Looking out for nr. 1 – the cure for loneliness (?)

Though I am married now, the loneliness I have felt in my youth has always stayed, and slowly I am coming to grips with that it is very likely it will never be resolved. Not resolved by others filling my heart anyway. Such moments are fleeting, and far in between for me, but I am slowly learning to accept and love myself.

Only 2 years ago I stood naked in front of the mirror and whispered to myself ‘I have the right to exist’. And then my voice became a little more stable and confident as an anger shone through. “I have the RIGHT to exist.” And from there I have found I could spread my metaphorical wings, and just BE as I am, without real regard of the opinions of others. The opinions of others mean nothing, as they say everything about them, how they see me, and not how I should see myself, as it is built on their own prejudges and likes and dislikes, and therefore say nothing about me.

And now I am building, as I said with help, which I am grateful for, from a woman who from the first moment we met saw me, and accepted me for being different, but still worthwhile to exist.

And so I am growing again, like a tree that has stood too long in the shade of other trees, but now finally gets to see the sunlight.

If no one will fill my heart with love, that means that I have to do that myself, and so I started on making a list of the things I loved to do, like writing, and singing, playing Beatsaber, and more. And as a result I am less lonely, as I am filling up my heart myself, no longer needing others to do it for me.

If this will work for the future, who knows. But trying is still better than just barely surviving, begging for the scraps of attention of others, and being turned down all the time.

So fuck the world. Fuck other people and their needs. If no one will take care of me it means I have to take care of myself, just like everybody else does; looking out for number 1.

Collection of older blogposts about dealing with death

About

Yesterday, the 28th of July 2016, or was it the day before, I don’t know, it is hard to keep track,  I was told my dad has cancer in his left lung, and the nearby node also lit up in the scan, which means that it is spreading. And I don’t know how to feel about that.

Autism is a strange thing, as I look at the world, my world, the world I live in and in which I interact with people, from a distance. I am emotionally distant, partially because that is the way the men in our family work. But if my dad dies, and with my older brother having died a year and a half before, I will be the only man of this family left alive, and I don’t know how I feel about that, and what will b expected of me in this role. Everyone will say that it is not about me, and that they won’t expect a thing, but I know that things will change, and expectations will be made. Having expectations is human nature, and so I prepare while not knowing what to prepare for.

And so, I write.

Writing for me is a way out of the insanity and confusion of life, to sort words and string them together in a way that makes sense, it is how I order and sort.

This blog will be a diary of sorts, of times past, of things to come, and how I deal with that. It is going to be truth only, possibly hard truths for those who aren’t prepared. But that is the only way I can work through this. By reading, you are taking responsibility of reading.

This is who I am, uncut and unfiltered, without the veils of being civilized and how things should be.

This blog is me. This is what I need, without taking heed of what you might think or feel about it.

Enter at your own risk.

1. Almost real

This is the post excerpt.

I don’t know what this is.

I don’t know what this will become.

I just know that I need to do something, something to clear my mind and the turmoil of feelings that is confusing me. Of maybe they aren’t feelings, but thoughts, pulling my concentration away from where I believe they should be, a place that matters.

If I have one gift, it is that of words, I know how to put phrases together, and so I need to use that to get my mind clear of what is bothering me, what is distracting me. I have no control over this, nor do I actually want any control. To be honest, I just want it all to go away and leave me alone, to stop messing with me, as life is messy enough as it is.

It is not that I don’t care, I just don’t really know what caring, what loving, means. And because of that I always keep my distance, not to get emotionally involved, just to keep myself emotionally stable, and sane. And I think it is because of that, that I don’t allow myself to grieve over my brother, or maybe I already had moved on at the time of his death, or really get emotionally invested like the people I see around me. And that must seem like I don’t care, which it is not. I do care, I just don’t let it consume me, as I have to take care of me first. If I don’t take care of me, nobody else will, that is what I have come to believe in a life where people didn’t understand who I was or what I needed. Nobody came when I cried, and so I stopped crying.

I think that is the base-line of it.

I am Pinocchio, who can talk and walk like a real boy, but just isn’t.

I have, for all intensive purposes, a wooden heart.TagsautismconfusiondeathpinoccioLeave a commenton 1. Almost realEdit”1. Almost real”

26. Crying over inanimate objects

Last night I found myself writing down my memories, as I found that it got harder to remember things and keep the timeline straight. When I got to the point of dad’s deathbed, I remembered being thankful for him giving me an old motorbike, which became my first taste of freedom, and tears started welling up. Not because of the thankfulness, but because I missed my old, rickety motorbike.

When my sister bought the house I had grown up in so my parents could live elsewhere and not have to keep doing all the upkeep, my old bike was in the shed, which as some point she tore down. My bike had been in that shed for the longest time, as I had moved on with my life and had no place to put it, and she gave it to a collector in the remodelling.

I mean, it’s fine, I don’t blame her for it. The bike was old, hardly drivable anymore really, and I had said my goodbyes to it. In the end I basically spent more time fixing it than driving it, but to lose something that precious, something that meaningful… I find it still hurts. And so I accepted my tears and let them fall for a moment before gathering myself. I don’t really cry anymore, not since I twisted (or something? I can’t remember right now, partly the reason for writing down my memories) my ankle when I was 13, and I cried out for help, but no one came. I understood that I had to manage life on my own, and so I stopped crying, and did what was needed. And I have been doing that ever since.

It is strange what triggers emotions sometimes…Posted onLeave a commenton 26. Crying over inanimate objectsEdit”26. Crying over inanimate objects”

25. Questions, questions, so many questions.

I don’t know anymore.

I don’t know who I am, what I am, and why I am; why I am what and who I am… it is all a blur right now.

What IS Autism, exactly?

Where does it come from?

We all know it doesn’t come from a jab of a needle, at least intelligent people who have done a modicum of research know that, and for those who don’t: Autism and vaccination only appeared around the same time, but have no correlation, they have no real connection apart from their timeline.

But if it isn’t that, then what is it?

My dad had clear signs of Autism. He told me when I got my diagnosis that he recognized himself so much in what he was told about me, and also that it probably was the cause for him and me not being able to really see eye to eye and work together; we were too equal, both having the same problems without sight of a solution, and he wanted solutions to his problems, just like I crave solutions to mine.

He was born before the age of television and mass communication, but as I now look at the new generation, connecting more to their smartphones, much like I connected to TV instead of people, I wonder. I wonder if all this technology is really helping, or actually harming us. Or is it maybe that Autistic people connect more to objects that entertain simply because they are a steady influence where people are always so unpredictable… I just don’t know.

I have accepted my fate, and quite honestly am deep inside just waiting out my time until it is time for me to die. I don’t ‘rage against the dying of the light’, I just rage against the pain in my body that makes living so uncomfortable.

I just wish I knew. I wish I had answers to the questions that keep me up at night.

If dad had still been alive then maybe, maybe, we could have talked about it. Talked about… something… shared… something. But that is not meant to be, and I don’t linger on impossibilities as they are a waste of time.

I don’t know anymore.Posted onTagsautismconfusiondaddistancefamilylifelonelinesslovethoughtsLeave a commenton 25. Questions, questions, so many questions.Edit”25. Questions, questions, so many questions.”

24. … and what was left behind

My dad has worked in the company set up by my grandfather in repair of farming tools, which later turned into tractors and combines, all his life for no pay, apart from a little stipend given to him every month after he got married. I never knew this, but my mom told me a few days ago, and it took me some time to realize what that had meant. It is the reason why mom had to work, and I was mostly raised to take care of myself, why things were organized so tightly, and why dad had so many migraines in worries. He never really liked working there as far as I know, and after he served in the military he knew there was more to life than just to work in the family business, which after the death of my grandfather was sinking rapidly.

When he retired, he was owed a great deal of money, but to take that money from the suffering corporation he would practically sink the company into debt, and so he didn’t. Instead he set up his own little company, sharpening knives and such, and went on. Those tools now still are in the garage of my mom and are soon to be sold by my uncle, my mother’s brother.

When the first of his brothers died, dad saw his chance to separate himself from the company, and took what was owed to him in land, basically getting a cent per hour, but it was at least something. The company shrunk and the two remaining brothers went on, selling off pieces of property to continue in their father’s name. Then another brother died, and now the last of the brothers is diagnosed with terminal cancer. The company is broken, it’s last breath close but spent, and the son of the last brother is left with an old building on valuable property, but with an asbest roof, oil polluted grounds, and to fix these problems would basically cost as much as selling the property would bring in. The proud family business that used and abused the sons is over, and the son of the last brother in the business is left with nothing. My dad got out just in time, and mom now lives in the newly built house on the property they got out of it, which is to be my and my sisters inheritance, a house I sometimes fantasise about living in, as I am kind of stuck where I am now, living in a 65 m2 apartment in the inner city of a city that once was my salvation in escaping from the rule of my dad, but now loathe as it is no longer where I want to be. At the same time I want my mom to live as long as possible, and so I see myself caught between two unmovable rocks of loyalty and longing the same way he once was.

The more I learn, the more I see myself in him, even though we are completely different people, we were also kind of the same, something he acknowledged on his death-bed after we hugged for the very first time, simply because he was too weak to keep me at a distance and I didn’t want to leave this last chance slip me by. He realized he could never have helped me because we were both too stubborn to bend to be what the other needed. My older brother was his best friend, and where my mother and my sister found their mirror reflections in each other, I was lost and alone for most of my youth, without parental love. Or maybe that is just how I felt, and maybe I made it impossible for them to reach me. And these are questions I lay awake from.

I wanted to write this to show to whomever is reading that my dad wasn’t all bad. For the many flaws he had in raising me, or not raising me depending on who you ask, or maybe it was me being impossible to raise, he did his best, which is all you can expect of a man to do. My dad saw the failing of the company ahead of time, he just couldn’t bring himself to leave it and bring it all crashing down, to take the blame of the failing.

Though he was rarely there for me when I had troubles, he was a good man. The thing I now regret most is that I only now learn of these things, or maybe it is me who is now finally open to listen.Posted onTagsautismbrothercancerconfusiondaddeathdepressiondistancedramadyingfamilyfatherlast wordslifeloverelationshipsleeplessthoughtsLeave a commenton 24. … and what was left behindEdit”24. … and what was left behind”

23. Inheritance

Time moves on, and so do I.

As winter came and is hopefully close to going, mom is step by step clearing out the home they shared to suit her needs more… having moved his clothes to one side of the closet to have more room. It is not like he would need the space, I absolutely understand that, but I can also see she is just not ready yet to actually give the clothes away to someone who might need or want it. She did offer me his suits, but they are very out of fashion and they are not my style. She kinda offered me dad’s watch though, but I don’t know… Though it would definitely be a keepsake, and it is a very cool piece, something is holding me back. I understand that she wants the piece to have a function, but I don’t really understand why she offered it. Though I am the only male hair now, I don’t really want any spiritual trace of dad that may be on it, nor do I want any suggestion that I will take his place, being the man of the house now. I just don’t know. I’d love to work in dad’s workshop, but I find it hard to do so. It is his workshop, his place, it even smells like it did when he was still there, and it is the place I always felt closest to him as it was just about the only thing we had in common we could share.

I know I am stuck the way I live now. I am just filling time, a hollow life I am trying to fill by keeping busy, by doing things I started, and the things that just need to be done day to day, week to week, but the feeling is gone and I am overcompensating my successes in the fear that people will kick me when I’m wounded. I feel wounded, I feel like I am bleeding… something, something is lost.

I know I have a depressive streak, and so I am hoping that when the warmth of spring returns so will what I am missing. I just can’t stay standing still at the edge of the grave. I need to move on, but it is like walking through sludge, a swamp of unknown things trying to drag me down.

I miss the me I was 10 years ago. I don’t eat well, I am losing weight, I m sleeping badly… I just feel old, and tired, and I feel like no one really understands what I am going through. Though everyone says they are here for me, I don’t want them near me. I want to be alone, but I don’t want to be alone in being alone. I think I am finally grieving for the dad I had, who wasn’t the dad I wanted, but he was still my dad, the only dad I had.Posted onTagsautismconfusiondaddeathdepressionfamilyfatherlifelonelinesssleeplessthoughtsLeave a commenton 23. InheritanceEdit”23. Inheritance”

22. The long wait

I find I spend my days waiting, as in waiting for the other shoe to drop.

With my brother and my dad now gone my mind often wanders to how long I have left, if I shouldn’t make arrangements, and if my mother and my sister will die before me.

The more people in this family keel over, the more the weight of it comes down on my shoulders, or at least it feels that way. And I know I am one of the lucky ones to have a wife by my side to carry part of that load. Well, I say wife, but we’re not officially married, not legally anyway. But partly because of this feeling, and I know it is not really the right reason to do so, we decided to get married, and when I say married I mean a registered partnership, which is basically the same here in the Netherlands, only less expensive.

It’s going to be a simple ceremony, just witnesses and parents, and maybe a party afterwards, but I feel partly ashamed that I am not really looking forward to it. It is more a business arrangement, of us being sure enough to each other to make a promise to tackle life’s difficulties together in the future, where until now we had a yearly arrangement to ‘just see where it goes’.

I am not hesitant about this decision, I just wish it was made in better circumstances, as death puts such a shadow over things.Posted onTagsautismburialconfusioncremationdeathdyingfamilylifelovemarriagerelationshipthoughtsLeave a commenton 22. The long waitEdit”22. The long wait”

21. The more everything changes

… the more it all stays the same.

It is one week after the funeral and I am still having sleepless nights, my head filled with memories and thoughts I can’t dispel, and on top of it all, exactly 1 week after the funeral his dog died.

Though she, it was a she, was pretty old, I had at least figured it would accompany my mother in her loneliness, but no, even this was not to happen. Just as my dad went backwards in health after the death of my brother, so did his dog after he died.

And how can I explain to my family that this news pains me more than the news of my father dying? She was a dog I never really bonded with as much as the ones when I still lived there, though I was the one who came up with her name, that dog, that selfless creature that never hurt me in any way… how can I tell them that?

I personally think it is partially because the dog never did me any wrong, and I am easier attuned to animals than I am with people, because people lie where animals are very clear in their emotion, something I appreciate.

And how is it possible that they left that dog at the vet to be mass incinerated, while they threw a massive grieving party for dad? It just all makes no sense to me, and it brings me back to wondering if these people around me are not a lot more barbaric than I could ever have imagined?

The most grief I have ever felt was for my first cat, an animal I got from the pound, given to me by my first real girlfriend when I finally had enough ducks in a row to have my own place. It choked me for at least half a year until my now wife, then girlfriend, begged me to get a new cat, which became 3 cats because they were a family. But though I love these cats and take care of them, I don’t love them as much as that first cat, a memory that still makes me feel choked up when I think about it how it could climb into bed with me at night to snuggle with me under the covers… These cats don’t do that, and they are not in my heart as that first one. How can I explain that my own dad is lower on in the order of my grief than his dog and my first cat, and how I am trying to forget he ever existed so I can move on with my life?

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember that from when I was 10, I sometimes begged to go, to leave this life and start again as a different me, or possibly a flower or a plant or animal, because this life… this life just sucks. I don’t want to be here, I never asked for any of this. So why am I here, while everything around me is dying?

And I wonder who you, reader, grieve for. Does my writing remind me of your own pet, or family member, do you believe it is for the best and that dog and dad are together now, possibly together with my brother, or are you passing judgement on me? Because your answer says nothing about me, but everything about you, and because of that doesn’t effect me as a person, even if you try to jam it down my throat. They are your thoughts, based on your experiences and emotions. Nothing of that is mine, apart from my story that triggered you.Posted onTagsautismbalancebrothercancerconfusioncremationdaddepressiondogdyingfamilyfearlifelonelinesssleeplessthoughtsLeave a commenton 21. The more everything changesEdit”21. The more everything changes”

20. Sleepless nights

I thought that by having the funeral over and done with that I could move on as if nothing had happened… apparently I was wrong.

It’s 3 AM and I can’t sleep, my mind is racing like my foot is on the gas, but the transmission is stuck in neutral, racing about everything I want to do, and want to do well, while because of the lack of sleep the past weeks my mind always seems 3 seconds late in catching up, which keeps my mind racing on what I should have done, which doesn’t help my sleep rhythm, which doesn’t help my performance, which doesn’t… It’s a circle, I can see that, I just don’t know how to get out of it, and I find I am starting to take it out on others, which I don’t want to do, which keeps my mind racing on what I should have done, which doesn’t help my sleep rhythm… and I know I am pretty much fucked, as right now I don’t know what are actual issues I need to tackle, and what are things that are just in my head, made into issues by my over-sensitivity and lack of sleep… and I find I just want to go home. But not home home, as as a child I never really felt safe at home, but the home I wanted to go to, a place where I felt safe and secure, a place I wish existed but never found.

And that doesn’t really help.Posted onLeave a commenton 20. Sleepless nightsEdit”20. Sleepless nights”

19. The end of the beginning

I probably pissed off a couple of people tonight with this Facebook post…

Ah, I am finally breaking through my pain and tiredness with alcohol… slight buzz, finally. I am sorry I didn’t get to shake everybody’s hand in congratulation for my dead dad after the funeral, but that’s just how it feels to me and I rather didn’t. so there. If you really want to be a friend, then let’s do coffee sometime, as I just see no use in condolences and empty promises made on the spot because you feel pity for me. Sorry if this hurts your feelings, but that’s how I feel about it, and I am not the guardian of your feels. How I feel about something is most important to me in my life as I always have to live with myself while I just see all of you on weddings and funerals. I know the truth is harsh, but there it is. If you are so softhearted that you can’t deal with it then that is really not my problem. You are free to accept me for who I am, or ignore me as a fool or autistic child. I really don’t care much either way as you are not a part of my life. If you want to be you are welcome to, but then you choose to be around me and who I am. I for one am done with the pretending. Aren’t you?

I know a lot of people are going to misread me in it as in being a mean little guy, blaming others for my grief, but if you read carefully it is actually an open letter for people to come closer, with the demand that they will accept me for who I am.

Though, yes, I was slightly drunk, still am, as I posted this, and I can always use that as a defense, I am actually quite clearheaded, finally breaking free from expectations to be who I am inside, liked or not. Being autistic is walking on the edge of a knife all the time if you are trying to be accepted, while I found in the last month that just being who I am makes life a lot easier as people can spot a fake, or at least know something is ‘off’ with you. And quite honestly, I am tired, tired of pretending… for now. And sometimes you just have to stand up and shout, even if what you have to shout isn’t popular. That is what it means to be alive,and right now, while in pain from the arthritis and just back from a funeral, I am absolutely aware I am alive.

Instead of shaking hands as we should have, we went to the beach and had a nice dinner. Now be honest, if you were free from social conventions, and quite honestly being autistic is the perfect excuse to do whatever I want to, where would you have rather been? At a funeral drinking cheap bad coffee and eating stake cake, or having steak and wine near the ocean with someone you are actually daring to open up to with your deepest thoughts and truths?

Exactly.Posted onLeave a commenton 19. The end of the beginningEdit”19. The end of the beginning”

18. Tomorrow, tomorrow…

“Condolences with the death of your father.”
“Yes, that and a bottle of booze will get me drunk.”

I am sorry, I am really trying not to be insensitive, but offering someone your condolences is just a hollow vat, it holds nothing and is just created so you, the condolence giver, has something to say in this most awkward of times when you meet me.

Instead, why not buy me a drink and leave, because quite honestly, without an actual show of sympathy for where I am right now through an act of kindness, I really don’t give a damn about you or how much you miss him; I have my own shit to deal with. I am not there to acknowledge your grief, I am there to deal with mine, or the lack thereof, so don’t make me stand in line and shake the hands of total strangers to exchange meaningless phrases born out of social convention. I seriously don’t care how you knew my dad and how great friends you were, how he was always there for you, and how many amazing things you did together. I most likely don’t even know your name, or your face, and will forget it as soon as you have moved on to annoy someone else,  simply because most likely you had no part in my life. I barely had any connection with him, so why should I bother with you? Next to the love I have for him for just being my dad and making a living so we could eat and had a roof over our head, I hate him for not being there as a dad, which on the whole just basically makes us even, which I said to him on his deathbed. “Dad, we’re good. We’re squared.” And he understood that message, he was happy for it, because he knew I wouldn’t be left behind with resentment over the mistakes he had made in his life; for one, passing his disability of Autism onto me. It is the very reason I don’t want kids, I don’t want to burden them with the life I have gone through.

I had to figure all this shit out on my own, simply because him and me were too much alike: stoic, stubborn, spiteful, unforgiving. Where he worked his ass off all his life for a family who didn’t give two rats asses about him, I quickly learned that 9 to 5 was for the stupid, and stepped out from the assembly-line lifestyle to do the things I wanted to do instead of everything I had to do. I had seen where it had brought him, and that picture was not pretty.
But those are not things you are supposed to say a a funeral, or ever say afterwards because you’re not allowed to speak ill of the dead (for some goddamn reason I fail to understand, maybe out of superstitious fear that they would come back and haunt you?).

I personally can’t wait for this shit to just be over and I can pick up where I left off, and I am guessing that with me a lot of people at that funeral will feel the same. So why would we hang around after the body hits the ground to do coffee and cake and talk to people we don’t know about a man who is no longer there, telling half truths and full-out lies, in the hope we will somehow help ourselves and each other heal? Why would we make false promises about how we are totally going to talk later and then never call? There is no healing, not even in time. The only thing that can happen is for everyone to give it a place in their life, and then brush it over with new experiences to occupy their mind so they won’t think about it (that much) anymore. So just leave me alone so I can start forgetting, and stop reminding me that my mom is now alone, without the man she chose to live her life with and has done so for over 50 years, because that wound will not close easily. Her life is ripped in half and I have no bandage big enough to close that wound.

So yes, if you want to help me get through this, then buy me a bottle of booze or a meal to get me through this fucking day, this fucking week, this fucking month, and actively help my mom, who is much worse off than me, with anything she needs. But don’t, for gods sake don’t, give me hollow words out of social convention.

I am just the son, and the only reason I am that is through blood ties. I don’t know you, and I don’t want to know you. I have my own life.

Sideways connecting to this, as an addendum, I had an interesting conversation today with an old… acquaintance, because I wouldn’t call her a friend as we never stayed in touch. She asked me if I had a safety net, if I had invited friends to the funeral to stand by me and support me. I told her I had told them to stay away, but if they had the chance to take the day off anyway under false pretense and go do something fun. She smiled at that, and until now,she is the only one that really understood, and so without her knowing or noticing, I paid for her coffee. I don’t rely on friends to have my back. I have my own back, because I am the only person I trust the most to keep my secrets. I don’t need to like anyone else, if I just like myself, and though at times that is hard, most days I do OK. So I set up my safety net to have someone with a car for me to escape the scene when the body has hit the ground. Fuck the handshakers and condolence givers; I don’t owe them anything. None of you were ever part of my life and any promise you make will be broken without an afterthought, so it is worth just as much as spit.

Yes I am angry, and no, you don’t get to tell me I shouldn’t be. Anger is the only way for me to get through this bullshit and actually move on, where others stand at the edge of a grave and cry for someone who is no longer there, not seeing that the crying only stops when you’re bored of it or actually go do stuff you really need to do. Anger is what people thrive on, what gets people off their asses to actually do things, if only in moving away from where they don’t want to be. Anger trumps sadness, any day, every day, until you have forgotten why you were so angry in the first place. That is called healing, and letting go.Posted onLeave a commenton 18. Tomorrow, tomorrow…Edit”18. Tomorrow, tomorrow…”

17. First steps to the grave

Why is it that people I don’t even know, or like, seem to be tripping over themselves to give me their condolences, even moments after passing? What kind of social convention is this that bothering someone who is already burdened with the burial of a next of kin to show that they knew the corpse? I don’t know you, you don’t really know me apart from my face, so leave me the fuck alone, I don’t need your pity or your sympathy. The only two people outside my very small circle of trusted I currently respect are the ones who just gave me a silent hug, a soft squeeze in the shoulder and a sad little smile, which said more than all those awkwardly hasted condolences and Facebook messages on how sorry they are and sympathize with my pain, when they most likely afterwards went to look at puppies and kittens? What do you know about my pain? Do you even know me, do you actually know how I feel or are you just assuming, because you fear that one day this will be you?

I know it is considered ‘normal’, but it annoys the fuck out of me, just as I am expected to give some sort of speech at the funeral about how great his life was… which it wasn’t. But I am aware enough to know that people wont be waiting for the truth, so I am not getting up there, and at least my sister understands that, and it seems the rest respects it.

I just don’t get this relification of the dead. As soon as the last breath is spent, all that is left is nothing but an empty shell, and there is a corporation in place to benefit on the grief of those who are left behind. I find that shameful and disgusting, and deep within me I fight it, but I know it is not accepted in this time of grief, and I don’t want to be an extra burden to those around me who I can see are really hurting inside, while I am just trying to get through the problems at hand to get this over with.

I’ll have none of it. No embalming, no expensive coffin… That coffin or send-off has nothing to do with the dead, but everything with the living, as a show  how rich the family is. If it was legal to just dig a hole somewhere and drop my body in there then I actually would want that. Throw a handful of chestnuts in there and in a few years watch what is left of me help grow a new tree, and in 50 years I’d be a full-grown tree, for you to sit under in my shade, and for people to hide under when it rains. THAT is my dream of a perfect afterlife, not being tormented in a place of fire or absolute perfect boredom. Who came up with those silly concepts anyway, and why? Again, nothing to do with the dead, but with instilling fear into people to pay up so that the institution of the church to get richer, the institution this western world was founded on.

As things stand legally, please, I beg of you, when my time has come, go for the cheapest option and then try to barter it down even more, as that is the kind of person I am. Just send me off in just a cardboard box, give everyone a magic marker and a chance to write something on the box in private. Then someone hits a button and down the shoot into the oven I go and everyone gathers in the local pub to drink themselves silly and remember the good AND the bad. THAT is the send-off I’d want, not this pompous glorification! Talk about what an asshole I was, how I hurt people nearest to me, how I cheated on my partners in relationships, and then go leaf through the book of drawings I made to appreciate my art and look at the books I wrote to discuss how mediocre a writer I was. Let over time people remember me for who I was, what I liked and disliked, or let me fade forever into the shadows of oblivion… I won’t care, I’d already be dead! But for God’s sake, stop this. Stop this mass fear of dying and the dead, to make them look like they are just sleeping. Embalming was only necessary for long trips when sending bodies from across the ocean, it is NOT NECESSARY these days, a plane can go halfway round the world in 6 hours! Stop it! Just… stop it and think. Would a man who never wanted anyone to fuss over him while he was alive want all this fuss over the shell he left behind?

But I have to stay quiet, and I know it, and so I do, I nod, I smile, do the tasks I am given, and then ask for more, just to unburden the rest. This is the only place I can actually write, where I can rage, knowing I will be so happy when all of this is over and I can finally start to grieve my own way, in song and stories, and silent tears, alone.Posted onTagsautismbalanceburialcancerconfusioncremationdaddeathdramafamilyfatherirritationlast wordslifethoughtswordsLeave a commenton 17. First steps to the graveEdit”17. First steps to the grave”

16. And then…

Well, I got ‘the call’ at 10.30 AM from my sister, telling me dad had breathed his final breath… it is really over now.

He stayed alive while on massive doses of medication for around 36 hours, even waking up twice to go to the bathroom. He even said he was feeling fine (well duh, mass doses of painkillers), and I did wonder if he shouldn’t stay alive if he could win over this, but then the cancer would have slowly killed him and he would have been in a lot of pain. This was his choice, and I just have to accept it, but it is hard.

I find I am very distracted and doing quite random tasks, like cleaning out and defrosting the fridge for the sheer reason that I saw it needed to be done… as in needed to be done for at least 2 years. But we have a much roomier fridge now, which is something.

I find that life goes on as it always has, while for me it seems to have stopped, and I find it weird the rest of the people just go on. I hope to catch up to them in time, as this standing still is not comfortable, so I am hoping to distract myself with basically anything.

So here goes… we’ll just have to see what happens now.Posted onLeave a commenton 16. And then…Edit”16. And then…”

15. 3 steps from the finish line (2)

I had written a good 2 page post, but through a copy paste accident it was lost, but I can’t even be angry about it as I am just too tired… That is just about everything I feel, all the other emotions covered by this thick woolen blanket of barely being able to keep my eyes open.

I got the call yesterday around 5 PM that dad was worsening so much that the doctor had suggested to start final medication, from which he wouldn’t wake, so he would die in his sleep. And so I jumped on the first train was there just before medication as administered, and dad was able to speak his last words to me, in which he basically asked if we were OK, that he now saw I had to have walked my own road as I would have never fitted in what they had planned for me. And I smiled and nodded, gave him a hug, and said we are OK, while inside I didn’t really feel anything. All I wanted was for him to go to his final rest not feeling bad, and I would carry and deal with the fallout afterwards, as I still have time to do so.

My emotions are conflicted by too many things, but there seems to be no stopping this train of what comes next, and I am already dreading the conversation on how I don’t want to be put in the spotlight at the funeral, where I have to say only nice things while things are NOT nice, or people coming to me, solemnly congratulating me on how they knew the corpse. All I want is to be left alone and deal with this shit by myself, and most of all to be distracted so I can take on this in smaller steps so that the emotions are manageable. But in doing that I prove everyone right that I cannot measure up, that I am just a child who cannot be taken seriously, while I think that nobody can really deal with this, and that everyone is just muddling through.Posted onTagsautismburialcancerconfusiondadfamilylast wordslonelinessnightsleeplessthoughtsLeave a commenton 15. 3 steps from the finish line (2)Edit”15. 3 steps from the finish line (2)”

14. Time waits for no one

Well, he’s home again, and as the new operation to remove sticky fluid from behind his lungs is likely to kill him, now the waiting game begins. We don’t know how much time he has, all we can do is make him comfortable with 16 kinds of medication, a bed downstairs in the living room, a day-nurse 3 times a day and a night nurse to keep him company and so mom can actually sleep, but in the end his breath will become more ragged than it even is and he won’t be able to breathe.

It’s painful to see him like this, though truth be told, I was expecting worse. He still moves around, though slowly, sleeps a bit every few hours, but he is nowhere the man I remember from just a year ago.

I guess this is just how it is now, but I am having a hard time accepting it, as this path leads nowhere, and we all know it. There is no ‘graceful end’, no ‘rage, rage against the dying of the light’… it’s pain and diapers and a world that goes too fast, as we see a man we once knew has given up, only held back by this so called sanctity of life to get out the way he’d want to.

Can we, as civilized people, not be so inhumane to our seniors? Can we give people who want to get out a pill, or a dose of something in a needle, so they can just sleep and never wake up? People who have actively thought about getting out before it’s time, never become active, productive members of society, and because of that society will always look down on them as leeches, which doesn’t help the problems they have. There is a limit to how far you can go with healthcare, physical or mental, so just leave people to decide for themselves.Posted onLeave a commenton 14. Time waits for no oneEdit”14. Time waits for no one”

13. memories of dad

As I was writing 12, I thought that though there might not be any pictures, it might be worthwhile to write down what I do remember.

I remember him teaching how to fix a flat tire, though he did so impatiently.

When I was young, dad was not a happy man to be around, being overworked for far too little pay, having constant migraines because of which he lay on the couch and we, as kids, had to tippy-toe around.

There has been a moment where mom was ready to divorce him because of it, how  she stood there kids in hand and me on her arm, as she gave him a last chance. And it went better after that. Dad went to bed when he had migraines and we as kids, got to play. But I think by then the damage had been done already. Where my brother the oldest, wanted to grow up just like him, hard working, never tiring, and having several nervous collapses in the process until he died of a brain hemorrhage, my sister grew up pretty much a nervous wreck, throwing herself into her school work just to keep herself occupied. And me, I grew up without any direction at all, possibly because neither parent had any idea how to deal with an autistic child, lost in a fantasy world of his own and so having to find his own way around, to find his own way out into the world. But to be honest, the entire family was autistic in a way. None of us are, or were, really normal, and when I got my diagnosis, dad noted he saw a lot of himself in it. And I still wonder if we all hadn’t been raised by dad as he was, but the dad he became after his first heart attack, we might have been different people.

It took me a long while to see the ‘different dad’, but when I saw it, it was like mom had remarried the good twin. He was much kinder, though still stand offish. I don’t think we ever kicked a ball around, ever shared any deep personal conversation, those father to son things you see in old movies but for the longest time I expected were just fiction. He was just there, the male adult of the house., and that was just all there was to it.

But still I guess they did alright in imbuing me with certain morals. I never did drugs, never really smoked, though still sometimes I long for it, which I guess is normal growing up in a family in which half are smokers, I have an income, I can balance my accounts, I don’t have debts. Seen from that perspective, it could all have been much worse.

But if from that point I turn around, I see nothing, remember nothing… though…

There is that time I was surprised, when I was 17, and he got an old motor bike from out of the family storage. I remember the frame hanging near the darkness of the ceiling, but from that first moment I saw it, I was mesmerized by it. It was an old late war model Sparta I think it had belonged to one of my uncles, or maybe himself, and without me knowing he sanded it down and painted it black. I think the color choice was mine in fact, I am not sure, and I never got to help. He put it all together and after that, it was mine, as long as I didn’t ride it on public roads until I was of age, and so I learned to ride out in fields and behind the storage shed… I rode the hell out of it and for a long time it was the dearest thing I ever owned, until I moved to Amsterdam and had to leave it behind, the poor thing falling apart at the seams and there wasn’t a weekend I wasn’t fixing something.

I never knew why he did that, to fix up that old bike for me. Maybe it is because I hated bike riding so much and mom talked him into it, or maybe it was something else.

Maybe if there is time, and I can remember, I should ask him.Posted onLeave a commenton 13. memories of dadEdit”13. memories of dad”

12. pictures of seasons past

I just woke up, short of breath, and felt for the phone next to me… it was still there.

There were thoughts in my mind, which all settled on one thing: there are no pictures of him and me, doing things together. There are plenty of family pictures, all of us, but none of him and me, him showing me things, teaching me things. Of him and my brother, now close to 2 years gone, there are plenty, but none of us.

And then I wondered in wandering thoughts of ‘what if’. What if all those childhood magic powers I had imagined to have had were real. What if I could lay on hands and take his disease into me, would I do it? Would it be fair to trade the life of a 46 year old for that of  82? Had he not lived his life, made the choices he had made, like smoking, which possibly in the end was his undoing? But could I live with myself the rest of my life in knowing I had not done all to save the man I have always called dad?

It is an impossible conundrum, there is no answer, though I still sometimes feel my wings protruding from my shoulder blades with which as a child I dreamed I could fly. Fly away from my pain and sadness, of crying silently in bed from being so alone inside, begging for something, someone to take me home.

And tonight, I cried again. It was only a few tears, a few shaky breaths, a little emotion seeping from behind the mask I hold in place to control myself, as I don’t know who I am without it. Or maybe the mask is me, and the boy behind the mask just a figment of my imagination and I am indeed Pinocchio. I don’t know.

All I know is that if want’s to go, I should let him, and I told my sister just that. THis is his choice to make, not mine, or ours, and it wouldn’t be fair to keep him hooked on machines or lead half a life simply because we are unable to let him go.

I do fear for mom though. Just as losing my brother was a blow to dad, so will losing dad be a blow to mom, and I know she will never be the same after this.Posted onTagsautismbalancebrothercancerconfusiondaddeathdistancefamilyfatherfearlifelonelinesslovenightpinocciorelationshipsleeplessthoughtswordsLeave a commenton 12. pictures of seasons pastEdit”12. pictures of seasons past”

11. A turn for the worst

Well, the doctors found liquid behind the lung that is too syrupy to extract, so they have to go in again, and dad basically said ‘No, I’m not having it’. This means that the only option left is to use medication which only has a slim chance of succeeding, and if it doesn’t then we’ll need to say goodbye.

I don’t judge him for his decision to get out, I think he and me knew this was going downhill fast and it was only social conviction to hope for the best and not talk about the worst… Quite honestly I don’t really care what happens now, as when I got the news I got a stiff drink and a hearty meal and basically in my mind told him that we are squared on all things that happened in the past. I am quite drunk as I write this, so drunk that I am retyping just about every word I am writing here, but in all honest I have already said my goodbye to him with the drink and the food, on the words that he might be dying, but I am still alive and need to make it count, meaning that the more time I stand still at his death, the more time is lost.

All I want to know now is what he wants, if he wants us, me, to say goodbye, and how, but this too is probably an answer I am not going to get and I have to figure out for myself.

I am hoping for a hug, as he and me were never huggers, something to hold on to in my heart, and hope it will be a short, decent, end. How I will manage afterwards is not important now, as, as I said, I will be still alive, with time to deal with it and move on with my life the way I see fit, without him.

Much like my brother who died 2 years before, I am accepting it as him going on a long holiday in which I won’t see him, and who knows they might meet again. God know they were always closer than him and me.

All I fear now is how my mom is going to be under all of this, how she will move on from this, losing the man she has been with for longer than I am alive. For that, I have no words., apart from that I hope she had some fuckbuddy on the side who can move in after a year or so. I don’t want her to loose her will to live over this as well, as all this dying is drastically thinning the family herd.

Be well dad, I respect your choice.Posted onTagsautismbalanceburialcancerconfusiondaddeathdistancedramafamilyfatherlifeloverelationshipthoughtswords1 Commenton 11. A turn for the worstEdit”11. A turn for the worst”

10. Still alive, barely

It’s been a little while since I posted, but what else can I say than ‘he’s still alive’? Though he is grateful that he is, the recovery isn’t nearly going as fast as he had hoped and it is bringing him down, basically fearing every breath he takes, every move he makes. The things he liked to do before he isn’t doing now out of fear he isn’t able to, he’s not sleeping well, shuffles through the house like a living dead and is still in adult diapers because he can’t make it to the bathroom in time.

I quite honestly don’t know if I would want to live my final years like that, and I wonder if he does too, because from what I see he would rather check out of life than to continue on in this state.

I guess there are worse things than living, and this would definitely be one of them. I hope for his sake that he will improve enough to enjoy the things he likes again, because as things stand now, it’s no fun, at all.Posted onLeave a commenton 10. Still alive, barelyEdit”10. Still alive, barely”

9. Out of hospital

Well, he survived… what else can I say about it.

While in hospital he looked like a corpse, having had two operations, and now that he is back home, he’s still not all there yet. Physically he is not worse off than then he went in, which is something that should approve over time, but mentally he is only 60% there, as if it broke something inside of him. Mom says it is because of the anesthetic, but I’m not so sure. He really seems out of it, he is afraid of everything, even how he is breathing, walking any distance, and him having fun seems a distant memory. Having walked so close to the edge, I think he knows his time is drawing closer… or maybe he was ready to go, but the doctors pulled him back and now he has more time than he knows what to do with.

Him and me… we never really fitted, though we both are Autistic as all fuck and both of us don’t know how to express emotions. When I see him sitting in his chair, something inside me wants to hug him, hold him, but because we never had that, all I can manage is a vague, hesitant wave from a distance.

It is difficult, seeing a man that was once that strong, such a pillar, to fall like this and now lay in the dirt, broken, just a reminder of what he was. I know he is ashamed of peeing his pants, but hates wearing those adult diapers even more. He likes walking the dog, but he is afraid of putting one foot in front of the other. I am not sure when my time comes I’d want that, to see my own fire dwindle to mere embers. I have been there before, almost ending up in a wheelchair, and I’ve decided I’d rather go suddenly, like my brother did, or just disappear from sight, possibly never to be found. Why put others through this, for just a bit more time together, time that has little to no worth and only postpones the inevitable? The world would move on without me, nothing would really change, as our existence is just that small and inconsequential, which is why we have to enjoy it while the good times last, and not hold on for as long as possible, a basic quality over quantity, and quite honestly, the state things are now is killing me inside. Dad, I love you, but is this what you want, unable to do the things you love and just sitting there, remembering, hoping for the day you might not pee your pants?

I know these things are not socially accepted, and I a fighting myself on this, but it is a fight I cannot win as it is with myself. In the end, I will always loose, unless the fight endures.Posted onTagsautismbrothercancerconfusiondeathfatherliferelationshipLeave a commenton 9. Out of hospitalEdit”9. Out of hospital”

8. Expecto Patronum

Well, tomorrow is another one of of those days where I I have set myself up for a visit to my parents… not that I really want to go, but I find they like it, so who am I not to do this for them and not to be another problem on an already weighted scale.

Though the good news of the cancer not having spread is good, still I find that in silent retreated moments I keep thinking about what will happen if things do go wrong. It is almost like I am wishing for the worst, which I don’t want to happen. I think it is some kind of protection, to acknowledge the worst so that things can only be better or at least the way I had expected. But it is also robbing me of my much needed sleep.

I find that when I lay my head down, thoughts come to ma, anything, everything, just not to think about that one thing, and so I keep a notepad and a flashlight next to the bed, or sometimes not to disturb my wife I get up to write in the kitchen. They are just one line notes, the core of what I thought about to rekindle my memory of it and value it later. As long as it is out of my head, I can get back to trying to sleep… and at times I get up ten or more times, just one after another, to write. As soon as I lay down, a thought comes and I get up again… it is really annoying.

But it’s a coping mechanism… better than keep mulling around, repeating it over and over in a desperate attempt not to forget, or forgetting and blaming myself for it because it was a really good idea for this or that…

I play a lot of games these days, while I know I should be writing or doing something productive. It is just wasting time, because in gaming at the end of the day you don’t have something in your hands you can sell or do anything with, nor have you learned any decent skill you can go into the world with and earn a living… you have just been pushing buttons. Yes ‘professional’ gamers, hate on me all you like, but you know it is true. How much money did you actually EARN from gaming and how much did it COST you, not in hours, because then the scale would be well off, but only in buying games and such? Well? Only a rare few get to actually win something, it is like doing a top sport, only the top skaters, gymnasts, soccer players or whatever actually earn a living out of it, and wreck their body and their lives by doing so. And you are no different from all the wannabee ballerina’s who put everything on hold for just a chance to become the one great star… which will most likely never happen.

Any way, I play games to waste time, that was the message before the tangent, just to end the day, to eat, watch some TV-series and go to bed again. Wasting time, spending days, waiting. But what am I really waiting for? Why am I not doing? Writing? It just feels so misty inside, like a big cloud of ash that covers everything, and I have to fight to move, fight to act, even fight to breathe sometimes. An uphill battle, hoping that at some point, somewhere, the light of some spirit animal bringing me to safety.

Expecto Patronum. Expecto Patronum. Expecto Patronum.

Or maybe I can levitate myself out of this cloud, as it seems nobody is coming.

Wingardium Leviosa. Wingardium Leviosa. Wingardium Leviosa.

Am I pronouncing this right?

Expecto Leviosa.

Please, let something happen.Posted onTagsautismcancerdaddeathfearharry pottersleeplessLeave a commenton 8. Expecto PatronumEdit”8. Expecto Patronum”

7. Another day, another dollar

Well, it’s the day after post 6, and it went about as well as expected after a night of hardly sleeping. One good thing though, I got the call that dad’s cancer has no spread past the lymph node and so the damage, for now, is contained. Though I do admire the doctors for their due diligence, but I am getting pretty tired on how long they take to deliberate and then come back with that they need to do further testing. Meanwhile dad is in pain, I can see it on his face, while he stoically denies having a problem. But me being so sharp in noting details, I get to see it all where the rest of the family just accepts his word for it and moves on. And all the while I find that we both lack the ability to actually talk about what we feel, partially because he is as autistic as all fuck as well.

And during all of this, life goes on and on, with bills to pay and people annoying me, which meant that around 12.30 I was ready to buy a large bottle of rum and just get sloshed, this being the only way I know to tame this growing feeling of disparity. But I also know that after sobering up the problems will still be there, and so I didn’t.

I am just tired, so fucking tired. Nothing I see or do seems to give me any pause, any reprieve, any joy.

Well, another day another dollar I guess… do what has to be done and move on.Posted onLeave a commenton 7. Another day, another dollarEdit”7. Another day, another dollar”

6. No rest for the wicked

Can’t sleep.

It’s almost 2.30 AM, I slept for about an hour and woke up again in a sweat, my heart pounding, but I can’t remember what I have dreamed, if I dreamed at all.

It’s been happening a lot recently, and I don’t know why.

Maybe it is just my sleep rhythm that has been disturbed, or maybe there is more, something weighing on my mind, which makes me so lacking in energy in the daytime. Or maybe that is just the effects of the lack of sleep.

I have always had this, it comes and goes, and so I am pretty sure it will go again in time, but for now it is just annoying, just laying there with eyes closed, but just not being able to find a comfortable position, just keeping tossing and turning, and with that annoy my wife, who needs to get up early tomorrow.

She knows she can’t help, though she wants to, even if it is only to stop me from tossing and turning and keeping her awake. And so I get up again, slightly dizzy and disorientated, and sit behind the computer to write a bit. this bit.

I miss inspiration, the fun in things. Everything just seems gray and matted, soft pastels instead of bright colors. My mind keeps going on the weirdest tangents of ‘what if’.

What if my dad dies?
What if my mom has to live in that house alone?
What if my relationship ends?
What if I go live in the garage?
And what if I don’t want all of those things to happen?

But what if I don’t want to stay where I am?
It is not like I have a lot of options open to me at this point… living here for 15 years now, in this time the rent of any other place we could move to has skyrocketed to about triple what we pay now, and Wendy actually likes the city and having everything within reach…
The city was fun when I was young, but now all the noise, the people, and the lack of space to move, to breathe almost, just annoy me. I feel trapped, trapped by the past, trapped by the future I cannot control, and all I can do is basically waste time, hoping things will change when I know they probably won’t, as I am trapped by the choices I have made in the past and an unknown place to go to.

These are things that go on my my head sometimes this late in the night, and there is little I can do to stop it from happening. It’s all this pressure, the lack of control, the loneliness sometimes even when I am among other people. And still, I have heard everybody gets this feeling now and then, as there is no rest for the wicked, until you die, and what happens then is everybody’s guess.

But at least now I have defined what haunts me, the fear of change and of things staying the same, and I don’t have to fear not knowing anymore. If anything, I have learned that I know nothing, control nothing, and that in itself, is something.

It’s 3.15 AM.
Better try to get some rest, or else tomorrow things will just be harder to deal with.

Goodnight everyone.Posted onTagsautismconfusiondeathfatherirritationlonelinesslovenightrelationshipthoughtsLeave a commenton 6. No rest for the wickedEdit”6. No rest for the wicked”

5. Surprised at your reactions

The topic says it all, I am very surprised people are liking and even following my personal rants and thoughts, and so I set up a page to hear from you. I am really wondering why you are all liking my blog… so, if you would, it would make me very happy if you took a little time and left me a message… 🙂Posted onLeave a commenton 5. Surprised at your reactionsEdit”5. Surprised at your reactions”

4. Words words words…

So, I don’t think I mentioned this, but I am in a relationship, which is with another Autist, as we found that in this chaotic world we understood each other and were able to accept each other as we accepted ourselves.

But sometimes… I am high sensitive, I notice little things, not just leaves on trees, but sighs, gestures, movements, and sometimes I just pick up on more than she, a classic Autist, knows she is feeling. And it can frustrate me to no end that she just ignores these facts she feels, even to the point of picking a “fight” (we don’t really fight, we are just at the point of occasional silent disappointment) just so she can, in my eyes, feel like a victim of my “meanness”.

When she gets home, she has had a hard day’s work behind her, and all she wants to do is kick back and relax, and I accept and understand that. I love her, as far as I can understand love, which basically means that most of the time I kinda enjoy having her around. But sometimes she can just be lazy as all hell, and she is unwilling to accept that it is not for me to be there for her, to serve her what she wants.

And in her mind she knows this, but at the same time, and I can’t fault her for that, and she has admitted on occasion she indeed has this, she is jealous of me, just staying at home, doing what I want to do, simply because I can’t function in that outside world. Sure. I tend to the house, the washing, the dishes, vacuuming, make the bills are paid and all that, but to be honest it isn’t that much work, about an hour a day, and I often don’t even fill that. I am a scatterbrain, never been able to hold a job for long, and physically I am not well put together with the arthritis that regularly plagues me.

But still, she went into an agreement with me with her eyes open, she knew who I was and what I could do, and agreed that in balancing the chores she would bring home the bacon, where I would do all those household things she didn’t really want to do. And still, sometimes she gripes, just as sometimes I gripe for not having a job to go to, most of the time just stuck in and around the house with nothing to do but wait for her to come home so I’d have someone to talk to.

But at least we talk. In the 10 years of relationship, the longest for me by far, we have always kept talking, sitting down on our wedding date to see how the last year went, what we liked and disliked, and what we’d need to change and what to just accept. And we’re still together.

I think talking is underrated these days, and not many people are really skilled to listen anymore. Listening is nothing more than taking in what the other is saying, and accepting that as just their opinion, even when it is a different opinion than your own, or even more so when it is not like your own. If you listen, then you might find out why someone thinks a certain way, and you might either understand, agree to disagree, or find the fault in their logic and attempt to show them that mistake. It is not about being right. Nobody is right all the time, as nobody is perfect.

And though we might bicker or sometimes look at each other in wonder if ‘this is all there is’, I have never in my life seen anyone better fitting to be with me, to understand me. I can see that not to be with her would be an emptiness in my life, and so each day we are together is a conscious decision to be together, through the good days, and the bad.Posted onTagsautismirritationloverelationshipwordsLeave a commenton 4. Words words words…Edit”4. Words words words…”

3. “Today, the day of my mother’s birthday.”

Alright, so, I have been spending my days just doing my general stuff, as last night my mom calls at around 10 PM. Of course I get a fright, as for me, by now, my dad’s health is just a waiting game. Will they operate? Will they not operate? If they operate or if he gets chemo, how long does he have? Who knows. And because I don’t know, I push these questions from my mind, knowing I have to keep focus on my day to day. And when I get a call like this, of course I jump out of my skin if it is something not important, like my mom’s birthday.

Now I have to explain something about me here: I have a problem remembering numbers and names. I am not sure why, if it is something Autistic, that my mind is so full of things that it just doesn’t register, that I have accepted to be reminded and so somewhere in the back of my mind I know I don’t HAVE to remember, or if it is because I don’t really care about people. I don’t know. I have wondered, I have tried with calendars and reminders, but it just won’t stick, and so I refuse to care about something I am just not able to do, or just don’t want to put so much effort into to actually do.

So yeah, my mom’s birthday, whooptidoo. Now since my brother died I have been trying to get closer to the family again, visiting about once every two weeks where I normally wouldn’t show up for months, simply because I try my best to keep my world small, so I can stay on top and in decent control of that bit of world,  those people have no real impact on my life.  I have gone out of my way to try to get them involved in what I do, but to no avail, and I have even moved things I like doing to their home so I get to be there to do them, but they don’t really seem to see that. And is it really up to me to push it in front of their nose and close to shame them for not noticing?

Anyway, my mom’s birthday. I tend to see birthdays as a necessary evil, including celebrating my own, but now that my brother has passed, his ex-girlfriend, they never got married because he thought there would be plenty of time, in the year and a half the family kinda has moved on, though it is still a touchy subject, but she has fully embraced the victim role, though she inherited the house they lived in out of his death and the family did everything to get the finances in order so she could keep on living there. But gratitude? Nope, just more massive victim tantrums, up to the point where I stepped back from acknowledging her as part of the family in the same way I did with my brother years before. I just don’t need that kind of self-inflicted drama in my life. It may sound harsh and uncaring, and maybe it is, but I just can’t cope with that, it makes me emotionally unstable, it pushes me to hating and sadness and self-injury, up to the point of saying things I really shouldn’t in sheer lashing out.

This is going to be the first time since that clash that I get to see her.

So yeah, whooptidoo. More drama on the horizon, and so I have taken my precautions.

The family is not going to be grateful for me actually saying she should get off her victim complex, though the lizard in the back of my mind longs to say so, even though we have talked about this in private and they agree that she is actually sucking the life out of everyone. My only other options are to leave when she gets to her hateful act of silent and cold aggression, but the family isn’t going to like that either, or just grin an bare it like everyone else, which is not my strong-suit. I have been there before with her, and last time it was me who apologized though I still feel I had nothing to apologize for, but this time I am not letting up. She has no positive influence on my life and so she has no place in my life. I will tolerate per presence up to a point, but after that all best are off.

The only thing that keeps this funny in my mind is a re-imagining of the Godfather: “You come to me with this on this day, the day of my mother’s birthday…”. I silently hope I will be quick and clear enough of mind to actually use that phrase, as it probably will be the only fun thing about this visit, but the storm raging outside seems to have taken hold inside of me as well. My sense of reality just knows that the only topic that will be discussed is my dad’s cancer. I just don’t get why people put so much focus on the negative, while instead they should try to get past it into the better times. Maybe because so much of my life has been moments of bad times, me being different gives me a different, maybe even better, insight in this… Maybe being autistic and living in each moment, seeing every leaf instead of the tree and hearing every tick of the clock without the sound disappearing in the background, I don’t just take the good times for granted and by skill in evading bad emotions because I know what they do to me, I can keep a clear head to say and do things that might be inappropriate, but in the end are necessary, like my dad’s funeral arrangements, which have never been spoken about until now. Or maybe they have been spoken about, but I have been kept out of the loop because they just don’t know how to deal with me. How can I know the difference?

Thank God for the Sudoku distraction. Let’s just get through this day.Posted onTagsautismbalancebirthdaydeathdistancedramafamilyLeave a commenton 3. “Today, the day of my mother’s birthday.”Edit”3. “Today, the day of my mother’s birthday.””

2. Past and Future tense

As stated on the About page, my older brother died about a year and a half ago. He died of a brain hemorrhage, quite suddenly, and I saw, up close, how much it hurt the family, how the loss tore into them and how they struggled to move on, where I for one had little problem moving on.

Now there wasn’t much of a love loss between the two of us, because we were of two different worlds, him the hard worker, and me the artist. We clashed so hard that we disavowed each other, no longer wanting to be related. Through this I had already accepted him of not having a place in my life, and that way I dealt with his death, more like an annoyance than anything else.  Quite honestly I had a feeling I was set free, free from everything in the past that was holding me back, while at the same time I longed for him to, just once, acknowledge to me, face to face, that he as proud of me. I never got that, and learned to live with knowing that I never would.

And now my father has cancer, and I have to realize that even if he beats this that he will not live forever. Nor will mom, nor will my sister, my wife, and me.

To be totally honest, I have thought about it a lot lately, death, living, what the options an possibilities are after he is gone, after mom is gone… With my brother I never really had done that, as we were so distant that his life had no impact upon mine, apart from the past; there was no future in it. But looking at my own future now, I see that I need to make arrangements on how I want my end to be, my cremation, and I need to get insured for that, as I don’t want to saddle anyone else with that problem to boot.

This, now, this moment, IS the future. It is happening right here, right now, and I don’t know how to deal with that. Can I be honest to them, knowing it will hurt them knowing that my laptop dying yesterday had more emotional impact on me than my own dad having cancer? I am confused about what is going on, but I don’t really feel anything, no sadness, no remorse. Or are my thoughts a result of feelings I don’t recognize, and will they welcome my honesty? Or should I, just as always, act, put on a mask of caring, of listening, all the while knowing that it is what THEY want to see in me, but not what I am.

What I am… I don’t know who or what I am, and I think no one does, which means that everyone is keeping up a facade to everyone else, probably while feeling so alone inside as I feel now, a loneliness even a new laptop couldn’t fill.

All I know is that I am tense, hence the title of this blog, and often find I am just staring out into nothingness, or keep myself busy with tasks that just need to be done. Life must go on, even while death is on my mind. It is the only way through, I think.Posted onTagsautismbrotherburialcancercremationdeathfatherhemorrhageLeave a commenton 2. Past and Future tenseEdit”2. Past and Future tense”

1. Almost real

This is the post excerpt.

I don’t know what this is.

I don’t know what this will become.

I just know that I need to do something, something to clear my mind and the turmoil of feelings that is confusing me. Of maybe they aren’t feelings, but thoughts, pulling my concentration away from where I believe they should be, a place that matters.

If I have one gift, it is that of words, I know how to put phrases together, and so I need to use that to get my mind clear of what is bothering me, what is distracting me. I have no control over this, nor do I actually want any control. To be honest, I just want it all to go away and leave me alone, to stop messing with me, as life is messy enough as it is.

It is not that I don’t care, I just don’t really know what caring, what loving, means. And because of that I always keep my distance, not to get emotionally involved, just to keep myself emotionally stable, and sane. And I think it is because of that, that I don’t allow myself to grieve over my brother, or maybe I already had moved on at the time of his death, or really get emotionally invested like the people I see around me. And that must seem like I don’t care, which it is not. I do care, I just don’t let it consume me, as I have to take care of me first. If I don’t take care of me, nobody else will, that is what I have come to believe in a life where people didn’t understand who I was or what I needed. Nobody came when I cried, and so I stopped crying.

I think that is the base-line of it.

I am Pinocchio, who can talk and walk like a real boy, but just isn’t.

I have, for all intent and purposes, a wooden heart.

Collection of older blogposts about depression

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10. Depression time is here again

… the skies above are clouded again.

Autumn has started, and with it went my decently good humored mood. With the pressures of life weighing on me, currently finding fun is hard to do and the way I feel it, hardly worth doing. It’s a step by step process of things I have to do, prioritized on a list because I can’t keep it all straight in my head, and just keep moving, step by step, day by grueling day, every evening before I sleep remembering the few good things that made life worthwhile the last few days… but to be honest, the list is repetitive and growing shorter.

I know I have to fight through this, that on the other side there will be good times again, but I am not looking forward to the darkness.

Anyway… just wanted to keep this updated.

Another thing to remove from my list.

September 25, 2016 | Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: autumndepression | Leave a comment | Edit

9. Keep your Monsters home!

Listen, parents, we all know you got tricked. Biology had it’s devious ways with you and made you believe you, woman, actually wanted to be infested with a parasite in your belly for 9 months, after which in the coming 25 years it would rain your bank-account. It is a natural drive, to propagate, so that the species can go on, but…

FOR GODS SAKE AND ALL THAT IS HOLY, TEACH YOUR BRATS SOME MANNERS WHEN OUT IN PUBLIC!

I know, the first remark you will make is ‘oh, I bet you don’t have kids’ and you’re right, I don’t, because I was wiser than to put one of those monsters on this planet. And of course we all wish we get a nice sweet one, but we all know that in upbringing you will screw that kid up and be so tired from all the stupid shit your monster does, that when it starts terrorizing someone else, you are just happy that, for the moment, it is not terrorizing YOU! But I didn’t choose to have that monster! Your lack of parenting skills or common sense to keep it locked up in the basement until it was trained enough to behave is now my problem!

So fuck you! The next kid I find being fucking annoying near where I am, I am going to slap it and tell it to get the fuck away from me! You heard me! You can complain and bitch all you like, but if you hate taken some preventive measures, either a condom OR teaching it manners, we wouldn’t have this problem!

So be warned. I will train your kids where you are lacking parenting skills. And if you don’t like that, then get pro-active, so I won’t have to. That, or don’t take it out in public. Your choice.

July 8, 2016 | Categories: nature vs nurtureparentspeople | Tags: behaviorchildrenhatekidsmannersmonsterparentingskills | Leave a comment | Edit

8. Weddings

Lord, do I hate weddings.

Not because two people decide to plan their future together, promising themselves each other exclusively, but because of all the pompenstance surrounding it.

Some government-qualified official having to decree that these two people are now together, the half hour talks about if they are serious, gathering of personal information and spreading that to the masses as funny… to me that is just shaming the couple! It has no reason for happening!

And don’t get me started about church weddings. Not every man is a prince and hardly any girl is a princess, so don’t act like it! It is pointless, it is useless, especially if that is the moment you have been building up to for your entire life. What have you been doing with your life until then? And what are you going to do with that afterwards?

Look, weddings are the reason so many marriages fail, simply by instating rules and someone lording those rules over the couple. In this day and age there is no reason people should get married, apart from tax breaks, retirement benefits, and being able to have a say about how your partner wishes to end their life when the time comes.

Fuck weddings.

Nobody is that special.

July 8, 2016 | Categories: Uncategorized | Leave a comment | Edit

Update to the site and blog posts

Added an extra piece to ‘Social Experiment with Gays‘ about how I divide gays from queers, as this seemed to confuse people.

Added a Contact page.

December 18, 2014 | Categories: Uncategorized | Leave a comment | Edit

7. Social experiment with gays

So last month I found I have a little extra pocket money, actually quite  decent sum to be honest, and I weighed my options between going ape-shit drunk with it or put it to some use. And silly me, I chose the latter. Now if I love something, it is unbiased social experiments. I personally generally don’t trust researchers anymore because their paycheck has to be coming from somewhere and in my opinion having the person who gives the money looking for a certain outcome might, or should I say will, influence the outcome, if only for the researcher to keep receiving funds from this source.

So. I took a bag of chits left from a party I once threw and bought myself a large piece of yellow cardboard on which I drew an elaborate but very recognizable question-mark. And I took to the streets with my question about the home life of gays. Nature versus nurture always interested me and with gays, for me, being a clear cut representative group who were easy to find with gay bars all over the city.

And to answer a question coming out of ‘I punched a queer out cold‘, no, I don’t hate gays. Gays, lesbians, I consider them just people with different taste, like some people like peanut-butter and others like fish (and no, that is not an analogy of anything, not even the word analogy is an analogy). But I to make distinction between gays and queers, and what I hate are those who believe they are better than everyone else and just behaving like a spoiled little bitch, male or female and whatever their sexual preference, what I call the Diva or Queen effect. Those people need to be brought down a few pegs, preferably face down into the mud in front of a crowd of people laughing at them, posting the entire thing on Youtube. But back to this piece, which is just about gays, not queers.

My inquiry was four-part, the first two consisting of two questions once concerning each parent, and two general question.

  1. Emotional stability, 1 being closed off and 10 being completely erratic, I wanted to know from either parent where they scaled.
  2. Earnings, 1 being none and 10 being sole earner, again one for each parent.
  3. If either or both parents were gay
  4. Who did they feel closest to.

As the place opened, a general style gay bar, nothing with leather or anything, at 8 PM I explained to the bartender my plan and he told me to leave. So I did. With the next bar only three doors down I asked again and was told I could set up. So we agreed on the general price of a soft-drink for a chit, I pasted the question-mark on the wall, and we waited. Around 1o the place filled up and I got my first bite. In return for his answers the guy got a chit, and used it at the bar. The plan was working. At the end of the evening I had run through all my chits and settled up at the bar, going home with very strange results. (more about this later). Being curious and still having money to burn, I decided to try again, but this time hit up a lesbian bar. By the way, I found out both places were actually owned by the same guy, the bartender from the second place, it had just been the barman at the first place that had been a douche.

Again much the same story, but I got accepted right away with the question that they could see the results when published. I agreed. Same thing, chits for drinks, but with the lesbians I found that the chits were not used for drinks, but given as tips to the bar staff. I thought that was immensely funny and worth commenting.

Now… drum-roll… for the results

1. Emotions:

Gays: a whopping 82% of emotional unavailable dad and 63% over-emotional mom,

Lesbians: a hammering 88% emotional unavailable dads versus … wait for it… 83% over emotional mom!

2. Earnings:

Gays and lesbians both leveled out around 60% of the dads being the sole provider and 3% mom being sole provider. Now these numbers were slanted because in a lot of households the interviewed came from were run by double incomes, which was something I had not taken into account. But with numbers like this, income didn’t seem a factor anyway.

3. In only 2% was any of either parent openly gay. So generally speaking being gay does NOT breed gays.

And lastly:

4. to which parent they felt closest:

Gays: 93% to their mom (the 63% joybag of emotions!)

Lesbians: 76% to their dads (the 88% emotional equivalent of a rock in the dry season)

I was amazed.

Now for me this can mean different things: in parents from that age, estimated age of 20 to 40, being gay or not, parents are generally ranged to the dad being mostly emotional unavailable and the mom was the emotionally equivalent of a fun-house mirror.
BUT it could also mean that emotionally unbalanced people create children with a higher chance of being gay or lesbian.

To be sure, I would have to ask a third group and hold a consensus of heterosexual people, or even possibly split them up in male and female heterosexuals though I personally don’t see the benefit of that, so maybe there will be more about this later on when I have some money to burn.
All I know now is that I had a lot more fun with this cash than I could possibly have had spending it in one night of drunken debauchery.

And just to add: yes, I am heterosexual and no, I am not homophobic, but both that nor my choice of words has anything to do with the numbers that came up in the unbiased questioner. I leave it up to you to decide what the numbers might mean and I’d love to hear those opinions in the comments below if (I can manage to turn them on).

PS. verbal attacks on my person WILL be deleted. I tried to be professional about this, so I expect the same from you.

December 15, 2014 | Categories: gaysincomelesbiansnature vs nurtureparentssocial experiment | 1 Comment | Edit

6. Suicide is painless

I think people should be allowed to kill themselves if they want to. There, I said it, which is the closest I will get to the actual topic as telling people how to kill themselves is deemed illegal by the rules of WordPress, and yes, I have found and have devised a few very easy ways in which you leave a decent looking corpse for others to mourn over.

And now for my reasoning, which is actually very simple:

There has to be an agency you can go to and after talking things over they either tell you that there is hope or that there is in fact no hope at all and they give you the means to do so humanely, as people who believe that by killing themselves they will better the world or at least not be in pain or be a bother to anyone are, and this is my opinion from observation, very often right in their assessment. I know a couple of people with this wish and it never got better for them, they either still struggle with it on an almost daily basis or are in fact a burden on society because they are not mentally capable to really help others. That is why I believe that when they had the strength and the inclination to take action and stop the suffering, someone should have let them.

In fact, if these people were allowed to die, the world WOULD be better for it. I for one would not be alive anymore and quite honestly it would suit me fine as these blogs are all I really leave behind as a footprint of my existence and there are plenty of these rant blogs around. That I wrote this doesn’t mean a damn thing, it doesn’t make me special or unique in any way. Life is not a pleasure for me and most often people are just a nuisance I continuously have to live with. I am not enjoying life, but am taking up space and using resources, and all of that because there is this ‘rule’ that life is holy. Life is not holy as it only services the living. Suffering is not noble, overcoming is noble, but not everyone is suited for this, no matter how many adverse hero’s Hollywood throws our way in a desperate attempt to quantify the lie.

It’s actually pretty simple when you think about it.

There basically are six main causes that are called suicide. The following cursive texts are directly copied from Happiness in this World, Reflections of a Buddhist Physician, a website speaking quite openly on the subject:

1. They’re depressed.  This is without question the most common reason people commit suicide.  Severe depression is always accompanied by a pervasive sense of suffering as well as the belief that escape from it is hopeless.  The pain of existence often becomes too much for severely depressed people to bear.  The state of depression warps their thinking, allowing ideas like “Everyone would all be better off without me” to make rational sense.  They shouldn’t be blamed for falling prey to such distorted thoughts any more than a heart patient should be blamed for experiencing chest pain:  it’s simply the nature of their disease.  Because depression, as we all know, is almost always treatable, we should all seek to recognize its presence in our close friends and loved ones.  Often people suffer with it silently, planning suicide without anyone ever knowing.  Despite making both parties uncomfortable, inquiring directly about suicidal thoughts in my experience almost always yields an honest response.  If you suspect someone might be depressed, don’t allow your tendency to deny the possibility of suicidal ideation prevent you from asking about it.

The stories of the victors of depression are often exaggerated and now and then even outright lies. Depression is a hardwired mental state, it doesn’t get better it can only be repressed. These people, like me, will suffer for their entire life, so why not shorten it and save them and the people around them a lot of suffering and annoyance.

2. They’re psychotic.  Malevolent inner voices often command self-destruction for unintelligible reasons.  Psychosis is much harder to mask than depression—and arguably even more tragic.  The worldwide incidence of schizophrenia is 1% and often strikes otherwise healthy, high-performing individuals, whose lives, though manageable with medication, never fulfill their original promise.  Schizophrenics are just as likely to talk freely about the voices commanding them to kill themselves as not, and also, in my experience, give honest answers about thoughts of suicide when asked directly.  Psychosis, too, is treatable, and usually must be for a schizophrenic to be able to function at all.  Untreated or poorly treated psychosis almost always requires hospital admission to a locked ward until the voices lose their commanding power.

Hearing voices in your head telling you to kill yourself is not a fun thing and is not something that, as with 1, can not be cured. These people will suffer and will never be part of community life to better it for everyone. The best they can hope for is decent medication that will make them walking zombies for the rest of their lives.

3.  They’re impulsive.  Often related to drugs and alcohol, some people become maudlin and impulsively attempt to end their own lives.  Once sobered and calmed, these people usually feel intensely ashamed. The remorse is usually genuine, and whether or not they’ll ever attempt suicide again is unpredictable.  They may try it again the very next time they become drunk or high, or never again in their lifetime.  Hospital admission is therefore not usually indicated.  Substance abuse and the underlying reasons for it are generally a greater concern in these people and should be addressed as aggressively as possible.

They are impulsive. Right. To put it bluntly, people who use drugs and excess in alcohol are not really people I want around me after they have grown up, especially not if by then they are interested in jobs to care for others like doctors or lawyers. And then most often these deaths are accidental or because of the suffering in withdrawal. Sorry, no. Please exit the gene-pool stage left.

4. They’re crying out for help, and don’t know how else to get it.  These people don’t usually want to die but do want to alert those around them that something is seriously wrong.  They often don’t believe they will die, frequently choosing methods they don’t think can kill them in order to strike out at someone who’s hurt them—but are sometimes tragically misinformed.  The prototypical example of this is a teenage girl who—suffering genuine angst because of a relationship with a friend, boyfriend, or parent—swallows a bottle of Tylenol not realizing that in high enough doses Tylenol causes irreversible liver damage.  I’ve watched more than one teenager die a horrible death in an ICU days after such an ingestion when remorse has already cured them of their desire to die and their true goal of alerting those close to them of their distress has been achieved.

This basically falls back to 1, but there can be other causes like having a crippling secret in your life. Well if your cry for help is slashing your wrists, you really are lacking verbal skills and to be honest surviving something like that is not a happy life, it is filled with shame for the scars that stay with you until you actually die.

5. They have a philosophical desire to die.  The decision to commit suicide for some is based on a reasoned decision often motivated by the presence of a painful terminal illness from which little to no hope of reprieve exists.  These people aren’t depressed, psychotic, maudlin, or crying out for help.  They’re trying to take control of their destiny and alleviate their own suffering, which usually can only be done in death.  They often look at their choice to commit suicide as a way to shorten a dying that will happen regardless.  In my personal view, if such people are evaluated by a qualified professional who can reliably exclude the other possibilities for why suicide is desired, these people should be allowed to die at their own hands.

Well if you get that far in philosophy that you figure life is just for propagation and because you are you it is meaningless and useless, then please, follow the green exit signs into the light. If you are that smart and don’t see a way out, there probably isn’t one.

6. They’ve made a mistake.  This is a recent, tragic phenomenon in which typically young people flirt with oxygen deprivation for the high it brings and simply go too far.  The only defense against this, it seems to me, is education.

Well shit happens, and in all honesty I can’t call that suicide anyway. If things like oxygen deprivation or risk adrenaline is your kink, then you know you are playing with death and are getting off on it. If you play with fire you might get burned.

ssz1

So basically apart from 3 and 6, all these cases could easily have been helped if only the mass of people had the balls to actually accept these people for who they are, quitters. And yes that is harsh, but if you can’t handle harsh words and that is the reason you want to quit, you are just not built for living. The basic problem is that people who have a healthy(er) mind and gland system and not suffer from any of these crippling effects can never understand why these people would want to kill themselves and so decide they have to stay alive and suffer. But why not let them. Why not alleviate their pain and that of everyone around them and give them an option to find closure, after which you help those who were close to this person move on and live their lives with meaning, actually giving the death of a useless person meaning.

December 11, 2014 | Categories: assisted suicidedepressioninner darknesspeoplepersonalpersonal preferencereasonssuicide | Leave a comment | Edit

5. I punched a queer out cold

Right… now I know some people will get ticked off simply by reading the title, and even though I find it silly that a vast majority of people has to alter their language because of a small an generally unimportant and unimpressive minority. Words are tools and the use of these tools is what makes people people. If you take away certain words and say ‘you cannot say that word, we can but you can’t; to me that is a lot like ‘you and me are having a competition in making perfect logs, but I get to use a circular saw and you can’t.’ I mean, fuck that shit.

I don’t condone violence, but, as Chris Rock said it so perfectly: ‘in some cases, I understand’.

And, again even though I find it stupid to have to explain this, but I use the word queer on purpose and in the original definition of the word, meaning ‘odd’. I actually know a couple of gay guys and we hang out, no problem, I even know a couple of drag queens in and out of costume. But when someone goes flapping their finger in my face to erase my words or starts talking loudly while I am speaking but all they are saying is ‘nonononono Listen!’ without then making a DAMN good point, then I call that ‘odd’ behavior and there is just a limit to what I can take. There comes a point where someone who feels the need to dance and sing to ‘I’m every woman’ while missing a couple of parts or demands ‘R.E.S.P.E.C.T.’ without giving it is just tossed in the ‘asshole’ pile and get what he or she has coming.

This is what happened.

I was minding my own business at a coffee place I frequent when some Queer while talking to someone behind him bumped into me and spilled his caffee latte moca choca whatever. He was moving away from the counter, I was standing still at a decent enough distance waiting for my coffee while checking Facebook on my phone. No, I wasn’t paying attention, but how much can happen while standing still, right? If we had been cars this would have been a no brainer. Part of his coffee landed on my shoe, but no biggy, I don’t make a point about something like that. We locked eyed for a moment and the look that I got from him as if I was something he needed to scrape off the bottom of his shoe, which took three deep breaths to come to terms with. Then he, and I want to say it but I am still being civil, spoke.
Well?’
So I returned ‘Well what?’
‘Aren’t WE going to say something?’
Now it was on the tip of my tongue to say ‘You, sir, are an asshole’ but I didn’t.
‘Aren’t WE going to say sorry?’
Well at this time I had reached my limit of abuse for the day, especially when coming from a scrawny cock who likes cock (and I do mean cock as in male version of a chicken). And yes, if this had been a Hells-Angels biker, what followed would never have happened as I pick my battles wisely. On the other hand, I might not have. I hope to be able to stand my ground against any odds when I believe I am in the right, but I guess I’ll never know.
‘Well you might, but I won’t. I was right here, standing still. Next time look where you’re going instead of gabbing behind you with your fag hag.’
People around us snickered, having been witness to the collision and enjoying the show that followed. The girl in question didn’t like it though as her jaw dropped in clear shock and so I grinned as I put away my phone, noting I had achieved the reaction I was aiming for. And to note: fag hag is an acceptable wording to use for a girl who likes a gay guy. Look it up. Just Google ‘a girl who likes a gay guy is called’ and see what pops up.
‘Well you’d better buy me a new one. This one is ruined now,’ he then spoke with clear denigration as if the shit on his shoe was supposed to say sorry for him stepping in it and then pay a fine.

‘Not going to happen. So sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up.’
‘Can you beLIEVE this asshole?’ he then turned to say to the girl and as he face turned back, his nose accidentally connected with my fist. I didn’t mean for it to happen, it was a total reflex thing, simply because I had just about had enough. As he recoiled, his coffee dropping to the ground and splashing on my shoes and pants, but hey, I guess I deserved that, he clasped his nose.
‘What the fuck? You ASSHOLE!’ he yelled at me. At that very moment he dropped his hands, he got another one right on the snot factory and he went down, out cold. And I walked out without the coffee which I had already paid for as to me it was the only way to not make this scene bigger than it already was.

I am not a violent person. Yes I have a lot of pent up rage, but I don’t usually act upon it. But to me this was well deserved, as some people just need to learn the hard way. And I really hope he learned something, if only to duck next time. I do believe for people like that there will most definitely be a next time, as people who claim the world is against them often keep doing something that just merits the consequences. If you speed, you get a ticket. If you steal, eventually you will get caught. I have been guilty of both, but when it happened I didn’t go wailing on the person who caught me. I accepted the punishment and even said that it was fair to the officer.

You see, in my book respect has to be earned, as if it’s given for free with a box of cracker jacks it doesn’t mean a thing. And it can drop below zero. I am all for civility, hell, I have held open doors for people plenty of times. But if you behave like an asshole then be prepared to be treated as one.

December 3, 2014 | Categories: fightgayinner darknesspeoplepersonalqueer | 1 Comment | Edit

4. Discrimination vs personal preference

Alright, let me explain this one more time.

Refusing someone from a club or saying no to a person in general is NOT discrimination, nor do people have an obligation to explain why someone is barred or refused. This whole discrimination thing has gotten way out of hand and has become a go-word for people of color to get what they want.

Here is the difference:

Discrimination:

1. The act of discriminating.

2. The ability or power to see or make fine distinctions; discernment.

3. Treatment or consideration based on class or category rather than individual merit; partiality or prejudice.

Simply said it means: making deciding between one thing or another based on personal experience.

Having a personal preference against someone is therefore NOT discrimination, because it is YOU they don’t like the look of. It’s a person to person opinion and has nothing to do with your skin color, your faith or anything.

Some people just don’t get along, we all know that, and so we all make discernments on a daily basis. It is why women with DD cup get less tickets from male officers than anyone else. It doesn’t men you are being discriminated because you are getting a ticket and don’t have a DD.

It is actually allowed to burn a cross in your own yard in a black neighborhood by simple stating you found it in your basement while cleaning up and really don’t like crosses. You can refuse anyone you don’t like for any reason by simply stating hat they look like they are about to steal from you and you don’t trust them. All anyone really has to do is play it on the man or woman and say ‘I don’t like the look of you’ and stop explaining. If that person then throws a tantrum you can just say ‘See? I was right. You are an asshole’ and your point is proven.

Just as you are talking to the police when you are getting arrested: saying less is always better than saying more.

It is ONLY discrimination when you have two applications for a job on your desk which are exactly the same, but one is from a Caucasian and the other is from a not Caucasian. If in this case you feel you then SHOULD hire the not-Caucasian because he or she has fought a lot damn harder to get there than the first, you will actively be discriminating the Caucasian for being white. The only real option is to flip a coin, but only after you flipped it 1000 times to know for sure one side is not unfavorably balanced to the other.

But also know that you are free to fire the not-Caucasian as soon as they do not comply with policies. Being of a color doesn’t mean you get to bitch, curse or behave outside common courtesy. If you want to play with the other kids in the pool, you need to check your attitude at the door and get fucked over like everyone else, or just fuck off to any place where that kind of behavior is accepted.

December 1, 2014 | Categories: burn a crossDiscriminationfakingliespeoplepersonalpersonal preference | Leave a comment | Edit

3. Screaming into the Wind

What I find utterly incredible that only an hour after I created this blog and started writing, I got my first hate-mail. People will never cease to amaze me in their utter futility and I am sure this sir or madam (and please, don’t write me to tell me which because I really REALLY don’t care) had nothing better to do than to scour people’s blogs in search of something to hate.
I am not going to post the message, but it came down to this:
I am stupid and am crying for attention. I should shut up.
Right.
Well, no. I this was a cry for attention, then I would be mass-mailing it on an anonymous Facebook after making 2000 people my ‘friends’. This blog is just me screaming into the wind, an act without expectations to change anything. Basically it means I have given up hope for humanity and am just waiting for some backwards country to start World War Three which will REALLY end all wars by laying waste to humanity. Meanwhile I’ll be here in the back-row, eating popcorn and watching the myriad show of futility.
Also I got a message from someone telling me he/she will pray for me.
Don’t.
IF there is a God, and personally I don’t believe, but if you do then that is fine as I actually kinda admire people who have found a stick to cling to when the going gets tough to keep their life going… so IF there was a God I wouldn’t him/her to waste time on me. I am known as a literal lost cause, or in more biblical terms, I am a lost sheep with four broken legs, poisonous mutton and no wool-growth to speak of. So save your prayers on someone worthy.
IF, and I do stress the if, prayers would work then I’d think religious people would be better off then the rest of us saps, and I don’t see that. Quite honestly I don’t believe praying for someone would really work as God would not throw around favors like Santa-Claus. IF prayers would work then I’d think you should pray for things NOT to happen to you or the people that you love.
And please, though I understand your heart is in the right place, I ask you not to pray for strangers, especially when you haven’t first asked this stranger if it would be alright. I find praying for someone quite a personal involvement from you onto me and I would have no idea how to repay it. You would say I wouldn’t have to, but I would feel I would want to, as I go through life owing no one. If at all possible I would want to live my life with a 0 carbon footprint, simple so that when I am dead it would seem like I was never here.
Both Heaven and Hell (see God and praying for references) don’t feel like they would be decent options for me. I would prefer Thorpal, the waiting room of Heaven, the nothing.
Though I dislike Heavy Metal and really hate approximate rhyme I found lyrics which kind of explain what I mean.
This is for both of you, the bad and the good.

Godgory: In Silence Forever lyrics (link to Youtube, but don’t play this unless you want your ears to bleed)

I am walking in the winter night
Under the moon alone
Shadows hanging over me
Like painful memories
Can’t you tell me where I belong
In this society
I don’t care about anything
It’s all destiny
Someone else is telling us
How were suppossed to feel
I am so sick of it
The news on T. V.
If you don’t feel like others do
Then you’re a stranger
Can’t help it but I hate it all
Then I’m danger
My head is full of voices
Which are calling me
I can’t sleep because they speaking
My mind is full I want it free
Sometimes it feels I wanna cry
I wanna scream I wanna die
Can’t you see I’m afraid
To fall a sleep and let voices take
Control of me like they done before
I’m not sure I can take no more
Sometimes I need to clear my head
In silence, In silence forever
Sometimes I need to be
Alone in silence
Sometimes it’s hard to be
Solitude in silence
I guess it doesn’t matter to you
How I am feeling
That’s the sign you’re giving me
When you never set me free
I am walking alone again
No one can touch me
I need this to clear my head
The cure is pleasing

November 28, 2014 | Categories: depressioninner darknesspeoplepersonalprayerscream against the stormWorld War Three | Leave a comment | Edit

2. Why I keep Smiling

So here’s a little secret for you. I smile at people not to seem friendly, but just so they won’t bother me.
I actually don’t like people, not one on one and especially not in crowds. To me people are like emotional locusts, eating everything in sight until there is nothing left, no air to breathe. People pretend that their life matters when in fact it really doesn’t. As a race, the world would be better off without people on it and there is not a single other race that has that. Even gnats and wasps serve a purpose, though right now it escapes me what those reasons could be (and for you biologists, no I don’t care to know). But mankind really doesn’t. And that is basically why I dislike people. They are useless, mindless, self-important wastes of space. I have seen no other race which made a point out of making sure their life was miserable, and I am sad and ashamed to be one of them. I really wish I wasn’t.
I actually dislike myself when I have been in my home for a long time, surrounded by the stuff I gathered to give my life some sort of meaning, some sort of feeling, but which basically doesn’t mean a thing and only creates melancholy. Most of what I own was a gift and I know I will hurt that persons feeling if I just throw it away. What I really need, really really need, can fit in a single backpack, and that would include the laptop I am writing on now. The rest I can find on the road, where ever I am, as humanity has made it a point to ‘civilize’ just about every part of the world with houses and washing machines, TVs and libraries full of books depicting the misery of history.
I don’t smile because I like life, though everything in my appearance will show that.
I just want to be left the fuck alone by do-gooders who will take any opportunity to ask if I am alright, after which they will spew their own discomforts and ailments. Let me make this perfectly clear: I don’t care about you. I have never cared and very likely will never care. And if this hurts your feelings then you will do well to steer clear from me, because in this blog I will not hold my tongue anymore about the futility and stupidity of mankind.

November 28, 2014 | Categories: depressionfakinginner darknesspeoplepersonal | Leave a comment | Edit

1. Welcome to my misery

I don’t expect people to ever read this. It is just a place for me to vent, because I know I keep things bottled up inside. Sometimes I feel I am just a freak accident away from becoming a Marvel supervillan, because I feel I have all the traits, all I need is a power to put my mark and be seen. I am quite sure if I had a superpower I would abuse it, as I feel the world has abused me quite enough and it is really time for some payback.
I am no one, a nobody. I never excelled at anything, kept my head down in fear of being seen and ridiculed, and now I am close to invisible.  Having been diagnosed with Pdd-NOS, which basically means ‘ there is something wrong with him, it might be autism, but we’re not really sure’, I often feel quite alone in this world. I seem to have no purpose, no reason to be alive.
So why am I alive? Was it that important for my parents to have a third child, while the first studied hard, got a higher education and climbed the ladder in his job and the second one went to university and into finance? And the Third… well much like Ender I am pretty much a misfit, but I don’t have the gene to strive ‘to be the best I can be’ apparently. I barely finished grade-school, was pushed along in education because ‘that’s how it should go’, passed with report card filled with 5s and 6es, basically because I didn’t care. I have been waiting to die ever since I was pretty young.
I am not suicidal, though I have thought about how someone could kill himself, what it would be like to no existing anymore and seeing the world just go on as if nothing had changed. I do lie a lot when it suits my purpose, mainly to try to get people to notice me, to be someone, something. And I really can’t figure out why, as subsequently I look down on the people who are so gullible to believe what I say. It kinda feels like I don’t want to belong to any group that would have someone like me as a member. Though I am intelligent and can carry a conversation, I find I rarely do, mostly because I find it hard to strike up a conversation with people and secondly because I rarely find interesting people to talk with. It feels like being forever stuck between being a handkerchief and a tablecloth. People just seem so… stupid most of the time, watching TV and really wondering if this different fabric softener is really better than the one they have. They eat, breathe, shit, work, sleep, just for the sake of living, to just feed the commercial machine and the top 5% of people owning 50% of the wealth to get richer. Someone should pick up a long range rifle and just shoot those fuckers, and then shoot the ones who inherit it, and keep doing it until people start to understand that it is money you just don’t want to touch and give it away to some stupid cause caring for whatever and then finally all that money will flow back into society. The world would keep on turning without those people. But I also know it won’t be me who picks up that rifle, because I am a coward, unwilling to deal with the consequences.
So yeah, that is basically the reason I write this. It is just a place for me to vent, to write what goes on inside of me, to for once just be totally honest, while being able to keep who I am as a name, a person, a secret.
I have set up the possibility for people to follow this blog, if someone out there is interested enough, but I am not expecting much from it.
So yeah, first post. Welcome to my misery. Welcome to my life.

November 28, 2014 | Categories: depressioninner darknessliesPdd-NOSpersonalsuicide | Leave a comment | Edit

Living on the Defensive

Being a high-functioning autistic has several drawbacks, one of which is that in conversations I never have any idea how the other person will react to my actual words. From observation I can quite decently predict what type of person I have in front of me, and so what their intentions are; aggressive, shy, seductive, but in actual conversation it is basically swinging a baseball bat in a furnished room, just hoping to hit the ball coming at me and even then hoping it will go back out the window it came from. Most often I hit air though, my comment completely missing the person by a mile, or hit something unintended, which most often annoys the person speaking to me.

It is either this or shut up completely, knowing I will probably miss the target, and this shutting up is what I have seen with so many autists I have encountered. Through being told time and time again that their logic doesn’t make sense, in the end, or especially at a young age, the autist decides to then not speak again. With me this was a conscious decision, but quite quickly made it’s way into my subconscious because it had a positive effect; people didn’t think I was so weird anymore, basically because they had nothing to react to.

And this is a problem.

When an autist shuts up, he or she cannot learn reaction patterns and will forever stay that child-level of awkward when actually talking to people. That awkwardness will always be there, it will probably never go away completely because it will always come from  a conscious awareness what the proper answer is and not heart-felt, but this learning appropriate responses is what helps an autist get by in life.

Now, having said that, I do have to add that nothing is worse for an autist, at least it was for me, for someone to keep harping on of trying to make you talk. But when the autist talks, put away what ever you were doing, turn towards them, and show (not fake) interest to what is being said. Try to follow the path of logic the autist follows getting to their conclusion, even if it is an uncommon one, and through putting your own opinion and thoughts to words compare that to what you think about the topic. And if an autist asks a question, answer it, no matter how strange or silly the question may be. If you laugh about the question, then please, explain why you think the question is funny or strange. A simple: wow, I never heard that question asked before’ or ‘it is not something I usually talk about, but OK, I will try’ helps a mile for the autist to learn the tricks and possibly even understand the art of conversation.

If the autist attempts to make a joke and nobody laughs, it is not logical in the autist brain that they might have said something strange or even offensive. The most logical conclusion in my mind when this happens is that people were not listening or didn’t get the joke, and I am likely to repeat myself and add harm to injury.

Speaking for myself, I do not mean to be offensive, ever. When I open up and speak what ever is on my mind or in my heart it means that I am trusting you with my most precious commodity: myself and what I believe to be true. Don’t shut the door on me by saying ‘wow, that is so offensive!’, but explain WHY it is offensive, and I will most likely explain to you why I don’t think it is.

If you don’t then, quite quickly you will find yourself on the outside of the circle I dare to talk to, after which I ban you from my heart, then from my mind, and after that for me you don’t even exist and I wouldn’t think twice of stepping over your bloodied battered body if I ever came across it and move on. And that is not me trying to be offensive, that is just basic fact to me. I have to divide the world into people who matter to me and people who don’t matter, and people who don’t matter I don’t want in my life because they make my life difficult. I divide the world into people who are dangerous and people who are not dangerous, and guess what, I don’t keep people who are dangerous to me around me.

But the choice to be my friend is all up to you. All you need to do is listen, then talk, and then listen again.

When my world just falls away – a poem on trust

Though my face doesn’t show it,
I am very fragile inside.
And every time someone breaks a promise,
Cuts me down, insults me, or feeds me lies,
The rope under my feet is swinging
And I need to steady myself,
Or fall.

I know you cannot help it,
You are just who you are,
And do just what you do,
But know that I am up here,
Balancing the wire,
And there is no net
In sight.

Don’t tell me to man up,
Because I can’t, and never could,
All I know in life is the high-wire.
Will you be the one,
To have shaken my rope that day?
And who will be there to catch me
When my world just falls away?

Autism and Trust – a little rant

I am going to be a little cryptic here to spare some people’s feelings, so just accept the premise as is.

I was invited to a party tonight, and I don’t get invited to many parties as I don’t have that much friends, but at the door I was rejected to enter because someone else who was not really invited entered late and apparently was more important than me, as they hadn’t seen each other in a while.

When it happened I accepted it for what it was, but as I walked home I got angry about it, showing me that there was something inherently flawed in that logic. I wouldn’t assume that if I went to a party uninvited that they would open the door for me, let alone reject someone else because I was there. And if it is just a matter of numbers, then how am I less than any other person there?  And so in my mind it must mean that I am not good enough, just someone to fill the numbers, while logically I know I am just as nice and friendly as any of the others there… So why did I got dumped and not someone else? I don’t know.

Maybe it’s because my face doesn’t show emotions and so it looks like I don’t mind that much, but I do. Things like this just gut me, like my intestines have been pulled out through my nose, and it takes a long time for that feeling to disappear, longer than with most people who can just ‘get over things’ easier, shrug and move on. I don’t ‘get over things’.

Being invited is rare for me, I don’t go to parties all that much and so when I can and actually do, then it’s important for me, but it jut seems to me now that the others just don’t care about what I think or feel, or just don’t see the pain they cause by turning me away. Not that I expect or even should always get my way, though deep inside I would of course like that. Just don’t promise me a cookie, then show me the cookie and then take it away again. That is just unfair.
It feels like someone saying ‘trust me’ and then kicking me in the shins, after which they can say sorry all they want, but it still feels like being kicked in the shins, even if you tell me I can join next time. That is just giving me a band-aid after you kicked me in the shins. It’s a nice gesture to make to stop the bleeding, but it doesn’t take the pain away you caused in the first place.

The only other explanation I can see is that this guy gets that it will hurt me, but trusts me and our friendship enough to put me through this because there would have been a problem otherwise, but someone kicking me in the shins like this sure doesn’t look like a sign of a friendship to me and so it makes me doubt his sincerity, which brings me back to just being a number.

I am angry, I am sad, and right now I crave everything that I know is not good for me, anything to take this pain away and make me forget about it and ‘move on’. I know I can do that, but it takes drastic measures I am not willing to take. I want ice to cool my wrists as I can feel my heart beating, and I know that isn’t a good sign. I want to kick things and scream into people’s faces, but I know I can’t, as those expressions are not in me. I can’t allow myself to do those things as they will damage my friendships and my social life (the little I have), and so all I can do is swallow, which makes me sick to my stomach.
And so in writing this I just want to vent a little, talk about it to someone, though I know that if the wrong person reads this it will diminish me in the eyes of the kicker, who is someone I actually like, and I don’t have that many friends.

I feel tired, sad, pained, disappointed, disillusioned, lonely, empty…and I have no safe cures to take that away. I can only wait for the sick feeling to go away again, which will take days, even weeks. At least alcohol is a solution (little joke there) to make me relax, forget, and the hangover it cases only lasts a day, two at most, days I would otherwise spend in a bad mood anyway. I know drinking isn’t the best way to deal with this, but it is the best one I have available. I just have to make sure I don’t overuse it, like with everything. And music helps too.

For all you out there who deal with people with autism:
All relationships are built on trust, so don’t make promises you can’t keep, don’t take away what you gave away, and don’t go back on your word. Your word is all we have to believe what you say, and when we stop believing in you, we can never again trust you.

Autism, what it’s really like.

I am getting pretty tired of all these movies that have come out over the years in which people, children especially, with autism are regarded as having special powers. The latest one X+Y is again of this annoying breed and adds nothing of insight into what autism is really like. You want to know what it’s like? Then watch this animation stopmotion movie called Mary and Max.

Nuff said.

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