what do I want to say?

May 12, 1987

School's out in a few days. Summer should be a great break. Some things I really want to accomplish are...

• Get to know Sue: who I am, what I want, what I am about, where I am going.
• Get control of ME: body wise. no smoking, exercising, stop nail biting, dream understanding.
• Work: Work hard, work long, work steady - possibilities - Norman Anderson, Halle, other...
• Reading: "The Devils", "Natasha Novastoska", "Memoirs from the House of the Dead", "War and Peace", And many others!
• Drawing: visual journal type thing - right here in this book - get to know myself - what do I want to say?

When I was young. I looked at the plans for a house that was never built.

He said, "I use my brain halves to the most extreme separation."

September 10, 1986

Two weeks of school have past and I am getting used to it. The house is falling apart a bit, but I throw it together when I have the time. I have just tons of classes and from each a monstrous amount of work - 16 hour grids for visual studies - compositions for english - about 50 pages of reading for art history - 20 pages for humanities - a wooden toy for shop - buy a roll of film for lens media...on and on. I started a 3 hour drawing of Cris - did his face fantastically, then moved on to his hand and he moved on to his hand and he moved and rearranged everything so I couldn't continue. I applied for work study - probably won't get a job - but it's worth a try - money is really a problem to grapple with.

Cris is enjoying watching the kids. He does have a bit of trouble with ianthe - but she is just a baby and it was hard even for me to remember just what to do with a baby.

September 15, 1986

Sitting up so high in the fourth floor by the window. I can see Ann's dorm. I like Ann. When I first saw her I thought, "Oh God, She looks just like Char - gross." Not because she is ugly but because of association. I can also see the tower that is on the same block as Cris' apartment.

I try to talk to him and see what it all means to his life - but he is just so strange. He said last night that he realizes that he is using his brain halves to the most extreme separation. That he is extremely logical - philosophical and life in general - and when he does his art he is extremely emotional. There is no middle ground for him. Maybe he can only express himself through his art. There might be a way to blend things. Maybe he could tell me how he feels e.g. answer my questions through art.

I really ought to give it a try. Anything just to keep from stagnating in our relationship. I must keep it alive, changing, vibrant not only for Cris, but for myself so I do not go crazy.

Escape - that is what we desire but we are bound by circumstances. I don't think that it is as heartless as all that but it just touches the surface of how we all must feel. Cris said, "I hope that, someday we'll live in a world without love".

Love after all is just a feeling - it is not a state of being - you cannot be in love anymore than you can be in happy or in sad. Love is the feeling you get when someone is important to you - without strings attached. That is the important part - without strings or rules. I want rules but really it's all just a matter of respecting the other person's being. Love is more common feeling than people realize - it's their dependency that most people label as being love - but I can feel love with Ann or Sara or Peter for that matter. You know when something feels good. You wouldn't go out of your way to hurt others whom you feel close to, now, would you?

I ran out and bought a second "Complete Guide to Asperger's Syndrome" by Tony Attwood today. My first copy is in ruins, having been paged through and page worn by my three children. Aja said that the others would be relieved, that they were frightened to give it back to me in the condition it is in. I love books. I don't think you understand my love of the physical book by that simple statement. I really love books. I take great care of them. I try never to crease their bindings. Upon purchasing a softback book, I condition the spine by opening up the book, first 25 pages from the front, carefully press open holding the book spine to table. Open the last 25 pages, press them to the table, repeat from the front until you have reached the middle. Never fold a page corner to mark your place. That would be a terrible thing to do. Never place an open book face down and open upon a table to mark your spot. Make sure your hands are clean and dry. Do not sneeze into your book. I have many Book Rules. 

When I first started dating Anthony, I wanted to give him a special book to read. It is Sombrero Fallout: A Japanese Novel by Richard Brautigan. It is an out-of-print book by my favorite author. Actually, Ianthe is named after him in a circular way. His daughter is named Ianthe - that is where the name came from. So, wanting to offer a favorite book to my wonderful friend, I proffered my treasure to him in a zip-lock bag, along with a long list of instructions for its care. Anthony accepted my gift, but later returned it unread. He never dared to open the baggy. 

Maybe it is a good thing that I am planning to take up my studies again, starting with a Masters in Library Science and Information Systems (that makes my heart sing - lol) and if I still dream it, continue my studies with a Doctorate in Archival Studies. 

Books, Books, Books, lovely books, they are my friends and have helped me understand the world. I know I digressed with my book story, away from my original thought: which is an explanation about what I was thinking when Cris was confusing me with his talk about how he was using his brain. I was fascinated. 

At the time I was reading books about how to mend a broken relationships - that confounded me. I had three babies and an absent husband - one that told me that he would never divorce me, but that he would never be back. I used the advice from my relationship book. I told him that he was free. He could do what he wanted and I would still be there for him, unconditionally. Well, you can guess how well that worked out. As the next few days of this blog unfold, I will sway back and forth in confusion. Thinking "What the Hell is Going On?"

Who would have thought that people don't think exactly like me?! Or not know exactly what I want from them?! I kid, but before October or November of last year, the thought NEVER occurred to me. Hard to believe for an NT (neuro-typical), but true. Evidence of my under-developed Theory of Mind is found in the "we" statements I make in this and several entries about how "we" must feel or think. From Tony Attwood's book on Theory of Mind (ToM), which Absolutely Fascinates Me (page 120):

...due to the differences and nature of ToM abilities in the cognitive development of children with Asperger's Syndrome, they may develop a different form of self-consciousness. The child may acquire ToM abilities using intelligence and experience rather than intuition, which can eventually lead to an alternative form of self-consciousness as the child reflects on his/her own mental state and the mental state of others. This highly reflective and explicit self-consciousness has been described as similar to that of philosophers...

Now, considering the fact that I had grown up with a sociopath, I did not have the highest quality of input with which to develop the ability to recognize and understand the thoughts, beliefs, desires and intentions of others in order to make sense of their behavior and predict what they are going to do next (these are the concepts that Theory of Mind entails).

I had met Cris, three months into my 17th year. I had graduated high school at 16, and my social life was extremely controlled as a child and teen. I am 24 at the time of this entry. I had spent seven years with Cris, being told that it was "I" that was the crazy one; "I" after all, had been diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic (he claimed, discounting my research and study, not to mention I was FAKING it). Seven years of developing my Theory of Mind using a narcissistic sociopath as a model of human behavior. No wonder people are frightened of me at first!

Maybe I imitate others because to be myself might mean - NOTHING

"Do not be ashamed of yourself; this above all else, is the root of your problem."
"The Brother's Karamazov" Dostoevsky

August 27, 1986

Who is this person whom you call Sue?
I'm not really sure you know.
You surround yourself with other people whom you don't like nor do they like you much either.

I look back at these pages in disgust. I am so whiny. I complain all the time. Here I sit as god and proclaim others - my rivals - to be less than myself.

Well, Sue, you know yourself where you stand. You are lower than all - you plummet the depths of insecurities - above all else you are ashamed of yourself and of your behavior. Constantly imitating others yet criticizing them while pretending I'm not like them at all. I must recall e.e. cummings - "To be nobody. but - yourself - in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else - means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting."

Maybe I imitate others because to be myself might mean - NOTHING - I am so untrue to myself.

How can I break down my barriers to my self?

Maybe, this is the criticizing I perform. ABOUT EVERYTHING! It could be very telling about myself - what I choose to criticize. I've often read that Virgo's are critical by nature - well fuck that; it is no excuse.

I complain about other people's messy houses - yet I am one of the biggest pigs around.

I complain about how others are raising their children - could it be I worry about my own shortcomings?

Ah, at last a post acknowledging that I understand that there is something different about me. I knew I would come across an intellectual entry. I have a post-it note stuck in one of my notebooks written by a therapist that I knew in Stillwater. A kind soul that counseled me for free. The note says simply: "incidents in which I was not sure how to act as a 25 year old woman." I had been struggling with what was a "normal" way to be, to act. I have always wondered how to act. This was something he was helping me with.

I wondered why the girls got along so well in elementary school - it never came easy for me. One incident stands out clearly and painfully in my mind. We had hooks outside of our classroom that were inset into the walls. A gaggle of girls around me, fifth graders - Mrs. Loney's class - were hanging up their coats and fawning over one girl. "oh, I like your skirt!" they exclaimed. The girl turned towards me, actually, turned towards the classroom door, I looked her straight in her eye, "I don't" I stated. Quiet. Silent, shocked. I just remember that. The silence. I realized I had said the wrong thing. I misunderstood what was happening. People were not giving their opinions of her skirt - they were complimenting her - a friendly gesture. As I worked my way through elementary school, I "worked" my way through "friends", by the time we were in seventh grade, a new school, I had the opportunity for a whole new set of people to reject me.

Just as it is for me as a child, I had few friends as a adult. People have trouble "reading" me. I come across as harsh, or rude, or disinterested. People who stick with me long enough, learn that I am actually a very kind person. I act as if I know everything, as if I am an expert in everything. This is my coping mechanism. I cope with my inability to "read" the intent of people easily by acting as if I am superior to them. People who call themselves my friends, know this. They accept it as who I am. They laugh with me at my boasting statements of "I know best" and "Prove it!". I am just quirky. I have strong opinions. 

NO Chameleon

March 25, 1986
Writing as a 23 year old

Sometimes things don't turn out the way you wanted them to but it is good all the same.
Things become clear as time goes by.


(a poem)

Light,
walk, illuminate
zwooshhh...
car, headlight, tail
breeze.
whistle ear, hair
all but silence.
alone:
tap-tap-tap-tap;
sidewalk, shoe

I can imagine the apartment I lived in at this time. If the windows were open, I could hear everything going on outside. My bed - a futon - was in a large closet, that had a window that faced the street. I imagine that I was alone, kids asleep, windows open when I wrote this.

(another poem)

I've been deeply wounded
my heart was torn out
discarded
I've been hurt before
not like this
I am starting to heal
the pain, not as great
I am not changing
NO Chameleon

I like this poem. I like the tone of it. I like how I am feeling a little bit empowered. I am acknowledging my pain. I am refusing to change who I am. I especially like it in terms of stating that I was not a chameleon - I will not change according to the whims of those around me. That is actually pretty good insight. It surprises me.

 April 1, 1986

(a poem)

Thunderstorm party
cookies and Koolaid
the rain makes us new again.

Aja shut the windows
so the lightening
wouldn't get in and harm us.

Tornado
bring my trike downstairs
venture outside
to listen for rains.

My dad and I
looking forward to
our own destruction
in the storm clouds.

I see that my haiku for my short film at MCAD had it's beginning in this poem. How sweet to have celebrate a thunderstorm with my children. I tried hard as a parent to make sure that nothing scared my children. I had grown up so frightened by everything. Frightened of crowds, of meeting new people, of going new places - everything! I didn't know that that was the Aspergian in me. My children, two of whom are suspected Aspergians, did grow up fearless - of SOME things - not all. I did the best I could.

As a fingernail biter, I managed to raise three non-fingernail biters (one bites their cuticles - oh well)...

The wrong side and the right side

August 7, 1985

A Dream...
Cris and Char were in his room and I walked in. They were making love - Char on top. She quickly got off of him and she quickly got off him. She sat between his legs and watched me take a look at the photos of Aja I was looking for...

I wasn't watching them at all. I was even behind the curtain, but after awhile, I told Char it was alright, that she should carry on...

I finished looking in the closet and called "information". They couldn't tell me anything. So when I was finished on the phone, I came out of the closet and Char and Cris were still just laying there. So I knelt down by Cris' head and kissed him and apologized for having interrupted the "proceedings". He said casually that Char wanted to know if I wanted to join in, but I took a shower first and never got around to joining them.

August 1985

I watch Cris now, how he seems. He seems so much happier and at peace. He is very tender when he is in love and I feel he really does love Char and I both. He loves Char with patience I haven't seen in him for a long time. It doesn't hurt so bad anymore. I wish I could wear my ring but I am not - maybe I will again later, nothing matters much anymore. I hope I don't end up a fool in all this.

After I had confronted Cris with the knowledge of his affair, I was so afraid to give him an ultimatum. An ultimatum would give him a chance to choose to leave. I could not live with that. I feared being left.

Cris had been given power by me and Char. I said in an earlier blog entry, that Cris chose vulnerable women. Char and I were his training ground. He wielded his power like a knife and cut out our hearts. He arranged an introduction. He and Char at one side of the booth of a Minneapolis cafe and I alone, very pregnant on the other. He caressed her openly in front of me. He did this to calm her while he destroyed what was left of my fragile ego. My journal continues with an existential quote...

...What counts is to be true, and then everything fits in, humanity and simplicity...

What I wish for now is no longer happiness but simply awareness...I do not want to choose between right and wrong sides of the world, and I do not like a choice to be made...The great courage is still to gaze as squarely at the light as at death.

"The wrong side and the right side" Albert Camus