Abused Amoebas and Career Correlations

I was reading an excerpt from a zoological textbook the other day about the reactions of different types of amoeba to stimulus.  (Yes - this is the sort of thing you will find in my web surfing history.  Shut up.)  It seems that amoeba, generally, rarely move because of a positive stimulus.  (Towards things.) It follows that most of the experiments described involved annoying the amoeba with various negative stimuli and provoking movement. (Away from things.) After I stopped feeling sorry for the amoeba, it struck me that I had something in common with them.

It's been a long time since I had to start a new job.  I began my current employ at the end of 2009, and so, this is as long as I have held any job.  My length of employ in my various jobs has depended on all sorts of things in the past: from the effects of global financial crises, to dodgy contractual practices by employers that left me significantly out of pocket and on the end of a long list of creditors.  Only twice in the 11 jobs I have held, (As a graphic designer, Photographer, Technical illustrator, Administrator, Office Manager, IT Technician, Technical Author, Marketing Manager and Cover Supervisor,) have I chosen to leave.  And then, only because the stress of the situation has begun to effect my health.

It is in the nature of people with Asperger's to work hard.  After all, most things about everyday life are hard for us.  By most things, I mean all the stuff that is relatively easy for NTs.  (Chatting, socialising, networking, building relationships, finding advocates, friends and allies, navigating office or organisational politics.) The things that most NTs find hard:  being focused on work; wading through piles of boring, difficult or unsavoury tasks; learning new and difficult procedures and skills, staying motivated; is relatively easy for us.

Where people like me come unstuck, is that point where we need some support, help or recognition for our work and we look up from our narrow focus and find there's nobody there.  Because we haven't spent our time socialising, building those relationships, finding our allies and advocates, we have to rely on the formal organisational structure, as is. As anyone can attest, this alone is rarely adequate and sometimes even, shockingly, not always in the employee's favour.  It reminds me a little of what it was like during my maternity leave after having my son, Charley.  Finding myself alone with a new baby...  just the two of us, music, the park and a bunch of books:  (The idea of going to 'mums groups' or 'baby massage classes' filled me with absolute terror.)

But this seems to be a fate shared by of many of the people I have since met who have managed to secure regular employment, and who are on the spectrum.  Their remarkable skills and work ethic go unnoticed, simply because they don't know how to get them to register with their colleagues and employers...  The widely proclaimed CPD programmes seem in principle to be diametrically opposed to the 'one-size fits all' mentality of their actual content... and the forms!  They are anathema to the logical mind of an Aspie. The whole thing actually works against us, making us appear 'difficult' and 'unhelpful', when nothing could be further from the truth.  In fact, I think this is probably the most hurtful thing I could be accused of, simply because I try so hard to achieve the opposite outcome.

After discussions with several of the people I will be working with in my new job, I have much more confidence that they understand this.  They are aware of my Asperger's, the skills and strengths that it affords me, and the accommodations that they will need to make for me (some flexibility when it comes to CPD and conferences (large, noisy gatherings in strange places).  For many of us, our work is really our only 'social' contact, and what we do there is how we reach out to people.  It is up to our colleagues and employers to notice that, and accept the offer.  They would certainly not be disappointed if they did.

I digress, and do so because I have to go and write the obligatory 'goodbye email' to fulfil my social duties.  It seems awkward and pointless...  I have no wish to rant about my reasons for leaving, or single anyone out for particular thanks - this I have already done, in person. I see no purpose in throwing out more of the bland and meaningless platitudes that litter the daily lives of teachers.  I expect no card, no presentation, no celebration of my contribution of the last 7 years, which does sadden me, but it's a dusty, old and familiar sadness.  No, I'll leave quietly as usual.  After all, haven't I heard somewhere that it's better to speak softly and wear a loud shirt?

Amoeba Proteus, formerly known as Chaos Diffluens (I wonder why the change...?  Perhaps it's in Witness Protection....)

Derailed

Things have apparently been going too well.  My blissful transition from anxiety-wracked nerdy under-achiever to contented, thankful, hopeful individual has been rudely sidetracked by something known as Chronic Migraine.  This insidious and little understood condition is extremely distressing and I have found myself ill-equipped to deal with it or its wider effects.

I am a creature of habit. As an Aspie, schedules lists and patterns weave the aspects of my life together into something that I can navigate reasonably successfully. I rely on reliability.  But my reliability has been taken from me, and it has been devastating.

To explain:  I had only had migraines rarely in the past, perhaps once every one or two years, and they were fairly mild: a few visual fireworks , a nasty headache tempered by a feeling of elation once the event was over.  Then, about a year ago, I began to have severe migraines with 'aura' (a visual disturbance that take a number of forms, but in my case, was a flickering zig-zag pattern that started in the centre of my field of vision but soon expanded to fill it entirely, for at least 20 minutes.)  This would be accompanied by nausea, disorientation and a loss of verbal dexterity (I would struggle to find the right words).  This would be followed by up to 8 hours of severe headache, centred in one or both eyes. I would spend the next day (if spared by another migraine) in a mindless fug - my thought processes muddled and slow, de-motivated and depressed.)

Within a month of having the first migraine, they were occurring almost every day.

My life stopped.  I could not work.  I couldn't drive. I couldn't manage a decent conversation.  I couldn't watch the TV, read, or work on my computer.  I couldn't work on my book, draw or paint or write my blog.  I couldn't go outside in the sunshine or open my eyes in the bathroom thanks to my striped flooring.  Worst of all, I couldn't think.  I have let people down, missed deadlines, broken promises and failed to turn up.  All cardinal sins to an Aspie.  I feel as if I have regressed to the sorry state I was in when I was 20: No confidence, no prospects and no idea.  Only the stalwart support of my amazing husband and son have kept me afloat, and for that I am extremely grateful.

I have always avoided taking medications - I seem to be particularly sensitive to their side effects and have suffered many that were quite severe and rare.  The drugs available for managing chronic migraine come with lists of side effects that are almost more frightening than the thought of a never-ending migraine.  Over the course of the next 6 months I tested medications and compared side effects and efficacy.  Nothing seemed to work and everything made me feel terrible.  It is testament to my desperation at this point, that I settled on a regimen that blocked only most of the effects of the migraines, but left me dizzy, faint, prone to blacking out.  (Being unable to drink alcohol or go diving now seem minor considerations.)  Now, however, the medication is failing, the migraines are back with a vengeance and I am back at square one.

I find myself wondering whether I can realistically continue to work at all.  How can I offer services when I am so unreliable?  I cannot convey quite how horrendous this concept is to me.  This is the one thing I had complete confidence in:  My ability to get stuff done.  The one quality of mine that was never questioned by anyone:  I could be relied upon.

So, I find myself about to embark on a new regimen of scary drugs (the list of instructions and side effects for this one took a full 45 minutes to read through!) that will lessen the effects of the migraines at the acceptable risk of liver failure, kidney stones and blindness.  As I sit here, feeling my neck stiffen and watching the tell-tale sparkles appear at the periphery of my vision, I hope I have made the right choice this time...  I am still waiting to see a neurologist, a year down the line, but there is no guarantee they will have anything helpful to tell me about this debilitating and misunderstood condition.

An illuminating experience (or, The Light at the End Of The Tunnel has had its Chance..)

I think I must have heard every possible incarnation of the phrase: "There is light at the end of the tunnel" over the last 40 years or so.  From concerned family members to well-meaning therapists, the all encompassing message that persistence reaps a happy ending is a stalwart of the optimist's arsenal...  I am sorry if I sound less than optimistic - The light at the end of my personal subway has been obvious by its absence for the entire span of operations, but I suddenly find myself part of a team that has been busily installing skylights along the length of the entire system...

My own network of dark and seemingly endless tunnels had been explored exhaustively and no prophetic light could be found, perhaps because there didn't appear to be an end to the tunnel.  I may have managed, through trial and error, to learn to walk the tunnels without blundering into the walls too often but fear of the dark, so to speak, is ever present and unyielding.  I may also have had company in the dark - a trusted companion  who held me up when I stumbled, but we were both, still in the dark.  In my despair, I reluctantly conceded that this was my reality many years ago, and that it would never change.

I have no precedent, therefore, for the fact that this reality has changed, and I feel oddly, but pleasantly, adrift.  I talked some time ago, about my wish to break down the barrier that still existed between my husband and I, despite our 30 years of amicable partnership.   He is NT and we have never shared an understanding about how the Asperger's mind differs from the NT. Until now.

My husband recently attended Rich Hall and Peter Flowerdew's course on Transactional Analysis for therapists and Aspie clients and their families. Again, I was helping out as co-presenter with my friend, Rich.  I had hoped, that after 3 intensive days of explanations and discussion, my husband would acquire some insight into what life is actually like for me, and Aspies generally. Indeed, he acquired this insight and more:  He also learned a new appreciation of his own personality and communication style, and how it colours all of his interactions. He understands, at last, the extent to which our worlds differ, and that, given the right circumstances, they can converge.  In short, the last barrier to our communication has been lifted, and we can now be wholly 'real' with each other, in a shared space, with no concerns about treading blindly on each other's toes.

My 11 year old son paid us the simplest of compliments, when he heard his Dad and I talking after the course:  He said "Dad, why are you talking like Mum?"  Such a small thing, but it was the first 'independent verification' that we were finally speaking the same language.

My vocabulary seems insufficient, and my thoughts too cluttered to clearly express the impact of this on our lives.  I hope that this stupefied state will leave me soon, and I can write more clearly about the implications of this profoundly positive change.

The Great Convergence:  Galaxies, NGC 2207 on the left, and IC 2163 on the right, approx. 80 million light-years from Earth (Hubble Space Telescope image) Not so much a collision, as a 'coming together'.

Pardon my English

I marvel at the English language. I am struck by the bizarre spelling and the grammatical and usage rules that are routinely broken.  I admire the exclusivity of 'good grammar', and I especially appreciate the rich variety of  descriptive vocabulary and multiple meanings of many of them; often at complete odds with one another...  I acknowledge that there are often ten different ways to say everything, and don't get me started on pronunciation...

In short, the English language is analogous of the complexity of the NT world which I navigate and the difficulties experienced by those of us who do not possess it as innate language.  There is no substitute for plain speaking, but I have learned to use this complicated tool to articulate my world in ways most likely to reach those unfamiliar with it.  But there is a danger here:

The tool with which I try to express the realities of my world, can be held against me in the most oppressive of ways.  It would appear that my joyful use of the English language can, to some, appear superior - as though I were trying to highlight the difference in our ability/knowledge/class... take your pick.  My choice of subject matter can highlight the same inequality, I am told.  Should I adhere to the apparent norm, where only the most intelligent or privileged use correct grammar and the full range of their vocabulary? The idea that only superior, privileged people speak correct English with a large vocabulary, or that only Physicists are interested in physics is untrue and an NT social construct.
It is natural to me to use the full extent of the tools at my disposal, regardless of who I am talking to. Should I 'dumb down' to 'fit in'?  'Now hang on!' you may say... 'Just a few alterations to take into account peoples' feelings will make all the difference...'  That sounds reasonable, doesn't it?  But how does an Aspie anticipate what feelings might be hurt?  (I will have made no prior judgments about a person's intelligence or vocabulary before I speak to them.  I will not notice their discomfort with the language unless they tell me explicitly.)  I do not 'talk down' to anyone... not even children, although I will offer simpler synonyms and definitions to them, along with my normal speech - they are much better than adults at telling me what they need.

The social world is a riot of complex, misleading and hidden cues that NTs tap into easily, often without conscious thought, so should expect an Aspie be expected to alter their speech to accommodate the 'hidden' feelings of the NT majority?  I wonder if this isn't just as problematic as expecting an Aspie to know when someone is being sarcastic because we rely on the NT person letting us know what they really meant... surely it would be easier if everyone was more clear?

I daydream sometimes about what it would be like in a world where everyone only said what they meant, in simple terms, without subtext or contradictory expressions and body language...  Where everyone would have an opinion that was fluid - based only on the available evidence at the time, without reliance on ingrained memory and social influences...  Would this world be dull? Unemotional? Soulless? I think not.  It would be honest, lively and liberating.  The old adage of Equity over Equality would have no meaning:  The barriers would not exist.  No-one would feel alienated, or need to be lifted, propped up or rescued.

Stranger in a Strange Land

My world is changing.  I suppose this simple statement is open to many different interpretations but, I assure you, my world has never shown any signs of changing in the most important way.  Until now.

I speak of the gradual unveiling of the NT world that is accompanying my deepening foray into Rich Hall's and Peter Flowerdew's particular brand of TA (Transactional Analysis). The reason why my usual cynicism about the possibility of such change is absent?  Because this actually works.  It makes sense to Aspie and NT alike.  It provides common ground where before, there was none and, unlike other 'therapies' and 'techniques', it is accessible to everyone.

I am experiencing a process of profound revelation, unfolding itself in exquisite slow motion, one realisation at a time.  I am using it to shed light on the most inaccessible constructs of my life - places where I have feared to tread, because of their fragility:  My sense of self, my professional persona, my relationship with my husband and son.

I have always sought empirical evidence for the veracity of all things, and this form of TA was in no way immune to my exacting standards.  The first course I attended was filled mainly with participants who were professionals in the field of psychotherapy.  Although the beneficial effect upon the attendees was plain to see, the full potential was not clear to me until I attended the most recent course.

Rich and Peter actually ran two courses simultaneously - one written for NTs (professionals and non-professional) and one, a 'translation' for Aspies (from similarly varied backgrounds).  Peter is uniquely skilled to incorporate Rich's insights and to see the obstacles to communication between the NT and Aspie worlds, and he expertly navigated his way though, dealing with all manner of input from the various perspectives of the mixed group.  Their sincerity and confidence in the findings, and the efficacy of their application were borne out by the changes I saw played out in that room over three days.

Day One saw a large group of people, demonstrably representing every part of the AQ (Autistic Quotient) scale, from empaths (like so many of the therapists) to extreme systemisers, (like Rich and I) all butting heads and struggling to understand and to be understood.  No-one had felt comfortable (including Rich and Peter, I suspect) and everyone had mixed feelings about Day 2.  However, half way through the second day and it was already evident that something in the dynamic of the group had changed.  A dizzying parade of observations, insight and demonstrations from Rich and Peter generated meaningful questions and heartfelt answers from NT and Aspie alike. It was exhausting and inspiring.

At the start of Day 3, the enthusiasm in the group was palpable...  Everyone had identified the common ground and the potential for this gift of translation.  The excitement was obvious:  Here was the start of real understanding:  The promise of progress, the possibility of connection, a beginning of real change.

I have waited for the 'welcome' that Peter speaks so passionately about, all my life.  It seems so close now, I feel I can almost taste it.  I cried when my (NT) husband asked if he could attend the course. We have a good marriage (25 years, next year) but there has always been a wall between us, that I have longed to remove.  If we can really connect with each other after all these years - there is hope for us all.  I think now, that perhaps that welcome has been there all along - just waiting to be discovered....

The Cosmic Microwave Background Radiation Map - It was always there - One scientist predicted it but couldn't find it - another found it, but initially dismissed it as interference caused by messy nesting pigeons in their radio receiver...  Turned out to be the long-awaited evidence of the Big Bang....

Capacity building

I recently travelled to Egypt for a diving holiday.  Seems such a straightforward and harmless statement doesn't it?  I went on holiday - just popped onto a plane and got off in another country, got my transfer to the accommodation and Bob's your uncle!

Here's how my experience really went:

We piled into the car at 4.30pm on Good Friday and took to the road.  Apparently, the rest of the UK did, too.  Even though I wasn't driving, the ensuing 2 hours, 45 minutes of motorway driving left me exhausted:  The driving conditions were poor, with rain, darkening skies and roadworks and breakdowns everywhere.  When travelling at speed, I find the rate of visual input completely overwhelming, but I am also plagued with anxiety which furnishes me with constant, detailed and realistic visualisations of potential incident after potential incident.  The truly exhausting part was having to hide all this from my son, so that he wasn't affected by my anxiety.

Fortunately, I have had plenty of experience of staying in hotels (required in several of my previous jobs) so I am not as affected by strange accommodation as I might be.  The grossly decorated lobby with its alarmingly squishy carpet was airy and open plan, so I was able to relax somewhat - only the constant visualisations of horrific plane crashes from the neighbouring Gatwick Airport to concern myself with...

An early morning rise for check-in saw the return of my favourite coping mechanism:  Panic humour. Being hyper aware with anxiety means excellent comic timing, and there was a wealth of material in peoples' reaction to the ludicrous management and staffing in the check-in queues...  A welcome distraction from the looming flight.  By the time we entered the departures lounge and it's wealth of noisy, smelly, crowded food outlets, I was exhausted and staring at the joins in the flooring materials whenever possible.  Still aware of the importance of 'staying positive', I kept up the cheery exterior and focused on my son, who was taking everything in his stride, considering it was his first trip abroad... only my husband was aware of my mounting anxiety.

The bus journey to the plane seemed to take forever - showing every possible angle of the plane that was to be our transport to Egypt.  I forced myself to endure it, inwardly chanting things like "no, the rivets are supposed to look like that", "don't look at the engines" and "you don't know anything about what well-maintained landing gear looks like", and trying to remember air travel versus air accident statistics to put my mind at rest.  This self calming continued on board - "they look competent".  "At least the pilot seems mature"...  The facade nearly slipped when my son insisted I sit next to him in full view of the tiny window for the 5 hour journey.  A matter of minutes later, I found myself in the ridiculous position of 'whooping' for my son's benefit at the excitement of the take off, whilst simultaneously crushing my husband's hand in terror!

As soon as we were allowed, I got out my chosen book and put on my mp3 player at top volume, determined to distract myself from anything that might remind me that I was in a plane.  Sadly, my book choice could have better, beginning as it did, with an explosion at an airport...  Luckily, my son's tablet battery lasted almost the entire flight, so I didn't have to keep up the facade for him, but my husband's hand suffered every time there was a little turbulence...

The next five hours are, thankfully, already fading from my memory - a nauseating cycle of anxiety, trolley avoidance, speculation and visual scenarios until our imminent arrival at Hurghada was announced. Any relief was short lived as figures for the statistical likelihood of failures on landing began whizzing though my head, despite my understanding of the overall safety of air travel.  After a bit of waiting around, security checks and baggage collecting, we made our way to the exit to meet our transfer. I was practically a zombie by now, all my coping mechanisms exhausted, so the hour and a half break-neck drive to our destination (with no seat belts and a tendency for our alarmingly young driver to drive at on-coming vehicles even when blinded by their full beams) passed relatively quickly.

I did not sleep for the next 3 nights.  This seems to be as a result of the anxiety of this type of travel - I usually just crash after too much social interaction - sleeping for longer than usual, but foreign travel requires another magnitude of effort.

The journey back was somewhat less stressful, buoyed as I was, by having survived the journey there!   Why put myself through it?  Well this isn't simply a fear of travelling...  I know it will improve, as everything does, with familiarity - my capacity for dealing with travel will improve.  It is only now that my son is old enough to have qualified as a diver that we can all go together.  I am immensely pleased to be a diver and able to see the amazing sights under the Red Sea, as the memories generated by the holiday in between these terrifying episodes have to be amazing to justify the effort!

Liar, Liar (First published Jan 18th 2016)

It is a subject I hear discussed only occasionally, and then usually by professional types, as part of abstracts about ongoing research into Autism and Asperger's…  but it is one that fascinates me. It is, in part, the reason for my user name: Talentless Liar.  I consider myself to be an honest person, but over my lifetime, it has not escaped my attention that people are very good liars.  I don’t mean to insinuate that they are dishonest in any criminal way (though clearly, some are!) but only in the subtle ways required by informal social interaction.

People appear to make instant judgements about each other, hundreds of times during an average length conversation:  They may recall the last time they spoke and decide, on the fly as it were, how the conversation should begin:  Was it a long time ago or earlier that day?  They make observations about each other – do they look well? Have they lost weight?  Had a haircut?  These are the clues that are noted and acted upon throughout an informal chat.  Reciprocity, interest and empathy are all integral to engine that drives the conversation.  It’s incredibly complex, but all happens INTUITIVELY in neuro-typicals (normal people – for want of a better term!)  

People with Asperger’s have to manage this on a purely intellectual level, making each observation ‘manually’, thinking though potential responses, whilst cross-checking possible pit-falls with each mico-decision and memories.  What is for most a pleasant distraction, is for me, a strategic campaign: The First and most important goal being to get through it without upsetting the other person. (Objective No 1.)  If I was on form, I might attempt Objective No 2:  Leave the other person feeling better about themselves. This might be achieved by using an observation to spark a positive comment, but this is a minefield when you consider that the response to your comment might be negative and self-effacing.   (I recognise that this is sometimes used to illicit further positive comments to confirm their truth, but lose track and disaster may ensue!)  

On the rare occasion that the exchange continues in fairly reciprocal spirit, (and I really have to be ‘on fire’ for this)  I may go for the elusive Objective 3:  Leave the other person feeling better about me. Because none of this is intuitive in my case, I inevitably have to lie to some degree.  Most people probably wouldn’t see this as lying. After all, this all happens on an intuitive level for most. It is only only when the process is broken down intellectually that the lies become obvious.

I am uninterested in hair (unless I am considering whether my own needs washing.)  I don’t care about fashion, Social media, games, Celebrity, Soaps, most fiction books, football or Reality TV- most TV, in fact.  I actively avoid talking about relationships, (not my area of expertise!) social tech, dating, breakups or sensationalised news stories.  You may rest assured that if I am in conversation with you where any of these subjects are concerned, I will be actively lying, not to mislead, but purely in order to achieve the aforementioned Objectives.  I will be using my prestigious catalogue of real-life ‘emoticons’ to confirm, agree, sympathise and enthuse.  It has become an entrenched response to unplanned conversation.  

It’s unrealistic to expect most people to understand that I need sufficient notice about a conversation before my contribution can be truly honest and tactful.  The normal measure for honesty for neurotypicals is the ability for someone to respond tactfully and spontaneously; something I find extremely difficult. The only exceptions are those conversations which are a) about one of my ‘special interests’, (Most of these are so ‘special’ as to negate general conversation.) b) with someone who either has a deep understanding of Asperger’s or is just incredibly understanding and patient, or c) I’m fed up, tired or angry and can’t be bothered to lie.  These conversations are usually quite short, unless the other person has misunderstood and thinks I am being humourous.  Smiling is not something one does naturally when one is engaged in a difficult task that requires great concentration and effort, so remembering to use appropriate facial expressions whilst doing this is almost impossible…

To achieve Objective 3 in a conversation, is to be on Cloud 9 for the rest of the week (or until over-confidence supplies the inevitable social disaster!)  I can live on the crumbs of a ’3 for 3′ informal exchange for ages…  But why?  If my neurological toolbox is devoid of empathy, reciprocity and interest in people, why am I stupidly pleased with myself when I get these exchanges right?  I have pondered this for some time…
When I first learned about Asperger’s, it’s characteristics and neurological differences, I was both appalled and relieved by this staggering insight.   This was why being around people is so exhausting!  This was why I felt like an alien among others!  This was why people were offended by honesty instead of applauding it.  Lying is a complex and confusing part of communication but there is nothing more human or indeed, humane…