There are many thoughts that compete for space in my head when I'm reminded of sex, touch, more-than-platonic affection... When I see couples in the park, or they could be friends for all I know, like a young woman on her stomach, another above her giving a massage. An even younger man, with more than a touch of boy in his face and a sigarette, and a tough haircut, a woman or girl his own age inching closer. When I see someone in a really nice dress, covering what seems to be a nice body, waiting for someone else. Or to the other end of the scale, the grand stuff – a TV show where someone acts out of love, sacrifices and is renewed for love. Where lovers have each other's back.
There's the thought that my life, both internal and external, has changed so much that in not too long, I could be able to take part in things like that again. Hanging in parks-things, if not the grand gestures. Or kissing. Then the other thought that maybe I won't, because behind each thing I've fixed so far, there has been new obstacles, and new ones behind those, on and on. And I think how for a while, I did go around doing those things. In so unhealthful ways, ways that couldn't go on. But there were flirtations... some of those nice thrills... moments of more-than-platonic affection... But it's so very long ago. And even I do meet someone tomorrow, who's to say it won't be the only time for yet another eight-year period?
Unlikely. The final thought to enter is that having a kiss, or a touch, or an orgasm with someone is not a very well defined goal, the goal must be to live a life where such things crop up once in a while. The goal is the have abilities (internal), habits (external) where I come into contact with people, where I can be good to the people I know
... the thought of "it's been so long, and who knows how much longer" intrudes, and is explicitly about sex now, and maybe it's not so bad after all? It's not that they are foreign to me, all those thoughts, they are me. Sexual frustration is a common feeling, sadness and longing are common feelings, they belong to me too. As does hope, and looking forward, and meticulously working to change. Maybe the life I want is really a life where all those things belong, where they don't have to compete for space.
And maybe people to share them with, occasionally.
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Viser innlegg med etiketten waiting. Vis alle innlegg
onsdag 10. juni 2015
tirsdag 3. juni 2014
More about Hirundo
I have reached a turning point in my life, and I have remained there ever since. Or rather, there have been several turning points. There was the one in 2011, but the one I refer to happened back in 2007. And then there were the turning points of 2005, 1998, 1995, and 1984. They are mostly about how well I do with the people around me, how well I do with practical stuff, how well I like myself. They are probably a bit about growing up with undiagnosed Asperger's syndrome as well. Maybe I ought to call them milestones instead – but no, they are turning points, they did turn everything around for worse, or better, or both. The one I have remained in, the one in 2007, was one of the good ones.
In 1984 I was moved to a new kindergarten, one closer to where my mother worked. I was five at the time. The first day, I got into some sort of argument, and became angry in a very expressive way. Or at least, I remember it as the first day… there has probably been some editing since. I may have been that angry before, I may have had problems in the old kindergarten as well, but in my memory, that was the start of a ten-year period where I was publicly, expressively angry almost every day. (By expressively angry, I mostly mean yelling, screaming, complaining. Sometimes throwing things.)
At the time, I felt strongly that almost everyone was against me, that provoking me into anger was everybody's dearest hobby. I take a more nuanced view today. Now first, everybody was certainly not against me. I had a group of friends that took good care of me, and looking back I have just as many fond childhood memories as painful ones. Second, while some people did enjoy getting a rise out of me, and did so whenever they could, many just happened to say the wrong thing. I would easily misattribute people's intentions, and I was on high alert for any insult or humiliation, self-fulfillingly believing that conflict was people's normal way of interacting with me.
There is a lot to say about my childhood, and if I keep writing about myself I am likely to return to it. Right now, the main point is that there was a lot of conflict, I was on high alert for most of the time, and I can still slip into that mind-set on occasion.
In 1995 I went to school carrying a board I had made myself with the text "this is not a desperate cry for attention". I carried it around the entire day, and then never picked it up again. This was met with a lot of concern from the teachers of my school, but it was very well received by the other students. The students took it as it was intended: A rather sophisticated joke.
This stunt was the culmination of a change I had been going through for probably a year, a year and a half, getting more confident, discovering more of an identity. I had decided to become a more spontaneous person, and then gone on very systematically about it. The idea was that if I kept doing strange things that popped into my mind, I would sooner or later get into the habit. So I kept doing that for the next five years.
This version of me may sound as a rather annoying person to be around, and maybe I was, but I also found out that I got a lot accepted by people that way. I have a theory as to why. I don't pick up on all the information I need to make my interactions with people go smoothly, but the friction is so subtle that it's not immediately obvious to people. When I act in a more obviously eccentric way, it drowns out that sense of dissonance. People know what they can expect from me, and they can correct for it.
I didn't have any of those ideas back then, I just learned that for some reason, this way of being worked better.
For the next three or four years, I became very creative, very productive. I got along with people, I established some long-lasting friendships, I had a lot of writing projects, and I founded a science fiction fan club at my school that is still doing well today. There was some movement in my love life.
After this good period, the beginning of 1998 marked the beginning of some really bad years. I stopped being creative and productive, found myself unable to write, I was anxious, and depressed, and angry, mostly angry. Angry at things in general for not making any sense. Angry at people for not making sense. Angry that no one could reach inside my head and help me make sense of things. I am not going to say much about those years, only that I wasn't a very good person. As for what set it off, well, for one thing, I was finishing school, and that meant a lot of things changing at the same time. I had little mental resources to deal with this change, having spent so much of myself in the years before. And my eccentric persona stopped working for me. I took it too far, and it did became annoying then, rather than endearing.
After the really bad years came a long run of just not very good years. In 2001, I decided I wanted to study clinical psychology – not so much to solve my own problems, as to make some use of the introspective habits I had developed. The idea was that the methods I used to make sense of myself might also be helpful to others. I spent two years on the introductory program, to get good enough grades for the clinical program, and once I got in, I did fairly well. The first half of the program was about theory, research, method, and I liked those things.
In 2005 I was part of a popular, Norwegian reality show. It was a rather nice one. It was about collaboration, not conflict; about challenge and mastery, not humiliation. There was on on-screen conflict. No one was ever voted out. The idea was to take a group of geeks and try to make them into a football team. (Or maybe nerds, we don't really use that distinction in Norway; the definition was "someone with an intense interest in really anything at all," and we ranged from autograph collectors and passionate musicians to gamers and science fiction fans.) I was one of the worst football players and one of the most popular characters. My eccentric persona was working for me again.
I don’t know if this is really a turning point or not. It did have an impact on my life, and on the events that followed. Being recognized by everybody, interviewed in every kind of media, paid to appear around the country, all those things were fun, but also exhausting. Especially the bit about being recognized. People would shout my name or the name of the show as I walked by, would approach me, some in a nice way, some more testosteronically, and in my head it became much too similar to when I was a child, people flocking around me, waiting for a display of my personality.
Then 2007. I went into the practical section of my studies, and after a week I had to leave the clinical program. As soon as I actually got to interact with clients, it became clear that I wasn't suited as a therapist at all. I acted nervously all the time, made some poor decisions behind the scenes, and everything was just confusing and overwhelming. All this didn't come as a complete shock, there had been some worries about my behavior the year before, after some role-played therapy sessions I had done with my classmates. It didn't take long, though, before I recognized this as a good thing. That week in practice hadn't been very enjoyable at all, and after just a few hours, grief was replaced with relief. Now I could do the things I wanted to do instead.
I was moved within the psychology department the to the non-clinical Master's program, became very delayed with my thesis, and didn't get my degree until the end of 2013. I also went into therapy for myself, not for the first time, but for the first time I understood that there had to be some larger, underlying cause to all of my others problems.
In 2011, I was diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome. I had suspected for a while, but after the diagnostic interview, as I got the diagnosis confirmed, it felt as if I had passed a high-stakes test. It provided me with a personal identity, a cue to re-organize my life around needs I never really knew I had, and a code-word that gave me extended rights within the Norwegian welfare system. And that's how I have spent my time since then: Living on welfare, re-organizing my life, getting comfortable with my new identity. And finished my master's thesis at a slow pace.
And now, that it is finished… I know with myself that I am still at that turning point from 2007, whatever that means. Since 2007, I have been mostly waiting for things to fall into place, and while many of them have, I still take very little initiative. I'm done with my studies, but I'm still waiting for counselling to work out what sort of jobs I am suited for. (If I had only been good with computers, things would have been easier, but I'm not one of those autistics.) I'm still waiting for the courage to move out from my mother's apartment. I have improved my interpersonal skills, but I still don't have the initiative to get a more active social life. Outside my immediate family I have three or four friends that I get together with three or four times a year each. When it comes to physical intimacy, my only partner since even a bit before 2007 has been myself. Although I am a rather good lover to myself, if I get to say so myself.
When I look back over the past seven years, it's as if very little time has passed. Oh! when they finished Battlestar Galactica, was that really so long ago? The role-playing game of Itras by that I published together with a friend, has it been out for six years? That writing class I took, can that have been back in 2008? The teenagers that still recognize me from when I was on TV, were those kids even born at that time? And my father… who moved to Spain in 2007 and passed away there three years later… Is it really seven years since the last time I met him on the street as he was walking his dog? I have spent all that time waiting.
And… it has been necessary, and good for me. But waiting has become so much of a habit, and I am not sure if I remember how not to, how to do things. No, I am doing things with myself, but they are almost all internal. Pondering this or that social skill. Trying to learn by reading. I am growing a bit impatient now. There was always moments of impatience, flashes of frustration. But I did have that thesis to finish…
I have organized this brief autobiography into a series of stages, to give a bit of background for this attempt at an autobiographical blog – and to sum up the state of things – and, as always, because I enjoy talking about myself. Where the blog goes on from here is a bit more uncertain, as is the unfolding plot of my autobiography, as I will be reaching for the next turning point without really knowing how, as I will try to get out of the habit of waiting.
In 1984 I was moved to a new kindergarten, one closer to where my mother worked. I was five at the time. The first day, I got into some sort of argument, and became angry in a very expressive way. Or at least, I remember it as the first day… there has probably been some editing since. I may have been that angry before, I may have had problems in the old kindergarten as well, but in my memory, that was the start of a ten-year period where I was publicly, expressively angry almost every day. (By expressively angry, I mostly mean yelling, screaming, complaining. Sometimes throwing things.)
At the time, I felt strongly that almost everyone was against me, that provoking me into anger was everybody's dearest hobby. I take a more nuanced view today. Now first, everybody was certainly not against me. I had a group of friends that took good care of me, and looking back I have just as many fond childhood memories as painful ones. Second, while some people did enjoy getting a rise out of me, and did so whenever they could, many just happened to say the wrong thing. I would easily misattribute people's intentions, and I was on high alert for any insult or humiliation, self-fulfillingly believing that conflict was people's normal way of interacting with me.
There is a lot to say about my childhood, and if I keep writing about myself I am likely to return to it. Right now, the main point is that there was a lot of conflict, I was on high alert for most of the time, and I can still slip into that mind-set on occasion.
In 1995 I went to school carrying a board I had made myself with the text "this is not a desperate cry for attention". I carried it around the entire day, and then never picked it up again. This was met with a lot of concern from the teachers of my school, but it was very well received by the other students. The students took it as it was intended: A rather sophisticated joke.
This stunt was the culmination of a change I had been going through for probably a year, a year and a half, getting more confident, discovering more of an identity. I had decided to become a more spontaneous person, and then gone on very systematically about it. The idea was that if I kept doing strange things that popped into my mind, I would sooner or later get into the habit. So I kept doing that for the next five years.
This version of me may sound as a rather annoying person to be around, and maybe I was, but I also found out that I got a lot accepted by people that way. I have a theory as to why. I don't pick up on all the information I need to make my interactions with people go smoothly, but the friction is so subtle that it's not immediately obvious to people. When I act in a more obviously eccentric way, it drowns out that sense of dissonance. People know what they can expect from me, and they can correct for it.
I didn't have any of those ideas back then, I just learned that for some reason, this way of being worked better.
For the next three or four years, I became very creative, very productive. I got along with people, I established some long-lasting friendships, I had a lot of writing projects, and I founded a science fiction fan club at my school that is still doing well today. There was some movement in my love life.
After this good period, the beginning of 1998 marked the beginning of some really bad years. I stopped being creative and productive, found myself unable to write, I was anxious, and depressed, and angry, mostly angry. Angry at things in general for not making any sense. Angry at people for not making sense. Angry that no one could reach inside my head and help me make sense of things. I am not going to say much about those years, only that I wasn't a very good person. As for what set it off, well, for one thing, I was finishing school, and that meant a lot of things changing at the same time. I had little mental resources to deal with this change, having spent so much of myself in the years before. And my eccentric persona stopped working for me. I took it too far, and it did became annoying then, rather than endearing.
After the really bad years came a long run of just not very good years. In 2001, I decided I wanted to study clinical psychology – not so much to solve my own problems, as to make some use of the introspective habits I had developed. The idea was that the methods I used to make sense of myself might also be helpful to others. I spent two years on the introductory program, to get good enough grades for the clinical program, and once I got in, I did fairly well. The first half of the program was about theory, research, method, and I liked those things.
In 2005 I was part of a popular, Norwegian reality show. It was a rather nice one. It was about collaboration, not conflict; about challenge and mastery, not humiliation. There was on on-screen conflict. No one was ever voted out. The idea was to take a group of geeks and try to make them into a football team. (Or maybe nerds, we don't really use that distinction in Norway; the definition was "someone with an intense interest in really anything at all," and we ranged from autograph collectors and passionate musicians to gamers and science fiction fans.) I was one of the worst football players and one of the most popular characters. My eccentric persona was working for me again.
I don’t know if this is really a turning point or not. It did have an impact on my life, and on the events that followed. Being recognized by everybody, interviewed in every kind of media, paid to appear around the country, all those things were fun, but also exhausting. Especially the bit about being recognized. People would shout my name or the name of the show as I walked by, would approach me, some in a nice way, some more testosteronically, and in my head it became much too similar to when I was a child, people flocking around me, waiting for a display of my personality.
Then 2007. I went into the practical section of my studies, and after a week I had to leave the clinical program. As soon as I actually got to interact with clients, it became clear that I wasn't suited as a therapist at all. I acted nervously all the time, made some poor decisions behind the scenes, and everything was just confusing and overwhelming. All this didn't come as a complete shock, there had been some worries about my behavior the year before, after some role-played therapy sessions I had done with my classmates. It didn't take long, though, before I recognized this as a good thing. That week in practice hadn't been very enjoyable at all, and after just a few hours, grief was replaced with relief. Now I could do the things I wanted to do instead.
I was moved within the psychology department the to the non-clinical Master's program, became very delayed with my thesis, and didn't get my degree until the end of 2013. I also went into therapy for myself, not for the first time, but for the first time I understood that there had to be some larger, underlying cause to all of my others problems.
In 2011, I was diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome. I had suspected for a while, but after the diagnostic interview, as I got the diagnosis confirmed, it felt as if I had passed a high-stakes test. It provided me with a personal identity, a cue to re-organize my life around needs I never really knew I had, and a code-word that gave me extended rights within the Norwegian welfare system. And that's how I have spent my time since then: Living on welfare, re-organizing my life, getting comfortable with my new identity. And finished my master's thesis at a slow pace.
And now, that it is finished… I know with myself that I am still at that turning point from 2007, whatever that means. Since 2007, I have been mostly waiting for things to fall into place, and while many of them have, I still take very little initiative. I'm done with my studies, but I'm still waiting for counselling to work out what sort of jobs I am suited for. (If I had only been good with computers, things would have been easier, but I'm not one of those autistics.) I'm still waiting for the courage to move out from my mother's apartment. I have improved my interpersonal skills, but I still don't have the initiative to get a more active social life. Outside my immediate family I have three or four friends that I get together with three or four times a year each. When it comes to physical intimacy, my only partner since even a bit before 2007 has been myself. Although I am a rather good lover to myself, if I get to say so myself.
When I look back over the past seven years, it's as if very little time has passed. Oh! when they finished Battlestar Galactica, was that really so long ago? The role-playing game of Itras by that I published together with a friend, has it been out for six years? That writing class I took, can that have been back in 2008? The teenagers that still recognize me from when I was on TV, were those kids even born at that time? And my father… who moved to Spain in 2007 and passed away there three years later… Is it really seven years since the last time I met him on the street as he was walking his dog? I have spent all that time waiting.
And… it has been necessary, and good for me. But waiting has become so much of a habit, and I am not sure if I remember how not to, how to do things. No, I am doing things with myself, but they are almost all internal. Pondering this or that social skill. Trying to learn by reading. I am growing a bit impatient now. There was always moments of impatience, flashes of frustration. But I did have that thesis to finish…
I have organized this brief autobiography into a series of stages, to give a bit of background for this attempt at an autobiographical blog – and to sum up the state of things – and, as always, because I enjoy talking about myself. Where the blog goes on from here is a bit more uncertain, as is the unfolding plot of my autobiography, as I will be reaching for the next turning point without really knowing how, as I will try to get out of the habit of waiting.
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