Dublin

I stayed overnight at Prestwick Airport on Saturday night so I could catch an early flight to Dublin on Sunday morning.

The plan was simple. Fly to Dublin. Catch a bus to Ballina, then another one to Killaloe, where I would meet my friend. She and her husband are having a holiday in Ireland and invited me out to join them. Since they live in South Carolina, this is the first opportunity to see her in a long, long time. I had their 'phone numbers and email address, in case of emergencies. She had originally offered to pick me up at the airport, but since I was going to arrive very early in the morning, I told her that I could make my way out to her instead and meet her locally. In her emails, she had made me think she was staying near Dublin, so that didn't seem like an unrealistic offer.

It went wrong immediately. Killaloe was near Ballina and that was a four-hour bus journey away. Hardly local. The man in the Tourist Information Office told me all this. I tried calling my friend and then tried emailing her so that I could confirm that I was going the right way. I couldn't raise her. So, lacking any further options, I made a bus trip to Dublin, waited two hours in a freezing bus station, then caught another bus so I could make the four hour journey to Ballina. And when I got there, nobody knew where Killaloe was.

Throughout the day, I left multiple emails for my friends every time I got an internet connection and kept trying to call them. But the two 'phone numbers I had were useless. One of the numbers would give me someone who had never heard of my friend - so a wrong number. And the other one wouldn't even connect.

In Ballina, a bunch of people told me there was no Killaloe anywhere near, but there was one in County Claire - another 200 miles away, apparently. Although, by this stage, I wasn't clear whether they were saying 200 miles from Dublin or from where I currently was. Either way, I was in a panic, now. If I couldn't even raise my friend to tell her of the difficulties I was having, then where was the point in spending even more money to get to another place that may or may not be the right one?

Solution... head back to Dublin. Try to get an earlier flight home. But even that wasn't an option, because it would cost more than I can afford. Probably more than the original return flight.

The money was dwindling. I had arrived with less than planned, because of some unrelated complications. I kept hoping that my friend would realise her 'phone wasn't set up to receive calls, and so would somehow correct the problem. But she never did, and so every attempt I made simply cost me another euro. And every time I connected to the internet - for even just ten minutes - that was another euro down. And I had to keep doing that to find out if my friend had read any of my emails or responded to them.

I wrote a bunch of emails to her throughout the day, keeping her abreast of the situation. I tried to keep my mounting panic restrained and tried to restrain my sense of anger, but I think that in the end the cracks were showing in the emails I was sending.

Eventually, I did get an email from her. It seems that she was in Killaloe all day, waiting for me - and Killaloe was close to Ballina. Eventually, they went to Ballina to check their emails. This was the most crushing news of the entire day. The fact that I was there. I was right there. And then couldn't find them and went back to Dublin. I spent around nine hours on a bus and two hours in a very cold bus station and all the bus journeys combined cost me more than 50 euros.

I realised today that I didn't eat all day yesterday. I was reluctant to buy food because I felt that was too great a drain on the budget when I was trying so hard to find my friend. Instead, the money was going on internet connections and 'phone calls.

I got a second from my friend last night. She and her husband have fallen out with the person who was hosting them and are now looking for somewhere else to stay. Until I got that email, I had actually been hoping that they might travel to Dublin (as originally planned) and pick me up from the airport, but the second email made me realise that wasn't going to happen.

That was the last time I heard from her. I got a couple of hours sleep in the airport last night, then went into Dublin city centre and found a hostel to stay in today.  When I woke up, I had become concerned that I just couldn't get warm at all - in fact I was starting to feel pretty shivery.  And every time I passed a fast food outlet, I realised I felt incredibly hungry, but that the smell of the food was making me feel ill at the same time. So I knew I had to change the circumstances. A quick scan of the remaining money let me know that I could stay at a cheap  hostel two nights and eat sparingly - so enough to keep me going until Wednesday evening - when I return home.

So the current situation... I've eaten and showered and I'm comfortable. I have consistent internet access all day.  Despite everything, I still hope to meet my friend, but since she hasn't contacted me since last night, I strongly suspect that she's not going to. To be honest, I'm not sure why she fell out with her friend, but I wonder if waiting all day for me in Killaloe was the catalyst - in which case I was responsible. Combine that with the mounting tension in my emails and I think she might be angry at me, now. So... after all this, I might have lost a friend.

Looking back, I can see all the places I went wrong. I should have let them pick me up at the airport. I should have tied my friend down specifically to the address of the place she was staying at, rather than rely on the broad details she had given me. I should have asked how far she was from the airport. I should have got a lot more information. If she didn't have it available, I should have insisted she get it.

Now, I can't help wondering whether things would have been different if I didn't have AS. This occurs to me all the time, these days. Any time something stressful or interesting or unusual happens to me - any time the events are influenced by me or have an influence on me, I wonder how much the AS has a part to play in them. In this case... would I have taken different actions if I was neuro-typical? If so, which actions would have been different? And would I have handled things better if I was neuro-typical? Would the sense of panic not have been so strong? Would I have spent less time reacting to events and more time taking control of them?

To be honest, I see little that I would have done different, given the situation I was in. As I already said, I should have got more information from my friend in advance, but that's through the benefit of hindsight rather than through an AS versus NT conflict. The only real thing I can really pick up on is the fact that I didn't eat all day yesterday. My sensory input became faulty and although I was aware that I was hungry, that never really became an overriding issue. On three separate occasions, I needed to break notes so I could get coins for 'phone calls or the internet and on those occasions I chose the cheapest available option - which was to buy some chocolate. Not all that cheap, I know, but in an airport options are limited. Anyway, I had three bars of chocolate throughout the day. Not something I'd choose to eat - I like chocolate, but I don't develop cravings for it like a lot of people describe and I often find it to be a bit sickening. But that did help to sustain me.

It's said that AS people don't react well to extreme situations or to situations that are out of their control. I'm trying to work out how this applied to yesterday's situation. I was certainly out of my depth, but every reaction to the events was ultimately my choice and nobody else's. I chose to catch a bus to Ballina and I chose to return to the airport. I chose to stay there last night. I chose to come to this hostel today. And I chose when I would eat. One thing that stresses me out intensely is any kind of situation where I find it difficult to make a choice. And yesterday had some tough choices. I definitely agonised about them before making them on at least a couple of occasions. Once made, however, I become fatalistic - a course of action has been taken and I can take comfort in that.

I'm much more relaxed now that I know where I'm going to sleep tonight and now that I've accepted I'll be in Dublin - no matter what - until Wednesday. I still really want to see my friend, but I've accepted that that's not likely to happen. I reread the emails I sent her yesterday and realised I was nowhere near as rude or confrontational as I thought I might have been, despite the situation I was facing. In fact, I think I displayed a patience that would have been beyond a lot of other people in the same situation.

I should conclude that I'm getting more money tomorrow.  It will be paid into my account in the morning.  I know it'll be there... I'm just acting like the cash in my pocket is all that's available, though.  Just in case something else goes wrong.  The events of the last couple of days have even made me wary of the arrival of a scheduled payment.

An altercation on Princes Street

I was on Princes Street a couple of months ago, when I saw this bloke casually take a final sip from his cup of coffee, then casually discard his cup.  That sort of thing enrages me.  One minute the cup has value and the next minute it has none.  The hand opens, the cup drops and the guy doesn't even break stride.  It's discarded.  It's probably even discarded from his memory.  Well, I was having none of it.

I called out to him and pointed out the nearest bin that was less then six feet away.  He looked startled, then looked guilty and kept on walking.  I was gratified by the look of guilt, but I wasn't satisfied.  I picked up his cup (still half full - he couldn't even be bothered finishing his coffee) and followed him along Princes Street.  By now I was going out of my way - figuratively and literally.  I was determined to prove my point and I was heading in the opposite direction from the way I had originally been headed.

The guy put his head down, hunched up his shoulders and kept on walking.  He was actively trying to pretend I didn't exist.

I changed tack and started walking faster.  I overtook him, but he was focused on the ground immediately ahead of him, so wasn't aware of this.  I found a bin on the corner of Hanover Street and poised by it with the cup in my hand, waiting for him to catch up.  By the time he did so, I could see that he was starting to relax again; no doubt thinking he had left me behind.

As he got close, I could tell by his approach that he intended to continue walking along Princes Street.  I shouted at him - loud enough to catch the attention of several other people, but I didn't care.  He looked at me, clearly startled all over again and I dropped the cup directly into the bin.  "See?  That's all you had to do," I said.  He hunched his shoulders up again and executed a sharp right turn onto Hanover Street.  I let him go, at that point.  There's a fine line between going out of my way to righteously stress a point and being a bit of a looney - and I think I had become dangerously close to crossing that line.

I walked back to my bus stop.  I'd like to report that some people observed the scene with approval.  I'd love to describe applause and back-clapping but there was none of that.  I think some saw the beginning and some saw the conclusion, so the individual stages made little sense to anyone.  Those who came in at the end only saw someone being angry, someone else looking a bit panicked and something about a coffee cup and a litter bin.

Tomorrow's just another day - Madness

I have friends. I've never had a lot of friends, but the ones I have... the ones I actually refer to as "friends, rather than "mates" or "pals" or any of those terms that have a bit less consequence... are the people who have accepted that I'm different and come to terms with that. But still... I'm never going to really fit in. Not completely. Not wholeheartedly. Not 100%.

I came to terms with that a long time ago. I still feel a bit frustrated by it sometimes and since my diagnosis of Asperger's Syndrome I've actually understood why I'm like that. But I definitely came to terms with it.

This video almost seems to illustrate it for me. I must have watched it a thousand times. In it, Suggs is out of step with everybody else - he doesn't completely fit in. He's isolated, disconnected, alienated. On the surface the video looks cheerful and happy - like everything Madness ever produced - but there's still that slightly sinister undercurrent going on.

OK, so let's acknowledge the reality first. The song seems to be about mental health issues and that's not what Asperger's is. It's a neuro-developmental issue. That just means that I think differently from you, process information in a different way from you and respond to things differently from you. So not mental health. But still... there are parallels.

Anyway, it looks like Suggs has been very successful, risen to great heights and then fallen pretty far. At one point he's in a classroom while people are shouting at him - there's information he just can't seem to take in. At another point he's wearing clothes that once were expensive, but now are rags. Repeatedly there's a prison motif - like he's done time at some point or (more likely) that he's been down on his luck and spent the occasional night inside.

But it's the scene with the umbrellas that resonates with me the strongest. At first he's completely co-ordinated, confident and happy. He's in time, he's got all the moves and everything's going fine. Later, though, he appears to be ignored by the others and he can't even catch an umbrella. He's confused and upset by this. I don't get the impression that he's deliberately being ostracised by them - more like he's invisible to them.

I know it's easy to read too much into stuff like that. To identify with a theme and crowbar the rest of it into place. But I do empathise with some of the details in this video quite strongly at times.

The thing is... as I said... I have friends and I'm aware of the differences I have. I'll always be on the outside to an extent, but I'm not so far outside that I can't connect with anyone at all. I just have to work at it a bit stronger than a lot of other people.

AS is not a bad condition. I like a lot of the things that go along with it and the friends that I've made are friends because of my AS - not despite it. They're attracted to the fact that I'm different, that I'm out of step and that I don't follow the usual rules. It just... it has its challenges as well. This is one of them.

Apparently I write like...

I followed a link to a site that supposedly analyses blocks of text and makes comparisons to famous writers. Out of curiosity, I pasted in stuff I'd written myself to see what came up. I find it hard to comment, though, because I haven't read anything by most of these people.

Some of these are postings in this blog, by the way.

"Social anxieties" (On the subject of Asperger's Syndrome) gave me Jane Austen.
"I loathe, detest and despise Braveheart" (The title is pretty self-explanatory) gave me William Gibson.
"Internal OCDs" (Thoughts on the differences between standard OCDs and autistic thought processes) gave me Cory Doctorow.
"A dream of castration" (Another self-explanatory one) gave me Cory Doctorow again.
"Penthouse and the Spave VIxens" (A sci-fi comedy) gave me Edgar Allen Poe.

So... OK... Edgar Allen Poe? Seriously? He's the only writer I've read and I love the comparison, but of all the stories I've ever written, I'm sure "Penthouse and the Space Vixens" is about as far from him as it's possible to get. Certainly further than anything else I've written.

Anyway, if anyone's curious about making their own comparisons, then check out the site. It's at http://iwl.me/

Metabolism

I have a very active metabolism. And sometimes I wonder if that's related to the AS. I mean... people used to tell me I had lots of "nervous energy" and I never really contradicted that. It sounded plausible, after all. I have a mind that never... absolutely never... seems to shut down and take a rest. And that's definitely down to the AS.

So could the two - the AS and the metabolism - be connected? It seems plausible. At least... to my admittedly skewed perspective.

It's definitely got its benefits. I'm very skinny. In fact - for a man just a little shy of 6 feet, five inches tall, I'm actually underweight. My mum bought me a pair of jeans a couple of years ago for Christmas and when I tried them on, I realised that they were for someone with a fairly bigger waist than me. I laughed about that and asked if she thought I was fat or something. She said that she had automatically assumed I had put on some weight over the years. I realised at that point that I hadn't gained any weight or waist size since I was 13 years old. But it wasn't until a couple of days later that the significance of that caught up to me.

That's unusual, isn't it?

I have good abs, though. In fact, it's my greatest physical characteristic, I think. When I started studying massage therapy, I found the stance was difficult to maintain and it really burnt into my thighs. Then I studied acupressure therapy and had to adapt to a slightly different stance again, because with this therapy the client is sitting, rather than lying down. We uses specially designed chairs for people to lean forward in. A cushion supports the client's chest and leaves the back, neck and shoulders free for us to work.

The specific stance was in order to protect my back when I worked. I had to stand with my feet positioned a certain way so that I didn't bend over too much. I could use my elbows to put pressure into key areas of a person's back, by pushing my hips forward. As I went lower, the rear foot would twist and move backwards - further widening my stance - and I'd get to a lower point on the client's back.

And one day I noticed that my abs were very tight. And I wondered if they had always been that way and I had only just noticed, or if the stance had done that to me. Either way, it was a nice discovery and I just wished I had good pecs as well.

Next year, however, I plan to get back into hiking, camping, kayaking, climbing and all that fun stuff - the stuff I did a lot of when I was younger. I want to regain the upper body strength and flexibility that I once took for granted - before this bastard of a whiplash injury. I suspect that if I really start to work at it again, I'll hurt like hell for a while - but if I persevere at it, it'll all pay off.

There was a time when I took a bet that I couldn't do twenty chin-ups, back when I was 25 years old. I wasn't sure if I could, but I insisted that it was no bother, then did it. I won't say it was easy - but I did it. But back then, I was kayaking a lot, so that flexibility and strength was there. And the metabolism definitely helped. I couldn't do that today, though. But maybe... next summer... maybe I can do it again.

Something to work on, anyway.

Movin' out

The mood in this house has been getting exceptionally ugly, just lately.

I've been living here for nearly eighteen months, now. I moved back into my parents' home back in 2009. I'd been in a car accident and - in quick succession - lost my job, my home and even my career. Suddenly, whiplash made it impossible to work as a massage therapist any more, so suddenly I wasn't able to call myself a professional. This probably doesn't seem too bad to a lot of people, but I worked very hard to gain that profession in the first place, so it was something that provided me with a genuine sense of accomplishment. Even more so after I received my diagnosis and realised that I'd had to work much harder than the other students to gain it. Then there was a year working at Glasgow Airport, nurturing my skills, followed by three years at a clinic in Glasgow, working incredibly hard for incredibly long hours to try and create a successful business.

And six minutes on the motorway in a stationary vehicle destroyed the whole lot of it.

You think I'm bitter? Mostly, I tend to be philosophical about it. Shit like that happens. But yeah... I have to confess... sometimes I do get exceptionally bitter about it. I try not to, but I can't help it.

I was a good therapist. At the airport one day - and this isn't a breach of client confidentiality, because I won't name any names - a girl came in for a ten minute massage. It went fine, with nothing particularly exciting about it. She went away happy. The following day, she was returning through the airport and she returned to me. And everything was different. As I worked on her neck that second time, I realised there was something very different about how it felt. I explored it carefully and came to the conclusion that one of her vertebrae had rotated. Something that sounds dramatic, but is probably a lot more mundane than people might think. I mentioned it to her while I worked on the muscles surrounding it and gradually relaxed them. She told me she had fallen from a horse a long time ago and ever since, once of her vertebrae had a habit of shifting - and whenever it did, she got blinding, devastating migraines. Eventually it would shift back and the migraines would fade. While she spoke, I was fascinated to actually feel the muscles of her neck slowly pull it back into place as I relaxed them. I don't know if I worked on her early enough to prevent the migraines or if they were already on the way, but I was definitely on a high that day.

I still do work on people occasionally. But no longer as a career. Now, if I do too much massage in the space of a single day, it hurts me too much - it aggravates the whiplash.

So... anyway... back to the main topic of this particular instalment of my AS story.

About a fortnight ago, my dad asked me - point-blank - why I was still staying with him. I explained that it was because I couldn't afford to move out without a job. The income from the hen nights is lucrative, but too intermittent to be reliable and I had just gone through three months without a single contract. He accepted that grudgingly, but his comments over the following weeks have become more and more cutting. More and more barbed.

Then yesterday, my mum's dog growled at him. Molly - a beautiful and very intelligent dog - felt threatened by his attitude and warned him off. I won't describe how he was going to respond, but I will say that I stepped between them, saying - literally - "nonononono", then took Molly by her collar and led her away. At this point I was actually a bit scared that either Molly would bite me, or that he would turn his anger against me, but I sort of defused the situation. Sort of.

Today, he's been snubbing Molly all day. She's very confused and clearly doesn't know how to respond. She'll approach him and he'll snap at her and she'll back off, looking very bewildered. He says he no longer trusts her and admits no responsibility for his actions. And the mood has been bleak. For most of this evening, my mum, my dad and I have shared the living room and nobody has said anything at all. It's like - since he came home from work - he's brought this oppressive atmosphere with him and it's weighing us all down. He watched football on TV, my mum read a book, then went to the dining room to play games on her PC and I watched downloaded episodes of "Fringe" on my laptop with the headphones on. Grim.

Last weekend and the weekend before, I went through to my cousin's place for the weekend. Both times, on my way home, I wished I was going back to an empty flat rather than a home I shared with other people. Not merely because I'm anti-social (which I am) but because I wanted to go to a living space that was mine, rather than one I simply resided in.

My bedroom - the room I pay rent for - is shared with stuff that isn't mine, but which takes up half the available space. It's not somewhere I can go to relax. (Although it's been worse - when I was fifteen years old, my dad decided to build a trailer. He welded the frame together, then seemed to get bored of the job. For at least a year, that trailer was stored in my bedroom and I actually had to climb over it to get to and from my bed.)

I've set myself a deadline. I have to be out of this house by the end of March. Now, that's a realistic aim. In the first weekend of the month alone, I'll make enough money to at least pay the first month's rent on a place in the city centre. I just have to make sure I can make the deposit as well - and then find some way to get past the credit check. I'm approaching the people at the AS support centre to see if they can think of ways round that.

Sadly, even that's not good enough for my dad. He's become aware that if I lower my standards and accept a place in Craigmillar or Gracemount or Niddrie instead, then I'll get a place through the council almost immediately - and he's putting pressure on me to do that instead. Why hold out for a decent place when I can get a shit place tomorrow? That's his logic. And he's starting to wear me down.

If I accept the shit place, though... well, then I'm stuck with it. So fuck that. Right up the arse.

My shoulder is making rustling noises

I was in a car accident in February of 2009 that's left me with some lasting whiplash injuries.

Anyway, today, the latest attempt at treating the injuries had me in hospital, while a surgeon attempted to take care of some bits of calcification I've got going on in my supraspinatus muscle. I'll admit it... I wasn't happy while I was waiting for the treatment.

The surgeon used an ultrasound machine to check out the area first. He looked all over my shoulder, watched it on a screen, took some pictures and finally made a mark on my shoulder. Then he rubbed in some anaesthetising gel then gave me an injection to numb the area up even further. And then the part that I was most scared of - he went in with another needle and "stabbed" the calcium deposits with it. I was definitely pretty well numbed up, because apart from a couple of bits of referred pain, I felt nothing at all. There were some definite muscular twinges further down my arm and one was sharp enough that I couldn't help wincing and gasping at the shock of it. Apart from that, though, there was nothing at all at the source. In fact, if I couldn't see the screen out of the corner of my eye, then I wouldn't have known the needle was in at all. But I could see the straight line repeatedly stabbing at the deposits.

Since then, the anaesthetic has been wearing off gradually and I've felt the pain building. So far it's nothing I can't deal with, but there's a numb sensation spreading right up into the right side of my neck and even seems to be spreading out along the occipital ridge at the back of my head. So far, it's been more interesting than anything else, to chart the progress of these sensations.

The most interesting thing of all has been this distinct rustling noise. When I first heard it, I thought it sounded faintly like a paper bag and I wondered whether there was something in the cloth of my t-shirt making the noise. So I took the shirt off and flexed my shoulder, but the rustling noise was still there. So it's definitely coming from what the surgeon did to my shoulder this afternoon.

I'm not looking forward to the following weeks, because I've been promised a lot of pain and discomfort. But if it takes care of this whiplash, then some short-term misery will be worth it.