Showing posts with label emotional. Show all posts
Showing posts with label emotional. Show all posts

Sunday, February 10, 2013

Aspergers and never Having read a Book


Imagine never having read anything more than a bank statement and even then having trouble getting into it.

Slowly picking your way through the numbers and trying to make sense of the words, knowing full well you cannot understand them and then have to fake your way out of that situation in meetings with people who take reading and writing for granted. You can run a business successfully but you can't understand the terms of business that's written down in front of you, but you can memorise the words for later discussion. This is how some people live.

My husband had undiagnosed Aspergers most of his adult life (being recently diagnosed), meaning he coped and not only coped but set in place various strategies to get round his dyslexia and anti social behaviour. 

His achievements at this have to be admired, unlike other socially inept people (like me) who bluster and excuse their way through life, he manages to avoid, control and above all allow other people to make social faux pas without recrimination or judgement (something am not good at). Aspergers, dyslexia and social awkwardness are common, infuriating difficult bedfellows. He copes daily with this. Though it's worth noting that not all dyslexics have Aspergers or vice versa, this is just his experience.


My husband had never read a book. I wrote a book, it became a best seller, he can't read it. Then one day he was offered the Listening Books Scheme online and spotted audio books at the local library. This totally changed his life.

The local library are aware he has reading problems and yet they are increasingly helpful and patient. Even when my husband issues a constant verbal complaint that some of his favourite modern crime books are filed under 'historic crime' when they aren't OR when a series of books is in the library and they fail to tell you that this is number 6 of a series of 10...that makes people with Aspergers fractious and repetitive about this issue, in fact he is repeating it again as I write this.

Yet despite these tiny problems (he just asked me to refrain from calling it a tiny problem as it's a huge problem and needs attention) he finally gets to 'read' books. He has devoured the classics, the man is an expert on Ancient Rome, The History of London and everything that Dickens ever wrote. I am immensely proud of him. We now share and recommend books in our house.


It warms my heart to see him discuss the plot of a book with our daughter who has been a voracious reader from age 4 years old. She used to read to her dad. I cannot tell you how much the listening books scheme and audio section of the local library have changed my husband's life. He goes nowhere without his latest audio book and can happily switch off from life and lose himself in  good book, something I had taken for granted since I was a child.

We go to the library together and I attempt to read the synopsis out and before I can even start, he looks at the image and can tell me in seconds if he has read it, such is his ability to use memory imagery. 

Then he can tell me the whole plot of the book by remembering the colours and fonts they used on the cover. Aspergers is amazing.
Audio books and the Listening Book Scheme online are a life changer for us, I just wanted to write about this and let the library people and the Listening Book Scheme people know that. Thanks.

Monday, December 03, 2012

It Happened To Me


"Let's go camping" my husband said. I didn't want to go, we bought the tent as I had been performing at Glastonbury and living in a cramped nylon box taught me this 'I don't like camping' So we compromised and we went camping.

 

Husband loves going up the highlands and I like it was well, especially when the sun shines and the tiny mosquitoes die and the wasps don't come near. But those are rare days. So we landed at this campsite near a loch. It had a small aviary, some boats and a shop that sold tablet (a Scottish sweet candy) so what's not to love?

 

That night after we got the cramped nylon box erected, husband and I went a walk into the nearest village and got some fish and chips. We walked back beneath the twinkling stars as the loch lapped against the rocks and we snuggled down to sleep.

 

At about 5am I woke up soaked in sweat with deep advanced labour pains in my bowel, which is odd as I wasn't pregnant.

 

I knew what was about to happen, and I needed to get to toilet to let it happen. I had food poisoning and the fitful sweat soaked scramble from the tent was horrendous. I was wearing only a tee shirt and knickers, I didn't care who spotted me. I needed- really needed to get to the toilet block (anything described as 'block' isn't going to be welcoming).

 

As I emerged from the tent, the sweat running between my shoulder blades and the dawn chill throwing a patina of damp chill on top of it made me moan aloud. I couldn't find my shoes, so my sticky bare feet were thrust into my husband giant sneakers. I looked like a half naked sweaty clown running towards the toilets.

 

I ran across grass, stopped clutched my stomach as my bowels spasmed. I was sure I was about to evacuate right there on the grass, I sweated more, my vision swam and I ran with the clown shoes and made it to the white brick building. Out of the side of my eye, I saw a big bird....a swan...or something...but ignored whatever it was and focussed on getting into the cubicle. I was about explode.

 

My feet skittered across the damp tiles and I made it into the wee door, I kicked it open like a drug bust, got my knickers down and basically my entire skeleton came out of my bum, I sweated more and thought I was going to faint. The pain in my lower bowl reminded me of last stages of delivering a baby.

 

As I sat there exhausted and shivering, I heard a tiny tip tap on the tile floor. I couldn't make out what it was, I honestly didn't care, I was too busy trying not to faint.

 

The tip tapping got closer and there in front of my wide open toilet door was a huge colourful bird...like a big turkey or something.

 

It stared at me then made a noise and a HUGE fan of colour burst from its ass like an umbrella or giant fan being unfurled and the magnificent feathers full of amazing deep greens, blues and displaying an iridescent sheen that was startling. I sat there with giant shoes hanging off my feet, my knickers at my ankles, my tee shirt stuck to my back with shivering sweat as a beautiful peacock showed me it's full glory in a public toilet at 5am in the morning. 

 

I thought I was hallucinating until another peacock came in, pushed that peacock out the way and stared at me, and flung open its big ass fan of colour!

 

Finally, I managed to retain some body fluids, I got up shooed away the peacocks, washed my face and hands in the freezing cold toilet and clown walked my way back to the tent. The two peacocks followed me and strutted behind me like two old Victorian ladies shaking fans. Husband stuck his head out of the tent and saw me walk towards him half naked with my two new pals either side of me.

 

"Why do you have peacocks with you?" he asked.

 

"I had a really bad bout of food poisoning and they came in to keep me company" I replied.

 

The sun started to slash the sky and I huddled back into the tent, kicked off the giant shoes and snuggled under the sleeping bag. Through the tent I could see the silhouette of the peacocks as the stood guard outside.

 

I love camping now.

 

So thanks for reading, if you want follow me on twitter @JaneyGodley for updates.

 

 

 

 

 

Thursday, November 29, 2012

Love and Lost Passport

You know that deep happy love feeling when you wake up and think your stomach will explode with excitement and you want to tell this person you love absolutely every thought, fear or desire but think it's best not to, because when the love fades and the shit hits the fan they might use it against you in a future argument?

 

That's not love, that's endorphins & a hormone cocktail making you insane and the very same chemicals that produce that feeling are an identical mix to that which make people angry and confused enough to pick up a samurai sword and attack people near a busy flower stall, because God told them to.

 

The reason I bring up hormones and love is, am sure am about to batter full force into my menopause and instead of getting the usual symptoms hot flushes and dried up womb/vagina (none of which has happened) I am pretty busy fucking up my life and just losing stuff (like my passport) and getting giddy about love.

 

If my menopause was an interpretive dance movement it would resemble 'trees swaying in the wind, whilst screaming and searching bags frantically as people scattered in different directions then very hard hugging that scares the frail and small animals in my life".

 

Don't expect to see it at the National Theatre is all am saying.

 

All of this has somewhat disconcerted my husband who is used to my brand of 'love' which is basically me trying to be nice and with moments of touching affection. Now he gets undying declarations and long winded stories about all my hopes and dreams and he stares at me with the hollowed eyes of a man who has been in this relationship since he was 16yrs old and utters "we are not getting the bathroom tiled" or "please don't tell me anymore am bored with your mouth moving fast and your hair is bushy did you know that?" He has Aspergers syndrome which makes flowing conversation with perfect segues something that only happens in an episode of 'Friends'.

 

I have also taken to suddenly gripping him tightly in the night making him scream as he thinks the house might be on fire or a hostage situation is in play. Normally I don't like being touched when am sleeping, now I wake up and have an urge to cuddle hard. And I mean cuddle. Husband is worried sick. We have a language that no longer needs proper constructed words, we say sentences to each other that if in public sound innocuous but to the long married trained ear, you will not the coded passive/aggressive hatred and barbed verbal stabbing. That's love isn't it? That we bothered to understand each other's codes and underlying hatred we share?

 

So the losing stuff is getting worse, recently when I was in Canada I managed to drop my passport out of my bag on the very last weekend of the 5 week tour. I was in St John's Newfoundland and it was a bank holiday weekend.

 

On the Thursday after flying from Toronto on Porter Airlines (which are amazing) I managed to let my passport fall out of my bag onto aeroplane floor. I was so flooded by hormones and needing a hug that I never checked my bag. So by time I got into St John's I was hysterical.

 

The manager of the Yuk Yuk's comedy club must have been so happy so deal with a slightly smelly, screamy, tufty haired emotional woman who can yell "I have lost my passport" constantly. Then I went onstage and did an hour show, every night for three nights ..not once did I let it upset me but inside my thoughts were interspersed with "I have lost my passport" it made me sweat funny. Yuk Yuks were so helpful they gave me a landline and an office and the time to call all necessary people as there is no reason that the officials from the British Consulate didn't get to hear me scream "I have lost my passport" and hear a woman who I swear to god was Mary Poppins answer me back "press one if you have lost your passport". I pressed 'one' quite a lot.

 

One of the women in the club looked me right in the eye and said "have you ever lost a breast to cancer? No? then chill the fuck out its just admin"

 

She clearly hadn't been suffering from an emotional pre menopause had she? And her brand of reality bites just made me weepy and needing hard hugs...she wasn't helping is all am saying.

 

The Yuk Yuk's comedy club in Newfoundland is absolutely stunning, it has a natural slate wall as a back drop and as I stood onstage saying funny words but in my head I was screaming "I have lost my passport" and I leaned against the wall and for some reason I cannot explain, I wiggled a finger in between the bricks and got my finger stuck. I had the option of doing a whole hour as I stood in the one spot with my finger stuck, or stand forward and show the 200 odd people exactly what I was doing as I was supposed to be entertaining them.

 

I showed them "I have stuck my finger in the wall, please tell me that Holland isn't behind that wall and when I pull my finger out I flood a nation?"

 

They laughed and I got my finger free.

 

Good news is- Porter airlines found my passport and all the screaming and sweating was for nothing. So now that drama was over I went onto lose house keys, my oyster card and a curly headed toddler called Bernard, (not a good name for a consummate floor licker).

 

Ok calm down the toddler was found quickly. It ran away from me in a shopping mall in London, he wanted his mum, who had asked me to keep an eye on him for a few minutes so she could go to the loo. I would have chased him, but he wasn't mine and I didn't know her well enough to worry about a missing screamer called Bernard. And I was slightly emotional and needed a hard hug.

 

It all worked out in the end.

 
 
So thanks for reading, if you want follow me on twitter @JaneyGodley for updates.