We've Only Just Begun...

It was November 11th, 1995.  I woke up vaguely aware that something important was about to happen.  Bleary eyed and dazed I sat up and realised with a start that I was back in my old bedroom at my parents house.

Then I saw it. A lacy frock.  Made my my Mum- The Legend.  Yes, it was November 11th, 1995, and I was getting married to Micky Blue Eyes today. 

Suddenly, lush harp and violin music swelled and doves cooed outside my window. No, not really.  But the sun was shining, so that was a bonus.

I would love to be able to say that I remember every detail of this momentous occasion in vivid, techni-colour detail, but, alas, I don't remember five minutes ago, I'm a space cadet and...um, what was I on about?

Oh, that's right. Our wedding.

But you should remember your wedding. It's the most important day of your life, right? Romantic books and movies would have you believe that anyway. Here's the bits I do remember.

I remember that I felt surprisingly and amazingly calm.  I didn't have a minutes doubt, cold feet or nerves or little voices in my head telling me I was making a mistake.  I took that as a good sign.  I have since been a bridesmaid twice at my brother and sister-in-laws wedding and also for my good friends, Kim and Ziggy.I was as nervous as HELL.  Go figure.

I also remember that it took an aeon to get ready.  Who knew it could take ALL DAY just to frock up and have your hair and make-up done?  But it did.  Thank God I got maried at 24. Imagine how long it would take at a more mature age to put all the spak filler into your creases.  I'd have to get Botox. That would scare me even more than the thought of actually getting married.

In the midst of all this frockery, make-up and Macca's for lunch, fetched by my Dad,  (such a classy wedding lunch, in keeping with the general classiness and elegance of the day) a huge bouquet of red roses arrived. For me!

"But who would be sending me roses?" I asked, bewildered.
"Mick, of course!" Mum insisted "Who else?"
"No, he wouldn't do that." I said. He wasn't exactly a romantic, hearts, flowers and poetry kind of guy,so for some reason I couldn't picture it.  Then I read the card.

This is the happiest day of my life. See you at the Church. Love Mick.

Oh. That is romantic. I teared up.  Just slightly. But I didn't want to ruin the make-up that had just taken two hours to put on, so I had to snap out of it quickly.

I had 3 bridesmaids and a junior bridesmaid. Once we were all frocked up, the photographer arrived. With  a name like Doug, we were expecting a rather typical Aussie bloke. However, Dougie, as we called him, had a very heavy foreign accent.  Nobody could understand a word he said.

This made things interesting. But with a lot of gesturing and pointing he managed to get us all into various positions and took some snaps.  All in all he did a pretty good job, acheiving some rather charming shots.  I am particularly fond of these ones. 

I think they have a certain charm. Don't you?

Anyhow, for some reason, which I still haven't figured out almost 17 years later, we suddenly got into a mad panic and flurry of activity when the cars arrived.  We all piled in and they sped down the motorway, arriving at the church too early.  The bride is supposed to be traditionally late!

This necessitated driving around the block and sitting there for a while to pass some time. I suppose we could have gone to Macca's drive through, but we'd already had that. Finally we made our way to the Church.

I was still calm without the the need for valium which surprised me. There were a few gawkers peering over the fence.  Then we all lined up at the Church entrance and the Wedding March began.

I know. You were expecting me to say We've Only Just Begun started weren't you?  Sigh.  I should have had a Carpenters song, but they only had organ music and I didn't think I would like it played on an organ.

The moment had arrived. I took my Dad's arm and walked down the aisle.  All that build up to that moment and it was over in seconds.  Plus, being short-sighted I couldn't really see much. It could have been anybody waiting at the altar wearing a formal suit and a silly grin. I'd decided not to wear my glasses and stupidly didn't think of getting contacts.  The thought of having to poke them onto my eyeballs kind of unnerved me.

Luckily it was Micky Blue Eyes in the suit and silly grin.  Father John said a few words. I remember him saying something like "No doubt you'll back at this day in years to come and think: We looked pretty good in those days." Spot on. Sigh.Then came the vows.

I deliberately made a supreme effort to speak louder so everyone could hear me. It worked, apparently. Next thing I knew we were officially married!  I was going to have to get used to being Mrs C.  Then came the official signing of the papers, more photos and everyone congratualting us. Overwhelming!

Another ride in the jag to the reception, then more photos. My jaw ached from smiling.  Mick got to take it easy in a few casual shots. 

The highlight of the evening was undoubtedly Mick's speech, when he got tongue tied trying to thank his parents and ended up thanking them for "Bringing me up under a roof that didn't leak..." Everyone cracked up.  An embarrassed Mick said "I didn't mean it to be that funny." Which cracked everyone up even more.

Then there was the stunning cake, made by my Aunty Helen. For the cutting of which, I finally got my Carpenters song.  An obscure one called "You're The One" and the bastards cut the song off half way. GRRRR.

Then we made our way to the dance floor for an awkward, clutzy 'dance' to the Honeydrippers Sea of Love, Micky's choice as I'm not sure that any Carpenters songs are remotely danceable. 

And we'd only just begun..., blissfully unaware of what the next 17 years would hold.

Linking up with Cathy from The Camera Chronicles for Flashback Friday.

What was your Wedding like? Or, if you're not married, what would be your dream Wedding? Love Weddings? Loathe them?

Read More

Being Different & The Diagnonsense Part Two

It was convoluted path to diagnonsense.  Perhaps it was the fact that I turned 40 last year so therefore I decided to quietly have a mid-life crisis and ponder over my life like the deep and intellectual thinker I am. ie. A total off with the pixies space cadet.  But I was giving this Asparagus thing a bit of thought and then coincidentally picked up a book about it in Target  called Being Different by John Elder Robison.

I took it home, read it. Upon reading the diagnostic criteria I was fairly convinced I was Aspie.  I Googled a bit more which seemed to confirm my suspicions.  Funnily enough I'd seen counsellors and shrinks on and off for many years, yet when it came to this I basically had to figure it out for myself! It's amazing how people go undiagnosed for years, especially females. 

I trotted back to yet another shrink to receive the official 'diagnonsense'.  This involved answering a gazillion questions.  She then saw my mum also and asked her a gazillion questions. 

I suppose I could waste a lot of energy wondering if it would have made any difference knowing 30 years ago. It doesn't really matter.  That time is over. What matters is I know now. So I have to stop being so hard on myself and accept the way I am. Not make comparisons with outgoing NT people. NT means Neuro Typical, in other words those people without Aspergers.  I'll nick the term Nypical and use that, I think. Still working on that to be perfectly honest.  It's something I have to keep on reminding myself on a day to day basis.

It also turns out that I am in very good company.  Famous people in history who are believed to possibly be Aspie include Albert Einstein, Vincent Van Gogh and Wolfgang Amedeus Mozzart.  So clearly I too am a genius.  I have absolutely no idea what my genius like talent is, but any day now I'm sure it will become obvious. I hope. Maybe. Soon. Hmmm..oh well. Sigh.

As well as savant like talents or gifts Aspie people are known to have restricted and repetive interests that are often abnormal in intensity and focus.  This has worked out to be very useful in life for me.  My abnormal interest is of course...drum roll please...ta daaa! :  Carpenters/Karen Carpenter.

 Very useful indeed. I can helpfully remember the words to every single Carpenters song, yet I can't remember where I put my keys or glasses five minutes ago. Handy.

This obsession has also enabled me to participate in some intense forum discussions on karencarpenter.com on truly important issues such as the shape of Karen Carpenter's eyebrows and the relative benefits of Goofus vs Beechwood 45789.

For  the record, Beechwood is pure GOLD, I'm telling you, and that critic who said that if the Carpenters were going to record drek like that they should have gotten unlisted numbers, is a very nasty man indeed. Hmph.

After all they are the duo responsible for voicing THE most important question of the 20th Century : Why do birds suddenly appear, everytime you are near?

I'm also completely useless at anything involving organisational skills due to impaired executive function. This is a psychological term which refers to organisational and planning abilites, working memory and other complicated stuff  that frankly I can't remember. See?

At least that's now my excuse, so I'm sticking to it.  I'd always felt that part of my brain was somehow missing, (the part that should be logical and organised) yet to try to describe this to anyone would just sound like I was making an elaborate excuse for being lazy.  Imagine my relief to find it was not a figment of my imagination after all but a real part of my Ass Burgers.

In finishing,I would  like to list these affirmations for Aspie's written by author Lianne Holliday Willey that I like to remind myself:

• I am not defective, I am different
• I will not sacrifice my self worth for peer acceptance
• I am a good and interesting person
• I will take pride in myself
• I am capable of getting along with society
• I will ask for help when I need it
• I am a person who is worthy of others' respect and acceptance
• I will find a career interest that is well suited to my abilities and interests (I'm not sure how this one works for me, don't expect there are many job vacancies for a Carpenters obsessed nut)
• I will be patient with those who need time to understand me.
• I am never going to give up on myself.
• I will accept myself for who I am.

Yep, so I will accept myself for who I am.  A socially awkward, anxiety prone, Carpenters obsessed Aspergirl. Brilliant.

Linking up with The Lounge over at Musings Of The Misguided.

*Tries to think of a leading, thought provoking question to ask at the end of the post...and comes up with...NOTHING.* Oops. Um, why DO birds suddenly appear every time you are near?

What? Not a great question? Look, if it was good enough for Karen, it's good for me, okay? HMPH.

Read More

Being Different & The Diagnonsense

Last year, at age 40, I found out that I officially am an Aspie.  Meaning a person with Aspergers Syndrome. Or Asparagus Syndrome as it often referred to.  When it is not being referred to as Ass Burgers Syndrome. 

Ass Burgers Syndrome is an Autism Specrum disorder (to quote Wikipedia ) that is characterised by significant difficulties in social interactions alongside restricted and repetive patterns of behaviour. That's the Reader's Digest abridged definition anyway.

I don't know at what age specifically I realised there was something slightly different about me. Most likely not until I started school. My parents probably noticed early on that my brother and I were (and  still are) vastly different temperaments.  Him being quite social, reputedly dancing at one get together as a toddler until his little legs refused to go on and then sitting down and bopping on. Me being quite the opposite and always wanting to go home whenever my parents took us out anywhere.

Samantha and I. I was about 10

I loved dogs and books.  My nose was always in a book as soon as I could read.   Especially Enid Blyton ones.  I was so quiet, Mum often had to check where I was, to see if I was okay. Usually she found me curled up with the dog.  We had a black and tan dachshund named Samantha. I'd named her that after Samantha from Bewitched which I loved.  Now it's obvious why I might not have grown up with much grip on reality loving such things, as I've mentioned before.

In spite of being painfully shy and quiet, apparently I could talk very clearly when I wanted to. So I never really had any speech or developmental delays . I was just a shy kid.

 It's true, I was and am shy.  I think that's a  different thing or trait than Aspergers. After all I'm sure that not every Aspie is shy.  So it's hard to say exactly how much of my behaviours are shyness and how much is from Aspergers. For example, eye contact.  I still find this impossible.

As a baby only a handful of priveleged people apparently had the honour of being able to hold me.  A couple of Aunties only, and my parents.  With anybody else I screamed.

Whenever Mum took me into one Aunty's kitchen I became very distressed at the sight of the very busy patterned wallpaper.  Obviously it was just sensory overload for me, however I would like to think that even as an infant I already had exquisite taste and thought: "Oh my GOD! Look at that hideous 1970's wallpaper...NOOOOOOOOO!!!"

In fact I still detest fleurescent lights with a passion.  I will often wear my sunglasses in shopping centres, receiving the odd stare from people who probably think I'm a complete wanker who thinks she's as cool as Bono.

The most noticeable Aspie trait I had ( and still have) is rocking backwards and forwards or jumping up and down on the spot. It's too bad I didn't keep the latter one into adulthood, because I sure need the exercise. These behaviours are referred to as 'stimming' in Aspie talk.

I wasn't a great student unless the teacher was particularly pushy with me.  This was mainly due to being an off with the pixies space cadet too busy daydreaming during class.  I'd only listen if it was something that interested me and tune everything else out.  I ended up being good at reading and consequently spelling and written expression.  I was fair to terrible with everything else.

Making friends was hard, but I managed to have one or two in primary  school.  At this stage when I was still interested in Barbie dolls I had something in common with other girls.  This changed later in High School where I ended up virtually friendless.  I had nothing in common with other girls who were interested in boys and liked Duran Duran while I was starting my Carpenters obsession.  This obsession has persisted to this day. Yes, I know, I am...seriously...weird.  Still at least I have my Ass Burgers as an excuse. I've met others online who are just as obsessed or worse. (You know who you are.)

More about my diagnonsense (as my friend Randa calls it)  next time...I'm going to play Carpenters.

Read More

Wallowing

"Darkness surrounds my loneliness.  Pervading my soul, it stirs my silent anguish."  I wrote those melodramatic words feverishly on a scrap of paper at around age 14 (there abouts) as I sobbed in my bedroom.  My favourite past time.  Nothing has changed at age 41. 

It seems at times there's nothing I like better than a good old sooky la la sobbing session.  Not to be confused with  Weepy, Mopey, Why Me?, Melodramatic Melt Down Mode, which I quite enjoy at times too.  Instead of silent tears of despair, this version involves racking, heaving sobs and sometimes howling like a banshee.  Occasionally items are thrown.

Especially when my husband has the audacity to inform me, in the midst of it all, that I should be jumping for joy.  In my defense I'd had a raging headache for 3 weeks straight ( I kid you not) and could not be held accountable for my actions.

Of course I would like to believe that I am just an extremely sensitive individual with deeper emotions than others.   Somebody who feels things intensely.  Instead of just the miserable, pitiful, wallowing, self-indulgent sook I really am.  After all I have a real reason to sook.

All my life I have never fit in with others.  Painfully shy, quiet and introverted, I would rather the ground open up and swallow me into a vortex than to have to answer a direct question or be the centre of attention for even a nano-second.

This probably explains somewhat why, when I heard Carpenters music for the first time at age 11, I was immediately drawn to Karen Carpenter's voice.  Rich, soothing, intimate.  Singing such unspeakably mournful lines like:

"I'll say Goodbye To Love, no one ever cared if I should live or die..."  OR

"Day after day, I must face a world of strangers, where I don't belong, I'm not that strong.."

This was EXACTLY how I felt.  As well as this, naturally:

"What I've got they used to call the blues, nothing is really wrong, feeling like I don't belong..."

In fact, I've never belonged.  In addition to crippling shyness, I am also an Aspie, an affectionate term for a person with Asperger's Syndrome.  I was not aware of this fact until age 40, just last year.  However, I've always been acutely aware that I am different from others.   Others love socialising for hours.   Others don't  love blissfully rocking backwards and forwards to Carpenters music for hours.  Instead they would possibly be more tempted to open a vein if they had to listen for even a second!

Sometimes it's hard and very disconcerting to realise that I am 41 and basically haven't matured beyond age 14.  And that I will always be different to others.  The quietest person in the room, no matter where I go.  In fact, if I had a dollar for everytime I've been informed of how quiet I am, I would be a very rich woman indeed.   It's funny how people think it is their duty to inform you of this, but somehow they never tell overly loud people to just shut the hell up.  But I digress.

Then, on top of all my wallowing, I end up feeling agonisingly guilty for feeling sorry for myself at all.  After all there are many people battling life threatening illnesses ( which I've experienced directly with family members) and I just can't seem to get it together, get over it, get on with it, get a job, or even socialise without feeling like I've been run over by a truck.  But, as Rudy Simone says in her book Aspergirls: Empowering Females With Asperger Syndrome "telling a person with Asperger's to just get on with it is like telling a person in a wheel chair to just take the stairs to get to the second floor" And I'm sure this applies to anyone suffering from depression, Aspie or not.

So I will allow myself to wallow.  A little bit anyway.  To have my frequent 'sook' sessions. I'll put on Karen, allow her to soothe me.  Then I will quietly get on with life the best I can.  As a quiet, shy, Aspergirl who needs a good sook as much as a good book.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rNGanUj8HHI

Read More