Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Of Burns, Wounds, and Scars

Hello My Dear One,

It seems as though most of my days and weeks are flying past me at an increasingly faster pace.  I know that aging plays this trick on us all, however I have begun to realize the finiteness of a lifespan more acutely than when I was in my teens.  This is particularly fascinating, given that when I was a teenager I did not expect to live past the age of 25.  Given my then untreated Bipolar Disorder and my family's immense dysfunction, a hope for an early death seemed perfectly normal to me.   

And it was normal, because of the warzone I was living in. The beasts of my parents and my mental illnesses were battling so ferociously that no true family could have existed in that world.  We were completely incapable of even mimicking a loving family, living instead in a fiery tumult from one nano-second to the next.  It is a miracle any of us got out alive, and for some of us, the burns and the wounds will never heal.  

I am an only child, however, for sake of full disclosure, I do in fact have a stepbrother, the son of my father's mistress/2nd wife.  We are 8 months apart in age and we lived under the same roof for only 2 years, the first 2 of the 6 years that my father's then mistress (now wife) lived in the second floor apartment of our home.  

He and I were 14 and 15 and by the time we were both 16 he had left home for good and begun a new life halfway across the country.  We are both only children of older parents, and our time together involved more illicit and often illegal activities than either of us would ever care to admit.  It was a time of great turmoil for all of us and we were each other's port in the storm.  We both loved and hated each other, as brothers often do, and the violence of our young lives was forever spurring those extreme emotions in our souls.  

And it is because of this that he and I have not had any form of contact in nearly 10 years. It is not out of malice or anger, but because the pain we suffered during those years together was so devastating and traumatizing, that the flashbacks become present time realities.  We are the only 2 people in this world to have endured that ghoulish hell, young and afraid, and when we are together, the enveloping pain is too great for either one of us to bear.  

For some of us, the burns and wounds will never heal.  

Those 2 years were a blinding hell as 2 grown women were completely controlled by 1 man, and 2 young kids were bullied, verbally abused, and physically beaten by those 3 "adults"who were supposed to be protecting them.  The bile and the hatred between the 2 women was as strong as the stench of burning tar over a freshly filled pothole in the road.  The violence of the man was the taste of salty bitter tears mixed with vomit and booze.  The violence of the women was the feeling of flesh being torn from your body, as a mother tore down her only child to make a man "love" her more.  The fear of the 2 young kids were the sights and the sounds of broken glass, hammers, fists, rodents, crumbling walls, cracking icy, and the whoosh of fire as it ignites.  And all of these senselessnesses came without warning, without provocation, and without a hope that it would be the last time.  Because there was always another time.  There was always another indignity to be suffered.  There was always more hatred to go around.

For some of us, the burns and wounds will never heal.

As anyone who has experienced both physical and verbal abuse will attest, the verbal abuse is more damaging than any hit that you receive.  To be sliced to ribbons by a parent's or a partner's words is the ultimate torture that anyone can suffer.  I know this because I have been both the receiver and the giver of this most heinous crime.  The harm I caused was aided by the beast of mental illness that I allowed to rule my life.  I have said and done things that some people would find totally unforgivable, and by the grace of G-d I have been able to rebuild those relationships, rebuild the trust, and create a new way of being. 

I have been given the gift of forgiveness from a woman whom only G-d could have granted me.  I am becoming the father that I didn't know how to be.  I am becoming the husband that a woman as incredible and loving as my wife is truly deserves.  I am becoming the man that makes a positive difference in society, something I never imagined I could be.  

And the words of hatred spewed at me, and by me, have created lasting pain that may never be fully erased.

For some of us, the burns and wounds will never heal.

But for me, the burns and wounds have begun to close, and there are scars, both real and poetic, that are left behind.  Some of them are so small they can barely be seen. Others are giant slashes across wide areas of my body.  And some are visible only in certain lights, at certain times of day, or if you know where to look for them.

And I have chosen to show them all.  I have chosen to show my burns, my wounds, my scars, my brokenness because it is what I am called to do.  Each time I reveal a scar I allow someone into what was and what can be.  Each time I uncover a wound I allow another to understand who I was, who I am, and who I can be.  Each time I show my burns, I show the healing process, and how I am becoming a better man than I was before.  

And each time I show and share these places of brokenness I find that others want to share their brokenness with me.  And I sit, and I listen, as they tell me how it happened, what it felt like, what they thought, and who they are now because of or in spite of it.  And together, we both heal a little more.

Thank you for sharing in the healing process.

Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.

-Ari


Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Of Depression and Faith

Hello My Dear Friend,

As I've had time to write over this vacation I've been working through some issues around depression.  And I've come to realize that this time of year always has a depressive effect on me.  And with the the situational additions to my life I have been suffering from a slightly deeper sadness than usual.  There are many reasons for this of course, illness, fatigue, challenging work, schedule and routine changes, money, medication changes, my mother's inability to recognize my voice for a few minutes the last time she called...but the deeper more painful reason for me is the fact that my neurochemistry has gotten off track, again.

I have been depressed because I don't have enough of the right chemicals in my brain.  And that is a harder and more bitter pill to swallow than the actual anti-depressant I have been prescribed.  It is more difficult because it means that no matter what I do to grow, change, evolve, and therapy myself into wellness, there is a chemical component that I must be ever aware of and be prepared to deal with as I live my life.  

I needed more meds to make myself feel OK, and I am thankful that such options exist, and I hate that I have to utilize them.  It feels like a personal failure, even though intellectually I know that it's not.  It's like learning to ride a bicycle and then having the training wheels put back on after 6 months of riding without them.  It's like losing that feeling of control, even though you knew you were losing it.  And the hardest part is knowing that to get yourself back in control, you have to give up the pride that is pulling you apart.

There is an immense seductiveness in believing that I am in control of my life in the first place.  It is a wholly inaccurate belief, however it is one that I think most people ascribe to, perhaps less tenaciously than I do, after all, having Asperger's inherently causes unrealistic beliefs of control or lack of control.  But I have seen that people not on the Autism Spectrum act in similar ways.  It seems as though we all want to be in control of our lives.  We want to know what comes next.  We want to believe that we can alter the outcomes of every situation we find ourselves in. 

So, here I find myself again, needing to admit that I have been depressed, that I needed more medication, and that I was no longer able to control my reactions to certain stressors.  I couldn't alter the outcomes of the situations in my life.  I couldn't fix what was wrong.  

This is because my beast of mental illness was rousing from its slumber.  It was groaning with a hope for attention, grasping at me, trying to take control of the wheel.  It was seducing me with the false promises of control, that if I let it drive, I might get a turn too.  This is a natural occurrence, a frequent one, sadly in my life, however it managed to catch me off guard at first.  I began blaming my disappointments as a victim of a world out to get me.  I began enacting the 3 steps of "crazy" I detailed the last time I wrote.  I was certain that my loved ones were lying to me, that I was the victim, and that drama was the only answer.  My beast was attempting to drag me down that rabbit hole once again. 

It was using pride to weaken my inner strength.  Pride that I could handle my own problems. Pride that I was in control.  Pride that I could be the one to who was in control when everyone else was spinning out of control around me.  

But in reality, I was the one in the downward spiral.  And I had the beast of mental illness dragging me as fast and as far as it could.
Queen Esther
copper figurine
by Hans Teppich -
gift from
Bubbe Marcia

There is an upcoming Jewish holiday in my interfaith life that serves as a touchstone and reminder of the mental illness I battle.  The holy day of Purim is on the 23rd of February this year and it will tell the story of a woman of faith, who was tempted to deny her religion, her faith, and her own self, and instead trusted in G-d and the power of true faith.   

Purim is a holy day celebrating the triumph of Queen Esther over Haman as she saved her people from destruction by being true to her own faith and her G-d.  She trusted that her uncle Mordecai was right and right with G-d.  She trusted that honesty would eventually defeat tyranny.  She trusted that the G-d of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and of Sarah, Rebekah, Leah and Rachel would be in control in the grave situation she found herself in.  And her trust was well placed.  She succeeded in her mission and thousands of years later we are still reciting, singing, and celebrating her actions and her faith. 

My beast was tempting me to trust in it rather than in G-d.  It was tempting me to trust in myself and my own abilities, instead of everyone else around me. It was confusing my thinking as it always does, and telling me that faith in G-d wasn't the truth I needed to believe.  My beast wanted me to trust in it and a faith in destruction and pain that it has lived all its life.  And I almost let it.     

But instead, I re-centered.  I took a deep breath.  I began to ask for the help I needed.  I began to admit to myself that it was the beast, the neurochemistry of mental illness in my brain, that was preaching its own version of faith and not the faith or G-d that I believe in.

So, a few days ago I walked into a place of safety, my psychiatric nurse practitioner's office, told the truth, and got the medical help I so desperately needed.  I said the words out loud that I was feeling depressed and that the meds were not working as well as they had.  I received compassion, and a prescription for an anti-depressant to help with this new brain tweak that has been chipping away at my heart and my soul for nearly a month now.

And, a few days ago, I walked into a place of worship, and I asked G-d to watch over the beast for me, and got the spiritual help I so desperately needed.  I put my trust in the G-d of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and of Sarah, Rebekah, Leah and Rachel.  I put my trust in the G-d of Jesus, of Muhammed, of Elijah, and every other prophet who has heard and spoken the word of G-d.  I put my trust in a power greater than myself, because I know that I cannot, will not, and should not ever trust in a beast that possesses a power to harm rather than to heal.  And I pray that my trust is as well placed as Queen Esther's was.   

I have accepted the neurochemical help, and the Divine help, because I choose to no longer live the "crazy" I have known.  Because I no longer want to live the "crazy" I have known.  Instead, I choose to trust and be the beloved child of G-d that I am called to be.


Thank you for trusting through this journey.

Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.

-Ari

Saturday, February 16, 2013

Of A Different Kind of Crazy

Hello My Friend,

I recently had a conversation with a friend who sympathized with the relationship I have with my mother.  But she noted that I was dealing with a whole different kind of crazy.  I laughed, and I realized that she was right.  I do deal with a completely different kind of crazy than the majority of people ever have or ever will.  And I also realized why that's a whole different kind of problem for me.  You see, if that kind of crazy is your normal, well, it is very hard to know how to act in ways that other people view as normal.

My reactions to things are not always what the situation calls for.  Frankly, my reactions usually have no bearing in reality whatsoever to the situations I am in.  A part of this is my Asperger's, a part of it is my Bipolar Disorder, and an enormous chunk of it is the learned behaviors I got from my mother.

Or as I like to think of, how to look "crazy" in just 3 easy steps.

Step 1) Believe that no one is telling you the truth, ever.

Step 2) Believe that you are the victim, always.

Step 3) Act in a manner that combines the drama of an 19th century opera, the drama of Junior High School girls, and the drama of a Charlton Heston film such as Ben Hur or the 10 Commandments, as often as loudly as possible.

For extra "crazy" bonus points, self-mutilate in some fashion and threaten suicide, repeatedly.

Note:  These 3 easy steps can and should be employed, at home, during quiet times, or whenever in a public place and things are not going according to your plans, i.e. throw a temper tantrum until you get what you want.

Welcome to my whole different kind of crazy.

So, how does a 38 year old man act when life isn't going his way?  If I had been raised in a barn by wolves I would probably be more adept at this than I am.  However, I was raised in a renovated barn (no, really) by two people who were more like piranhas, crossed with boa constrictors, that had the emotional capabilities of a bear that has been prematurely awoken during hibernation.

The answer to the above question therefore has too often been Steps 1-3 with bonus points.  And no I'm not proud about this, however I am honest enough to admit to it.  And I do so because it is important for me to know where I have been, how far I've come, and where I want to be in the future.

Let's start with where I was, a desperate individual, driven by my own mental illness, responding to real or perceived situations with totally inappropriate and harmful behaviors, and feeling "crazy" much of the time.  This insanity began in my very early teens, and the results were swift and often unable to be altered.  I was figuratively and literally sitting in a pile of cherished yet broken possessions, relationships, and memories.  Those pieces of my life that my parents did not remove or destroy, I did in acts of fear, anger, horror, and illness.  I lived into the craziness that surrounded me by allowing my beast of mental illness to take over and crash through every moment of my life.  It and I did more damage than most people do in a lifetime over the course of just 6 years.  And writing those words is a stomach churning experience for me.  Perhaps because I know it didn't end there.

These behaviors and responses continued throughout my 20's and on into my 30's.  I have burned so many bridges in my life that I often believe I will be forever trapped on a desert island of my own making.  And because I continued to act in these ways I have missed out on a lot of my life.  Self imposed exiles are rarely the vacations that one hopes them to be, particularly for someone like myself who is an extrovert, but an extrovert out of necessity rather than true nature.  I was so desperate for love and attention from my parents that I developed a larger than life personality to gain access to human contact.  All I wanted was to be noticed.  All I wanted was to be loved.  All I wanted was to feel worthy of being alive.  So, I became as "out there" as possible in order to get what I wanted, because as every publicist, or 3 year old knows, negative attention is better than no attention at all.

And I got plenty of negative attention.  I was horrendously unpopular in high school, sort of OK in college, and back to ridiculous in graduate school.  I would say or do anything to get noticed.  Sometimes I was right, and made a good point, but more often than not I was outlandish just for the sake of being outlandish, and I lost so much from those times.  I was a never ending source of opposition just to be different and somehow special.  And I both loved the attention, and loathed the internal sense of self that I had created.  And having no inherent sense of core value or worth, I felt as though whatever people thought of me was me, I had a completely external locus of control.  I let the world decide who and what I was and my beast ate it all up with a hunger that could never be satisfied.

This darkness has been a constant in my life.  This reliance on others for approval and self-worth has been a keystone of my existence.  And my "crazy" embraces it with a ferocity that grows with each compliment or insult that I receive, whether real or imagined.

Through more than a decade and a half of therapy I have grown immensely in my abilities to filter what I say, use appropriate communication skills, and seek the more beneficial forms of attention.  And the pharmaceutical interventions haven't hurt either.  I have made enormous forward movement in learning to love and accept myself for who and what I am.  I continue to strive to expand my inner being and feel the abundance of love and hope that has been offered to me.

This not an easy task.

But for the past few weeks, as stresses have built up, meds have been altered, and schedules have changed dramatically I have begun to revert into my old behaviors.  I have begun to speak unkindly.  I have said things that weren't true.  I have become combative.  I have been crying.  I have been triggered by situations that were previously manageable.  And I have felt my beast stirring and growling, ready to pounce on those I love.  And my own anxiety about that has only served to fuel the fires.  I have been falling down those fiery rabbit holes into that whole different kind of crazy that has been my normal for nearly 40 years.  And I am frightened by own lack of control.

The good news is that I can recognize this and will be meeting with an appropriate resource in just a few days.  The not so good news is that I have again created an uncomfortable and harmful atmosphere for my family and they are responding with the anger and fear that is our beastly dance.  And I am sorry.  I am disappointed in myself.  I am saddened by my darkness.  And I am trying to calm my beast down, back into submission.

This is not an easy task.

However, all of this pain, and all of this work shines a light forward for who and what I want to become.  Where I want to be in the future.  How I want to see and be seen.  Why it is important to keep trying and keep working to be the better man that I know I am.

It is my life's work to walk through this world as a man of G-d who respects the G-d within everyone else.  And it is my life's mission to show each person I meet that they too have this life within them that can be shared with the world no matter how much doubt, or fear, or illness they believe they have.  It is my call to be an opener of windows and doors into others' different worlds of crazy.

And so, I want to be that man who others turn to, rather than away from.  I want to be that fun and happy man who shows love and respect for his wife, his children, all of his neighbors in this life.  I want to be a friend, a partner, a true man of integrity and honesty.  I want to be the Ari that I am called to be.

So, I am sorry for the ugliness I have been spreading.  I am worn through by trying to fight my own beast.  I am tired.  And it is time for me to let go again in order to get control back.

Today I will once again ask G-d to care for my beast and help me to walk away from the hunger that drives it to hurt the ones closest to me.

On Sunday I will go to a place of worship and listen for the still, small voice of G-d.  And I will ask for the help and support of that community as I return to being the man I know that I can be.
 
On Monday I will meet with my psychiatric nurse practitioner and discuss my medications, my fears, my current life situations, and ask for the help I need.

And during this school vacation week when I will not be at work for the next 9 days, I will rest, I will do things that are nurturing for myself and nurturing for my family.  I will put aside my expectations and instead experience the joy of children who have been given a break from the work of their daily lives.  Work that is often challenging and stressful, just as much as adult jobs are for the grownups.  I will enjoy my own break from my daily life as well.  And I will love myself, and I will show that love to my family who needs it most.

Thank you for your patience and your willingness to stay on board this whole different kind of crazy.

Be well, love your neighbor as yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.

-Ari


 



Monday, February 11, 2013

Of Doors, Drapes, and Fiery Rabbit Holes

Hello Dear One,

Since we've recently experienced the blizzard "Nemo," which here in ski country actually amounted to a foot or two less than down south, I've had time to write.

In therapy this week I've been working through some memories, one in particular, utilizing a therapy known as EMDR or Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing.  It is most frequently used in cases of trauma and/or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  It is used widely by U.S. Veteran's Affairs and throughout much of the Western world.  The process is a complex 8 step therapeutic treatment, using memory recall, creation of a safe internal space, eye movements that follow a clinician's hand, and 5 other pieces that work to ease the distress that someone experiences from a memory or from a triggering event that elicits the same mental and physical response as the memory itself.  It eventually works to rewire the brain so that when a potential trigger is experienced a person can stop from feeling as though they are reliving that particular trauma.  The process is in fact far more involved than I could possibly explain here, however many excellent websites detail the specifics of EMDR and how to find properly trained individuals.

The nitty gritty of the work is being able to look at and experience a traumatic event in your life that is consequently linked to other events in your life, creating what is known as a "memory chain" and begin to reprocess how you respond to the memory itself and other stimuli that cause similar responses.  These secondary responses can best be described as "Rabbit Holes," dark, twisting, confining mazes of memories that create a response that mimics how you felt during the initial trauma.  It is sort of like an evil version of smelling homemade cookies, or whatever comfort food it is for you, and remembering the warmth, and love you felt at that moment.  Instead of love and warmth, you feel panic, fear, anger, sadness, and a host of other emotions and physical reactions almost as if you were right there at that moment living it all over again.

So, this week, I was completing my 3rd session on a specific memory and memory chain.  And not surprisingly it had to do with one of my mother's crazy actions that took place in my early teens.  It centered around a glass door, the drape on the door, and my mother lighting that drape on fire.

For the sake of background, in a very simplified form, my father took a mistress when I was 14, she lived on the second floor of our house as a "tenant" for 6 years, and the 2 halves of the house were separated by that old wood and glass door with a homemade drape that hung on "our" side of the door.  Although the above sentence deserves far more time and explanation than I have allowed at this moment, fear not, those stories are yet to come.

At any rate, the memory I was most traumatized by in that particular moment was when my mother began to light this drape on fire in an attempt to...burn the house down, kill herself, kill my father and his mistress, kill me, I honestly have no idea.  And of course, neither did she, her raging beast of mental illness was driving her at full throttle and there was no turning back from the insanity that was burning through her.

I have in fact reprocessed this memory to no longer be triggering, however I want to paint a small picture from my vantage point at that time.  I was standing behind her, having heard the commotion by the door, which incidentally was adjacent to my bedroom door, and I watched as she knelt down and touched the flame to the blue fabric.  It was a terrifying and truly traumatizing experience.  To be standing, feeling helpless, feeling out of control, feeling angry, scared, unsafe, and unloved, watching the person who was supposed to protect you from harm attempting to set your entire world on fire.  This was a pivotal moment in my life, and my actions in that instant have defined who I am in more ways than I could have ever imagined.

You see, in the horror of that moment I reacted first by confronting her, and then by putting the fire out.

And sadly, without my understanding it, that was exactly what her beast had wanted.

Her beast wanted, craved, begged for, and needed attention.  It needed to be seen.  It needed to be heard.  It needed to cry out in agony, much as it did each night during her nightmares and night terrors.  It needed fuel for its own fire.  It needed to feel validated for its loneliness, its panic, its horror.  Her beast was so driven to be acknowledged that it was willing and able to jeopardize it's own existence in order to feel that validation.  It was willing to burn itself in its own funereal pyre to demonstrate its power.

And I did just what it wanted.  I stopped it from causing harm to itself.  I stopped its madness from making a burnt offering of all of us.  But what I really did was to give it all the attention it could suck out of me at that moment.  And I continued to give it more attention for the next 20+ years.

At the time I did not realize that this was what I was doing.  And initially what I was doing was self-preservation.  I had to put that physical fire out in order to save myself, my mother, my father, my "step" brother, my home, my possessions, and my then current reality.

But, the later reality, the one I would perpetuate for more than 2 decades, was that I was feeding the beast with the fuel of attention that it so desperately needed to survive.  I was giving it my strength, my power, my ability to stand on my own two feet and pursue my own dreams, in order to keep it satisfied.  To keep it from killing itself, and consequently my mother with it, and potentially killing me, I gave it all that it desired and then some.  To feed the beast I allowed it to steal my light and leave behind  a pervasive and suffocating darkness.

And it was this darkness that ultimately drove my own beast's cravings and fears.  It was this darkness, combined with the darkness of my own mental illness that led to my Deconstruction.  It was the formation of a fiery rabbit hole that I have traveled down, over and over again, much like Alice in her fall into Wonderland.  And the terrors were just as vivid in mine as they were in her's, both Alice's and my mother's.

The burning drape came to be a metaphor for the brokenness and darkness of my relationship with my mother, as I would rush to put out yet another fire she had created, be it selling a house, having an affair, marrying a man she'd known for 5 days, or moving again, and again, and again.  I would confront her beast, give it the attention it sought, and then put out the fire to save her beast, to save her, to save my beast, and to save myself.  The fire of insanity burned brightly in that rabbit hole and I was scorched by the flames more times than I can count.  Living within an engulfing blaze of irrational, hurtful, harmful, and often dangerous behaviors created a heightened and anxiety driven reality for me.

Yet, this year, this new page in the book of my life, is one that is not charred by either beast's need to burn.  This year, which began for me in October 2012, has been the beginning of living outside the fire.  It is a time in which I am able to walk away from her beast, from its desperation, from its degradation, from its desire to consume everyone and everything in its path.  It is a time in which my own beast no longer pours gasoline on the fires within that rabbit hole, allowing me to dowse the flames of fear and terror with a love and compassion that neither beast ever knew.  It is a time when I no longer travel down the rabbit hole, either by trigger or by choice, because I have reasons to be above ground.

I have a beautiful, talented, and loving wife of nearly 15 years who has stayed by my side throughout all of the hells, and is finally able to begin to let down her guard.  She is a woman deserving of love, and it my privilege to support and love her throughout this life.

I have two handsome, gifted, and loved sons who need a strong, healthy, happy, and nurturing father in their lives each and every day.

I have a job where even on my worst days I feel respected, trusted, appreciated, and a part of a team.

I have friends and neighbors who have stayed with me, despite my own insanities, quirks, and foibles.

I have family, both blood and chosen, who love me, who love my wife, who love my children, and who time and again join and rejoin with us on this journey.

I have a faith community that continues to feed my spirit and surround my family with love and support through the darkest and the brightest parts of our lives.

I have a relationship with a loving and nurturing G-d, and I am truly blessed to be able to see and feel and know this, everyday.

And I have a place to share my thoughts, my dreams, my fears, my hopes, my insights, my longings, and myself.  And I thank you for sharing them with me each step of the way.

Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.



-Ari

Friday, February 8, 2013

Of Autism Spectrum and Naughtiness


Hello My Friend,

So I wanted to write about being on the autism spectrum, working with individuals on the spectrum, and working alongside individuals who are not on the spectrum.  As luck would have it, inspiration struck while at work the other day, although not in the way I might have wanted it to.

After a brief conversation at work, I was initially offended by a comment that was made.
After some thought and reflection I realized why I was offended, and also why
I ultimately ended up agreeing with the comment.  It had much more to do with my own personal experience with being on the autism spectrum, than my work with children
and youth on that same spectrum.  I realized that what had offended me was a truth about myself, and about how I and others like me can be viewed by individuals who are not on the spectrum.

So, the comment had to do with behavior, specifically that an individual was "naughty"
because they were unable to stay out of things, follow directions, follow the rules,
etc.  And of course my first reaction was that it wasn't "naughty" behavior so much
as that it was typical behavior for someone on the spectrum, and that it was an unfair
assessment.  I was feeling personally attacked even though I didn't realize it.  I felt as
though my inabilities to sit still, my overly curious nature, my intrinsic belief that the rules
applied to everyone else but me, were being scrutinized and labeled as "naughty." And because the comment referred to the person and not the actual behavior, I therefore saw it as though I must be "naughty" myself.  I was decidedly not happy with that designation.

So, like any good Aspie, I perseverated on it for awhile, then actually took some time to
think about it, and then went to the dictionary to either help or hurt my own cause.

The first words for naughty that came up were "disobedient" and "mischievous" and then a reference back to the origin word of "naught" from the mid 1300's which meant wicked, and has modern usage meaning "nothing" as in the phrase "...will come to naught..."
This was definitely not what I was hoping to find. Further, the synonyms listed included everything from "misbehaved," to "obstreporous." Again, not what I was hoping for.

So, I went back to the dictionary and looked up disobedient, which was one of those
useless definitions because it basically stated that it was the opposite of obedient. Time
to look up obey, which referred to the ability to comply or follow directions or restrictions.
This definition is indeed accurate, and also incredibly annoying to someone on the
spectrum. If there is one word that I dislike, that does not have to do with bigotry or
hatred that is, it is restrictions.  In fact, I hate restrictions, and not just the word.  I do not want to be told what I cannot do.  Ever.  And, as a transgender/intersex individual I suppose I have chosen to defy restrictions in a way that most people never will.

That said, as an Aspie, I believe in restrictions for everyone else, and find it traumatically
unfair when restrictions are placed on me. It is a part of being on the spectrum, and it
is a part of the intelligence and memory capabilities that come with it too.  Unfortunately, if
there is a certain way to do something, for example how to load the dishwasher, then
I believe that it must be done that way every time and when someone deviates from
the "rules" I am distressed and will complain bitterly about it. I know this wears out others
in my life, and honestly it tires me out as well. It isn't easy being inflexible. And yes,
the irony that I changed my entire physical existence, in an act of incredible flexibility, is
not lost on me.  I can laugh at myself.  I can laugh at the absurdity of it all.  I choose to laugh because it becomes a tool for learning, rather than a negative belief that burrows farther down into my being.

The second word in the definition of naughty was "mischievous" and I found what I've paraphrased as 'able or tending to cause annoyance, trouble, or minor injury, can be playful or malicious.'  So, yeah, again with the words that are accurate and yet annoying.

But it's so true.  Being "naughty" or exhibiting behavior that is "naughty" usually is annoying, troubling, and often injurious to others.  Even when it is at it's most playful level of curiosity, it can be downright frustrating to have to deal with someone who just doesn't seem to get that the rules apply to them and that they need to follow along, and stop distracting everyone around them.  Getting into cabinets, wandering around, talking out of turn, fidgeting, singing out of turn, refusing to do what is being asked, dancing, flapping, playing with toys when it is learning time, the list is truly endless.  It is challenging to enforce rules and restrictions with an individual who does not seem to notice or care that there are rules and restrictions.

And  yes, many, many teachers had that experience with me over the years.  I was one of those kids who just didn't get it.  And it was a problem for all parties involved.  Teachers lost valuable teaching time.  I lost valuable learning time.  Other kids lost valuable learning time.  I lost valuable recess time.  I never fully learned how to make friends with peers because I was either acting "naughty" or I was in my own little world.

Having older parents, no siblings, and cousins who moved when I was 6 or 7, I didn't have peers in my life other than at school.  I thought I had friends there, but in hindsight, well, I can see how much time I really spent alone, even in a classroom with 20 other students.  I don't necessarily see this as a sad thing in my life, more of a reality base that I was the kid sitting in a bathroom stall alone talking to my "pet" staple-remover named "Snake/Fang."  I did this because I was bored or frustrated with what was going on in the classroom and because the staple-remover didn't make fun of me, or tease me, or bully me, or correct me, or judge me for being different.  And everyone else seemed to do just that.

It reminds me of another individual on the spectrum who while in elementary school one day made a "new best friend" in the bathroom, meet Mr. Urinal.  And I understood completely.  Sure it's funny, weird, quirky, bizarre, and everything else, and it is also a truth that those of us on the spectrum live with every day.  Sometimes inanimate objects make far better friends than real live people who we don't understand and who don't seem to understand us either.

And maybe, that's why sometimes our behavior appears naughty to others, because we want so desperately to be a part of things, and we either can't or don't understand the rules.  We don't always understand the social rules that govern interactions between individuals.  We rarely know when someone is "joking" or actually means it.  Literalism can lead one down many dark paths.  And there are so many subtleties to human communication, from tone of voice, to vocabulary, to non-verbal cues such as facial and body expression, to the differences between sarcasm and sincerity.  Trust me on this, staple-removers are a lot easier to communicate with than 8 year olds.

And here's where the learning curve comes in for me as an adult working with others on the autism spectrum.  I can remember what it was like to be that little kid, and I know what a difference a supportive adult would have meant in my life.  And not just someone who understood me, but someone who wanted to help me get out of my own head.  Someone who was capable of showing me that it was worth it to get out of my own head and see what other people thought.  Or simply to understand the power of human connection that can change who we are and how we see the world.

So, I have come to accept that my students and I can act in naughty ways, or at least in way that can be perceived as naughtiness, and that there are reasons not to do this.  That there are benefits and privileges that come from playing by the same rules as everyone else.  That life can be far more fun, and enjoyable, and less stressed when we leave the safety and comfort of our own differently wired brains.  Yes, it is hard.  Yes it is change.  Yes, it requires an ability and willingness to be wrong.  And, yes, it helps everyone to have a more fulfilling and productive life when we find the middle ground where we work together for common causes.

And from a theological and Biblically historical perspective I see how these are the true gifts of a G-d who knew that naughtiness was a part of all of human nature.  Without Adam and Eve's naughty acts of disobedience we might have all been more comfortable in the Garden of Eden, but then we would have never had the opportunity to struggle, to fight, to grow, to change, or to be curious about who G-d is and how G-d is in our lives. And there is no greater gift than that.


Being on the autism spectrum and acting naughty are part and parcel of each other, and I wouldn't trade the curious, wonderful, imaginative, and playful pieces of myself and my students for anything in the world.  And I wouldn't trade the ability to learn, grow, and change into parts of the a bigger worldview either.  I am blessed to be who I am, even when I act a little naughty.

Thank you for staying the course with me.

Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.

-Ari





Saturday, February 2, 2013

Of Parenting, part 2

Hello My Friend,

So, after the last post about fatherhood, I felt that I needed to address the issue of motherhood and how I have been shaped by a mother with Borderline Personality Disorder, and how that has also informed how I parent.

That said, I've also had therapy since the last post and gained new insight into my own fathering/parenting.

But let's go back to the mother issue, first though I want to frame it within the understanding of role model/teacher and not just mother.  There is a greater difference than I realized in this and I have seen that I need to separate out that which has to do with parenting, and that which has to do with modeling appropriate behaviors, actions, and responses.  Because in the deeper analysis of things my mother was largely unable to be a mother and it was her modeled behaviors that I learned.

To begin with, as I have come to understand it, a mother's job is to unconditionally love her newborn and as she does this the infant comes to know love and be able to receive it and give it back.  The infant begins to incorporate love into their being and they gain an intrinsic belief that they are good, and worthy simply because they are loved.  This is something I have indeed witnessed as I have seen how my wife has been an amazing mother to our two sons.  She loves them fully and completely, and because of this, they know they are loved and in turn are able to love themselves and love others.

In the world of Borderline Personality Disorder, and some other forms of mental illness, it is nearly impossible for an individual with that disorder to be able to love another person fully, unconditionally, and in a way that does not reflect or create meaning for themselves.  To this day my mother is unable to see my accomplishments as being independent from her.  Somehow, my courage, conviction, and ability to change are direct results of her parenting.  My successes in career, art, parenting, music, writing, etc. are all jewels in her crown shimmering as though it were her input that created them.

If my mother had in fact loved me unconditionally and without the need for self-fulfillment, then I would say that my courage, conviction, and ability to change were a result of her parenting.  And if she had supported my activities, and risks, and projects without the need to to have them be a reflection of her own grandiose sense of self, then perhaps I would say that my abilities as an adult are due at least in part to her abilities as a mother.

But, my mother did not then nor does she now have those abilities.  Her entire world revolves around herself.  Consequently, I am one of the many lesser moons that have been cast into orbit around the narcissistic planet known as "J."  Everyone in her life will at one time or another find themselves at the center of her volcanic core and then suddenly rocketed out into the cold silence of a space that can kill a person's spirit, if you let it.  It is disturbing to be the most valuable person in the world to someone, and then out of nowhere you are loathed and despised.

As an adult this can be a devastating event that appears to have no rhyme or reason, and causes the object of total desire then complete hatred to question not only the person they thought was a deep and true friend, but also themselves, and their value as a human being.

As a child, this is a traumatizing experience that will most often lead to a lifetime of insecurity, fear of abandonment, low self esteem, hypervigilant behaviors, and a pervasive belief that one is not worthy of true love, affection, or possibly anything good at all.

It can lead to it's own form of mental illness, causing similar behaviors, creating breaking points in relationships, and destroying a person from the inside out, if you let it.

This has been my reality for nearly 38 years.  I have lived in the shadow of a woman with a narcissistic ideology for my entire life, and I have often been unable to see even a single ray of sunlight through her darkness.  I have lived my life in fear and anxiety, waiting for that proverbial other shoe to drop, and dreading  any moments of any day that would include my mother.  This has led to my own pervasive darkness that has shadowed my own life.  But it was how I learned to be with other people that was far more damaging.

There were so very many years of life spent behaving in the ways that I learned from my mother, and often parenting my children in ways that she parented me.  Too often I have threatened to harm myself or others in the way that she always has.  Too often I have run away from a situation, figuratively and literally.  Too often I have favored one person, idealizing and idolizing them to an impossible fantasy, that consequently leads to distrust, disappointment, disillusionment, and depression when I see them as the person who they really are.  They, like I, am human, and cannot ever be the god-like entity I have created in my mind.  Too often I have done this with friends, family, mentors, and those individuals who had real or perceived power over me.  I have mimicked the behaviors of a woman who is deeply mentally ill and believed them to be appropriate and socially dictated.  Even though, deep down, I knew this wasn't true.

It has been an incredibly difficult challenge to learn new ways to be, to behave, to think, to act, to be the man I am today and the father that my children need.  It has been only recently that I have come to see the consequences of the repeated behaviors in my daily life with my spouse and sons.  I have seen the fear, and the anxiety, and the trauma that I have inflicted on my loved ones, and unlike my mother I have not derived pleasure or power from it.  I have been horrified by the beast's and my ability to do harm when the fear and the self-loathing consume the rational me who is hiding deep within.  And it has spurred me to be better, to act with love, and to stop and wait when I am afraid.

It is the light of G-d that has broken through the shadow of my mother to illuminate my path and show me that there are vibrant colors, amazing views, and millions of people who are a part of the world around me.  It is the light of the G-d that is within me that I have allowed to shine out into the world to counteract the darkness of my youth and to show faith, courage, conviction, and the ability to change.  Even when the person who could never fulfill my needs continued to try to manipulate and control my inner core sense of self, there was light within me and I have chosen to shine in spite of her selfishness and sickness.

Nearly a month has passed since my mother drove away, as she so often does, and the calls have nearly ceased, save for a message on the answering machine to complain that her possessions had not yet arrived, and that she needed a recipe.  As the month has passed I have indeed felt lighter, brighter, and more able to see the world around me for what it is, broken, but lovable.  And I am able to see this in myself as well.  Yes, I am broken, but I am lovable.  In fact, I am completely deserving and worthy of love.  As is my wife.  As are my sons.  We are all broken by one thing or another in our lives, and we are all totally and fully lovable and loved by a G-d who always meets our needs.

Thanks be to G-d.

Thank you for continuing on this journey with me.

Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.

-Ari