else has it so easy.  You're all attractive and charming and interesting and have a chance of getting a decent job and making a good career and having a family...all of which I cannot see for myself.  

If it was easy, what would the point be?  If it wasn't so blazingly difficult I might just enjoy how tricky it is.  But alas.  It's the tiniest bit out of reach.  And I'm tired.  We all go through this one way or another.  So maybe I am like the rest of the Losers in the world and don't know it and I'm mouthing off at a problem faced by everyone.  Add to the fact I feel almost completely cut off from everyone I've met at University (the perils of not using Facebook), I'm of a mood to just stay in Derby.  Why bother being unhappy somewhere else when you can be unhappy at home?

Anyway.  After all this typing, I think I shall say...MISS A TURN.  Roll a natural 20 to join again.  As we've seen, I've already had one turn at happiness, so I might as well wait for another.  Friends with benefits and One night stands aren't really my sort of thing.  I know a lot of people can justify both, indeed both at the same time...but it's difficult.  Too grey really.  It never lasts (or does it?), so it's worth the wait.  

But only just.

There's no place like...

After a night with my back line at HQ, I made the plunge earlier today.  Saddled up and ready to take the ever-shifting road system on, I took the Dawes out to cycle down to the armpit of the midlands.  You will never a more wretched hive of scum and villainy...than Derby!

That's right.  Urbs Natalis is once again Urbs Currens.  The bastards couldn't kill me, not when I have THIS to return to.  There's something vaguely comforting about almost being mown down by bright yellow taxis, the 01332 area code, the tacky pubs and clubs...I could go on.  The surrounding countryside knocks a lot of the rest of this country into a cocked hat, what with stunning vistas and thrilling valleys, quaint villages with their churches and so on and so forth.  At some point I will even venture out to the aforementioned tacky locales, populated as they are by the fleshpots of Derby...Ugh.  But you know, it's good to be back.  I mean, really good.

As we reached the end of the academic year, I rather began to run out of chutzpah.  Unsatisfactory housing, lack of food and a lot of upset, mostly emotional, do not agree with people of my delicate temperament.  Oh, best mark that down on your calendars or something, because I'm not going to refer to myself as delicate very often.  Capisce?  Anyway.  I think I got a bit cabin feverish towards the last few days, it still hasn't quite left me.  The cycling helps, as concentrating on the road leaves little room for anything else, and I get a break from the unbearable lightness of being, especially after the last week.  Those who know, know.  Some things...just never go my way.  

As far away from Norfolk as I am, I still have a lot left to do before I can really rest up.  I have to salvage my housing situation, which is bloody complicated to say the least.  Watch this space, eh?  I need to get in touch with several relevant parties and basically break to bad news, which won't be pretty.  I need to arrange the tour as well, and hopefully it will take me even further away from the East Anglian part of England, in a geographical sense anyway.  I almost don't want to go back at all now.  I really really don't.  This year has been one of the hardest I've had the fortune to survive, and I can quite comfortably say I don't relish the idea of any more like it, especially if next year will follow the same pattern.  I've never been so ill in all my life!  I genuinely thought I was going to die when a Ginsters Deep Fill Chicken & Bacon sandwich gave me food poisoning, the malicious bastard, and let's not forget my very own dalliance with the Swine Flu.  The upset, the failures, the backstabbing, the junior handshake clubs and financial ruin have taken an almost fatal toll on me.  Why would I want to put myself back into that situation?  Why do I have to?

But I will.  The time will come in September when we pack me up again and shift me across the country to Norwich, to see off the final year, the last hurrah.  And it really will be the last as well.  I plan to move up North and find my fortune not on stage, but as a Layclerk, hopefully with some sort of archive/library job on the side.  London would chew my up and spit me out, I don't have the wherewithal to cope with the Bog Smoke just yet, but one day I will.  It's just that I'm going to take my time over it.  

There are many people I don't want to leave behind from Norwich, and indeed Norfolk.  The people and places, on the whole (with some notable exceptions) are fine.  The situations I find myself in though, are deplorable.  Unfamiliarity breeds contempt, and I would rather soak up the radiation from the free wi-fi outside the Big Blue Coffee Shop than anywhere Norwich has to offer.  This is my home, as much as my mother has abandoned Derby for "Skeg Vegas", this is still my place.  You could accuse me of being small minded and having no ambition, but seeing as I have a desire to escape Norfolk I urge you to reconsider.  At a push, there are even people I would want to bring back here...both to add to the back line but also to stand at the forefront with me...but I'm getting ahead of myself.  

I'm glad I'm back.  Almost happy...(more on that story later)  The tour continues.  It's just nice to be able to have a rest again.

And as you close your eyes...

"What are you doing here, Peb?"

Actually it's a good question.  Taken out of context it looks strange, but to be fair in the context it was more than relevant.  The unfortunate nature of my badman cyclist tactics (and that means at high speed (speed limits don't apply to cyclists, right?)) means I need a short breather after such distance is traversed, and thus I was still around to be questioned, but to be honest we're straying into less-than-abstract commentary on reality and more into analysing the shadows on the cave walls, so enough enough.  

Not only was I asked that question earlier with good reason (my reaction was a little overblown and hardnosed though.  In my valiant attempt to not be bitter I have acquired a certain...insensitivity), but recalling the experience reminds me of an episode even earlier in the evening (look at that cave wall go), with the inimitable J of N.  During a usual conversation about the poor end of the stall, and I was pretty wound up, I recounted my continual pride of having left the house, and indeed leaving the house every single day.  "Pardon?"  Utter confusion reigned over my compatriot's reply.  Indeed, why should I be proud of such a mundane act?  Perhaps you should ask why shouldn't I be proud of it.

Ladies and Gentlemen, you are reading the handiwork an adult living with a disability.  SHOCK HORROR NERD HAS CRIPPLING FEELINGS OF SOCIAL INADEQUACY AND WRITES ABOUT IT ON THE INTERNET.  Get over it.  

I'm not a cripple (not just yet anyway, but I'm heading that way for sure), but rather I "suffer", if you are closed-minded enough to think of it in that way with Asperger's Syndrome, or Autistic Spectrum Disorder.  Or if you're really ignorant, I'm some freakish nutjob who can't tie his shoelaces properly.  (True fact though)  Not only that but I have a list of symptoms as long as your arm (even you, Mr. Fantastic) and also put up with Attention Defecit Hyperactivity Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Dyspraxia, Dysgraphia, and Synesthesia.  Also due to my Autism I have an inbuilt disregard for authority short of total disrespect, which can often reflect in my language.  No, not my fremdsprache but more the fact that my usual patter is peppered with more expletives than your body has room for, spun off the tongue with the same casual attitude as a simple "how do you do".  Well, that and I genuinely believe there is respectable mileage in Anarchism.  ANYWAY, ON WITH THE SHOW.

Last I heard, and indeed, as I tell anyone who will listen, when I started at University, in a the clement September of 2008, the drop out rate for students with Asperger's was 80% within the first month.  Ok, you can prove anything with statistics, but still, 80%?  An almost overwhelming majority feel that the strain is too much, and make a tactical retreat.  Now, I don't have a hold on these statistics by any means, so say maybe 20% 0f that 80% choose to reapply...and say within 3 years as well.  Maybe I'm right?  Seems like a nice figure anyway.  Now, stick with me here.  This pristine figure that I clasp to my bosom only refers to students in the first year.  What about the years after that?  How many Autistic students make it through their degrees?  How many of them never move off campus?  I can confirm that out of a definite 16 students with Asperger's Syndrome (at the beginning of this year), I was the only one who demanded (and I bloody demanded alright) to live off campus.  I am proud to push myself beyond all safe limits and try to live as ordinary a life as I possibly can.  The repercussions can take their toll though; every so often I need to switch off and get out of the game, but only as a temporary tactical withdrawal.  I'm often back in the game before I know it.  Yes, I have a crippling phobia of clowns, Yes I need my shopping to be on the conveyor belt in a certain way (I get stared at regularly) and YES I have a black and white view on ethics, morality &c &c.  What I'm doing here, is bucking the trend and proving to myself as much as everyone else that I will not be beaten by my labels and symptoms.  I will be out there making a difference until the very last second.

"What are you doing here, Peb?"  Just trying to do a favour for a friend.  There's always another way.  

And as  you close your eyes for the Big Sleep, I hope you think of me.