In addition to my husband being generally happy, cooperative, and volunteering information and thoughts for the last couple days, he did something yesterday that I don't remember him doing before.
I asked him, as I always do when these times come along, why he was in such a good mood. His answer is usually either that he didn't realize he was in a good mood or he doesn't know why and the conversation goes no further. Yesterday after I asked, he told me exactly why he was feeling good. A meeting he had at work went well and he was relieved it was over. My jaw about hit the floor! He wasn't guessing or coming up with an answer only to have something to say, he knew immediately that he felt lighter and why. Wow!
Also going on this weekend is that a friend's child is gravely ill. Andrew has been asking me every hour or two for updates, even calling when he is away from home. His voice doesn't betray worry, it sounds like he's asking for an update on the weather, but for him to call and specifically ask for information so repeatedly clearly indicates that he is worried. In a strange way, it knocks a little chip off of one of my personal fears. I don't know why, but I worry that if I should ever die before him, he would shrug and go on in life never looking back. To see his concern for a child who isn't even close to him shows me yet again that he clearly does have emotional connections to people, even if he doesn't have a clear connection between the feelings and the thoughts about it. The child is still in imminent danger so prayers would be appreciated for him. Update: the child is no longer in critical danger and is now recovering. Prayers are still appreciated.
I feel like I'm on vacation right now. Like back home is nasty weather and stress and drama but that this all-inclusive resort we're at just lets the stress melt away. Like I'm sitting by the pool with a Planter's Punch in one hand and my husband's hand in the other and we're next in line for a massage. I don't know how long the vacation will last, but I'm really enjoying it while we have it.
I'm feeling a little more hopeful today for two reasons.
First is the wonderful support so many people at Wrong Planet have been giving to help me understand my husband. No blame, no condescension, just their experiences and some ideas to try based on them. I am very grateful for that and just keep going back to the posts to read and re-read to let it all sink in. It gives me hope that there can be understanding and with that we can have harmony.
Second is that my husband is in one of his good moods. He goes around smiling. I can see his cute dimples. He's playful and witty. He's present in the moment and interested in what is going on around him. I've never figured out what causes him to be in these moods but I really love when he is. I've asked him and looked for patterns, but it is one of the mysteries of our marriage for now. One of the kidlets commented that we're having tickle fight kind of days. Silly, fun, hopeful days. I like these days.
As long as I'm not offering the solutions to our problems, his part in the conversations is the same two things on a perpetual loop.
Eliza, E-liza, Eliz-A...
How do I stress your name? Let me count the ways.
I stress it at the beginning, at the middle, and at the end
As far as my intonation can reach, when feeling stressed
By the ideas of Love and ideal Connection.
I stress your name to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, with frustration and protest.
What do you want me to DO?
This is the useless conversation that just fills up time and gives unfounded hope. It doesn't matter what I say because it will never be done and good ideas might be permanently refused because of their connection to our disagreement. It also really bothers me that the issue is not addressed meaning it will only repeat to infinity because the desire for doing isn't to address the issue but to address the conflict. But then the conflict is resolved by the promise of doing and so the doing never gets done.
When I don't answer that, it goes back to Eliza, Eliza, Eliza...
Earlier today, he actually thought of a solution and implemented it.
YAY!!
I am conflicted over trying to be hopeful because he did it, which is huge, and being realistic because his choice on what to do didn't take me into account at all. My husband's love language is food. I don't care at all about food and have made it clear that his using it to get out of conflicts makes me feel like I'm using him or that I have a butler, not a husband. In the past, I've offered numerous other ideas that would more directly meet my needs at the time but today he fell back on the only thing he knows and made me a breakfast of my choice.
I'm choosing to appreciate it for what it was, to acknowledge that he did in fact DO something of his own thinking, and to realize that it is better than some of the alternatives. It was followed by him picking fights, refusing to help, being intentionally snide, and basically feeling like he had gone out of his way to do oh so much for me and that I now owe him. The concept of remorse seems to be completely lost on him.
I'm trying to give him room to improve and will bite my tongue and hope for more, and when that isn't happening then I'll unemotionally address it and he'll say he understands and is going to act, but when that doesn't come and he again hurts me, I'll let all of it out about how this just keeps happening and how hurtful it is and he'll say that everything was perfectly fine and then I went crazy over some inconsequential thing and then he'll offer me a cup of tea and the cycle will repeat ad infinitum. I feel helpless to change it or to have any effect on my own life. And yet, I again hold my tongue and wait...
I just saw this article posted on Wrong Planet and it so diplomatically said what my long emotional rant two posts down said that I wanted to give my thumbs up to it.
The thread it was posted in is now 4 pages long, has drifted considerably, and most recently had a post saying any NT woman who identified with it was a "whiny wife" who didn't appreciate her hard-working man. I'm not looking for a fight so I decided to re-post the article here and leave it at that. This might not describe others' experiences, but it accurately captures mine.
I wonder if Carol Grigg is acquainted with St. Augustine's writings. She seems to agree with him.
St. Evodius: Whence, therefore, are evil things done by men, if they are not learned? St. Augustine: Perhaps it is from this, that man turns himself away from learning, that is, estranges himself from the fact of learning. But whether this or something else be true, this surely is evident—that learning is good, and because it is derived from [the verb] to learn, evil things can not be learned.
Apparently I've chosen to insist on there being reason amid the chaos and to ensure my eventual emotional demise by continuing to search for it.
I can objectively see how it is crazy to keep looking for something when there is no indication it exists. I find it easier to keep believing it exists based on my previous knowledge and first-hand experiences of it combined with the anecdotal evidence of others who exhibit it than I find it easier to live my life without reason or purpose outside of self-pleasure.
I have no idea where my husband has gone. Maybe to visit a lawyer based on my saying I couldn't handle it. Maybe to pass the time and come back to pretend nothing happened. I can reasonably believe he isn't doing anything constructive. He never has. But there I go being all rational again. See how awful I am at this game? I thought he was supposed to be Mr. Predictable Scientist and I was supposed to be Ms. Irrational Emotion--isn't that the AS male-NT female stereotype? Then why is he the one off destressing from his own poor choices while I'm home doing all the work again?
I never know what tomorrow will bring because I never know who he is today. As soon as he has some new interest or influential person around, all of his values and priorities and thoughts on life change. I'm so tired from trying, not achieving but trying my hardest, to be someone I'm not to conform to his world of chaos and confusion. He's not once even attempted to step out of his world since we married. I'm crazy to think he would now. Why do I do this to myself? Why can't I just be happy with things? Things I'd have to give myself. Why does every ounce of my being hunger for something he won't give? Well, I know why. And I ought to because it is what I am actually called to. But why doesn't he ever try to give it?
Obviously, it is enough to drive me batty long before death do us part to keep thinking and living in these never-ending loops. There is no word I can speak or action I can do that will change this cycle.
If I'm going to go crazy, I might as well have fun with it right? Too many cats is a little cliché. What's something a little more substantial I could sink my teeth into? I'm not into scrap booking. Or anything too strenuous. Maybe I'll take up motorcycling. And pedicures. At the same time. Or maybe I should go to the other extreme and schedule out every 15 minutes of my day. But I'll only do things found in children's books. Today is Wednesday so we'll have elephants over to eat zoooop! Sundays will be ice cream days. Andrew might not be too happy with the string beans on Mondays, but I'll be crazy schedule lady and will have a porcupine with me, so surely he wouldn't mess with that.
Now where could I find an elephant and how will I get it home tonight? Since my husband isn't home, the elephant can sit in his chair. It's no crazier than trying to live my life guessing what goes on inside my husband's head. And ice cream Sundays sounds like a lot more fun! So why aren't I happy yet?
The true triumph of reason is that it enables us to get along with those who do not possess it. -Voltaire
I wonder what Voltaire knew that I haven't figured out.
You know what I feel like right now? A rat in a cage. I can see all the other rats in their cages. They look about like mine. Some cages have different colors, nicer furniture perhaps, but nothing of substantial difference. There's a single lever in the cage. When I push it, I get a beautiful symphony sometimes, I get an electrical shock at others, and periodically I get the food and water I need to survive. I decide that I will get that food without the electrical shocks and over the years (I don't know the comparable time frame in rat lives), I try to figure the lever out.
Does it change what I get if I push with one foot or the other, or maybe with both? Does how long I hold it down make a difference? Is there a time of day or a pattern? With nothing making sense, I dig deeper. I call out to the other rats and find out their experiences. I try to apply more complex formulas. Time of day plus number of previous lever pushes, plus weight on the lever, plus time held might be the key. Or maybe I need to include the lever pushes of my neighbors in my calculations. Or maybe only those neighbors whose cages look like mine, and how close does it need to be to count? Or maybe I shouldn't push the lever at all. I try every combination I can think of, but I am still no closer to understanding what I'll get when I push the lever than I was on the day I started and now I have a lot more pain and suffering from all the electrical shocks I received while trying.
I have seen other rats push their levers and in response have their cage doors opened and they move about at ease, have free access to food and water, and no longer receive the electrical shocks that they once experienced. I keep hoping for my own cage door to open the same way. What's different about them or their cages? Did they push more? Less? Eat more? Less? At different times? In different ways? I spend so much time trapped in the cage trying to start my life that the trying becomes my life. But what's the alternative? Running around my cage in circles? Starving myself to death? Screaming at the wind. I've tried it. Actually, I haven't tried starving myself and have no plans to do so. I have tried other unhealthy things over the years and then I'm only worse off. Anything logical, reasonable, positive... it all gets me right back exactly where I started. A rat in a cage without the fundamental dignities of life.
Everybody's a mad scientist, and life is their lab. We're all trying to experiment to find a way to live, to solve problems, to fend off madness and chaos. -David Cronenberg
I've reached a point now where I feel that I must either accept that my door will never open and resign myself to being a caged rat who must endure electrical shocks at random times if I intend to keep getting the fundamental necessities of life, in which case I keep my sanity but loose all hope, or I must try once more to use reason and figure out just what it is that will unlock that door in which case I might eventually be successful but I'll surely have gone mad in the process. In which will I be more fully human, more fully present, more fully myself? Or must I lose myself to some degree no matter what?
My husband is not rational. I have to believe that. If I don't, then I'll drive myself crazy trying to figure out the reason behind his actions. I believe he is like a toddler, acting on impulse and emotion, thinking only of himself and unable to comprehend how his actions have greater consequences for others, and as such is irrational, unpredictable, and self-involved. No amount of apparent logic falsely applied makes any of it make sense. I am not an individual to him, I am a role to be filled. I am replaceable with anyone else who will provide the services of cooking, cleaning, childcare, and companionship. I must accept that I have no power to change our situation. I can't get us half-way there. I can't get us anywhere. He has the key that unlocks the door and he doesn't much care about finding it. After all, he's not the one getting shocked trying to get us food. Why would he start now?
I could try to cheat. I could try to manipulate or bribe him into giving his support. I could throw him on the lever and let him see how it feels. But what would it gain me? And could I live with myself once I got there? It would be my luck that food would come out that time anyway. Maybe it is sour grapes or maybe I've been working under an illusion all along. Why do I presume that the rats whose cages are open have it better off? What am I even striving for?
Freedom is just Chaos, with better lighting. -Alan Dean Foster
I give up.
I'm done trying to figure it out.
I accept that there is no rational explanation for what I experience.
It doesn't matter how precisely I choose my words, how carefully I plan my steps, how scrupulously I hold myself to the light. There will be no triumph of reason because there is no reason here to be found.
Optimism is the madness of insisting that all is well when we are miserable. -Voltaire
I'm miserable and if I insist a moment longer on remaining optimistic, I will go mad. My life makes no sense. There is no reason. There is no order. There is no goodness or freedom. Trying to delude myself into believing otherwise is a fantasy created from denial. I must therefore conclude that the way my life is going is not leading me or my family toward God because there is order and goodness in all God's creation. We simply can't keep doing what we've been doing and expect things to improve, but AHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! it doesn't matter that I am aware of this because I'm not able to do a %#@$! thing about it.
In a world without the law of God, you have chaos, oppression, tyranny, and everyone doing what is right in their own eyes. -Randall Terry
I really don't care what kind of neurological syndrome or wiring or disorder causes my husband to hurt me this way. Today was an extraordinarily low blow. If he was of sound mind and able to enter into the marriage covenant, and there is a presumption that he was and a case history showing that Asperger's is not sufficient grounds for an annulment of it so no wondering if he was, then there is no excuse for his persisting on this path. He is hurting his wife and doing nothing to change it. I'm mad! And I'm so very sad that his knowledge of this won't change a thing. We're called to better. We're called to more. There is no reason that we don't have it outside of his hard-heartedness. And if someone wants to tell me that it is inherent in his Asperger's then my answer today would be, "So what?" Really. Boohoo. Cry me a river.
Idon'tcare.
We've all got crosses. We've all got temptations. Apparently when I'm angry I'll use poor grammar. That doesn't make it right. What would make this right is for him to grow up, stop acting like a toddler, and recognize that there are consequences for his actions and there is a world outside of himself and then to ACT on it.
I'm just a little bitter right now.
And weepy.
And so unpleasant that I excused myself and spent my time writing this entry instead of unleashing the full measure of my emotions upon others.
I hate feeling this way.
I try hard to not compare our marriage to other couples we know. I never know what secret crosses they bear. I focus on comparing ourselves only to the minimum to which we are called, on recalling the good moments, on being realistic and hopeful. Then when I read those minimum requirements and I have to believe that we'll never achieve it, my heart is ripped out of my chest anew because a husband who is one with me is rightfully mine and he's denying me of it and there's not a thing I can do.
Asperger's didn't do this. My husband did and he continues to choose it with every passing minute in which he doesn't get off his butt and change it.
St. Evodius: Whence, therefore, are evil things done by men, if they are not learned? St. Augustine: Perhaps it is from this, that man turns himself away from learning, that is, estranges himself from the fact of learning. But whether this or something else be true, this surely is evident—that learning is good, and because it is derived from [the verb] to learn, evil things can not be learned.
I wish I could take him by the ear and drag him somewhere and force him to learn. I wish there were a way to reason with him. I wish I could see good triumphing. I wish, I wish,I wish... As it stands now, I can choose between accepting the antithesis of what I'm called to being as the best I will get or I can defy reality and believe that continuing to do the same thing will one day get me a different result and that I'll eventually have a husband who can love me. Maybe the movies summed it up best:
Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something. -The Princess Bride
Last night, I had a wonderful night's sleep. I laid my head down on the soft pillow, wrapped my husband's arm around me, and slept like a baby.
I used to have the most uncomfortable pillow and I would complain of neck pain and poor sleep nearly every day. Nothing big or dramatic, just a minor annoyance. Then my husband wrapped up a gift and gave it to me: a big, soft pillow. He knew I'd like it and he glowed when he handed it over. He'd searched for just the right one. He was right. I've loved it ever since. I would have never thought to ask for a pillow for a gift.
When I am feeling sad, wondering if my husband knows the real me, understands what makes me tick, I remind myself about the pillow he chose. He knew exactly what I needed. Sometimes what we need is different from what we think we want. When I am feeling sad, wondering if I should have married Andrew, I remind myself that God often gives us what we need and not what we want and that it is only in retrospect that we can sometimes appreciate God's wisdom and providence. Life is hard. Being single is hard. Being married is hard. Being a woman is hard. Being a man is hard. Having children is hard. Being infertile is hard. Everyone has crosses to bear. When I put it into perspective, my constant, loyal, fun, funny, stable, adventurous, principled husband not being in touch with his feelings is a pretty inconsequential cross, even if it lays open my own weaknesses. Sometimes life is too hard and I just take a time-out, go take a nap, and tune out. But isn't it ironic that I curl up on that pillow he got me? Maybe when I can't get it by being hit over the proverbial head in my waking life, I get it by having it pummeled into me one feather at a time through osmosis while I sleep.
My life and its problems, as frustrating as they can be, is really a cushy life filled with pleasures and luxuries many would by happy to trade me for. I hope I can learn that sometime soon, but in the mean time I'll just keep holding on to that pillow as my proof that it isn't hopeless and I have a pretty darn good husband after all.
It is a stereotyped joke, but in my husband's case, there are two things that aren't so funny to me. Dual Bag's inability to reflect on what happened, to understand his wife enough to see the situation from her perspective, or to figure out where he went wrong is not an anniversary-only occurrence around here. Exerciser's saying what he thinks the women want to hear with apparent understanding and sympathy when nothing has changed is the way my husband chooses to handle it, too.
Of course, this is a commercial and has a lot of dramatic effect. My husband doesn't excitedly present me with a vacuum as a romantic gift (he's not an idiot!); he draws a blank every time he tries to think of a gift to give (which would require putting himself in my shoes and thinking through what I would like and not like, something he can't do) and then ultimately doesn't give me one when nothing comes to mind. Not because he didn't want to or didn't care, but because he didn't know what to do so that translates to him being unable to do anything. If I want a gift, I have to explicitly say what I want. I have to be careful to make sure it is the right size, color, price, or returnable because otherwise I'll end up with exactly what I asked for, even if it wouldn't work out.
Exerciser's sobs is far more dramatic than my husband's blank stare and three-word expressions of understanding, but the effect is the same. The projected exterior does not reflect what's actually going on in the interior, which hasn't changed and he doesn't understand why it should. This is a difficult thing for me and I unfortunately sometimes react like the catty wives in the commercial, putting him in the metaphorical doghouse because he should have known better. What should I expect him to know, though? When should he be obligated to ask when he doesn't know? Is it a lie, as I interpret it, to project something he doesn't feel if he mistakingly thinks he does feel it? Is it presumptuous or manipulative of me to use my knowledge of him, his nonverbal communication, his actions, and his previous explanations to determine for myself how he appears to feel independent of what he says? How many times do I have to explain myself before I can expect him to know what makes me tick? And is he able to apply my explanation about the anniversary gift this time to the birthday gift next time?
Not knowing the answers makes every day seem unpredictable and I view my husband as apparently irrational and ultimately emotion-driven when he can't provide a logical or historical reason for his decisions. I feel helpless and out of control because no amount of my logic or emotion will change the circumstances. That in turn makes me feel unimportant, unappreciated, replaceable, and invisible even. I vacillate in my response between becoming defiant, hopeful, insistent, logical, determined, energized and angry at times to being sad, dejected, hopeless, emotional, and feeling useless at others. No matter how I respond, nothing seems to change. It is like a game of chance. Always the same odds but the numbers that work this time won't come close on the next.
Let's make up a scenario: Our anniversary is coming up and I want to go to dinner and a show. We talk every day for a month of how nice it will be to have the whole day off together, how we will be able to take our time getting ready instead of rushing around, talk of maybe going window shopping at that store we wanted to visit... It is on the calendar, we both want to do it and are looking forward to it, and all is well. Andrew agrees to take off from work and to purchase the tickets while I agree to have the clothes and babysitting lined up. We run through possible problems like if the show is sold-out, if the boss asks him to work, or if a child gets ill, and all appears to be understood and agreed on.
Then there's a problem: I'm a procrastinator and on my end the likely breakdown would be in putting off my accepted tasks for too long. I might be scrambling the day before our anniversary trying to find another babysitting arrangement when I find out my expected babysitter is booked. Even though procrastination is a perpetual problem for me, I realize at this point that I was wrong, I feel guilt and remorse, I am upset with myself and know I could have done better, I'm sorry for putting my husband in this position especially if I have to recruit his help for the tasks I took on, I'm stressed and anxious trying to get it all done in time and worried that I might have ruined it all, and I feel like a failure. I apologize, I sincerely intend to amend my ways, and I feel miserable for putting us in this position...again. It is slow going, but the trend does slowly improve with time.
Let's assume for the sake of simplicity that I managed to stay on top of my tasks but it is my husband who didn't this time: The boss has him working on a project. It is long term important but not immediately essential. The boss calls him up and asks if he can go to a meeting on the day of our anniversary, but there's no indication that the boss is aware that Andrew has that day off or why. Without ever consulting me, Andrew's thought process is that I have the clothes and kids taken care of, he has the tickets in hand, that we don't have plans on the calendar until the dinner reservations at 6, he can leave work at 5 and go straight to the restaurant, so he agrees. He calls me up and starts the phone conversation with, "The boss just called and asked me to work today..." I casually respond by saying, "Too bad for him! I get you all to myself today!" with a big grin on my face, looking forward to this day we've been talking about for so long. His voice hesitates as he haltingly says, "I told him I'd come in. I didn't think we had anything planned." At this point, my heart sinks into my chest. We now know that we aren't on the same page and someone has to give.
I say, "I was looking forward to spending the day with you like we've been talking about all month. Will you call him back and tell him you did have plans and can't come after all? That it is your anniversary and your wife would kill you?" In his work and with his boss, this would not be a problem. He can't do it, though. He has now made plans with the boss and doesn't see my issue. We didn't have "plans." There was nothing definite. It doesn't matter what I say at this point, he's not going to be home. Even though this throws off all of the discussed plans of him dropping off at the babysitter's while I ironed, of us getting ready at 4... No dice. He feels a little sad that I'm disappointed, but he doesn't see anything else that can be done about it and accepts that this is the way it is. No matter what I suggest, he can't see that there are other options. If I talk long enough, he might suggest that he can stop by home over lunch to say hi as if that makes it all OK. He won't tell the boss that he needs to leave after the meeting or ask if it can be moved to earlier in the day. He'll show up at the restaurant with a smile on his face at 6:15 saying he and a co-worker he doesn't even like got to talking about her new car and he couldn't leave on time, expecting me to have a big smile on my face as if everything were seamlessly going according to plan.
The reshuffling, the chaos of changing the plans on the kids, the time crunch of getting it all in, the emotional disappointment and resentment... none of it will register with him. It won't occur to him to apologize, to be nicer than usual, or even that I am upset. It is a very good thing that I don't like flowers or chocolates because there'd be no chance of my receiving them as a token of his remorse because he has no remorse to express.
If I tell him again how hurt I am, he'll say he is sorry and ask what I want to eat. His thought process is that there's nothing he can do about it now so we might as well move forward. It is almost like he's predestined, like all of life is outside his control. He couldn't tell the boss that it was his anniversary and he wouldn't come in, he couldn't tell the co-worker that he'd love to talk but it was his anniversary and he had to go, he couldn't go back and undo what I was complaining about because it is already done. If I ask him why he couldn't do it, his answer will inevitably be, "I don't know," and there the conversation will end. And if he couldn't have done anything about it, he couldn't have been in the wrong. Life just goes on. If I press him, he'll insist that he's sorry. But he'll also say there was nothing he could do and he wouldn't do it differently again and he doesn't see why I'm upset. He'll acknowledge that I am upset, and he's sorry for that. There's a disconnect, though, in that he doesn't take personal responsibility for it. If I push for hours or days even, using every bit of logic and emotional reserve I can muster, I will usually get small concessions and maybe even large ones where the lightbulb does seem to go off, but nothing will be different the next time around.
This has implications on our faith life as well. How can an orthodox Catholic go through an examination of conscience and give a good sacramental confession, admitting his wrongs, asking for forgiveness, and firmly intending to amend his ways in this situation? How can he seek spiritual direction if he won't tell the spiritual director about the different way he thinks? How can he grow as a husband, father, Christian, or man if there's nothing he can see or do to change?
If you asked my husband the question, "Do you see why your wife was upset?" he would tell you yes. I would mistakingly take this to mean that he understood that he had made a commitment to me for a special and emotionally charged day and then broken it when he had the ability to keep his promise, that he shouldn't have done that, and therefore that I was subsequently disappointed.
If you asked my husband the question, "Why was your wife upset?" he would take a long time in trying to come up with an answer and would repeat verbatim something I had said. "I didn't give her the support she needed." If you asked what that means, he'd eventually say he had no idea.
If you asked my husband what he could have done differently, he might repeat some of my suggested scenarios back of telling the boss he couldn't come in or of telling the co-worker he had to go. One might interpret this as accepting that there were things he could do differently and so he didn't make the best choice.
If you asked what he had the power to do differently, of what was in his sphere of control, he wouldn't be able to come up with an answer. This latter question requires thinking back and imaging himself doing something different and imagining the possible consequences of it, which he can't do.
I struggle with how much I can reasonably expect from him. It isn't his fault that he thinks differently than me, but is it his responsibility to recognize that he does and to accept workarounds that meet both our needs? Is he able to recognize that he thinks differently than I do? Why can't he assign emotional tasks to me like weighing two people's potential emotional reactions and which would be a prudent path, like I happily assign machine repair to him? What can we do to keep this cycle from repeating and how much responsibility does he share in making that a reality? They are answers to questions I haven't yet found.
While a person might be described as passionate, somber, or as a worry-wort, it isn't until those people become manic, depressed, or paranoid that those in the medical profession may ethically intervene. The debate is when a person has gone far enough outside the bounds of "normality" to necessitate medical intervention and who gets to decide that an individual has gone too far.
What is the goal of the medical profession's treatment, anyway? Is it to bring people into the range of normality or to completely eliminate the deviation? Should a person be left just a little bit cancerous? Just a little manic? Just a little depressed? Individuals with bipolar disorder are said to be more realistic and to have a better perspective on their emotions, to be more creative, better at setting goals and have greater motivation than the average person. Some of the world's finest artists are considered bipolar. There are streams of thought that doctors should only treat the depression side of bipolar disorder, should only treat the mania if the person is in physical danger from it, or should only treat the mania enough to bring it down to the hypomanic state and not to eliminate it. This is influenced by the requests of those in manic states who refuse to take their medicine and say they feel great and don't want to be brought back down. What is a doctor's obligation in this situation?
Derek Paravicini's blindness is said to be one of the contributing factors in his auditory abilities that make him a musical savant.
Stephen Wiltshire's memory for details that aid in his being an artistic savant might be partially explained by his autism.
If Derek's blindness and Stephen's autism were taken away, would their quality of life be benefited or harmed? If they would be harmed, would it be ethical to treat them for these conditions? Who decides?
With the proliferation of depression medication in the USA, people aren't feeling happier. Are the treatments helping? Is it ethical for doctors to prescribe a treatment that might work, even though it might exacerbate the problem and they don't really understand what's going on with the problem or how the treatment works to address it?
In the deaf community, no treatment was available and an identity of being deaf emerged. One had to accept that this was one's reality and would remain so. In combination with being unjustly connected with insanity or mental deficiencies, those who were deaf could not function within the larger community because the larger community rejected them. It was only through schools like Gaullaudet University that deaf students were empowered to become fully functioning members of society. There, they learned deaf culture among their other studies to learn to be proud of who they were and the great people through history who were deaf, who helped shape a community they could belong to with pride, and their own language--American Sign Language.
With the advent of cochlear implants, controversy arose. Was deafness something needing to be fixed? Was a parent denying a child his heritage if the child was removed from the deaf community by becoming a hearing person? Were those with cochlear implants traitors? Some high schools and colleges began removing ASL from their approved foreign language credits. In some circles, the treatment for deafness led to the deaf community being expected to fully integrate and not maintain a separate culture. Many (most?) in the deaf community did not and rejected any calls that expected them to do so. They said they didn't need or want to be fixed--there was nothing wrong with being deaf.
Following on its heels, autism diagnoses are on the rise. What is widely established as an incurable syndrome that must be accepted as one's reality is now being challenged with people like Jenny McCarthy claiming to have cured her son of autism through intensive therapy.
Did her son have autism? Was it caused by vaccines as she believes? Should she have tried to cure him of it? Are some or all forms of autism curable? Numerous treatment models, adaptations, diets, modified vaccination schedules, and other ways of trying to treat autism have arisen, but enough information isn't available yet for any consensus.
In the void, an autistic identity has developed for some in which they identify as being autistic, see it as a source of pride, identify with famous people in history who might have been autistic, and do not want to be treated for something they don't see as wrong. Which brings us back to the question of when a person has gone far enough outside the bounds of "normality" to necessitate medical intervention and who gets to decide that an individual has gone too far. When it comes to Asperger's and autism, what do you think?
One of my high school teachers was the kind you wouldn't be surprised to find on the news one night. She was quite popular with the students and stories swirled about her throwing parties for teens which included alcohol and drugs. It could have been the fantasy of a few of the male students, but I'm inclined to believe there was some truth to the rumors. The only accomplishment of her class was to teach us hundreds of the most common prefixes and suffixes in order to most accurately guess on multiple choice tests, and when that failed, how to outright cheat. I never knew of the entire world that exists to fill the market for scholarly deceit!
Thanks to that teacher, I know that there's a website where one can print off a cheat sheet that appears to be a coca-cola bottle wrapper and I know that the prefix a- means without, as in amoral, atypical, aardvark and abysmal. Likewise is the doubly-complicated vowel-preceding prefix of an- as in anaerobic, anarchy, and anonymous.
So why is my anonymous blog looking rather onymous? Elizabeth and Andrew are chosen names in honor of Eliza and Andrew Johnson whose marriage had some of the traits of my own. I thought it sounded better than calling myself Mrs. FiveEggsIn and my husband Mr. FEI. I briefly considered more heavenly namesakes such as Nicholas and Thérèse, both saints known for their anonymity, but decided that I had a long way to go before I could connect myself to them in such a public way. I figured one of the worst US presidents and his sickly wife were something we could do better than, so Andrew and Elizabeth it was.
Elizabeth, Elspeth, Betsy and Bess, They all went together to seek a bird's nest. They found a bird's nest with five eggs in, They all took one, and left four in.
I was searching around for some connections and found a lot of helpful, nice people on and off the spectrum. Being in a funk and all emotional right now, the ones who dealt only in stereotypes weighed heavily on me a la: "There's nothing for an NT wife to do but to divorce her AS husband and then complain about him on message boards for decades or to continue using him as a sugar daddy while having an affair" and "If you want to be a good wife to an AS male, take it from someone in his shoes that the best thing you can do for him is to move out, leave him alone, and move on in life so he'll be free to concentrate on what he actually cares about instead of pretending to care about you." Those are my chaffed and emotional paraphrases.
Instead of wallowing in the extremism of others and allowing it to further drag me down, I decided to do a little exercise about how we, like most people, don't fit the stereotypes. It is like cleaning the mold from the shower grout of my mind without any of the cleaning or the insidious fungi! Hover your mouse over the questions and after a moment the answers will be revealed. See if you can guess where we conform to the stereotypes and where we break the mold.
I believe it is common blog etiquette at this point to ask a question such as, "Any others out there who don't fit the stereotypical mold?" in order to encourage comments. Considering I have more ice cream flavors I would like to be eating now than I have people who are reading this, I'll reiterate that comments about you, your thoughts, your observations, your successes, your frustrations, your favorite desserts, or anything else of importance are appreciated on any post and leave it at that. Unless I break down and go get some ice cream, that is. Mint chocolate chip sounds awfully good...
A friend was confiding in me her struggles with body image, compounded by her husband's struggles with purity in his thoughts. She said to me, "I know that's just the way men are wired. Isn't your husband the same?" I hesitated a moment, trying to find a way to be honest while simultaneously meeting her desire for support before deciding there was no way to do both.
"That doesn't happen to be one of his particular struggles. He'd be more likely to notice the keychain a woman was carrying than the skirt she had on." I added a lighthearted laugh in an attempt to keep the conversation casual and moving forward, hoping to convey through my tone of voice and body language that I did understand her concern even if I didn't share the same circumstances.
"But he thinks you're attractive, doesn't he?" she said with some incredulity, apparently more worried about my body image at this point than her own.
"Oh yeah...when he thinks about it."
The conversation quickly trailed off, replaced by superficial banter. I knew that it would have been one of those bonding moments that bring women together had the discussion gone differently and I silently mourned the loss of commonality and friendship. I don't discuss my husband's differences with acquaintances both to respect his request and on principle (I have plenty of weaknesses of my own I wouldn't want him bringing up in casual conversations), but the kinds of conversations women have around me rarely address my marriage's particular struggles anyway. I imagine my friend felt more alone than ever, wondering if she was the only woman concerned about her husband finding her slightly-larger-self attractive at the end of the working day in which he was surrounded by a seemingly endless supply of thin, young women in heels. Since weight isn't something I struggle with, she politely implied I wouldn't have a clue what she was going through and hasn't brought the topic up again. What she didn't know is how much I could sympathize. The feeling of worthlessness, unattractiveness, and competition with "the other" that is created when a woman wants to feel loved in a way she can understand is something I experience regularly even though my husband doesn't have roving eyes.
On any given day, I could walk right in front of my husband buck naked and be completely invisible to him and totally ignored. The few times I hinted at his lack of interest in me or my life, I was told that my husband must be gay, must be having an affair, or must be involved in a gay affair. The marriage counselors we visited had no idea what to do with us. One called my husband an "odd duck." No one could relate.
"The other" I compete with is my husband's latest passion. This week that would mean he'd notice me if I were carrying a box of oh-so-difficult to find .380 bullets but in the past it has been anything from his connections to his family-of-origin to entrepreneurial ideas and anything you could imagine in between (before our marriage, his passion was me which is why he showed so much interest at the time and was able to woo me off my feet), but it has never been another woman (or man, for that matter) that I was romantically competing with. How can I be so sure? I asked him.
In a series of short and direct questions, his answers of no to every one means if he has ever had an affair (which I doubt), it is buried so well that I am not going to discover it. While my husband has a natural skill for answering what was asked and not what was intended, and because of his literal take on words he is adroit at talking in loopholes if he desires (meaning our entire conversation can quickly focus on the implications and definitions of particular words if I don't stay vigilant), he is unlikely to outright lie.
My friend went home and told her husband yet again about her insecurities. He assured her that he thought she was beautiful, hugged and kissed her, held her hand more, spontaneously praised her, and overall spent time and effort showing her his love. The next day, he was back to the demands of a high-pressure work environment and was ignoring her need for frequent flattery for the most part, but she was buoyed for a while and able to communicate her needs and fears effectively. I told my husband about our conversation and how isolated I felt in not being able to relate with other women. He nodded his head and said, "Mmmm..." in agreement, never lifting his eyes from his plate or giving any other indication of concern or support. He didn't touch me all that evening until he leaned over to kiss my forehead to say goodnight--one of the few times our routine includes physical interaction. It was a little underwhelming so I expressed my frustration and desires on how it could have gone differently to his expressionless face. Getting nothing, I said, "I need you to hold me." He happily obliged, wrapped his arm around me, and was snoring in contentment, happy with the perfection that was currently his life as I laid alone in the dark and cried.
I need support. I need to connect with other people who experience the same things I experience. I need to be understood.
I also need to respect my husband's privacy and his legitimate request that I not put him in uncomfortable or potentially compromising positions by discussing the fact that he has Asperger's with those in our life.
The compromising medium is to start this blog and to hopefully discover the blogs of others who are making similar journeys through it so that I may learn and laugh and grow in love for my husband among them.
Sometimes I appreciate the joys of living with my husband. Loyal, passionate about what interests him, intelligent, slow to anger, usually well-researched, adventurous, practical, patient, curious, and observant, he also has the most adorable dimples and a fire that fills his eyes and knocks me off my feet when he's inspired.
Other times, I feel like we live in different universes and I wonder if I will ever know what goes on inside him, or if there even is anything more than what I see, and I am tempted to despair. While I tend to be intuitive, introspective, communicative, nuanced, and working in a realm of people and perceptions to see the gestalt or the "big picture," my husband is quite the opposite. Add in a house full of people and pets, in-laws worthy of the movies, random forays into new hobbies or pursuits, a shared passion for our faith, and a burned dinner or two and you have our life.
Love, look at the two of us, Strangers in many ways. Let’s take a lifetime to say, “I knew you well . . .” -The Carpenters
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