Missing in Action
Reply
Tag Archives: Aspergers
The Positive Traits of Aspergers – AutismAid
via youtube.com
Another Post by Chilly 🐧
The Positive Traits of Aspergers – AutismAid
via youtube.com
Another Post by Chilly 🐧
Aspergers 101: The Basics – AutismAid
via youtube.com
Another Post by Chilly 🐧
Aspergers 101: The Basics – AutismAid
via youtube.com
Another Post by Chilly 🐧
Obsessively picky – @Aspienaut – WIRED differently || AutismAid
There is something terrible in that feeling when the realisation hits. First you check your pockets, then the door, then your pockets again just in case lint has metamorphosed magically into your door keys. Then because you still can’t quite believe it you try the door again. All of this happens in a matter of a few seconds until finally you accept your reality. You have locked yourself out. Then the magnitude of your predicament sinks in. Your phone’s indoors, with your wallet and ID. Your landlady is away, not that you have her number, it’s indoors!
When the above last happened to me I ended up walking 2 miles into town to the local locksmith, who then told me he couldn’t help but had a number of an mobile emergency locksmith who could. I phoned and left a message. Several hours later he arrived. By this time I was just pleased to see him but was more than a little conflicted when he told me that to have access to my own home I was going to have to pay him £75.00! I felt powerless and so I paid. He walked up to my door, removed from his tool box a thin square of plastic, slid said plastic down the side of the door and frame until it was level with the locking mechanism. Then with a deft wiggle of the card and a little pressure on the door, hey presto, the door opened. It took him literally 5 seconds, about the same time it took me to write his cheque. I couldn’t believe what I’d just seen.
This was how my most recent obsession started, by paying someone £75.00 to open my door with a piece of plastic. I had to learn how to do this, I had to learn what this man knew. So, I read and read all I could get on the Internet about lock-picking and locks. I bought a book and a set of picks. I bought a set of training locks, I bought some pad-locks, I even bought some special plastic squares just like the locksmith used and I practiced and I practiced. For about a month, locks and lock picking was all I could think of. I’d dream about locks, talk about locks, think about locks. While watching the TV I’d have a padlock in one hand and picks in the other. Gently lifting each pin of the lock whilst applying the gentlest pressure until hearing that satisfying click of the lock popping open.
As with many of my obsessions I had to learn everything I could up to a point that was practical. I learnt how to open standard cylinder locks and pin locks and how to open my door as quickly as the locksmith. I learnt all about tension wrenches, picks and rakes. I learnt all I could right up to the limit of what I felt I needed to. I stopped at mortice locks and knew that unless I was actually going to train as a locksmith I had learnt enough and with that the spell was broken and I resumed my normal interests. I do however, still carry a small lock picking set with me and regularly leave my keys at home so I’ll have to pick my way back in.
I never know when the next obsession will happen but during that time, for as long as it takes, I’ll learn everything I can until I’ve learnt enough. It has always been this way and I’m sure it always will be and I for one hope it doesn’t stop, because this is one of the best things about being an Aspie. When we apply ourselves to something that interests us we can achieve a great deal, often much more than many think possible.
© Paul C Siebenthal Oct 2012.
Another Post by Chilly 🐧
Obsessively picky – @Aspienaut – WIRED differently || AutismAid
There is something terrible in that feeling when the realisation hits. First you check your pockets, then the door, then your pockets again just in case lint has metamorphosed magically into your door keys. Then because you still can’t quite believe it you try the door again. All of this happens in a matter of a few seconds until finally you accept your reality. You have locked yourself out. Then the magnitude of your predicament sinks in. Your phone’s indoors, with your wallet and ID. Your landlady is away, not that you have her number, it’s indoors!
When the above last happened to me I ended up walking 2 miles into town to the local locksmith, who then told me he couldn’t help but had a number of an mobile emergency locksmith who could. I phoned and left a message. Several hours later he arrived. By this time I was just pleased to see him but was more than a little conflicted when he told me that to have access to my own home I was going to have to pay him £75.00! I felt powerless and so I paid. He walked up to my door, removed from his tool box a thin square of plastic, slid said plastic down the side of the door and frame until it was level with the locking mechanism. Then with a deft wiggle of the card and a little pressure on the door, hey presto, the door opened. It took him literally 5 seconds, about the same time it took me to write his cheque. I couldn’t believe what I’d just seen.
This was how my most recent obsession started, by paying someone £75.00 to open my door with a piece of plastic. I had to learn how to do this, I had to learn what this man knew. So, I read and read all I could get on the Internet about lock-picking and locks. I bought a book and a set of picks. I bought a set of training locks, I bought some pad-locks, I even bought some special plastic squares just like the locksmith used and I practiced and I practiced. For about a month, locks and lock picking was all I could think of. I’d dream about locks, talk about locks, think about locks. While watching the TV I’d have a padlock in one hand and picks in the other. Gently lifting each pin of the lock whilst applying the gentlest pressure until hearing that satisfying click of the lock popping open.
As with many of my obsessions I had to learn everything I could up to a point that was practical. I learnt how to open standard cylinder locks and pin locks and how to open my door as quickly as the locksmith. I learnt all about tension wrenches, picks and rakes. I learnt all I could right up to the limit of what I felt I needed to. I stopped at mortice locks and knew that unless I was actually going to train as a locksmith I had learnt enough and with that the spell was broken and I resumed my normal interests. I do however, still carry a small lock picking set with me and regularly leave my keys at home so I’ll have to pick my way back in.
I never know when the next obsession will happen but during that time, for as long as it takes, I’ll learn everything I can until I’ve learnt enough. It has always been this way and I’m sure it always will be and I for one hope it doesn’t stop, because this is one of the best things about being an Aspie. When we apply ourselves to something that interests us we can achieve a great deal, often much more than many think possible.
© Paul C Siebenthal Oct 2012.
Another Post by Chilly 🐧
A tempering. Childhood meltdowns and anger. – @Aspienaut – WIRED differently || AutismAid
When my character was still developing, I had not yet formed the coping mechanism I would soon rely on as an adult when over whelmed or upset; namely, going into ‘Stand-by’ mode. A state in which I turn inwards, go quiet but eventually my processors cool, I reboot and then can carry on. It was not always so.
A new follower on twitter expressed concerns about her son’s temper. I offered to write a short post about what he may be feeling and why he could be reacting as he is.
In order to explain what at times may seem unexplainable it helps to understand a few basic things about growing up ‘Wired Differently’. When you describe what growing up on the spectrum is like, it makes ‘melt-downs’ and anger slightly more understandable in young people on the spectrum.
For the first few years of my life I was able to live in a quiet world. The world of home, of familiarity. My bedroom was exactly as I needed it to be, the people who came into my life were people I knew, people I expected to see. The noises I heard and the food I ate were what I expected. I wore the clothes that I liked and which felt good against my skin. When things deviated from this norm I would act as though the world was ending. My reaction would seem so extreme, so over the top, so spoilt and angry it would dumbfound those around me as they watched this child go berserk because something was moved or had changed. I would hit another child at nursery for approaching me. I’d pick up a rock in the playground and chase a child down and throw it at them with all my strength because they had moved my toy car from the painted line on which it was traveling. There were so many things and so many times that my reaction would seem extreme. When I was 6 it was 1980. Kids like me were just not understood, our behaviors rung no alarm bells, we were just called naughty, were just bad children.
On my first day at school I wasn’t even meant to be going. We were actually taking my sister to her first day at a new school. On arrival the headmaster asked my mum how old I was, my mum told him and he took my hand and said, ‘he can come too then!’ That was my first day. It sounds incredible now but that’s what happened. Needless to say, school was tough for me. School for me was about coping. Managing fear, managing stress and managing people.
At the back of the class on the alphabet animal wall was a clock made by Smiths. A large round clock with a long second hand, a second hand that seemed too thin for its length. With each tick, each tok the end of the second hand shuddered, as did I with the sound it made, a sound which only I appeared to hear. This combined with the noise of the chalk on the board, the smell of the poster paint. The metal chair legs, whose rubber ends were long worn away by bored children’s fidgets, scraped along the floor. All of this made it almost impossible for me to follow what teacher was saying. I could tell from the letters on the board and the work on my peers desks that we were at this very moment practicing writing letters. I on the other hand, was just trying to cope with being there.
Factor in; the meaningless facial expressions of your peers and the teacher, the strange things they say, like ‘you need to pull your socks up young man’ or ‘when I get home I can’t wait to watch the football, its going to be blinding!’ So, there you are trying to cope with all this but how do you cope? How do you manage? You start to focus in on the things that you can control. You develop routines, ways of doing things that allow you this brief window of feeling that things are ok, that you may even have some control. You line up your pens on your desk. You wear the same clothes, every day. You eat your food in order and only the foods that you can texturally cope with.
You focus in on the things you can do. You can’t cope with the school lesson but you know things, you remember things, and these make you feel better. So you try and tell people what you know, but its not what they were talking about and they get annoyed with you. You find it hard to take on board the kind words of those who care for you because what they say doesn’t make any sense either. They talk about things getting better, improving in time but you don’t work like that. There is no future in your world view, just a now! You don’t imagine the future, you find no solace in this magical place, this future ‘never never land’. You are just you, here, now and you’re frightened. Stressed and lonely, your way of needing to do things; your routines, your knowledge and interests literally mean everything to you. They feel like they’re all you have and when even these are taken away, changed, stopped, then to you, it feels like a matter of life and death. Your very existence is at stake and so your reaction reflects that. That is why we meltdown, shutdown, go into stand-by or even lose our temper. Yet we keep on trying, keep on learning, trying again and again to cope with this mind blowing world in which we find ourselves.
© Paul C Siebenthal Nov 2012.
Another Post by Chilly 🐧
A tempering. Childhood meltdowns and anger. – @Aspienaut – WIRED differently || AutismAid
When my character was still developing, I had not yet formed the coping mechanism I would soon rely on as an adult when over whelmed or upset; namely, going into ‘Stand-by’ mode. A state in which I turn inwards, go quiet but eventually my processors cool, I reboot and then can carry on. It was not always so.
A new follower on twitter expressed concerns about her son’s temper. I offered to write a short post about what he may be feeling and why he could be reacting as he is.
In order to explain what at times may seem unexplainable it helps to understand a few basic things about growing up ‘Wired Differently’. When you describe what growing up on the spectrum is like, it makes ‘melt-downs’ and anger slightly more understandable in young people on the spectrum.
For the first few years of my life I was able to live in a quiet world. The world of home, of familiarity. My bedroom was exactly as I needed it to be, the people who came into my life were people I knew, people I expected to see. The noises I heard and the food I ate were what I expected. I wore the clothes that I liked and which felt good against my skin. When things deviated from this norm I would act as though the world was ending. My reaction would seem so extreme, so over the top, so spoilt and angry it would dumbfound those around me as they watched this child go berserk because something was moved or had changed. I would hit another child at nursery for approaching me. I’d pick up a rock in the playground and chase a child down and throw it at them with all my strength because they had moved my toy car from the painted line on which it was traveling. There were so many things and so many times that my reaction would seem extreme. When I was 6 it was 1980. Kids like me were just not understood, our behaviors rung no alarm bells, we were just called naughty, were just bad children.
On my first day at school I wasn’t even meant to be going. We were actually taking my sister to her first day at a new school. On arrival the headmaster asked my mum how old I was, my mum told him and he took my hand and said, ‘he can come too then!’ That was my first day. It sounds incredible now but that’s what happened. Needless to say, school was tough for me. School for me was about coping. Managing fear, managing stress and managing people.
At the back of the class on the alphabet animal wall was a clock made by Smiths. A large round clock with a long second hand, a second hand that seemed too thin for its length. With each tick, each tok the end of the second hand shuddered, as did I with the sound it made, a sound which only I appeared to hear. This combined with the noise of the chalk on the board, the smell of the poster paint. The metal chair legs, whose rubber ends were long worn away by bored children’s fidgets, scraped along the floor. All of this made it almost impossible for me to follow what teacher was saying. I could tell from the letters on the board and the work on my peers desks that we were at this very moment practicing writing letters. I on the other hand, was just trying to cope with being there.
Factor in; the meaningless facial expressions of your peers and the teacher, the strange things they say, like ‘you need to pull your socks up young man’ or ‘when I get home I can’t wait to watch the football, its going to be blinding!’ So, there you are trying to cope with all this but how do you cope? How do you manage? You start to focus in on the things that you can control. You develop routines, ways of doing things that allow you this brief window of feeling that things are ok, that you may even have some control. You line up your pens on your desk. You wear the same clothes, every day. You eat your food in order and only the foods that you can texturally cope with.
You focus in on the things you can do. You can’t cope with the school lesson but you know things, you remember things, and these make you feel better. So you try and tell people what you know, but its not what they were talking about and they get annoyed with you. You find it hard to take on board the kind words of those who care for you because what they say doesn’t make any sense either. They talk about things getting better, improving in time but you don’t work like that. There is no future in your world view, just a now! You don’t imagine the future, you find no solace in this magical place, this future ‘never never land’. You are just you, here, now and you’re frightened. Stressed and lonely, your way of needing to do things; your routines, your knowledge and interests literally mean everything to you. They feel like they’re all you have and when even these are taken away, changed, stopped, then to you, it feels like a matter of life and death. Your very existence is at stake and so your reaction reflects that. That is why we meltdown, shutdown, go into stand-by or even lose our temper. Yet we keep on trying, keep on learning, trying again and again to cope with this mind blowing world in which we find ourselves.
© Paul C Siebenthal Nov 2012.
Another Post by Chilly 🐧
True friends – @Aspienaut – WIRED differently || AutismAid
It was suggested recently on twitter that I write a blog post about friendship. Having friends is essential to my happiness, particularly now that I am no longer living with someone, having friends stops me feeling isolated. As I’ve got older my friendships have changed a great deal. Over time my small group of friends are in many ways self selecting. All my friends share my interests and passions. I have friends that are really acquaintances because we grew up together but I see them less often, if at all, because we no longer have have the same interests. My friends in the past have reflected my interests, when that interest passes so does the friendship. Some people have found that difficult but I don’t really understand why people stay friends just because they once shared an interest, went to school together, worked together.
When I say that my friends, as I’ve got older, are self selecting. I mean that we have always reached a point in our relationship where we’ve hit a blip caused by their interpretation of my behavior and we have had to talk about it. My true friends are the ones that are able to understand and ultimately feel that being my friend is worth the effort and occasional misunderstandings. I know that these things happen with all friends but if you are friends with an Aspie, there is every chance that issues with reciprocity, empathy and special interests, will at some point need discussing. My friends have learnt that I am not offended when they highlight an issue to me. A friend told me the other day that she likes the fact that if she asks we how I am, I will tell her and not just say I’m ok if I’m not. She also knows that if she asks me about a shared interest, she may have to tell me that she doesn’t want to talk about that subject anymore as I may not notice I’ve been talking for too long, or I need to take on someone else’s view.
I feel very lucky to have the friends I do. I was very angry once with a friend because they were late and I was already upset about something else. Often I am not good at moderating my moods and struggle to change my demeanor to fit in with a social event or interaction. On this occasion I was short tempered, rude even. My friends told me at the time that I had stepped out of what was expected of an adult friend. I had behaved more like a petulent child. They explained that friends wouldn’t want me around if I was behaving like that. They explained that there is an unspoken social contract that people enter into, a set of values and beliefs that reflect respect for the people you spend time with. I had crossed this line and they were able to tell me. It took me quite a while to process what they were saying and make sense of what had happened. It was an event that, although painful at the time, allowed me to grow and understand my responsibility to be more self aware, as best as I’m able. Sometimes friendship requires us to admit when we’re are wrong, when we need to take on board the feelings of others. Sometimes as an Aspie I struggle to do that, if you have good friends they will allow you a few slip ups and will understand your struggles. The people that can’t do that, don’t want to do that, won’t do that, they aren’t people an Aspie needs as friends. If you are honest and open, people will be open and honest with you. Friendships are tough but if we are prepared to listen and adapt and our friends are willing to do the same, they will become our true friends.
© Paul C Siebenthal Aug 2012
Scroll down to leave comments. If on main page click on date and then scroll down.
DailyDDoSe 