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!

I stare at people

March 30, 1987

ianthe woke me up at 6:45 this morning. I popped up happily - which is unusual. She was hungry. She had fallen asleep before having supper last night. I gave her Cheerios; she didn't eat them until I changed her diaper. She ate all of them and drank lots of apple juice. She was thirsty, so was I. We drank together and smiled. She was very sleepy. I gave her a bottle of milk and put her back to bed at 7:05. I did the dishes - well half of the dishes for Cris - happily - to make his day more enjoyable. He let me wear his purple sweater. He woke up to say goodbye. He asked why I was so chipper this morning. Well, I felt good - good to see ianthe before the afternoon, good that Aja and Harris were too wiped out to wake up with her crying at 6:45 and too tired to wake with me putting her back in bed.

In class later, they went to watch a video. I couldn't take it. No more sitting in dark rooms. I sat up on the third floor thinking about the movie I will make soon. I leaned my head against the glass, looking down into the gallery at a guy with two girls. They looked weird, all foreshortened. When another guy joined them, he looked straight up, not with any purpose and saw me. We stared at each other maybe 30 seconds. I did not want to look away. I was doing nothing wrong. I thought it was pretty weird, only head and shoulders.

Being alone with ianthe, my youngest child, always brought a sense of calm to me. I chose her over Cris's wishes. He had asked me to think about aborting her when I told him I was pregnant. Immediately - within a split-second - I thought about it and the decision was made, "No", but he didn't ask about my thoughts until days later. He was furious. That was the end of my marriage - that choice - the right choice. He soon was coming home from school with drawings on his pants, decorated by Char, a woman who was "just a friend" he assured me. I was so sure he would not stray, when I suspected an affair, it was one of his male friends that I expected him to have strayed with. 

He had no interest in my pregnancy. He painted a violent painting called "The Fetus". He had no interest in naming the child. I chose ianthe, naming her after Richard Braughtigan's daughter. He said he hated it. I chose Tristine, naming her after Peter Davidson, the blond Dr. Who. He played Tristan in All Creatures Great and Small. Tristine is the female version of Tristan = child of sadness. Cris hated that too. I was defiant. He hated everything.

ianthe rarely moved when she was a fetus. I often thought she had died. Once a week, or so, she would move her elbow or knee slowly across the surface of my belly, announcing her presence. She was precious to me. I chose her. She was mine. Cris said he would not take me to the hospital. He told me to take a bus. I did not know what to do. I was plunged into a deep depression. 

When she was born, she just looked around. She was a silent child. She never cried. She just made small sounds. I did not speak to her. I only stared at her. ianthe communicated with small sounds and grunts. I thought she was deaf. I asked my dad (he was a doctor). He reassured me that nothing was wrong. I wanted to believe him.

She was sitting at 4-1/2 months, crawling at 5 months, walking at 7 months. She was a wiry, thin, tall, spider-monkey baby. I was so very depressed raising her, that I forgot to feed her solid food. I breast fed her first, and then thought, "Oh, I should try to give her food", but she wasn't hungry by then. Eventually, she was referred to the University of Minnesota, "Failure to Thrive", they said. They gave me suggestions for diet. Yet, she only ate bananas: banana rice cereal, banana oatmeal cereal, banana barley cereal, and bananas. I lovingly called her the Banana Pan.

ianthe was close to 3 before my sister Cindy agreed with me that she might be suffering from hearing loss. Cindy provided daycare for me while I worked a temp job altering men's suits at Dayton's. She noticed that she had to make eye contact with ianthe to get her attention. She had a very limited vocabulary. She said a few simple words and phrases, notably calling both Aja and Harrison "Aya", "Stop it", and "Bye, see you later".  I took her to the doctor for a hearing test. She had a congenital defect - both of her middle ears were filled with gunk - had been that way since she was in utero. They cleaned out her ears and put in some tubes while they healed. When I took her home, an airplane flew overhead. "Loud mama," ianthe said, startled, covering her ears. Poor baby. She has permanent hearing loss of both high and low ends of the frequency, but human voices are mid-tones, so she does alright.

I always spoiled ianthe. She had only me. She needed extra love. Cris would threaten to fight for custody of the children after our divorce - but he never meant ianthe, he meant only Aja and Harrison. He made it apparent that he wanted nothing to do with her. I am so sad that she knew that. How hard would that be growing up?