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“Let them say all that they want, I’ll wipe away your painted wings, till your heros come…” ~ Evans Blue

I am painted. In a spectrum of numerous colors and personalities, that wash over me to the tune of time, and what it requires of me in that given moment. It has been a long time since I have blogged…and for a good reason. I’ve actually been pretty ill, and I’m not able to work my job right now. I had been concentrating on writing my memoir, and organizing the thousands of photos I’ve taken in the past six months, in the hope of putting together a nice website to show them off. But I digress.

And regress. I have noticed something different about myself, and yet it is very familiar. As the obstacles in my life continue to surmount at an increasing rate, my ability to disguise myself as a neurotypical is slipping. That paintbrush of colors that I depend on to become the person I’m needed to be to others is beginning to blur together. More and more I find myself doing things I haven’t done since I was a child. I will sit in place and slowly rock, and visualize something that calms me. Something like our vow renewal on the beach in Costa Rica last year, or our recent trip to Jamaica and the feel good vibe of Negril. In that completely visual brain of mine, I can transport myself to a place in time where I felt safe and happy.

I now go out of my way to avoid other people, and sigh inwardly when some happy, bubbly NT decides to blabber about her week when I sit down in the doctor’s waiting room. I know, it sounds really inconsiderate of me. But I really just want to be left alone. I don’t want to put on the superhero mask, and pretend I’m bubbly and love to talk about the mundane right now. It’s like I don’t have the strength anymore.

Yesterday, I read an article by Liane Holliday Willey, about supporting our elder Aspies. You can read her article here: http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/the-pragmatic-aspie/201108/supporting-elder-aspies.

It struck a chord with me for many reasons. One, it reminded me of my father, who has been diagnosed with Alzheimers. I see so much of myself in him, and I really do feel that he is being fed pills to control a disease (Alzheimers), which I strongly feel is not the real issue with him. I think he is an Aspie like me. Maybe he has both issues, but no one will listen to me.

Two, the topic of regression struck a chord, precisely because I am witnessing it in myself, NOW. During a difficult and painful time, my brain is taking me back to my own Aspie roots. And it is doing it more and more often, to protect me I guess, from that scary uncertainty that is now my life.
In this life, where I have very little support from others, this is how my brain is protecting me. I have my husband, and I have my mother, she checks in on me weekly, and then there are a few facebook friends who look in on me. But other than that, I am alone…and my fear of the future and that of being alone has somehow turned back the hands of time, to when I was a powerful visualizer…in order to escape the garbage that was my childhood.

It is interesting, and disconcerting, to be able to sit my husband down, discuss Liane’s article, and say, “These are the things that will happen to me.” And how do I know? Because my beautifully colored wings, that enable me to fly in the “normal” world are but only paint, and paint does not last forever. Eventually, the paint will wear off, and the Aspie me will appear yet again, as she is struggling to do so now. Odd, the ability to see one’s future, isn’t it?

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