LiveJournal facsimile blog, part 4372

I'm in that weird ennui-space again and it's self-indulgent to write about it, AGAIN, but I will, because I have to. Because if I don't type these words out of my body, I might self-destruct.

I deal with depression. Big deal.

"Nobody likes their jobs, nobody got enough sleep...just suck up, suck up and be nice."

Reverting to lyrics to express my angst? Check.

I deal with anxiety, dyspraxia, autism, migraines. PMDD. Whatever. We are all steeping in mental illness and we all need validation for our pain. Who the fuck cares?

But the fact remains that I am unhappy. I am unhappy with the way things have transpired in my "career" and I don't know what to do about it or where I want to go with it. I don't know how much to care. And I am so sick of caring what people think of me. I'm unraveling, but I won't admit it outside this very public space of admitting it. I'll HATE that I wrote these words tomorrow.

Mostly, I've stopped drinking which I think is why all these things are more salient at the moment. They're rearing their heads for me to figure out how to confront them. Mostly, I've also stopped moving, doing, anything. This is probably a depressive episode. Lots of people have had this same issue, are sharing this same problem right this minute, as I am.

I need to funnel my propensity to daydream and live entirely inside my own head into art. I know I do, but inertia claims me as her loyal subject. This is actually a really big change from yesterday wherein I washed my hair, put on eyeliner, and listened to Chelsea Wolfe all day. Today I barely put on pants and went for a walk.

The worst part about depression (aside from all of it?) is the guilt. I feel guilty that I'm indulging myself...letting myself steep in the stew of my self-loathing. It is crippling, but I'm doing it anyway. I've already stepped onto the Sadness Train. There's no going back now. I just have to wait it out. Wait it out. Listen to music. Take a walk. Watch "The Office". WALLOW.

Wait it out and
ALLOW it to pass...

I wallow quite well, in fact.

At the root of the listlessness is a situation that feels like a lack of control. I've lost control over my job because I've let it all just be as it is, like a river passing by me as I sit on the bank. That's a great way to meditate and it has even worked out really well in life most of the time, but not right now. Right now I am angry and I want to run. My solution last week was to separate myself from it emotionally, and that worked well for me then. But it's not a permanent solution.

Inside my head, when I'm not having nightmares or feeling guilty about work, I am a mythological creature that rules a magical world no one but those I invite can inhabit. The older I get, the less time I spend in my magical world. That stops now. Fuck you and your adult world. I choose oblivion because fantasy has kept me alive for 33 years now. It is my most favorite friend.

Today was.

"Why are you looking for a harmony?

There is harmony in everything."

I've had a very strange day. What started out frantic anxiety soon dissolved into an apathy so pervasive that I almost reveled in it. I felt a blissful calm as I looked upon the world, removed. I could not seem to care about anything at all. Needles of emotion crept back in by evening.

Then I listened to the new Grimes album twice in a row. The lyrics are already up on AZLyrics, so I read them and I felt like myself again...not because of Grimes necessarily, but because I was immersing myself in something that came from creativity and light.

I miss the person I used to be before the library...not that the library made me any kind of way necessarily. It's maybe that adulthood settled into me at the same time that I began there. 

I used to be quite simple. I experienced life in real time and I didn't care what anyone thought about my reactions to it. I am a simple girl, yet I tried to appear complex. Why? Because others do that?

With the term "adult" came anxiety, worry, thinking thinking thinking. Thoughts so plentiful that they crippled me into a state of inaction. I stopped trying to see beyond its mass...and maybe fell asleep. 

That post-storm mist is finally dissipating and I don't like what I've become. I've become this thing that worries and doesn't stim and doesn't live and doesn't move and doesn't dance. My ways of coping have always been my own. Why did I start using conventional methods? 

As a child, I created a structure all by myself that I lived quite happily within. I had it all figured out by age 15. I knew how to regulate myself. I got so lost.

I appear distant and unfriendly when I take care of myself, perhaps even vacant. I am tired of trying to be this congenial creature. I'm more like a Darcy than a Jane. I'm more Gahan than Gore. I'm so tired of being nervous and surrounded by people. 

* anxiety *

is an acquaintance I'd like to unfriend...that sounded cooler in my head.

Having one of those general malaise days. One of those occasions in which you know FOR SURE that you're the biggest loser in the entire world and why would anyone like you and will you ever get the things in life you want probably not why even try, etc etc.

Everything I think today is a thought the most emo of emos would think is ridiculous. And I KNOW it is ridiculous to find myself the WORST person ever. Surely, someone sucks more than me. And yet I am on the precipice of panic all day anyway. Great fun. Good times. Noodle salad.

I know I need to post a blog 'cause I said I'd post one every Saturday and it's Tuesday. This is the result of me forcing myself to blog. And typing might just calm me. Haven't taken a Valium yet...

The older I get the more I realize that I'm just not meant for noise, people, or stimuli of any kind. Earlier as I was working at the children's desk a child was screaming in that special hell way that kids scream and he sustained it for about 45 minutes. I went mad after the first five minutes. The mother was immune.

Also am experiencing a particularly high level of my particular form of what I am convinced is dyspraxia (aka Developmental Coordination Disorder: in which one has "trouble manipulating objects in the physical universe", has poor working memory, and cannot remember steps in sequence, etc). This makes me not want to move, like at ALL. This makes me drop everything. This makes me fall down. This makes my anxiety at not being able to do normal things that other people can do easily even MORE pronounced. I know I know, poor disabled Stephanie. Boo-fucking-hoo!

People have a tendency to ask why you're anxious when you claim you are. This is a question like "why are you depressed?" The whole reason why it sucks so bad and that you cannot logic yourself out of it is that there is no reason! Brain chemistry, maybe? Perhaps hormones? That's brain chemistry too though, right?

The rabbit-hole of a reason I'm cooking up this time is that I feel like I have no skills in this life. No people skills. No crafting skills. No art skills. Anything that requires me to work with my hands is intensely difficult for me. The only thing I find mostly easy is typing. I don't like to drive cars or ride a bike or run because of that whole "manipulating objects in the physical universe" thing. I don't drive in front of others especially.

When I'm alone I can kind of function. I still drop things and fall, but I don't have to know that anyone else knows. I can just be. I can dance and run into doorways without being comedy. Most of the time I'm ok with being comedy, if someone is a nice person they can laugh at me. It's when they're TRYING to be nice by not laughing that makes me self-conscious. What am I even talking about anymore?

I hate everything and everyone...not really, I love YOU of course.

(untitled)

I believe we all have something within the labyrinth of our minds that no one else can offer, but that doesn't mean I know what the something is that I bring to the table.

I've built a mythology around my life and my past and who I think I am, but that doesn't mean anyone else will ever recognize that structure. Maybe no one else is meant to see inside the worlds in our heads. When people become famous it's because someone has recognized their brains. It means they've seen inside your grey matter and they recognize themselves in there somewhere. But when you see that they've seen you, how do you come back from that? Fame destroys everything it touches, doesn't it? How can you remain real when everyone thinks they know you?

The tiny thought that I might be a career librarian passed through a couple of weeks ago, but that Master's degree has already whispered into someone else's ears. I'm far too disabled to ever hold down a full time job and that's not insecurity...it's fact. I won't effect change in this life beyond my tiny circle of family and friends. Few among us really do.

I spend my days working, reading, watching TV, playing Animal Crossing, writing blogs, broadcasting radio, maybe I work out, maybe I eat some Pad Thai. At worst I'm ineffectual. At best I'm barely noticed. I know there's some kind of art inside my brain, but I don't know the circumstances that will bring it out of me, and onto you.

I'm writing in journals again. I've made it 32 years in this world without psychotropic medication, though far more sane than I benefit from it. Is holding out noble? Do I really want to feel everything?

I have a husband that tolerates all aspects of my crazy with grace and kindness. I didn't die in 2011. I have three wonderful animals that follow me around the house as if I'm their Snow White. I survived multiple abusive and/or controlling men. I have a great job. TWO great jobs. My mother continues to take care of me way beyond the reasonable time period in which she was charged. My grandparents are two of the most amazing people in the entire universe. I love my family. I have a best friend that has continually forgiven me for being the worst. Everyone is kind to me. But I give so little in return because I have so little to give.

I always thought of myself as an accepting person that loves everyone, but I'm starting to realize I dislike more people than I like. Though I somehow still believe my requirements for trusting someone are reasonable, I trust VERY few people. All I want in a companion is acceptance and authenticity. I want the self they show to be the real one. I want to surround myself with people that aren't racist, sexist, homophobic, transphobic, etc. That's truly it. But so few people seem to be themselves.

We all wear masks so often we don't know who we are anymore. I can't wear the mask for long. I couldn't wear it 8 hours a day. I distrust those motivated by power or the need to be liked.

I push everyone away because I don't know how to connect. It will all find its way in time.

Reconciling Invalidation...

I don't yet know how to accomplish this, is the short version.

The long version is that I've been spending a lot of time lately trying to put myself out there. I have this blog, I have my zine, I have the radio station, I have the YouTube channel...but I still have the same nagging feeling I've had my entire life. That no one gets me. That no one cares. I'm currently broadcasting my second radio show and I'm literally the only person listening. I put a lot of work into my playlist. I've spent lots of time promoting my radio show. But it's very likely that after three months of weekly broadcasts, I'll have to face the fact that no one cares, as per usual.

Yes, I realize this is an angst-y and self-involved way to look at things. It's unreasonable for me to expect my friends and family to spend four hours of their Friday evenings listening to me play music I like. It is. It's ridiculous. Every issue of Chickweed includes a mix. I usually make 50 copies of that mix. I think mayyyyybe 5 people listen to that mix, and that's a thing you can listen to anytime. So why would anyone listen to me DJing from my iTunes?

But I am trying. I'm trying to put my thoughts out there in the world, via blog, via zine, via radio, via video. Maybe what I have to say isn't interesting. Maybe I'm not self-actualized enough yet to be interesting. Maybe I never will be interesting. And why does it even matter, anyway? Do I need to be relevant? I've always told myself I don't care if there's a meaning to life, and I don't. But meaning interpreted by me has some validity TO me, if that makes sense. I'd like to feel that my efforts to express myself are heard. But I also think that's selfish of me. I have a small handful of friends that seem to consistently enjoy my work.

But what is that (this) work? It's self-indulgent whining a large portion of the time. Maybe I shouldn't be reinforced for that. I'm starting to wonder if that's all I'm made of, is the worry, I suppose.

My ability to relate to others is tenuous at best. I feel like my reserve of empathy is endless, but my projection of self is almost never in tune with those I'm trying to project myself upon. There are kindred spirits I've met in my path, but they are few and way too far between. But this is my fault. I don't reach out to people in the real way of having conversations and hanging out with others. I project in zines and on blogs and via radio. And I hope that someone wants to talk back.

My brain is so full, but I say so little. I'd love to be heard, but perhaps I don't have the stamina to speak as much as is required for that.

writing when you have no thoughts

My firework-addled sleep-deprived brain (neighbors have been partying and blowing shit up until 3am since Wednesday and I haven't gotten much sleep) isn't having many thoughts today. All I know is that I want to be in a sensory deprivation chamber until I recover, but there's nowhere to escape the madness. I could go somewhere other than my home, but I pretty much only feel comfortable in my own cave...so I sit and I wait to jump out of my skin again as explosives detonate outside my window.

I can only imagine how awful this time of year must be for veterans.

I don't know how much of my jumpiness is related to my autism and how much is PTSD, but the first week in July has been extremely difficult for me since 2011. I think a big part of it is that I now live in a densely populated part of town whereas before the tornado I lived on half an acre with neighbors that were either members of my family or not interested in fireworks. This week has convinced me that I would really like to get back to the south side of town. I need a bit more space in general, but especially during a holiday which has become almost ironic, considering Americans have increasingly less freedom alongside our dwindling bank accounts.

My own anxiety is mirrored in my dogs. They've been following me closely around the house, hiding under desks, and refusing to go outside. I can't blame them.

This holiday is evil. It's loud and it's intrusive and it's bad for the environment, pets, veterans, and human beings. I can't understand it at all and I really hope I remember next year how bad this is so that I can take a week off work and take my dogs somewhere that fireworks within city limits are illegal.

I'm slated to attend a party tonight, but I'm not sure I'll be able to stay very long. I'm so sensitive at the moment that any noise sounds deafening. This means I will be more likely to get trashed in order to cope with my sensory issues. I am just not at all cheerful or capable of normalcy today.

I am thankful that I had a solid week of being very productive. With the productivity comes the inevitable fallout. Perhaps I'll put on some noise isolating headphones and read all day...maybe I'll put on mascara and brush my hair before the party.

It's probably too much to hope that the neighbors are done blowing up my sanity. It will probably be a long weekend, but at least we're not actually under the siege that my nerves feel we are.

Difficulties of the Mind.

I find I have so many. I find I self-sabotage what once was (and could be again) a creatively fantastic brain. I could blame it on adulthood. I never truly recovered from that moment when you suddenly realize the Barbie thing isn’t working the way it once did. I could blame it on an ex-boyfriend that destroyed my sketchbook of 5+ years, because in some ways I’ll never get over that 9-year-old injustice. That was an attack on my very being. I could blame it on art school degrading my sense of joy at making mistakes and happy little accidents and going with the flow. I could blame the tornado. That one’s pretty hard to argue...

But I’ve generally been one to take personal responsibility and I hardly ever place blame. Placing blame is lame. I'm learning not to fault myself, but I will take ownership of my creative output, which is sometimes so close to zero that the thought cripples me into further flatlines.

The only creative endeavors I’ve accomplished in the last month or so include making a few YouTube videos, putting on makeup and nail polish a couple of times, and hot gluing some flowers and ivy to three headbands.

In times of creative drought, I tend to fantasize about going back to basics. I feel like buying a Hello Kitty coloring book and coloring my feelings before I work back up to endeavors that might appear more adult-like. Maybe I'll do a paint-by-numbers. Perhaps I'll scribble in a few of my books with permanent markers.

I am an Aspergirl, Part Three.

What I meant yesterday when I said I don't understand how career, marriage, children is ever a fulfilling life, what I meant was: For me, I don't get that these are goals. I mean, I get how a career is a goal, but I don't get how children and marriage are goals. I never dreamed of my wedding until I was engaged. I couldn't imagine children as a goal unless I was already with my lifepartner and making the decision then. I guess what I mean is that these aren't givens to me like they seem to be for NTs (neurotypical people). I didn't want to belittle someone who has the wife/kid/career thing and loves it. I love my husband and I love my furbabies (two dogs, a cat and a ferret) and I love maintaining a home. But I didn't have husband as goal before the one that became mine was around for YEARS. And I realize this is different  than the way most people feel.

Also, I looked up stuff on schizotypal personality disorder today. It seems like it shares a lot of traits/aspects with Asperger's. Both are eccentric personalities. Schizophrenia is a continuum like everything else and apparently it goes:
*mild schizo = schizoid
*moderate schizo = schizotypal
*severe schizo = schizophrenia

Some things that don't fit (for me) about schizotypal are: onset in adulthood (I'm pretty sure anyone that's ever known me can attest that I've always been weird), magical thinking (I like fantasy worlds, but I don't believe in magical things or have superstitious behavior, unless I'm very distressed and even then I know I'm doing it just to make myself feel better, not as a result of a belief), and I don't think everything in the world is about me (I think they call that delusional ideation or something like that) and I don't think I have wrong perceptions. I do have odd thinking and eccentric appearance and rituals and I am a loner, but I'm pretty sure my ideations are pretty sane...just weird.

Anyway, it doesn't ultimately matter what I'm labeled. I don't care what it's called, only that I can use a word to better understand myself and accept where I am more readily. I don't think disorders are detriments. I think awareness/acceptance of ALL people should be more widespread. If I can throw the word Asperger at someone and they all of a sudden GET something about me, I want to be able to use that resource, for the same reason that I announced my engagement on Facebook. Because I like shorthand. Because I've always had trouble explaining myself and any vocabulary I can use to "compulsively disclose information", I fucking will!

I am an Aspergirl, Part 2.

aka Seeking Diagnosis, part one.

Went to therapy today for the first time this year with the primary goal of validation for my recent self-diagnosis of Asperger's.

Therapist said, "That could fit, but I would assume more Schizoid or Schizotypal." I don't yet know the specifics of either of those, but I do know they're acquired in adulthood and I have always been the way I am now. I think. I feel like the same person I was in high school except that I am more critical of myself now, and less social. I used to talk on the phone. I used to hang out with people. But I could relate to my peers back when we were all weirdos. Now people my age are mostly normal/neurotypical and I'm still the same. "Eccentric". And I'm learning to tolerate the non-eccentricities of others. I used to think every "normal" person was stifling their personalities in order to fit into society, but I'm starting to realize that maybe they're not. Maybe just because you used to have purple hair and now you wear khakis doesn't mean you've "sold out". You "grew up". I didn't and I probably never will. I will still wear the trenchcoat and dye my hair purple. I don't know. I still don't understand how being married with children and a socially acceptable career can be a fulfilling life to anyone. I don't expect people to be like me, but I've always expected people to be unique. I am innately distrustful of "normalcy". I've always thought it was a front, even while knowing I'm NOT normal. I've always HATED it when people tell me I'm different or eccentric because they generally spit the distinction at me as if its a choice. As if I'm trying to get attention. It's not as if I don't know I'm different and eccentric. It's like telling someone that's 6'5" they're tall. Really, Captain Obvious?! So what I'm saying I hate is when people spit it at me, not when they say it with understanding...

There are so many things you can be. Among the things I am: feminist, atheist, Libra, INTJ, bisexual, Color Code: White with secondary Red, goth, hippie, possibly Aspergian....and on and on and on. There's always a continuum and a place we all fit within it. And it means whatever you want it to mean. But I want the clinical diagnosis. I really do. I don't care WHAT that clinical diagnosis is...but I want a signifier, desperately. Why?

I took their "pervasive developmental disorder scale" thing. We'll see in three weeks when I can afford to go again what the next step is...I really do think it's Asperger's.

I am an Aspergirl.

I've been holding off on this post because I've wanted to make it super intelligent and though-out and like an Aspergirl manifesta, but I'm just sick of waiting to form intelligent thought, perhaps it will come out naturally Grimes-Tumblr-style. It could happen.

So, a couple of weeks ago I took the Autism Quotient and scored a 35. A score of 32 and above most likely means you're on the Spectrum. The spectrum of Autism. As I scored in the lower area of Autism, that probably means Asperger's. I haven't sought a formal diagnosis (which I'm planning to talk to my therapist about that at my next appointment) yet, but this label is fitting me so comfortably, so perfectly, that I think a lack of formal diagnosis would piss me off. Because I SO am an Aspergirl.
Let's just get the definitions out of the way first...
Mayo Clinic defines Asperger's Syndrome as: a developmental disorder that affects a person's ability to socialize and communicate effectively with others. Children with Asperger's syndrome typically exhibit social awkwardness and an all-absorbing interest in specific topics.

Doctors group Asperger's syndrome with other conditions that are called autistic spectrum disorders or pervasive developmental disorders. These disorders all involve problems with social skills and communication. Asperger's syndrome is generally thought to be at the milder end of this spectrum.

While there's no cure for Asperger's syndrome, if your child has the condition treatment can help him or her learn how to interact more successfully in social situations.

Some of the symptoms (what I'd rather refer to as traits) that I exhibit include:

• lack of eye contact and awkward body postures/positions
• not understanding sarcasm: I never have. The first time my mom did it and explained the concept to me as a child I said, "I don't like that. Don't do that ever again."
• poor coordination
• mutism: being unable to speak in certain situations. For me, this is usually exhibited in one-on-one situations, especially if someone is asking me about myself.
• can engage in monotonous tasks for hours on end: my favorite job ever was being a library page (shelving/checking in books). I love engaging in activities that occupy a background-space of my mind/body so that I can think about other things. My Valium is monotonous physical movement. If I'm sorting/shelving books, I'm calm. If I'm walking, I'm calm. If I'm dancing, I'm calm. If I'm typing, I'm probably ok too. This also goes along with stims (self-stimulating behaviors, like rocking, feet-shaking, weird, repetitive movements). I also can calm myself by touching certain textures. I like brushed aluminum, computer keys, warm metal, paper, etc.
• repetitive routines/rituals: I fall apart without my routines. I almost can't sleep without watching Star Trek first. The soothing background noise on the Enterprise in The Next Generation calms me greatly.
• eccentric personality/style: Have you seen me? Yeah.
• strong sensory sensitivity: I find this to be the biggest part of being an Aspergirl. Every moment of every day I try to control my sensory input. I won't go to shows unless I know I like the music. I've taken to wearing earbuds when I go to movies, as they're often too loud for me. I'm constantly turning up and down the TV so that it's "perfect". I can't stand the sound of dishes clanking together. On days when I'm having a really hard time getting out of the house for work, I wear really comfortable layers and hide within the softness in order to create a buffer with the outside world. I frequently feel as if I don't want to be "seen". I like to have music going at all times, but I have to choose the music and the volume level myself. If I could always have headphones on in public, I'd function a LOT better in social situations. The only time I feel empowered/capable is while listening to music. Often I am overwhelmed by emotions portrayed in pop culture and I can't continue watching something that upsets me, especially if an image upsets me, I'll experience it over and over again in my mind for hours after seeing it. I can also be intensely distracted by an aspect of someone's appearance on a show or movie I'd otherwise enjoy and have to stop watching. For example, I can barely look at Courtney Cox on Friends because I know how much she'll fuck up her face later. Even though she was beautiful on Friends and I love her character as Monica, I can barely look at her with flashes of her new alien face flashing in my head.  
• attachment to animals and/or inanimate objects over people: I have NO problem bonding with animals and electronics, its people I have difficulty understanding.
• being in "their own world": I am CONSTANTLY fighting this at work. I have to remind myself to do my job constantly, because it's very easy to daydream in reference.
• can spend hours in a library researching: but the problem here is that I can only spend hours researching something I care about. If someone asks me to help them on their family history, forget about it. I don't fucking care and I have a hard time pretending I do.
• unusual preoccupations
• hard time saying "i love you" or showing affection: I have a very hard time with this. I assume that those I am close to know how much I care about them because I tolerate their presence. I am aware how this sounds, and I try to be more engaging, especially in my marriage, but it is a conscious effort.
• need to withdraw into solitude frequently: I would prefer to spend about 75% of my time alone (with animals and internet connectivity with other humans).
• attention narrowly focused on their own interests: I really only light up in a conversation when something interests me personally. I have a hard time remembering to ask what's going on with the person I'm speaking to. I tend to befriend people who entertain me, as well. If you bore me, I probably won't engage with you often.
• shuts down in social situations: if I feel like I'm not in control or can't predict something in a social situation, I probably won't even be there, let alone engage. I will probably leave a situation immediately if I can't find a calm, comfortable, clean place to sit. Although, if I was allowed to supply the music, I could probably handle any environment/social atmosphere.
• rigid social behavior due to inability to adapt to social spontaneity
• has a compulsive need to inform which can come off as blunt/rude: This is very true. I have unintentionally hurt people MANY times with my bluntness. Often the reason I am mute in social interactions is because I'm attempting to censor/translate/sift my initial reactions. If I spoke what first came into my mind, I'd sound like Cordelia or Anya on Buffy or Sheldon from Big Bang Theory.
• great difficulty with small-talk: I abhor bullshitting. I am incapable of it and I find you fake if you engage in it. I don't get it at all. One of the reasons I don't say "i love you" often is because I want to genuinely FEEL it at the moment I'm saying it. I feel the same about conversation. I don't want to say something unless it's genuine. My expectations, therefore, for what is "genuine" are extremely rigid.
• can appear younger than age in dress, actions, etc: I never understand what people mean when they say a 40-year-old woman can't wear certain things. I don't agree with that at all. I wear the same clothes I did in middle school (sometimes literally the same exact articles of clothing). If I like it and fit into it, I'll wear it until it falls apart.
• will not spend a lot of time grooming: My hair has to be no-maintenance. I only bathe every other day. I only wash my hair once or twice a week and only brush it once every two weeks or so. I don't spend much time looking in the mirror. As long as my zits don't need to be popped and my self/clothes are relatively clean, I'm good to go. 
• androgynous (hates gender roles): This is a big one. I hate gendered expectations/roles. One of the reasons I'm obsessed with drag is because I like when people play with gender.
• enjoys reading scifi/fantasy
• may find employment daunting: It is a struggle almost every day for me to go to work. I accomplish it and have held down a job for 9 years, but it's only part time and I don't think I'd ever be able to handle full time work. 
• highly intelligent, yet sometimes can be slow to comprehend due to sensory and cognitive processing issues. Will not do well with verbal instruction--needs to write down or draw diagram: there are several times at work where I will have to ask again and again the same questions about how to do something. I WILL NOT remember until I write it down.
• due to sensory issues, can be overwhelmed by sex: it takes a LOT of emotional energy for me to have sex. It feels like a total body overtaking and it is a huge gesture of love for me to engage in sex. I feel like I will "never be enough" in this category. This is the #1 issue in my romantic relationships. All sensory stimuli have to be in perfect alignment for me to be "in the mood". It's very difficult for anyone attempting to have a romantic relationship with me. I feel a lot of guilt about this issue as well. 
• words and actions often misunderstood by others: like all misfits, I feel misunderstood almost all the time

I already feel very exhausted by exposing all of this. I made a sort of Asperger's announcement on Facebook, but have gotten hardly any response. I guess people don't know what to say? Some close friends/family have said that I don't need a label and they don't think of me as different, but I don't really believe that. I think they're trying to be nice. I feel VERY at odds with people ALL the time. Surely I stand out, socially. I don't understand why they can't tell me the truth. But right now I feel like I DO need a label. I like having an explanation for why I am such a pariah. I really like connecting with people, but I don't want to do it in the way most people do. And I usually can't relate in the way others do. Sensory issues are always with me. Currently, I'm torn between how much of this Aspergian stuff I can work around, how much to use as excuses for things I've always thought I should "get over", like what's the line between acceptance and excuses? On the one hand, it's really great to feel more self-acceptance for all these things I've always thought were "problems" I had, but how do I know when to accept and when that acceptance becomes an excuse, if that makes sense.

Anyway, that's my freestyle rant on being an Aspergirl. I'm happy for the distinction, and I feel I am understanding myself, forgiving myself more than I've ever been able to do. This is a crux of change. This is a moment of precipice and what do I do now? I'm flailing madly between certain/uncertainty.