Proof of life

When i moved here, and for the first two years, Sir Raven would take photos of us and text them to my adopted auntie.  She said, we will take a “proof of life,” and we would laugh.

I went to visit friends and my aunt.  She is lifestyle, and has an interesting look on WIITWD.  She thinks i’ve gone too far.  Give too much.  Ask for too little.

For some reason, I think the Universe decided it was time to just be quiet and think.  Hunker down and learn everything i can get my hands on about females and autism.

One thing that came out of the odyssey that was the last few months of my life is some strong mirrors.  i realized some things that should have been very clear, all along, but it wasn’t.

When i was staying with the friends, i noticed every nuanced tendency, my observer kicked in and i was able to mindfully notice and track patterns.  i’m always trying to track patterns of behavior.  i like knowing what to expect.  i attach strong emotion to being able to nurture potential, love the child inside everyone, and knowing how to do things exactly right to make you feel comfortable.  Valued.  Warm. Home.

i’ll remember your favorite scents, change every body product i use to suit.  i am always shaved, wearing light make-up.  i smile a lot.  i will remember how you like your drink, what kind of snacks you enjoy, food allergies, preferences for temperature, if you need silent assistance, if you prefer to be fussed over, and a million other details that others miss.  People important to me get my time and attention.  My behaviors show I care and am committed to your comfort and help hold energy.  I will hold sacred space and let you feel.  I express myself best here.

I’ve learned that i have reenacted some childhood patterns, which should have been obvious.  i didn’t want to see.

Yet, i’ve seen.  i sat on the steps in the Florida sunshine and played the old music, jazz in the background of my mind.  i remember the sensation of slow dancing, being drawn into, no choice but to let go into it, she would kiss my throat, tell me i’m beautiful, cry, ask me how i could ever doubt her adoration of me.

My mother sent me love songs, voicemails with her wailing and sobbing, begging me home.  Voices cold as ice.  Indifferent.

The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.

Unreturned warmth in a sacred relationship is indifferent.

Indifference is hate.

i’ve soldiered on.  i needed to understand that i keep women who are warm, who feel like sunshine, who fit perfectly with me, who intuitively know how to reach me, who listen- at arms length.

i’ve let down that wall only Twice in my life.

Those feelings resurfaced.  Push/pull.  Rip/tear.

i’m wide open.

There has been a lot of shit that has gone down, in the background, fires that threaten to engulf.

i needed to see things with fresh eyes.

What matters to me is having shared values, love and intimacy, reaching goals together, having experiences and traditions together.  The little shared intimacy, daily rituals, please me.  i check in and ask how i’m doing, if you always feel loved and respected.  If you know what to expect when  you come home.  i ask what you need, want more of, want less of.  i could write an encyclopedia of a few people.

In return, i expect loyalty and love, dedication, persistence, shared values and goals, protection, intimacy and kindness, passion. I really do expect you to do what you say you will do.  Pretty much no matter what.  i don’t so much get to choose details over how these things present themselves in others or how they will be manifested in me.  i expect to give the same work and dedication, bring warmth and humor, spontaneous affection, focused intimacy, create and maintain rituals, have altar supplies, clean and do laundry.



Bonus if you are a skilled predator.  Possessive.

When people tell me their secrets, i don’t blink.  i understand now that men who would not look at me twice are sometimes extremely interested in raping and kidnapping.  Me. i don’t mean a kinky weekend.  It happened to me before, literally, and when things make those alarm bells go off-i do pay attention.

Things with emotion are held in perfect detail.  S0 is research.  My aunt spat out, “You sound like  you are reading from a book in your brain,” and she also made me aware that i will never fit into the outside world, not really.  That screamed “Autism!” to me.  And so i’ve been on the search to understand autism, how it presents in males and females.  Lo and Behold many things became absolutely clear.

i’ve read about how to relate in relationships, strategies for success.  A number of these are things i’ve tried hard at.  It didn’t work.  i keep trying.  Hard. Harder.  It seems a lot of them are modified versions of what we do in the classroom.  Autistic people can withdraw entirely into themselves.

Other parts of my brain are shattered by damage, too many blackouts.  I have holes in my memory.

i’m trying to reach out.  Stay open.  Decompress.

i have a lot to do and want to meet Karida for lunch.  The exhaustion is kicking in and i need more french press.

The house needs some TLC and supplies.  Food. Candles. i’m out of body soap, shampoo and conditioner, basics.  i need to unpack.  Busy day.  Thank Goddess for medicine, which makes life possible.  i had to create a way to make that happen.  There was nothing else to do.  And i’m thankful.

My heart was scraped raw and opened.

i’ve dealt with the nightmares alone.  They needed to surface into the light, so i could see what i needed to see, and let go of the outcome.

So, thats what i’ve been up to.  Opening up. Letting go. Reaching out over and over again. Reading.  Thinking. Putting together the puzzle pieces.

It’s quiet here and i’ve enjoyed being on my playpen, kissed my teddy bears, stole my pillow back, made the bed.  i got up with her this morning, brought water to her, looked for emerge-c, evaluated the lack of cleaning supplied and load of laundry to do, started my list for the weekend.  It’s bitterly cold.  I need to get started.  Yay meds!