Friday, March 9, 2012

Odds and endings...

I broke my wife's big wooden spoon last night.
My wife wanted $5 to replace her spoon, and I am not to beat myself up with her things.Again on that last.
I honestly thought it was mine. I couldn't sleep without hitting myself with it repeatedly, as well as whacking myself in the head with a phonebook.
As to why I hit myself...long story...

My wife bonds through us doing things together.
The thing is I'd just rather curl up around my agony at home then have to go out in public and try to act normal...well...then again, past the age of 4 when have I ever acted normal...hmm...
Rephrase that:
I act ok enough to not (a) be victimized, or (b) have emergency services called on me on the spot.

Being ambiguously gendered and kinda...Christopher-Walkenish?  helps with the former, and cutting only on the nonvisible body parts helps with the latter.
At any rate:
I emailed my wife regarding going out together and said it was like she'd told someone with two broken femurs they needed to learn ballroom dancing to save their marriage.
But then I emailed her again...and told her I relinquish control.

 She can compel me to do...whatever she wants in terms of bonding activities that please her, the only stipulation being that she not ask me whether I want to, I won't lie.
I don't want to do anything anymore, not even watch a movie, I try to focus and...*bloop* I get restless, I lose focus, the pain resurfaces and it all just seems bloody pointless.
But it will make her feel connected, so I have to.
 This voluntary giving-up of the power to say no terrifies the living fuck out of me, because she...has no clue how to  take me somewhere and not trigger me.
All she has to do is raise her voice in a vehicle, really, that's such a powerful trigger that I told her I want to start riding in the back of the pickup, and I really, really resent she won't let me ride in the back because it bothers her!
I'd rather she strapped me to the fucking hood like a trophy buck than shout at me.

But...I think I've gotten to the point where either I force myself or someone forces me to...I dunno, not be an animate corpse anymore.
If I were any less lively, they'd have to put me in the morgue at my job.

Speaking of which.
Speaking of which.

I really want to die.
And no, my wife's not holding me here.
I get the feeling she does not truly need me the way I need her or understand what I am going through, that's why.
 When I remembered the first time dad raped me over the summer and was just...this ragged, gaping wound inside...she was working the night shift, so when I got home, got down on the floor and was rocking, shrieking until my voice went out...or sometimes it was my cuppy-chair, but you get the point.
She didn't get it when I told her how bad it was, and really I didn't feel safe telling her how bad it was she was really shocked when she saw what I was calling "a good cry."  Fetal position, age regression, screaming, shaking, rocking...that was every night for a couple of months this summer.

Squirrel still needs me.
He's still in a psych ward, still struggling. If I pull the trigger on myself I'm almost certainly doing so to him.
He's my anchor.
I'm what he has left...poor guy.
I told him I broke a wooden spoon on myself today, and he said "There's nothing I can say without being a hypocrite."
This last month he cut badly enough that, in his words, he was "leaking too much." So, having a needle and thread he handily sewed himself up again.
The psych people took away his needle and thread.
Guess they want him sutured by professionals then.
No, he's not doing so well either.
I told him I loved him, he told me he loved me, I teared up  That part is usual.

Hmm, think I need to curl up in the office chair.  Yeah, I'm putting on weight again, dammit. Fetal position in chair is becoming not so comfy.
I ought to force myself to bicycle when I go home tonight.  I really ought.

Today I saw the ospreys are back from wherever it is they winter.
I might go for a trespass down there, but that pair is too wary to let me get anywhere near close enough for my camera to take a good picture.
The willow tree is in bloom, and covered with bees. In about a month or so it will start putting out fuzz like the world's biggest dandelion.
The bird feeder I made last year has finally been discovered by a pair of cardinals. The feeder is literally leaning up against the window, and so the birds are right there.
The cats find this amazing
I am finding squashed little turtles on the road.  I keep thinking if I find a live one I might keep it-I'm pretty good with turtles...but then again, I already feed too many animals as it is.

I still need to get my motorcycle hauled to a shop and repaired.  Need to see about having that done, should see if I can schedule a wrecker on Friday or Saturday.

Wednesday, March 7, 2012

The hole weekend(s) (crosspost)

She tells me I jump all over her at the slightest thing.

She's right.
I feel like everything's some sort of challenge, some kind of attempt to dominate me.
I don't know why.

What I do know is that because she gets overwhelmed so easily, I feel constantly rejected by her.
She can't be touched unless she's prepared for it.
She can't be talked to easily without finding it "overwhelming."

I withdraw to protect myself pretty fast these days, I will admit.
She does not get very many chances to reject me before I reject her back.
At that point it hurts and angers me to even look at her, to be conscious and around her, because I am looking at the person whom I love, whom I crave attention from, and not getting it.

So I go to sleep.
Because I can't stand being available for her rejection.
This last weekend I went to sleep on Saturday evening, when she got flustered and shouted at me for telling her I was lonely and asking when she'd be ready to pay attention to me.
I had been waiting for an hour; my chest was beginning to hurt because I wanted to talk to her so d*mn bad.
So she got...well, not angry, but upset, and flustered, and said "Now you've upset me again! I have to start all over!"
This after I made a special effort to be calm and intellectual about stating my needs clearly and wanting a time she'd be available to meet those needs.
I said to myself "F*ck it!"
And went to bed.

She came in and woke me up after I was asleep...All I can remember her saying is "I'm reaching out to you here."
And I said "It's too late, I've already decided you don't get to reject me anymore today, I want you to leave me alone."

I pretty much did not stay out of bed for more that a couple of hours at a stretch until 2 pm Monday afternoon, when I had to get up and get ready for work.

I've had a month of weekends like this.

Asperger's vs PTSD episode 1

In the beginning...there was light. And it was on.
And it was on the porch.  At night.
It kept me from injuring myself in the dark when I walked up to the front door.
I saw that this was good.

Then my Aspie wife came along, and turned the d*mn thing out.

I kvetched mightily.
"There is clutter, wear, tear and much weariness of wood on the way to the front door," I proclaimed.
"Let the light be as a beacon to keep me from falling on my ass or stepping in the filth of many dogs who poop mightily all over the place."
And the woman was wroth, and she did spake" It's just annoying to leave a light on."
And I said "Nay, there must be a porch light. It is a safety issue."
And so there was much kvetching from the wife, who liked the dark just fine thank you very much.
And though she reluctantly agreed that the light must be left on...
There was much absentmindedness upon the person of the wife, such that she would turn the light off out of habit.

Many times did the turds cling to my shoes, and many times did I trip over things left randomly in the clutter-laden dark.
I complained, but she hardened her head and kept forgetting.
And I too hardened my head at her forgetting, for it made me most wroth.
Lo, I have removed the strike plate from over where the switches were, and have indeed concealed the switch from the eyes of men, beasts, and the aspie wife.
The switch is now in the on position and tucked carefully into the wall, with the strike plate screwed into place.

Let there be light.