I Am Made Of Mercury

Three things have happened recently that I believe have exacerbated my signs of autism and unfortunately made passing something a lot more difficult to achieve. People have now noticed something is 'up'. 

I will try to keep this as brief as I can. But I can't promise.

There was an instance during training connected to work whereby a facilitator made what I felt to be a discriminatory remark towards people with autism and other developmental differences. As a result, I got agitated and left the training to avoid a meltdown, but did return for the further two days training. Someone else brought this to my line manager and I had to write up, in detail, what had happened and disclose my difficulties and my autism. I am still waiting for an outcome from this three months later. This worries me. Who/how many people have seen or scrutinised private and personal information about me?

I decided to come off my Prozac after I was sedated to the point of wanting to go to sleep on the train platforms on the way to work, sleeping standing up and contemplating walking into traffic. I also noted my 14lb weight gain since going on Prozac.

So I ceased it and after an initial week of energy and euphoria, I was back to crying in public, at work, and rapidly lost my filter so that I saw connections to all pieces of information that I absorbed. 

Then I went out on a social night, for the very first time, with some girls I had never met before. The PG Girls were welcoming, funny, gorgeous and yet I broke over five years of sobriety (bar the odd drink every few months) by drinking solidly for nine hours so that I could do social. 

I then did something very very stupid. 

I was wearing a ring and I had taken it off and put it in my pocket for safekeeping as I was going to be crashing on a bed in the house of the one of the PG Girls who had kindly let me stay with the others at 5am. I vaguely remembering admiring a chunky black ring at some point that I saw in a kitchen. This too went in my pocket for safekeeping. Unfortunately, what I did not remember at the time, but later discovered when the girl messaged in a panic, was that this was her partner's engagement ring.

I immediately stated that I had drunkenly walked off with it and was very sorry and would return it ASAP, which I did. Along with a card and some limited edition Garbage Pail Kids stickers. 

Now, here's where it actually relates to autism.

To my mind, which has only 5% Theory of Mind (1/20 on the test), there was no longer a problem. I had explained where the ring was, apologised for a drunken walk-off and the very real fail in judgement by getting that drunk (even recognising that it was a very bad impression of myself to give) and then returned it ASAP with a card of apology. 

This girl has, of course, expressed her anger at my being trusted to stay in her house as a new person who then walked off with something of high value. I was distraught because this time I did understand what she meant and for the first time, I realised that I couldn't solve a social fuck-up this large with an apology or a practicality. The girl asked for time before she could trust me or even see me socially. She asked that I did not attend lunch with the rest of them because of this.

I then realised that I have never made friends with anyone outside of a structured environment. My friends have always arisen firstly from being around people for long periods in a stable construct. School. University classes. Shared hosues. Work places. But never befriended new people in bars and clubs. And when I was added to The PG Girls chatty Facebook group, I saw keenly how they interacted. How well they knew each other. Had jokes about Disney, knew of each other's food dislikes, children's birthdays, type of dogs they have. 

This may sound sad, but I tried to fit in by buying the things they liked. I ordered Killstar clothes I will probably look terrible in, a 'Unicorn Tears' shade of lipstick that is supposedly sold out everywhere and told them of new piercings I wanted. I do actually want these things, but now I question my motives. Is it for me or to fit in with a new crowd? 

This must be made clear. I don't mean to make them sound shallow. They're not. They're lovely, caring, fun-loving and want to look pretty and badass. 

I'm a tomboy. I always have been. I wear baggy jeans and most days just wear foundation for make-up. I like hoodies, not corsets. I don't do heels. I won't fit in with The PG Girls unless I can accept that I should just be me and stop trying to pass in a new way. They're smart enough to see through that eventually.

So what now?

I'm back on Prozac and tired and numb. My workplace support has been approved after four months though now apparently my probation must be extended, despite my work being described as 'exemplary'. I have learnt not to go to certain staff when I'm struggling because only now have they admitted that they know virtually nothing about autism and I feel that's underhand to state that you 'understand' when you later state that you actually don't know what a meltdown is.

And I'm pulling away from The PG Girls, because even though I think they're great and I'd love them to be my friends, I'm no good at starting new friendships and it's no good trying to break into an established group. I'm better on the fringes. It's chilly here, but at least I know where the line is.

The Night We Did and Didn't Have

Last night we had tickets to go to Antwerp Mansion in Rusholme for a "Regression Session" pop-up nightclub.

We did study the event's Facebook page carefully and looked at the profile pictures of people who stated they were Going. All 447 of them. We decided that they were young, sexy club bunnies and everyone appeared 10 years younger than us with better make-up and less body fat.

We did analyse the situation, score our moods, do a Pros and Cons list of going, discuss travel arrangements, if we would or wouldn't like it, how much an Uber would cost at 3am and if our Prozac doses were correct...for a fucking HOUR AND A HALF.

We did reach a decision and changed the plan.

We did not go here:

We did not partake in this:

We did go here:

The local (and only) "rock" pub where we sat on benches that are encouraged to be graffitted on (someone had persistently scrawled COCKSUCKING THUNDERCUNT onto the wood) next to teenage Goth girls drinking water who whined about "hipster metalboys" (I don't know what these are. Please help me understand).

We did stand a metre away from one of the bands amongst a crowd of six who clapped self-consciously when Indie Band #57* finished a song. 

We did not change our minds and head to Rusholme. We did continue to here:

We did drink cider of many types. Brothers. Old Mout, Thatchers and local brews that The Fiancé likened to "like Hartley's making cider." We did win money on a fruit machine by bashing random buttons.

We did see a man in a Deadpool morph suit dancing camply beside women with walking sticks in front of a band who played hard rocked versions of David Bowie. We did not see ball pits, bouncy castles or glow sticks.

We did see three of my ex-clients sat on the pavements, trying to get money for food. I will not go into their details, but I knew they were hungry and did need that money for food. They chatted openly to me and The Fiancé about their housing situation. Quick summary: dangerous. 

We did not spend £150 on a Travelodge/Holiday Inn/Premier Inn room in Manchester just so that we could crash and not worry about bed for the night.

We did spend £20 in a Bolton takeaway on three pizzas and a chicken kebab (for one of the guys' dogs). We did walk for twenty minutes trying to find the ones who had swapped pitches. One guy we did have to track for awhile until we found him. He was able to go to where he goes to sleep and not have to make any more money that night. He would be able to feed his partner. He wouldn't get attacked tonight.

We did see Bolton's Street Angels (old men in High-Vis jackets) assisting drunken girls falling outside clubs. Girls with working phones and six friends to help them and probably at least the price of a 9 inch pizza each to get a taxi home. 

We did not see anyone talk to my clients. We did see people shout at them. We did not see Street Angels talk to them or stop beside them.

We did go back to the original pub and buy more cider. The Fiancé shambled out of the toilets after a long time, sat down and stated, 'I just used my trusty pound coin to carve FUCK JILLY** on the wall.' Then a passing man rubbed his head for good luck.

We did manage to sell one of the tickets for the thing we didn't do. We did not wish we'd been there instead.

We did go home, eat takeout and watch Family Guy.

We did not feel bad for being too afraid to go to a big fuck-off club night and opting instead for local pubs. We did not feel anything when we fell asleep. Except how good a bed feels when you've been out in the night air in the busy town centre. 

We did not take it for granted.


*Indie Band #57 was not their name, but I like it for a band name. I'll use it.
**Jilly is a false name for The Fiancé's old flame.

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

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.