333 the number of the … yeast

Insert funny story about that disaster with the cinnamon buns or that time the itch in your crotch made you grind against the desk belonging to the head of HR. Or just admit that you’re rather proud of the number of days you have been sober.

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One year ago

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The last couple of days I’ve had this itchy scratchy feeling. I’ve been thinking about that time in Greece when I blacked out for hours, woke up with a bump in my head, no clue what had happened those last hours in that apartment next door where that other family lived and where I had ended up after a very wine-filled dinner. Oh damn. I still get those flushes of nausea and shame. Turns out it was this day, the 19th of July. The 20th really was such a terrible terrible day in my life … But I survived. But if I had had a day like that now? I don’t think I could have coped. See I had soooo many of those days then. It is so sad how used I was to having those days. So many days that were only spent trying to survive, to get through, to put behind me, to forget. So many days that were just my life on pause. Angstridden, stinking of alcohol, panicky, trying to put together all those blurry pieces into something whole.

My life at the moment isn’t especially pleasant but compared to that level of anxiety? Then I’m like a fucking zen monk living at a spa.

I’m going to get a clinical assessment regarding high functioning autism/ADHD. The appointments are just a few days after I celebrate my first soberversary (FYI 26th of August if you wanna be all prepared with the flowers and cake and diamonds.) I have never in my entire life entertained the thought that I could be an aspie. Sure I’m a bit weird but I have always stayed on the right side of weird as in quirky, artsy, unusual but in a rocknroll cool chick muse sort of way not smelly lady who talks in a toothbrush and wears a cape of pig skin. Not that unusual, just unusual enough. Then my boys were getting all sorts of red flags at school and the thought of autism were all of a sudden a reality. My oldest one did the WISC IV and it turns out he’s a god damn genious (IQ of 151!!) and then everyone stopped talking and thought this must be the explanation to his rigid ways and slight weird behaviour. But then we persisted and no, turns out he’s just clever enough to be able to mask most of the things that the autism causes him. So of course I did the only reasonable thing to do: I read all the books and all of the internet. Twice. And then I stumbled across this: http://help4aspergers.com/female-as-traits/

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I don’t really have the time to tell you how strongly I was affected when I read this, it was a pure physical sensation. My constant state of unease could perhaps have this one (1) explanation instead of all of those other explanations to why I always had been slightly depressed, constantly stressed out, dreading all social events and just feeling so utterly, totally alone.

Autism (as intelligence by the way :D) is hereditary, there’s something in my genes (and most likely my husbands as well because that would explain A LOT when it come to my mother in law) and it is because of my children I was finally able to see this as a possible explanation. For that I will always be grateful to them. Together we’ll make this work, I’m sure of it.

One last thing. High functioning. High functioning alcoholic, high functioning autist, high functioning ANYTHING … that really is the shittiest place to be. That only means you’re able to pull it off, the charade, the constant theatre where you play the person that has her shit together even though it’s blatantly obvious that not a single little shit holds together. But oh the effort. The work. The energy that goes into playing that part every day. So exhausting and you’re rewarded by getting absolutely no help at all because everyone thinks you have a handle on things. Gah.