Monkey Think Monkey Do

My two lifted up days on Prozac turned back into just...a day. Feel low, fretting about health (Is that arthritis? Gout? Chillblains? Let's go with chillblains) and swooping to worry about work. My note expires on 14th. 

I'd decided to stay off until then to give my mood to become stronger - my job requires a lot of mental resilience, which I didn't have a problem with when I started. Now I'm scared of being off that whole week. Scared to tell them I've become depressed/anxious when in my interview they asked how I handled stress. 

Not a lot can prepare you for the stress of this job unless you've done it before. And even then it's a battle.

So today I got the bus into the city (a nerve-wracking feat in itself) only to find the city was red and busy with Chinese New Year. Year of the Monkey. 

I've wanted to see it for years. But no emotional reaction. I had some Chicken McNuggets (I could live off these). No emotional reaction. I even reverted to an old compulsion that pops up when I feel really shitty and want to manufacture euphoria or excitement. 

I got another tattoo. 

Not impulsively. Compulsively. I've wanted this for awhile and have others planned and booked, but I felt I had to get this small one today to try to negate that crawling under my skin. A negation behaviour. That fear of the world. A safety behaviour. To me as natural as checking locks three times or being on NHS Choices daily. To check my bag when I get on the bus, during a journey and when I get off to make sure keys, purse, phone and bus pass have not been lost.

I can't stop doing these things. 

I know I'm obsessed with tattoos. And I do enjoy getting them, looking at them and laughing at the silly ones. I'm old. I don't believe every tattoo needs a deep, mystical meaning. A smile will do.

The blokes in the shop seemed as blank as I felt when I showed them the design. They wandered in and out whilst I had my ankle inked, talking about hangovers, Windows 10 and nipples. 

I barely felt the needle. I felt no excitement. That compulsive behaviour failed me today. But maybe the tattoo will make me laugh when I feel shitty.

Or I'll be on Tattoo Fixers next year.

Buzz Lightyear photo bombing like a boss

Camouflage Is The New Black

One of the things that I think 'Aspies' are often searching for is camouflage. "If I say this/watch this/do this/wear this then I'll blend in and no one will think I'm weird and maybe I'll make friends."

Maybe you're not like that. Maybe you are quite content not caring how others perceive you. On a good day that is me. On a more regular day, I wear eccentric (or rather, childlike-for-my-age) clothes and accessories because I was only recently diagnosed and as such have been 'passing' for over 30 years. Copying other people and not even being sure if I like the things I do.

I think like the cutely badass things I wear. The Baymax beanie, the watermelon earrings, but a true personality is not made up of tangible things. It's just fluff. I buy it and wear it, pathetically desperate for it to start a conversation and lead to a friendship. 

Maybe all this 'stuff' is why I still get ID'd - looking 24 at 31 is good, but the way I move, the way I dress is childlike and has been described by a colleague as 'endearing'...

I'm 31...

...seriously....

...I am...

...I mean, that's just a functional bag, right?

Okay, that's unicorn poop. I bought unicorn poop on etsy.

*face palm*

Plug plug plug...

Shameless plug...

Revolutions edited by Manchester Speculative Fiction Group. 

My story, 'Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want' is categorised in General Weirdness... "[...] defy classification and show prodigious imagination and storytelling skills."

Yeah, guess it means it doesn't fit into Horror/Sci-Fi/Dystopia/Fantasy/Comedy etc.

That's okay. I've been called Generally Weird since I was a little dot.

Click now...go on...

Prozac Placebo

Three weeks ago I came down with a viral infection of epic proportions. I swallowed all the painkillers I could legally get my hands on and went to work with my neck swollen to the point where it felt like my head was being crushed. By the Friday, I made it to the bus stop only to do a stop and start dance about turning back from home with an...uncomfortable stomach. 

Cue a weekend of severe stomach pain and cramps. I went to work on Friday, went home sick and saw the doctor who said I may have glandular fever as my glands and spleen was swollen and blood tests had to be done ASAP. Health anxiety goes nuclear. 

Over the next two weeks the fatigue gets worse and for some reason my mood spirals. I haven't spent every day hiding in bed crying for 5 years. Or wanting to launch myself from the railway bridge. Could it be leukemia? Liver disease? Would my workplace destroy me when I went back because we're 5 staff down and I left with work unfinished on my desk? 

I have my first ASC 1-1 and rate my Wellbeing at 3 or in my words: "shit". That was, coincidentally, my first word. She put me in touch with Spectrum E, a company who specialise in workplace support for people with ASC. I feel better talking to the lady, but ashamed. Will work detest me for having to make reasonable adjustments? Running deeper, I'm furious that I don't cope the same way as other people and need adjustments to work well. Flip it, I get good feedback. My contract was extended.

I live in fear that I will never fully integrate with other people, what my ASC worker keeps calling 'neurotypicals'. Will I ever have friends I see offline? Will I ever 'do' small talk or care about their weekends, their social lives or the things they say worry them? 

Some of this comes out in verbal fits and starts to the doctor. She's put me on Prozac. This is the first day. I know it takes weeks to work, I know I am high risk for dangerous behaviour with a number of Sections in my past, but here's the odd thing. Today's the first time I haven't cried. The first time I haven't felt awful and feel so low it feels like it's physically crushing my limbs, but conversely when I walk that half of my body is missing. 

I want to go back to work. I'm told I'm good. 'Professional', 'Capable', 'Reliable', 'Hardworking'. But I know I can be better. I admit I am frightened. Even though they know my diagnosis, I fear being found out for what I am. A 31 year old child who pulls out her hair when upset or cries when the washing machine is up. But, if Prozac helps me hide, then good. I don't want them to know what it really looks like. What daily life is like.


It can only be a placebo effect, but it's a very effective one.