Relationships. Gulp. THAT sort.

I’ve been avoiding discussing my past romantic relationships because it does not read pretty and it makes me look like a pathetic, sad desperado with piss poor taste. I don’t want to see myself that way, but maybe it is time I womaned up to my past. Being like I am is getting me nowhere.

My last boyfriend was 4 years ago. A Chilean guy I knew from the gym. He was attentive, unusual and, at first, fun. Before too long, I was being kicked in the stomach for what he thought was sighing after a man seated at a restaurant. Then it degraded into him bashing me at 1am when we went camping. I was terrified of him. He threatened my family if I went to the police. My kids had very little to do with him.

I was nothing to him, obviously. It ended with me swallowing a LOT of panadols and downing them with 1lt vodka and a bottle of Shiraz. He hit my head on the concrete to stop me. I was bloodied and bruised for 10 days after. Miraculously, I found organ memory and my body just expelled the lot. My liver was having no more toxicity, it seemed! I left his house the next morning and left it at that.

I was contacted 18 mths ago by a woman my age asking I go to court as a witness. Apparently she ended up charging this guy with assault. No thanks. She had not bothered with me in the time it was good, so don’t bother when a scape goat is needed.

My ex before that was the kids’ dad. I think I was the strange Western trophy wife. But he hated me. I wasn’t pretty enough, feminine enough, wealthy enough, loving enough and didn’t suppress my independence enough. He got annoyed at me enough to want to hit me. I had enough and demanded he leave. I was tired of contorting myself into what he wanted. Better he go and find what he wanted – which he never has… Just ended up with more women who disappointed him.

I never understand why men want to hit me, scream at me, argue with me, tell me I am never (fill the gap) enough. Why be with me at all and tell me they want a future with me, only to keep telling me how deficient I am.

I envy women who get told they are beautiful, have partners who do not hurt them verbally and/or physically, are loved for who they are and have a partner who wants to invest in them. It breaks my heart into shattered pieces to know some women do not value the partners they have, over some pathetic transgression or minor flaw.

My first boyfriend constantly lied, got me pregnant, refused to help in any way during the abortion and was a down right arsehole. I met up with his sister 3 years ago. She felt ashamed to tell me he had become an arrogant banker who abused everyone. So, it wasn’t just me…

My ex husband was fun; so much like a brother. We had some brilliant times, but sex was non existent. We just didn’t find each other attractive sexually. Then, I found child pornography on his PC. That ended quickly.

My second boyfriend was Italian. He came from a loving family. His parents despised me. I was not everything enough. It was not hard to walk away. A sweet guy, but never defended me at all. It was definitely more effort from my side than his. He never understood me, though he was a deeply introverted graphic designer by day, bass player by night.

Between these five, I’ve had flings. Always with guys who were attached, unavailable or nothing more than a passing curiosity.

I suppose I am seeking male approval all the time. Respect, admiration, care, consideration, kindness, perhaps even love from one. To prove to myself there is nothing inherently wrong with me. Surely not all men hate me and want to hurt me for me being me…? Or do they?

I am too scared to find out. As much as I would love to share intimacy with a male, I am terrified I will be treated to more disdain, hatred and dislike. It seems too risky and my mind cannot take more of being told how lacking I am.

I don’t want more sexual encounters. I’m not sure I even know what healthy relationships look like, sound like, feel like. But it is the only sort I could ever consider any more. I sure as heck do not need a man, though.

It bamboozles my mind to know all sorts of people find partners. Yet I am left on the shelf, never picked. I had to pursue all these men.

It is easier to close my mind, heart and body off to it all. No more hurt, no more degrading comments, no more burst heart.

See? It isn’t the story of a lovely woman. It is a painfully thorny tale, embarrassing and full of shame. I have kept bits out because they would make this post about 3000 word long, and I cannot add to my own heavy heart.

I really crave male friendships. Platonic mateships. Why is it so hard?


Time to seek help.

There comes a time when I know I need external help. The time is now. Things have built up so much that I am becoming a bundle of nerves and anxious energy.

I know I cannot point fingers at anyone but myself. My capacity to cope is next to zilch.

I will be seeing a autism psychologist next month. It was meant to be this month, but she is expensive, so I had to delay it a bit. I really hope she’ll be able to untangle the mess I’ve become. She has 30 years of experience in dealing with autistic adults.

There is no way I can expect work to provide me with any assistance with support. None has been forth coming in the last 21 months, so hoping now is futile. There has never been any acknowledgement I have a tougher gig as a female, so an invisible disability won’t mean a thing.

As always, it is up to me to find ways to fit myself into the mould. If I can’t, I’ll have to find other work. Yet again.

I feel like the last 3 years have been an exercise in how to humble myself for crumbs. I think I do have to admit I am out of my depth. I am no natural mechanic and pretending I am is killing me.

Life is awfully confusing right now. All this might be something else manifested into general confusion.

At least I am not like the bigger mess I was last week.

So weird! Me too!

One of the most fascinating parts of this autistic self discovery journey is the finding of others just like me. I thank all this technology for bringing them to me. It is a blessing.

Anyway, what throws me is how much I relate to others with high functioning autism/Asperger’s. I read their life histories and nod my head at complete understanding of every sentence. I am a little envious of those who did not mask as much and felt freer to explore their real selves more, but it gives me a sense of hope too.

I watched a 30 min documentary on Chris Packham, a tv star in the UK. What a man. Truly. Brother from another mother. I could feel his emotions and energy through the screen. I know, intimately, what he is about. This is the meeting of souls I yearn for.

The problem is how to get such people to unite and socialise. Or at least meet. I want brothers and sisters like me. To talk the way I love to talk. Random, unhinged, free range. Ideas flowing, unlinked or linked, no topic taboo. Uni was great for meeting great minds that had unlimited expansion, but I am no longer there and there are too few left at unis who wish to learn for the sheer pleasure.

Other than one person at work, there is a complete desert of anything deeper and intelligent than their penises. Bless their woollen socks, precious boys they are! I just need more. I cannot starve my brain any more. It needs a pasture without limits.

In a way, I also feel the extraordinary, unending depth of sadness others write and speak about. We are all seeking a world that gives unfenced horizons, where 1984 is just a funny fiction and Animal Farm is literally about animals on a farm.

If you are reading this, there is a strong chance your soul understands. You know what I am talking about. Your bones ache with the need for freedom and our society has these light weight, yet incredibly strong bands around our limbs and our jaws are wired to shut us up. All this week, I’ve been seeking balance – which is simply a return to my compliant bands.

Mr Packham, watching you speak so freely about who you are, what you are, has helped me immensely. You have helped my soul reclaim its strength to return to my path. No amount of thumb pressing to keep me down will stop me. I don’t want you chained either.

What hurts is witnessing the starchy few souls at work, who I KNOW have more in them. In some ways, I feel more for men. Especially those socialised to be burly men, or family representatives of normality. I want to take them to a field and make them take a drug to unleash what lies inside. I see they are caught in the binds woven around them. They hate me for making them feel there is something more. But there is! Sadly, they will never know and will destroy me long before their cement exterior cracks.

I cannot save anyone but myself. You are out there and you provide me, generously, with hope. Hope that I will still have a day on earth where I will luxuriate in utter freedom. Nothing illegal, maybe illicit to some, but simple things that express what lies within. My heart bursts at the idea. I have seen you all with that hope too.

Yay for you being like me, and for me being like you. Thank YOU for putting your voice out there. We do find each other. Who’s up for a party?

Coming down with a thud.

You know, sometimes the only way I can stop is by crashing. It was a real problem after I did my first body building comp. I had 4 weeks between comp 1 and 2. I lost 4 kg in that time. Valuable muscle. My trainer had no idea how to roll me to a stop. I literally crashed after comp 2 and my adrenaline finally calmed down.

That is this week. I made it to Saturday afternoon. Almost. Still got to take Mother shopping, but after that…Hello bed! My adrenaline has a life of its own. Once it winds up, I am powerless to stop it. I have to ride out the energy. It means the next two weeks are going to be hideous.

I get quite emotional and see saw between elation and deep depression. While I oscillate and seek balance, I pick things up and put them down, half listen to people and day dream more than usual. My patience is stretched to its max and I thunder at the drop of a hat. Not like me. I become hugely intolerant of most things and I scramble to reduce personal damage.

Those around me love my frankness during this time. I am a little unhinged with what I say; I appear drunk. I feel drunk actually. I don’t watch what I say and I break into dance whilst my energy is high.

Please let this week end. Worst emotional roller coaster I’ve had since I split with the father of my boys. Truly hideous week for my frayed adrenal state.

Spiritual nourishment

I know the current trend for lists is boring and over done, but they help me keep my inner closet clean. And this weekend is all about rectifying a week filled with excess adrenaline, disappointments daily and realising I  am searching for things that probably don’t exist. So, my list of what currently gives spiritual nourishment.

* Watching documentaries about capitalism/socialism/social change/critique of economic neo liberalism.

* reading anything by Naomi Klein

* going into Readings and copping an eye full of Modern Japanese architecture/anything Bauhaus/European fashion from 1920-1999

* watching Monkey dvds

* listening to The Red Army Choir/Palestinian Liberation Army songs

* looking at pictures of Soviet health sanitariums/spas from 1940-1985

* looking at the scarves at Salvatore Ferragamo store

* obligatory day dreaming

* not being at the gym this week

*making mugs with photoshopped photos as good bye gifts for the people leaving work

* laughing at my own humour

* listening to Paul’s Boutique on loop

* hugging my boys

* thinking of how amazing my dear friends are


What brings you spiritual nourishment? Share your joys.

The classic emptiness after accolades

So, last night, I received an award for being top apprentice in my field. I didn’t get the Apprentice of the Year, which was fine. I was pretty stoked getting what I did. I got two prizes, yadda yadda…

I feel so empty. Really devoid of anything meaningful inside. The award was given as an encouragement, which is nice, but I had to go back to work today with none but five people knowing about it. It has been hushed up. I don’t know why. All I can tell you is that I feel so empty. Truly.

I am not sure what is real any more. My award has no impact on my daily life whatsoever. I am under no illusions it would, but it hurts; the whole thing.

No one from work offered me a lift, though the three had use of company cars for the night. Luckily, my first Tafe teacher kindly offered me a lift last minute.

It feels, to be honest, like a huge incongruity between work life and the rest of my life.

All I want is a place to call home. To be welcomed and appreciated for who I am and what I bring. Forget awards and prizes, forget pay rises, forget glory. My heart years for my home. I can do any job, and I don’t really care what I do; I just want my place in the world.

I keep being not accepted. No one accepts me, other than 4 people, who are scattered over the world. Why aren’t we all in one place? I look for acceptance in places where I get nothing but crumbs. I can’t take it any more. NOTHING I DO WILL EVER MAKE ME OK IN THEIR EYES. I’ll probably kill myself trying. For crumbs.

I want to cry. Nothing hurts as much as not being accepted where one feels one fits. I am happy in my overalls and boots, playing with oils and bolts. I love male energy; it is where I am at. But they don’t see me the same. They really don’t want me.

Where do I go?

Things I hate.

Yeah, back again. Not terribly much to say. Getting a bit groundhog day, I guess. But for entertainment’s sake, here’s a list of things I truly hate.

* my step father – he counts as a thing. Just.

* Nescafe – hideous excuse for coffee. I should be honest and state ‘instant coffee’. That whole lot is just rife.

* margarine – just eat butter, ok?

* Fox fm – Rhiana’s voice schreeching, Ed Sheeran’s moanings, inane conversations… need I say more?

* Ford Territory – these vehicles make NO sense. They have no more room than other cars, are not 4wd and are too big for city car parks.

* foundation – what? Isn’t your real skin enough? Why clog pores with a petroleum by product?

* Twisties – if you are gonna waste calories eating cheesy, salty things, go get a pizza. It tastes better, has some protein and vitamins and keeps a local in a job.

* La Vie Est Belle – I do not fathom this perfume, or it’s bottle, or the marketing, or the box at all. At all. A vague sweet iris. It hurts my brain on every level.

* Foxtel – gobshite on tv. Used to be great in the mid 90s. Now? I’m better off watching Jordan B Petersen. Tragic, but true.

* durian – like trying to eat a wet nappy. Just don’t.

* pills – I have to be on death’s door to take pills. Did you know Panadol overdose can kill? I strongly suggest you do not try it. Unless you actually die. Detox over the next week isn’t enjoyable.

* lies – not things per se, but they are second on my hate list, after step father. Don’t lie to me. Simple.

* yellow – stupid colour. Unless it is the sun or flowers, nothing should be yellow. Loathesome colour.

* AFL – Aussie football. Horrid in everyway. Everything about it is cringy and pointless.

* clothes around my neck. Itchy, stiffling, suffocating, annoying.

* skirts, dresses – I wear them approximately three times a year. If I am pushed. Unless it is a rocking vintage dress. Then I will force myself to wear it. Cos it is cool.

* new phones – must relearn everything and that is PAINFUL.

* tassels and dangling stuff – annoying, floppy, unpredictable.