The price we pay.

Before I begin, I'd like to say that, for the most part, I'm happy with who I am; happy with my life, my family and friends - I do truly appreciate how lucky I am to be where I'm at now. My partner is incredible - his inner strength has always amazed me - and I'd be absolutely lost without him. Life can be beautiful.

This past week, though, has been tough. Tough is actually an understatement - it's been one of the hardest weeks I've experienced in a very long time. Expectations have been raised to almost insurmountable levels, and our home has seen a lot of negativity over the last 10 days - and not all of it came from me. 

Around this time last week, I was reaching the later stages of a suicide plan. My partner surprised me by turning up an hour earlier than expected - in fact, at that point, I wasn't entirely sure he'd be returning at all, bar to collect his things. My rock, the cog that keeps this family running, very nearly crumbled. Discovering my intent pushed him over the edge, and I (we) came seriously close to losing him completely. I absolutely regret acting on my suicidal thoughts.

I hadn't yet taken anything above my prescribed dose when I was discovered, but had spent a good three hours getting everything in order before I took the final steps. I'd collected my presciption for Tramadol after I'd said goodbye to my beautiful boys - by far the most painful admission in this post. They had absolutely no clue anything was wrong, they were picked up by a friend to spend time with her children; nothing was out of the ordinary except my inability to stop crying. I got my youngest dressed with the utmost care and consciousness, taking in every single detail of them both before they walked out of my garden gate. I'd prepared messages for my parents and my partner, and was trying to work out whether I should take the pills and walk somewhere to avoid getting caught, whether I should do it at all, when my partner pulled up outside. I'm thankful he did, although at the time it felt like my insides had fallen out; not only would he likely discover the evidence and be upset, but my chance to escape the hell I was in had just slipped away. 

My partner was, in a word, devastated. Angry... so very, very angry too. He couldn't even bare to look at me or touch me, his hate filled words inflicting pain I can't possibly describe. Of course, I deserved them. What he said was true; I'm a pathetic, selfish individual. What I tried to do highlights that. The people I would have left behind would be affected, in ways I probably don't understand. His anger spilled over, and all of the tension of living with me came screaming out; admitting he simply gets annoyed when I get upset these days - no matter whether I can control the situation/reaction or not. This is not something I can simply fix, the answers aren't simple. 

I'm not sure how, or why, but despite stating his intent to leave over and over, he stayed. The anger seems to have stayed too - to be honest, it's been lurking for a long time. After several frank, brutally honest conversations with him, I've discovered he's struggling immensely to deal with me. His feelings of love, although currently still there, are allegedly under threat by the stress of dealing with my more "difficult" behaviours - even the small annoyances, like my tendency to interrupt/talk over him, or dealing with anxieties when out shopping, are starting to get to him. I despise myself for this - a perfectly nice person who's become angry and resentful just living in the same house as me. The person I met would never have ripped my earplugs out and screamed in my face (note, this was 4 hours prior to the suicide confrontation - my own fault for trying to go walking at the wrong time, I was in a complete brain fog at that point and didn't check the time). He's a good person, the best - but living with me has taken it's toll on him. 

All this is not to say that I don't try - oh my, if you could know how much effort I put into being "better". Better at staying calm, at juggling tasks, at being a person. Just making a phone call leaves my mind exhausted - having to put on a façade in real life is even harder. I'm almost constantly on edge - learning about autism, although eye-opening and incredibly helpful in learning more about myself, has brought about a certain self awareness that is, at times, unbearable. Knowing I have an issue with, say, conversation, means I can work on developing those skills specifically - but it also leaves me with a kind of paranoia, which again, is both a help and a hindrance. This paranoia, or self awareness, leads me to put my full focus on the problem area - either leading to success as a result of good planning/attitude, or failure as a result of anxiety over the thought of failing, generally not being good at whatever it is to begin with, or losing concentration. This, in turn, often results in me beating myself up - both figuratively and literally. It's a vicious cycle I'm struggling to break. 

Putting the suicide plans aside, the past week has been a mass of tears, meltdowns, shutdowns and deep loneliness. More than ten severe upsets and what felt like a hundred smaller ones have left me, and the people around me, exhausted. In fact, the turbulence of that period was most likely the cause of my complete loss of hope to begin with, the catalyst to my choice to opt out. I'm not entirely sure what's caused the recent increase in emotional outbursts - I know the barbed comments from the Space Cowboy in the past few weeks haven't helped, but surely there's a cause beyond that? The only big changes have been the boy's return to school, the Soulful One joining Beavers and myself attempting to be at least 10% more social than usual. I've coped with such changes better than this in the past, though, being fair, usually one at a time. 

I'm also no longer allowed to bring up suicide in discussions, which is difficult as I tend to feel the urge to split my head open every time I have a meltdown, and is difficult to get used to. When I mutter or cry the words "I want to die, I need to die" during upsets, I'm not saying that to anyone in particular. I just feel the intense urge to remove the words from my head and blurt them out into the real world. I suppose it could also be seen as a plea for help - at that point, something needs to change in the environment - usually it's for whatever it is that's distressing to either stop, or be removed. Whether that's a person who wont stop talking, or a fire alarm going off, all my mind wants is a big red button that just ends it all. I don't think in terms or permeability at this point - my mind is stuck on automatic speech and response. I'll often shift into catatonic states, making very little sense of incoming information from the world around me; most of what is said to me in these periods is completely deflected and simply impossible to process. Some words/phrases sink in, though it's hit and miss. I often lose speech, or am reduced to just repeating the same phrases/words until things just. stop. being. so. awful. 

Then, in anything from 5 minutes to 12 hours or more, I'm okay again. I'm still me - flawed, goofy and ridiculously easy to amuse/please, but without that ache in my chest, the pressure in my brain that makes me think nothing will ever be okay again, the itching all over my body that feels like tiny worms snaking their way under my skin, making me twitch, shake and flail, the intense feelings that flood me and then let go, leaving me shaken, exhausted and, depending on who saw what, deeply ashamed. 

As of right now, things between the Space Cowboy and I have settled, slightly. It's taken two days of relative calmness (only one moderate upset per day) to be able to come on here and write this down. As always, I believe I may have gone off on a slight tangent - my apologies.

I will, as ever, continue to try my best to make the people I love happy - whether it's by trying to avoid speaking of my suicidal thoughts, making their favourite food or even keeping the mask on, out there and at home, for them - no matter how much you wish you could just rip it off for good. 

Wake up and smell the coffee.

Upon first hearing this expression I misunderstood and, the first chance I got, I grabbed my mum's jar of Nescafé, took a good whiff and almost fell off the counter; the smell itself was incredible, but overpowering to the point I actually felt a little faint. 

My enjoyment and seeking out of odd/overpowering scents didn't end there - since as far back as I can remember I've found intense enjoyment sniffing my way around petrol stations, the contents of my Mum's cleaning cupboard, laundry rooms, my worn shoes/underwear and (if they're nice enough to comply) other people, the latter becoming even more tempting to my nose as I (and the Sniffees) matured in age - believe it or not I seem to enjoy the smell of certain people's sweat more than I do vanilla! These habits, as you'd expect, lead to a fair amount of teasing - mainly from other children, but a few adults too. Added to my other strange behaviours, dreadful social skills and emotional outbursts (meltdowns) I may as well have been walking into school with a great big target on my jumper every day. School was (as it often is for children with any kind of difference) a very difficult time in my life, and at some point I'm sure to write more on that subject, but bringing it back to the original point; I was very much lead by my sense of smell.

Not only do I derive intense pleasure from smell, I also experience a temporary calmness in my body when allowed to sniff indiscriminately - in a world where things make very little sense to me, this can feel like a necessity. It's the same feeling I get when I can pace, flap or rock with abandon and without concern for other's perceptions. 

As a child I was uninhibited, for the most part, by a lack of awareness - both of how other's perceived me and of social responsibility. As an adult (an anxious, overly self conscious one at that) I'm far more discreet with my stims when around unfamiliar people. It took years to get to this point, but over time I've become a little more self aware, learning from my earlier mistakes through other's negative reactions and attempting to mask or correct my behaviour. I've developed techniques in order to be able to continue my favourite things; my secret hobbies. My efforts to hide these "undesirable" behaviours aren't always successful - self awareness will probably never be my forte.

As it is, the Space Cowboy apparently adores me despite my eccentricities - he even lets me bury my head in his armpit/crotch area whenever I'm stressed and need a calm place. Now that's love ;)

No matter what the social backlash, I sincerely doubt I'll ever stop - I don't even know if I'm able to. I don't know if life would hold any more pleasure for me if I were to withhold my "stims" completely. It's difficult enough to remember to not speak of certain things around certain people, to stop myself fidgeting during conversation or make sure I'm not swaying/pacing too wildly - usually while I'm trying to cope with whatever's got me so worked up in the first place. I'd truly love to live in a world where I didn't have to use up so much mental energy just trying to fit in - all of it to keep other people happy. Not even people I like. Most if not all of the people I like have no problem with me being, well, me. It's for nameless, faceless people - so they're not uncomfortable, or scared, or concerned, or disgusted. In the past I've dealt with all manner of negative responses - from strangers, friends and family, even lovers. This alone has contributed a great deal to the self-esteem issues I now face.

I'm writing this post in the hopes that at some point, it'll reach someone who will read it and suddenly feel a little less weird, a little less alone, if not make other's a little more aware :) It's not every day I admit to the public (and any friends/family members that read this blog) that one of my stranger habits is sniffing my underwear, but if that's what needs to happen so there's something, some kind of information, out there for people like me (even if you've not resorted to pantie sniffing) then so be it. While I'm at it, I'll also admit I compulsively scratch my scalp (and often chew said scalp out from under my nails), rub my hands over my face repeatedly to enjoy the smell of warmed up skin, walk on my toes when I'm really anxious/happy, compulsively pick my nose (I'll let you wonder about what happens with the findings) and manipulate/hyper-extend my fingers when I'm nervous or upset. Be kind, internet.