I still have no internet.
Well this morning I made my husband late for work, because he had to wait for me to finish using the internet on his mobile phone….hehehe
I told Mr Locoman, he’d better sort out these computers quickly, and get onto a technician today. I feel like I’m going mad. I’m either walking around talking to myself or staring into space. I really need to blog.
I gave him a kiss and reluctantly handed him back his mobile….. ugh
My new mobile is active now but I haven’t got a clue how to use it.
I figured out how to get onto wordpress…aren’t I clever.
BUT… I can’t blog from my phone, I can only read and comment. Plus I cannot figure out my emails.
I will have to go back to the shop tomorrow for my dummy run through. That shop was really hard work for me, with everything that was going on. I left a comment about this for Spectrummy Mommy on my decorating poem. There was far too much noise and activity in this shop for me to understand anything that was going on.
I managed to read one blog this morning and leave one comment from my hubby mobile.
Every morning I enjoy reading and commenting on my favourite blogs,
while doing my kids lunches and getting them ready for school. I sometimes get to chat and have a giggle and it is a lovely start to my day.
Today I found myself staring into space, with loads of thoughts I wanted to blog.
I had even put my ABBA Gold on to try to distract myself from how I was feeling. It sort of worked; well I had a dance around anyway, while getting on with my chores.
Eventually I said to myself, “Lisa…this is ridiculous, you just need to write it on paper and type it up and blog it when you can. So I went and had a rummage for a note book.
Written in this note book
That I found at the bottom of one of the desk draws, is a letter that I wrote to myself, a few years ago. It was from when I first started to realise that I had Aspergers Syndrome. I had gone to see my Doctor and had not been treated very well. The doctor had laughed at me and said things that made me feel really stupid. I had not long lost my Mom.
My Mom was the person who helped me make sense of this world.
I really needed her and she wasn’t there anymore. My Dad has classic Autism; he is practically non-verbal outside of the home. He has basic understanding but not enough for me to have turned to him for comfort. I had no friends and no-one who could understand how I was feeling. So I wrote down what I needed to say. This was before I had any professional counselling, and before I started to keep a reflective journal. I just felt a need to write. I had forgotten all about this letter. Funny how you find things when you need to.
It’s what I like to call a God-incident.
A poem came to me at the end of this letter, I blogged this poem when I first started blogging.
I thought I would share it in the context it was written in, at the end of the letter where it is supposed to be.
The letter, My Trip to the Doctors.
Walking out of the Doctors I felt half an inch tall. I wanted my Mom; I felt 12 years old again. Within 10 minutes that woman had undermined every conversation practised in my head. Every piece of information I had gathered on Aspergers Syndrome became locked away, un-retrievable.
I was no longer the Lisa I had practised so hard to become; I was a school girl again. While she went on, I returned to my dreamland only this one was with my Mom. This Doctor would not be talking to me like this if my Mom was here. Yes it’s true my Mom would have stopped her dead in her tracks and put her right in her place. But I’m alone now and Mom isn’t here to protect me anymore. Since she died all I can do is keep hiding, no-one understands.
Well I hope that doctor is proud of herself. She bullied me right back to looking at the floor. I couldn’t look at her; I just kept my head down. I ended up biting my lips and rubbing my face. Just answering her with yes and no. My breathing changed and I just wanted to get out of there.
I hate the way people treat me like this. Did she not realise how hard it was for me to get into that room in the first place. I had rehearsed what I needed to say, I felt quite confident about it and then she ripped me apart. My only defence was inside myself, back inside my shell where I have spent my whole life. I should have taken someone with me, what was I thinking. Someone who could have spoken as soon as I clammed up. I have been different though since having my kids, I do speak up and defend them. But this was for me, not my kids, and I don’t defend myself. I act different when it’s for me.
Ok it’s all over now, as soon as I became hostile towards her she wanted me out and said she would refer me. I hate it when I get angry, why can’t people be nicer to me so I don’t feel so threatened.
But…I’m the one up at 3:15 in the morning, writing this out, trying to deal with my feelings. I feel so hurt, embarrassed, frustrated and angry. I bet she’s asleep in her bed, she probably doesn’t even remember my name. I should have refused to see her, I made an appointment with the nice doctor, but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
My confidence left me as soon as I walked through the door and saw how she looked at me. She stripped away all the progress I had made in less than 10 minutes. It is so hard to be part of this world when most of the people here are like her. I prefer my bubble it is safe.
by Lisa Lock
Inside this shell are two,
Who I am, and the one who speaks to you.
I’m so confident, intelligent inside,
But when I speak that person will hide.
The frustration and anger is sealed,
When who I really am, is never revealed.
The humiliation and fear I keep,
It’s locked away inside so deep.
I practise how to talk, what to say.
It all comes out wrong on the day.
I come crushing down like a ton of rubble,
I think I’ll stay safe here in my bubble.
This planet all seems so wrong,
There must be another place where I belong.
I try to be like them………. but I’m not
Perhaps like E.T. I’m the one they forgot.
so……..I’ll sit and reflect as the world goes by.
Breathe in and swallow yet another sigh.
There’s not a lot that I can do,
Because normal to me, is not being like you.