Tales of a Hard-Working Aspie: The Abysmal Coworker

Tales of a Hard-Working Aspie

The Abysmal Co-worker

I have a co-worker, we'll call her Corrina, who has been purposefully making my life a living hell for the past year and two months. I never did anything to this girl, but she has some sort of vendetta against me. She's awful. 

In my last post, I mentioned a troublesome relationship with some of my past co-workers in the cellular phone department of the electronics store where I work. I admit, they ran me off... In a way, they won. 

From day one I was the odd one out. The group was a clique and I was blackballed. I was never invited to hang out with the gang outside of work (everyone else was). When someone brought lunch for the entire department, I was left out. I even tried to get some people together for Thanksgiving dinner and was told that everyone had plans with their families only to find out that everyone had gone to one of the employee's houses to celebrate together without me. 

After awhile, I didn't even want to fit in with these people; I just wanted them to leave me alone. Unfortunately, just ignoring me wasn't in their plan. Corrina led the charge in talking to me like I was stupid, laughing after every conversation I tried to have with her, refusing to help me out even though she was (at the time) a supervisor in the department, and in spreading malicious rumors. 

After undergoing a major change in management, I finally had an ally. He thought that a meeting where he expressed his desires for everyone to start fresh would make things better. Unfortunately the plan backfired. I was subject to an hour long roast session. I was informed that "no one wants to be friends with someone like you" and was accused of "sneaking off to the bathroom to cry during like every shift". Things from my first week working there were being rehashed for crying out loud. I thought I was the only one who had trouble letting things go! These people were acting like kids in a candy store. They'd been waiting months to make me cry this hard. 

By the end of the meeting, nothing was resolved. My saving grace was that I was able to change departments. Even seeing Corrina and her minions was enough to make me sick to my stomach, but at least I knew that they wouldn't risk crossing the store just to be mean to me. 

Unfortunately, an innocent act today led to the absolutely final boiling point. I had a customer whom I'd been working with for about a week now. This customer was making a large purchase and was purchasing from several different departments, including the cellular department. All I did was try to help my customer. All Corrina wanted was to create drama.

I took my customer over to the cellular department because our computer was in use, the next available computer was not working, and for a CELLULAR transaction, it seemed like the logical place to go. Corrina rudely interrupted my sale, asking why I was working over there rather than on our computer. I explained it wasn't available and continued working with my customer.

I later found out that Corrina had gone to our supervisor to complain about me. Apparently she decided that the only reason I had gone to the cellular department was so that I could sit down (complete BS). She continued on that I was taking too long with my transaction and I was getting in the way, etc... Everything she said was met with an immediate dismissal, but it didn't stop her. She came back over and proceded to fling my customers products around angrily (it looked to me like she was about to slam the brand new computer onto the desk because she had backed into it on the floor and gotten angry). 

Even after I left the cellular area, she continued to go after me. She shot me death glares, stared me down, and made me feel incredibly uncomfortable... and she did all of this in front of a new employee who was training. 

Our supervisor happens to be a good friend of mine; in fact, she's my best friend here in Texas. She told me about the complaints and her reaction to them. I couldn't believe that Corrina had really gone to a supervisor because I was doing my job! When I mentioned my dismay that all this was happening in front of a trainee, she replied that the new employees would have to make their own decisions but that it was promising that one of the newer employees had expressed to her that he liked working with me. I was somewhat thrown by this statement, until she said that she had assumed that they were training all the new employees to hate me. 

Of course part of me believed that all along. The other part hoped that the part that believed it was the paranoid part. After talking to my best friend, I felt awful. It wasn't her fault. She doesn't control my mind... unfortunately I don't either. 

I immediately became depressed, withdrawn, and started to severely doubt myself. Something particularly bothersome to me was that she told me that (with my aspirations to move into management roles) the more times management had to get involved in trying to solve these personal problems, the less likely they'd be to promote me. I've worked so hard to fix my relationships with all of my other co-workers... THIS ONE RELATIONSHIP IS BEYOND REPAIR! That is not a reflection on me; it's a reflection on how it was handled from day one. 

Once that thought entered my head, the next thoughts that came were auditory memories from the morning of the roast session. At one point, I felt myself blinking back tears and at the same time, I heard the voice accuse: "you hide in the bathroom and cry all the time!" It was like I was stuck in quick-sand, but the quick-sand was emotions and I was being sucked down by the negative ones. 

I sent an email asking to talk to my general manager about all this. It may seem odd that I wrote a blog about it, but for me, it was somewhat therapeutic and will serve as a series of notes for me during my eventual meeting with management about this issue. I just hope that I can free myself from this quick-sand of negativity before I ruin the best job I've ever had. 

Tales Of A Hardworking Aspie: Anger, Annoyance, and Driving Me Bonkers!

Tales of a Hardworking Aspie

Anger, Annoyance, and Driving Me Bonkers!

Having two jobs means having two sources of anger, annoyance, and craziness. I take great pride in my work ethic, but some things cannot be avoided no matter how good of a worker someone is. 

For about a year, I was afraid of one of my bosses; we'll call him Harry. When Harry is around, the kitchen becomes a solemn place. Work gets done whether Harry is there or not, but for some reason, he believes that the staff cannot function without him. Harry is always around when you don't want him there. Stop moving for two seconds, Harry's on your back. Take a moment to chat, end up on the receiving end of a death glare. It never ends. Most of the employees are fed up with him, but no one will say anything to him. 

Now I've never been a social butterfly; quite the opposite actually. I've been a social pariah for the better part of 23 years. I guess that's why I became so upset when Harry got angry with me over taking a moment to chat with a co-worker. I was confused, humiliated, and frustrated. I had been asked earlier in my shift to fold some boxes. I had been doing so for several hours and had run out of places to put them. Noticing the overabundance of boxes, I believed I could take a short break from folding. Apparently I was wrong. Harry began "calling me out", his voice dripping with sarcasm (it was so obvious I picked up on it!), saying that "[I could] start folding boxes anytime" and "anytime [I] need boxes just ask someone". 

Later that night, while talking to a friend and manager, I explained why I had gotten so upset. The way Harry was talking to me made me feel as though socializing was wrong. Everyone else has someone to talk to during their shift. I'm alone. My coworkers agree that if Harry had to spend one four hour shift doing my job the way he expects me to do it, he'd run out of there before the shift was over. I explained that, IF WE HAD NEEDED BOXES, I would have understood and would have continued to fold. Tonight for instance, we were short on boxes and I folded most of the night. My friend understands completely and said not to take anything Harry does to heart, but it's hard not to.

Harry has always been bad enough, but recently, a new manager came into the picture. We'll call her Gertrude. Gertrude is the kind of manager who stands over your shoulder scribbling on a notepad, but never letting you know what she's thinking. She's stern, strict, and never looks happy. I was afraid of Harry... I'm terrified of Gertrude. 

I hate it when people hover. Immediately my mind starts trying to figure out what that person is thinking about me or is writing about me. It may have nothing to do with me, but I always feel like it does. 

I did discuss my Aspergers with Gertrude. I wasn't hoping it would change the way she treated me or anything, but I did hope it would make it easier for us to work together. She responded that she had no idea about the Aspergers and would try to be more direct in her requests, but never followed through. She hasn't stopped hovering either.

Gertrude doesn't respect the schedule either. As you well know by now, I live by my routine. Every manager knows that and every manager knows that when it's time for me to clock off, it's time... but Gertrude takes her time relieving me and doesn't seem to think there's anything wrong with that. 

So those are my issues with Harry and Gertrude...

Onto my other job...

Something that absolutely drives me bonkers is when I have a customer who doesn't respect my personal space. The other day, I had a customer who kept cuffing me on the shoulder (I counted 13 times). It seemed like every time I moved away from him, he moved closer to me. I finally couldn't take it anymore and I had to pass off the customer to a co-worker. That shouldn't have to happen!

The other day, I received some difficult news at work and had to quickly pretend to be okay with it. So, when I first started working at the electronics store, I was in the cellular phone department. After many troublesome months, things came to a boiling point when one of my managers tried (and unfortunately failed) to make things better by having an open dialogue to air our grievances... unfortunately it became a roast session...

The day of that meeting, I requested to change departments. Since being granted that request, I have found the computers and networking department to be my safe haven. I was accepted there and I had friends there who would stand up for me if anyone from my old department treated me poorly. Suddenly the other day, whilst talking with management about some recent decisions that were made regarding my department, I was informed that the cellular phone department employees would be training over in our department. I plastered a fake smile on my face, but it didn't work. My manager asked what was wrong. I fudged some story about just needing a minute to come to terms with my safe territory being invaded and that I was sure the other employees didn't even remember what they had said to me anymore (total lie). I also said that I knew I would have to work with them again eventually but just didn't expect it to be in my new department. Basically, I was doing damage control because I'm still trying to qualify for a promotion and won't get one if I can't handle working with everyone. I had convinced myself for awhile now that I was okay to work with those people again as long as it was under professional terms, but when hit with the surprise of it all, it was just too much.

 When things like the above happen, I just have to keep remembering the feeling I had the other day with the Abney family. I really do love my jobs; it's just difficult for me to get through a work-day sometimes. 

Meant To Be

Yesterday was a day that I will treasure forever. Around 10:30am, I called the number that I had for Robyn Abney. My heart was racing. I'm awkward on the phone with my family and friends, so I had no idea how I was going to say what I wanted to say or whether or not I could say it without crying. As it turned out, her daughter answered the phone. In a fairly comprehensible way, I was able to explain that I had been so moved by the family and their story that our store had wanted to do something for them and "whenever they were free, could they please come by to pick up a little gift we had for James?". Her daughter said she would pass along the message. For me, the completion of this phone call had several different impacts. First and foremost, I was  proud of myself for successfully navigating what is typically a very stressful and awkward situation for me: talking on the telephone. Second, I was thrilled to have set everything into motion. As I've said many times, it's my goal to leave this world better than it was when I came to it, to make a difference, and to help others. This simple phone call enabled me to hit all 3 of my goals at one time. I couldn't wait for them to arrive.

Of course, when Robyn and James came through the door, I was with another customer... and although I'm typically all work and no play, for probably the first time ever, I completely dropped what I was doing and went over to them. Robyn was carrying James in her arms. She kept repeating that we didn't have to do this, but I knew she'd be thrilled once she saw the look on James' face. We sat him down on the floor and helped him open the bag. Robyn was very excited to see the Leap Pad and of course, James wanted it open immediately. She asked to borrow my camera to capture the moment (and of course, she agreed to let me share the moment with you all on here). 

  

They were both so happy and their happiness immediately transferred to me as well. James did call out for his daddy a few times, wanting to show off his awesome new toy, but Robyn said that he wasn't sure he could handle it ("it" being so many people being so nice to his family following such a tragedy). I can understand that. I am sure it's incredibly difficult for him, trying to keep up appearances for James, but mourning the loss of his wife at the same time. 

Before James left the store, I was the recipient of several hugs and high five's, and the very lucky recipient of a kiss on the cheek. I am not someone who likes to be touched, but when I was on the phone with my mom, I'm fairly certain that I repeated multiple times "he kissed me mommy!" in an absolutely thrilled way. 

Shortly after they left, I received a text message from Robyn: 

James and his daddy were already having a fun time together playing with the Leap Pad. I am so honored to have been granted access to such a wonderful scene. 

Looking back, maybe I never stuck my foot in my mouth after all. Maybe this was all just meant to be. I was meant to learn about the accident... I was meant to fall in love with the family... I was meant to make a difference.

A Heart Just Big Enough

Update on yesterday's post:

All day and night yesterday I was consumed with thoughts of the Abney family. I resolved to help in any way that I could. I don't know why they had such a strong impact on me... possibly I felt some guilt for making the grandmother upset... certainly I felt a special connection to the grandmother as she is one of the few women I've ever met to share my name, never-mind the spelling of my name... And of course, once I had more details about the accident and especially once I saw the picture of baby James happily between his loving parents, I was 100% emotionally tied to them. 

I awoke this morning still thinking of the Abney family. I went to work and they continued to dominate my thoughts. I kept seeing baby James sitting in the cart with his Superman colored casts... not really seeing him, just remembering him sitting there. I decided to ask my manager whom I should consult about getting a charitable donation. 

My manager replied that we could only donate our time, not money. For once, I refused to take that as an answer. I took him aside and told him the whole story. I told him about my experience with my customers, the research I had done, and the education fund they had set up for James. I stressed that these were our customers and that we pride ourselves on treating our customers better than anyone else; on being with our customers no matter what. 

I conceded to the store not donating money, but asked if we could supply James with an educational toy. That idea was greeted with a better response. He told me I could go pick something out and he'd see what he could do. I found what I was looking for but became sidetracked with other customers. I saw one of my co-workers after awhile (he's the head of employee engagement) and I told him about my discussion with our manager. 

I was first told that we could do 50% off the item. I had already decided to pay the rest. When my manager found out that I was putting out the money, he went a step further and donated the item straight out. Then I did something completely uncharacteristic of me: I called the unsuspecting grandmother on the phone. While I have yet to get in touch with her, this is the first time that I am looking forward to a telephone call with someone I don't know very well. I generally find talking on the telephone awkward and I hate talking on the telephone with people I don't know, but I'm so excited to be able to call the Abney family with some good news!

Not Reading Between The Lines

Not Reading Between The Lines

One of the hardest things for me about having Aspergers is that I cannot pick up on subtle cues. Today at work was no exception.

I was helping a sweet family. There was an adorable little boy, 2 years old, with a blue cast and a red cast, one on his arm and one on his leg. His daddy told me they were Superman's colors. 

I assisted the family as I usually do but for some unknown reason, I decided to ask the woman (I assumed the mother) how the little boy was injured. I figured it was a cute story, like he had been trying to learn how to ride a bike and had fallen or he had tried to ride the dog like a horse. 

She softly replied that it was a car wreck. I apologized and continued on with the transaction, but for some reason, I needed to go one step further. I asked if anyone else was injured. The woman, who shares my name, began to cry. 

"His mother was killed"

I didn't know what to think or feel. I felt terrible that I had made her think of that. I didn't want to be the cause of her tears. She kept repeating that she was sorry... That she only cried when she wasn't around the little boy and his father. I did my best to console her, but all I could really say was that I was sorry and that she was doing an amazing job of taking care of them.

I felt awful about it all day long. I kept replaying the discussion over and over in my head, searching for some hint that there was a fatality involved. I'm sure there was one, but I didn't pick up on it. 

I felt so drawn to this family that I did some research online. I found that the little boy was named James. I found that the woman I had spoken with, Robyn, was his grandmother and that her daughter-in-law Brooke had died in the accident. I learned that the accident was caused by a driver who was driving up the wrong side of the road. 

The Abney family before the accident. 

My co-workers told me not to feel badly; that she was upset inside anyhow and that all I did was provide an outlet for her tears. I'd like to believe that was true. I know from talking to her that she was trying so hard to be the strong grandmother, the glue that held James and his father together after such a tragedy, that she wasn't giving herself the opportunity to grieve. I'd like to believe that I helped her, or at least that I didn't hurt her, but I may never know.

I am asking something very special of my readers tonight. The family has set up an education fund for James. I hope the story I have related has touched you in some way. Please donate what you can to this fund. He really is a sweet boy! 

Donations can be made to the James L Abney Education Account at the First National Bank of Ballinger at P.O. Box 680, Ballinger, TX 76821 or the Bank of San Angelo at 2635 Valleyview Blvd, San Angelo, Tx 76904.

Too...Many...People!

Too... Many... People!

A huge event in my life that I have not written about until now was my brother's wedding, which was held earlier this year. I hadn't written this blog entry yet because I didn't want anyone in my family to get the wrong idea. I love my family more than anything! 

My brother's wedding was very hard for me. As you well know by now, I hate change. My brother had been my best friend for as long as I could remember... but I know what a good marriage consists of. In a good marriage, your mate is also your best friend. I was afraid of being replaced and I was afraid that nothing would ever be the same.

I finally came to terms with the marriage itself. I decided that they were truly soul mates and I had to stop being selfish. I wrote it in the card, but I fully meant it in my impromptu toast at the reception (which I am still shocked that I did). 

The problem I faced at the wedding was that I was incredibly uncomfortable. I was excited to see family... but I had no idea that we would walk into the hotel lobby and be accosted by no less than 30 people (in a very small place), some of whom I hadn't seen in years. Everyone wanted hugs and kisses and there was no room to breathe. I finally got out the words "too... many... people" and made my way outside. 

No one understood what I was going through. My mom finally caught on and allowed me to go up to the hotel room. I'm sure many thought I was being antisocial, but I was just trying to cope. My mom explained to those family members who asked to go visit me what was going on. I don't know if I wanted my extended family to know about my Aspergers or not, but I understand why she told them. I just wish that I hadn't needed "an excuse". I wish I had been able to cope and stay in the room. 

I also suffer from Vasovagal Synchope and hypoglycemia. Right before we started to walk down the aisle, my face went pale, I got nauseous, and I started to shake. My mom slipped an ice pack in my back and the wedding proceeded. Partway through the ceremony, I was so faint I had to sit down. After talking to my doctor about the experience, he said that it could have been the hypoglycemia (as we thought at the time) or it could have been Vasovagal Synchope caused by nerves and being in a tight space with many others during the ceremony. 

 I felt absolutely horrible about the whole situation. I worried everyone, I drew attention from the ceremony, and I missed seeing a huge moment in my brother's life. I'm so upset about what happened and the possibility that it could have been mentally driven, that I haven't even told my mom what the doctor said, although she reads this blog, so I guess I just did. 

At the reception, I was perfectly content taking pictures and watching everyone dance. Unfortunately, no one understood that. People kept trying to make me dance, telling me I was boring, telling me I needed to have some fun... What they didn't understand was I that I was having fun MY OWN WAY! I'm not the person who will get in the middle of the mob on the dance floor, but I am the person who will dance across the (relatively empty) floor whilst singing at the top of my lungs to "Let It Go" (my new anthem) after my mom had the DJ put it on for me. 

Overall, I had a good time at my brother's wedding. I just needed my personal bubble. 

That said, now I have a new obstacle to face. I have received the opportunity of a lifetime. I have been invited (with my dance troupe from back home) to dance at the Orange Bowl during the halftime show. I was incredibly excited about this and quickly began counting the days! 

Then the big shock hit. My mom and I were on the phone and she said that she didn't want me to get upset about what she was going to say, but that I really needed to think about whether or not I could go on the trip. When I asked why, she explained that there would be a mob of people and *SHOCK* she wasn't able to get the time off, so I would be there alone with no one to comfort me if I freaked out (I'm paraphrasing here; my mother never said I would freak out). 

So now I put it to you, my readers. I need advice. How do you deal with large groups of people? What advice can you give me to make it easier for me to go on this amazing trip? Please help!

Growing A Little Every Day

Growing A Little Every Day

This entire blog will not be about why I have not written in several days, however I feel it is important for me to explain why I strayed from my routine. As I mentioned in my last blog entry, I got very ill as a result of ignoring symptoms and not visiting a doctor right away. Unfortunately, my body does not like to bounce back from illnesses and I have spent every moment that I'm not working asleep. In addition, I am prone to anxiety and am awaiting further test results, making me hesitant to dig too far into my psyche at the current moment. I've sat down to write several times over the past several days, but nothing has come of it. I've either fallen asleep or became fearful of what my mind may uncover. 

Growth is very important for all people. You don't want to plateau in your life. If you plateau, you're not improving and if you're not improving, you're not doing anything productive with your life. For me, growth is everything. Everything I do, I do so I can grow. I hate change and always will, but the one change I believe is truly good is the change that exists within onesself as they grow into a stronger and better human being. 

On Friday night around 11pm, I received a text message from one of my co-workers and close friends. 

"(Manager) informed me that I will not be leading the (department) team tomorrow when we break off into departments. You and (Co-worker) will."

I reply:

"WHAT?!"

After discussing what I should make sure to discuss during the meeting, I replied again:

"Wishing I had time to mentally prepare myself. This is the kind of thing that at the last minute is not easy for me."

I worried all the rest of the night about the meeting the next morning. I worried about how I would, with no time to prepare, be able to converse with my team without being misunderstood or having difficulties arise. I worried about how I would convey the important information without sounding like a stuffy workaholic who wanted to suck all of the fun out of the room. I worried... and I worried... and I worried.

...and I worried for nothing. The next morning, the meeting came and went. I said my piece and hoped that it sunk in then went about my daily business. No one complained, so I guess it went okay. I really feel that I grew from that experience. There were times in the past when I would have "lost my voice" right before the meeting to avoid the uneasiness that leading a discussion would have led to... BUT THOSE TIMES ARE IN THE PAST! That's GROWTH! 

Another work story: My boss tonight pulled me aside and told me that something would be different about the morning discussions the next time I worked. As many of you who read my blog know, I do not joke. I don't understand how to joke properly and they never come across right... Well, tonight I tried again. "Will the change be that we'll actually have them?" I asked. It took a minute, then one of my friends said, "she's got jokes". I thought it was the best thing ever. It probably was a very lame joke, but it's a start. 

One last work thing... this one is more of a governmental issue in my opinion. I have recently become aware of a law that states that any business with more than 15 employees must provide reasonable accommodations for persons with disabilities (I knew that, as I studied Disabilities in college, but the aftermath shocked me). In exchange for following this law, companies who hire someone with a documented disability are entitled to various tax write-offs or credits. According to the government, these are meant to "cover the cost of accommodations for employees with disabilities". That being said, the next line on the government's own website states "this is an excellent way to expand and enhance your business".

Tonight at work, my co-workers were joking about an employee being "special" because he did something stupid. Someone announced over the walkie talkies that the company got a tax break for having him work there. Immediately my blood ran cold. I thought about the information above and how it had shocked me when I learned of it. I thought about my company using me for a tax write-off. I needed answers. I went to a manager and good friend and he immediately apologized, saying it was a joke and the company didn't receive anything for hiring or employing the disabled but with the knowledge I had, I didn't know if I truly trusted what he said or not. A few months ago, I would have let it fester... Tonight, I pulled aside my general manager and asked him. 

Upon seeing the surprise on his face when I told him about the law, I had proof that he was not cashing in on me. I've never had the guts to ask a potentially accusatory question like that before. I don't know what came over me to allow me to ask the question tonight and I don't know if this newfound confidence will stay, but I know that tonight, I showed growth. 

Extremes: The Pitfalls Of Literalism

Extremes: The Pitfalls Of Literalism

I've always been Miss Literal. If I was told to clean my room, I would clean my room but not my closet. If I was told to take my things upstairs, I would do so, but not necessarily put them away. Even a simple question, like "what color is the sky?" needed to be answered properly (either by looking out the window or going outside... afterall, the sky isn't always blue). How old was I? I could tell you down to the day. 

I saw the world in black and white. Gray space never existed in my world. Someone either was my best friend or they hated me. I was either a straight A student or I was stupid. I believed that if someone yelled at me, they would never forgive me and if I yelled at them, I'd never forgive them. 

To increase my success in the workplace, all of my bosses and co-workers have been instructed to give me precise instructions so that my literalism wouldn't be such a problem. Silly stories from beforehand include making so many cheese and pepper packets that I ran out of pepper (because I was told to make them until I was told to stop), building towers of pizza boxes all the way to the ceiling (again because I was told to make them until I was told to stop), pacing a three shelf area for an entire 7 hour shift (because I was assigned to that area and no one told me I could leave if I didn't have any customers), and more. At least now, as long as my bosses remember, I know exactly what I'm supposed to do.

The past few days I have not been able to blog. In a way, this was related to my literalism. I have a lot of health issues. In addition to my Aspergers, I have Polycystic Kidney Disease, chronic migraines, Crohns, and a pancreatic cyst. Both of my jobs have always been great about dealing with my health. My co-workers and bosses at my day job will often recognize that I look unwell and send me home to rest. I always thought they were just being caring and thoughtful. My mom had a slightly different theory.

She had told me that although it seemed that they were being helpful, they were actually thinking in the back of their heads, "how much longer are we going to put up with this girl who leaves early every day?" I took her words to heart and realized that she was right. I forced myself to go to work even though I didn't feel well. On Saturday, things finally reached a point where I couldn't wait anymore. I finally took myself to the doctor. I had a very bad infection that had gotten out of hand due to my resistance to miss work. 

After returning back to work today, I finally explained to my mother my reasoning for not going to the doctor sooner... again I took things to the extreme. She meant that I needed to be more selective about when I really needed to miss work. I took it as, "if you miss work, they won't want you anymore". What a difference a gray area makes!

Reinforcing My Fear and Hatred of Death

Reinforcing My Fear and Hatred of Death

*Please note that I wrote this descriptive piece about my Great Grandmother for a college writing course. That said, all the feelings are 100% real and one of my biggest fears is the fear of death. If I did not love her as much as I do, I never would have done the things that follow.*

               The shock that rippled through my body when we got to the hospital was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. The car ride there had been silent. When my dad and I went into the hospital, the fluorescent lights made my head hurt and I longed for the darkness of night. I recall being shown a small room with four white walls and two small couches with a green background and flowers. The room tried to look cheerful and bright, but it was a holding cell for loved ones. All of a sudden, I saw my mom. Seeing the dried tearstains on her cheeks made me start crying all over again.

               Her comforting arms wrapped me in a big, warm hug.  We didn’t care that our shirts were getting wet from tears, we just hugged each other and did our best to calm down. After a short time, my mom took my hand and led me out into the hallway. I kept hoping that it was all a joke and that when we got to my Great Nana’s room, she’d be sitting up in bed, laughing at me. Before she opened the door, my mom knelt down, stared me in the eye, and asked me one last time if I was sure I wanted to see her. Slowly, feeling like I had no control of my body or mind, I nodded my head and took her hand again.

               Mom knocked on the door and my grandmother opened it slowly. She gave my mother a strange look, almost as though she was not expecting to see me there. As we walked in, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The woman who I thought was indestructible was lying there, still and pale.  She was white as a piece of paper and looked so thin. I hadn’t seen her in weeks. She was my role model and she was just ripped away from me. At 93 years old, a silly car ride had stopped the unstoppable woman. Her heart gave out, and she was gone. Just a few weeks before, she had been walking around and acted as young and as jovial as an 18 year old. Now, she was lying there, cold.

               She had always been cold. Everywhere we went, she brought three sweaters with her. This cold was different. My grandmother took my hand and touched it to her cheek. I recoiled in shock. The warmth had left my great grandmother’s body and all at once it left my heart. I was surrounded by people, but I was alone. 

I Will Always Love You!

My Obsession With Languages

My Strange Obsession:

Languages

Communicating has always been difficult for me. To see me briefly, one would never have guessed. I talk a mile a minute... but I rarely know whether I am saying the correct thing or being properly understood. In fact, part of the reason I talk so much is that I attempt to clarify what I say in 3 or 4 different ways to prevent misunderstandings before they occur. 

I used to think that if I had something to say, I was a part of the group. Vice versa, if I didn't have something to contribute to the conversation, I felt left out. My mom tried for years to break me of this thought process, but to no avail. I continued to talk and my peers continued to be annoyed... and I continued to hold on to the hope that my peers were becoming my friends.

From the time I was little, languages always fascinated me. I guess that a part of me thought that if I learned enough different modes of communication, people would finally understand what I was trying to say. It sounds so silly now, but I was desperate... and I was good at picking up languages. 

Beginning as a very young child, I learned Hebrew. Growing up going to Junior Congregation and Hebrew School, I was a very dedicated student and loved learning prayers, songs, and the like. At my Bat Mitzvah, thanks in large part to my brother's great influence, I led more of the service than any of my peers had. After my Bat Mitzvah (great amounts of credit due to ALL of my Hebrew School teachers), I was the only one in my year to complete the final year of Hebrew School. I chose to study conversational Hebrew. 

Hebrew was never a language I would have used to express myself, but it was a special language between myself and my G-d. It enabled me to communicate with Him and still does to this day. A large part of my inner strength comes from these communications. 

My grandparents and great grandparents spoke Yiddish (the historical language of the Ashkenazi Jews). Obviously, they also spoke English, but as a young child I was particularly intrigued. Yiddish was their secret language. They couldn't spell around me because I was a good speller, so they would switch into Yiddish when they wanted to talk about something without my hearing. 

Now, Yiddish phrases are some of the MOST fun words to say... and as I got older, I learned the only cuss words I EVER say from my Great Grandmother. Below is a short list of some of my favorite Yiddish terms (both cuss and non-cuss).

Mensch: a person of character

Plotz: to burst or explode

Fercockt: all F**ked up

Nudnik: a pest or an annoying person

Meshuggina: crazy

Shvitz: sweat

Ver Clempt: all choked up

Ich Hob Dir!: to hell with you!**

**literally translates to I have you in the bathtub.** One of my Great Grandmother's favorite phrases when idiots would call her repeatedly looking for the same wrong number.

Now clearly I never reached conversational level in Yiddish. It remained their secret language, but I took pleasure in sharing in the little secrets that they chose to share with me. 

My best foreign language has always been Spanish. I speak Castilian Spanish (from Spain) and began learning Spanish in the 6th grade. By the end of 7th grade, I had read the first two Harry Potter books in Spanish and I enjoyed setting my television to Spanish or to HBO Latino to absorb more of the language in my everyday environment. By senior year of high school, I was relatively fluent and I missed testing out of a language in college by less than 5 points. 

My college semester of Spanish was strange. No one else in my class was as fluent as I was and the assignments mimicked those of my senior year Spanish class (to the point that I was simply editing some of the projects before passing them in). My professor wanted me to minor in Spanish, but I already spoke the language AND I already had both a major and a minor. I finished out the semester having written a three page paper about teenage pregnancy (in Spanish of course) and moved on to the rest of my classes.

When I got out of college, I took a job as an SLPA, first in an area right outside of Boston and then in an area in Texas. One of my biggest selling points was that I was bilingual (Spanish-English). Well, in Boston, that was fine... but when I got to Texas, I was introduced to Tex-Mex and found that I was completely out of my element! A year and a half after moving to Texas, I am able to complete a sale at my electronics store in Spanish, but the Tex-Mex is still over my head. This has been the one and only time a language has just seemed impossible to me.

My favorite language is American Sign Language. ASL is like a dance of the fingers. It's a beautiful fluid language which subliminally helped me to better understand facial expressions and emotions, due to its heavy reliance on facials. ASL is my favorite alternate mode of communication because it doesn't require talking. It's so much harder to be misunderstood in sign language... yet, if your hand orientation is slightly off... DISASTER!

I love the beauty of ASL. It's so complex and yet so simple. ASL can be used for so many things and it is actually often used in therapy for or classrooms with students with Autism. I love seeing music come alive with Signed Exact English (SEE) and ASL interpretation. I was honored to spend several days with interpreters at Disney, seeing the shows through completely different eyes. ASL is the closest I've ever come to my initial goal; using different modes of communication so people would understand me. 

Invisible No More

As someone who went to school for "Disabilities Studies", I have a unique view of the "Invisible Disabilities" situation. On the one hand, people with visible disabilities often say that they just want to be treated normally and that they don't want to be babied or taken care of. I can understand that. On the other hand, having an invisible disability is horribly lonesome and leads to massive misunderstandings and hurt feelings.

Recently, I took a trip home for my brother's wedding. I arranged for my disabilities assistance with the airline several weeks in advance. I was supposed to have an escort at each airport and the airline staff was supposed to be aware of my "situation". Although I'm very intelligent, I am easily overwhelmed by airports. I am an anxious flier, so I have to take anxiety medication before a trip, making me slightly out of it to begin with. Add to that the massive amount of people, the confusion, the noise... it's all too much. (I need assistance at security because I can't stand being touched, but there's not always a way around that.) Every time I've flown in the past, my mom has made my accommodations and they've always been executed well. Unfortunately, the one time I handled my own accommodations, everything became disastrous.

Other than my anxious movements and my headphones to block out the excessive noise, I appear normal. When I got off my first flight, I met the escorts as planned. As always, I told them I would walk so that they didn't have to push me in a wheelchair for no good reason. That's when things first went wrong. The escort didn't seem to understand that I was in his charge. He was supposed to take me from one gate to the other. Instead, he told me what gate to go to and tried to leave me in the middle of the airport.

I realized what was happening and tried to stop him. I explained for the upteenth time that I was supposed to have an escort TO MY GATE and he began muttering "this is terrible" over and over again. I kept asking "what's terrible?" getting more and more concerned each time he ignored me. I was afraid that I was going to miss my flight or that I'd already missed it... but he wouldn't answer me. He had no issue conversing with the two ladies that were with us (a woman in a wheelchair and her friend who was not) but he continued to ignore me, except to mutter an occasional "This is terrible". When we got into an elevator, he finally responded. He said "what's terrible is you are an adult and you should be able to get to your own gate!"

I was embarrassed and I was livid. With tears in my eyes I explained that I have Aspergers. He didn't care. The women with us stood up for me, explaining that I needed assistance navigating the airport... HE APOLOGIZED TO THEM! Finally, the ambulatory woman said that she would take her friend the rest of the way and told him just to get me to my gate. We boarded a tram and he was still muttering to himself! I couldn't believe how intolerant he was being!

Finally I stood up for myself; something that is very difficult for me to do. I told him that not everyone has a disability that is visible and that if someone is on his list of people he's supposed to assist, there's a reason for it. I went through two separate discussions with two separate airline representatives before my disability status was set. If I had truly wanted to take advantage of something, I would have ridden in a wheelchair rather than walking. After all, WHAT COULD I POSSIBLY GAIN BY HAVING A HOSTILE MAN ACCOMPANY ME TO MY GATE? After attempting to reason with him, he STILL didn't get it! He said "I'm doing what you want me to do. What more do you want?!" I replied that if he still didn't understand, he never would.

I was silent for the duration. He was rude and ignorant to the end. After he finally left, I asked the woman behind the desk whom to contact with a complaint about my treatment. She was shocked by my story. The staff the rest of the way was fantastic, but I was still miserable. I finally reached the airport near my home and immediately called the number I was given.

On the way back, I was seated next to a man who spent the five or six hour flight playing with his own naked feet. I was disgusted and kept moving farther away and blocking his feet from my view, but he wouldn't stop. The flight crew knew about my Aspergers and could see my discomfort, but they didn't intervene. I couldn't say anything to him... I was stuck on a plane right next to him and between him and his family for the rest of the flight. It was hell! Upon reaching the same airport where I encountered the hostility and ignorance, I was stunned to find that there were too many people needing assistance for the number of escorts they provided. A man in a wheelchair ultimately decided to wheel himself to his destination. The escort with me attempted to "call a cart" probably 10 times, to no avail. We finally ended up running to my gate. I made it onboard the plane as they were about to close the gate (so much for my priority boarding) and was so anxious from the possibility of having to take a different flight that my breathing did not fully return to normal until I was back home in my apartment.

The airline promised to "re-educate" their employees. I don't know whether or not it was just to placate me. I'm hoping it wasn't because I don't want anyone else to have a similar experience. They also offered a travel voucher, which I grudgingly accepted... only because they are the only airline which flies out of my local airport.

Don't get me wrong. I'm NOT saying I would rather have a physical or visible disability. What I am saying is that having an invisible disability can be a real pain! I hate hearing "but there's nothing wrong with you" or  "you look normal to me". WHAT DOES NORMAL LOOK LIKE? Does my brain look normal? Does anyone look normal. What is normal? I just wish that people were better educated.

Tonight I sign off with the promotion of an amazing organization: http://invisibledisabilities.org/

The Fault In My Heart

The Fault In My Heart

Growing up, there were a lot of times that I didn't understand my emotions. I would say something innocent to my mom and immediately she would ask what was wrong. When I claimed nothing, she argued, saying that my tone told her differently. 

I never intentionally lied about my emotions; I just didn't understand them. That's part of the reason I was misdiagnosed with several different mood disorders. I would be happy for no reason, crying without knowing why, anxious over not knowing what I was anxious about... I could never just know where my feelings were coming from.

Over time, this went from a mere annoyance to a new source of pain for me. I felt like I was going crazy. I had mood swings that I couldn't explain and worst of all, I didn't always even know what my mood was. 

So I started doing something that seemed so brilliant at the time, but makes me feel stupid every time I do it. I started trying to create reasons for my emotions. 

On an emotional day, I'll lay in bed in my pajamas and watch a depressing movie; A Fault In Our Stars or A Time For Dancing for instance, so I can blame my depression on missing Carol or RJ (or just the beast that is cancer in general). If cancer isn't the special of the day, I'll watch pretty much any Lifetime movie, knowing at least I'll have an excuse for my tears. Do the actual reasons behind my emotions lead me towards the various categories of movies? It's very possible but I may never know. 

If I'm feeling anxious (and I have the free time) I'll choose a book to read. Sounds like a good idea, but my book choices tell another story. I'll grab My Sister's Keeper (a choice typically reserved for medical related anxieties) or Lucky (a choice reserved for emotionally related anxieties). I'll grab The Jaycee Dugard Story to show myself how lucky I am to have lived the life I lived. I'll grab a Monk book to show myself that in comparison to the fictional Adrian Monk, my obsessions and quirks are NOTHING! Again, this may seem harmless but after each bout of "coping" I realize just how ridiculous it all is. 

So why open the floodgates and allow the emotional movies and books in? In a way they make me feel normal. I can explain why I'm crying if a character has just died a similar death to someone I loved. Unfortunately, this is a band-aid, and a poor band-aid at that. At some point, I have to learn how to understand the causes of my emotions. I can't keep "creating" reasons for how I'm feeling. By doing what I'm doing, all I'm doing is failing to deal with the true problems. 

...That's the fault in my heart. 

A Shock To The System

A Shock To The System

If you know anyone with Aspergers (or have read my blog), you know how essential routine can be. I've said it before and I'll say it again: if someone interrupts my routine, I'm completely thrown for a loop! Well, after a year, it's finally happened. My daily routine has been disrupted. 

I've been working the same shifts at each job for over a full year. Always morning shifts at my electronics store and always night shifts at the pizzeria. I can perform all opening tasks at my store without even thinking. 

In May, I took on a full-time position at my store. Since then, my routine had remained intact. I had worked out this schedule when I first began both jobs a year earlier, and no one expected things to change right away. 

I expected change to come, but assumed that it would would be spoken about at length and would be gradual... it was not. One day, I looked at my schedule and I was scheduled to work two closing shifts. After discussing things with management, I agreed to the change, but didn't think about how it would effect my routine. 

I love both my jobs and will do anything I need to in order to keep everyone happy. I never thought there would be an issue with my routine. The change seemed minor enough; getting home earlier at night and not having to wake up as early. The problem, I've discovered, was that in getting home earlier, I was able to get sidetracked and obsessed with random internet research. The hours of being on the internet kept me up later at night, leading to me sleeping later in the mornings. I started being less productive during the day, more tired, and last night, I slept through my blogging (when I woke up at 4am, it was not the time). I know I'll get used to it, but until then, my system is in quite a shock.

So I may have to rely on coping mechanisms. I've had people suggest using a timer when I go onto the internet so that I don't get carried away with random research. I've discovered two inherent problems with that. The first is that I turn the timer off and keep going. The second is that I never know what is going to stick in my brain as an obsession and cause a three or four hour marathon of research. 

So now I turn to you readers: please leave coping mechanisms in the comments section. I will be forever grateful! 

My Inspirations

My Inspirations

I've never been any good at making decisions. One of my friends and I used to literally spend an hour on the phone discussing what movie we wanted to see only to change our minds at the ticket window. I would always start to stand up for myself only to mumble "never mind" when asked to repeat myself. I would start each dance year off with at least 10 different options for a solo song and would always have a difficult time choosing my solo costume. Simply put... Decision making... NOT MY THING.

I never had a consistent idea of what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to do it all. Starting when I was just four years of age, I had a list a mile long of things I was going to accomplish. I wanted to be "a mommy, doctor, dentist, veterinarian for only horses and guinea pigs, lawyer, dance teacher, coach of the Buffalo Bills..." the list grew every day. Some jobs were added as an attempt to strengthen a bond between myself and various particular family members; but most just fit in with my ultimate goal of changing the world.

It has always been my dream to change the world. I know that sounds like a beauty queen response, but it’s true. As I proceeded through life, I dedicated as much of my time to community service projects and volunteer positions as I could. I have volunteered at nursing homes and assisted living facilities, a local bookstore that was unable to pay its employees, various hospitals, and for organizations such as The American Cancer Society and The Polycystic Kidney Foundation.

That was one decision that was easy to make. I've always wanted to help; always wanted to be involved; to make a difference. I've had numerous role models, too many to name here (although each occupies a special place in my heart) to help inspire me along my way. People who were (and are) major influences in my life and affected the lives of everyone they met.

People like Don: a man who took me under his wing at a very young age. A man who risked his life to save a cat that was stuck in a tree. A man who got out of his wheelchair to dance with his wife at his surprise birthday party-making his own surprise the best (and most emotional) of the night. A man who made my night by sitting with ME at his party instead of his adult friends or family members. A man who lives on in our hearts and in every prop he ever made for the dance studio. 

People like Ellen: a teacher at my middle school who took me under her wing on the first day of school (even though I wasn't her student) because she could tell I was nervous and uncomfortable. In a vain attempt at being popular, I played the other kids game of "ignore the teacher" for a few weeks, but soon I didn't care what anyone else thought of me. She welcomed me to school each and every morning with a smile and a truly heartfelt "how are you?" I always knew that she really wanted to know; she wasn't just making small talk. She always tried to help me fix my problems, no matter how big or how trivial. She attended my Bat Mitzvah, became a close family and personal friend, and when my best friend and walking buddy moved away, she became my breakfast buddy every morning before school. We became our own little family and she became my "Nana". She was truly a remarkable teacher; she cared more for her students outside of the classroom than she did inside. We weren't just her students; we were each individuals whom she believed could do anything. We are and will always be her legacy. 

People like Dr. Marcus: my Jewish mentor. When I was little and attended (and helped lead) Shabbat services alone or with my older brother, during Kiddush, Dr. Marcus would always take me aside and introduce me to everyone he knew. He would beam like a proud father as he told his friends of my many accomplishments and about my love for Judaism (a large part of which he gave me). He made sure that I was never left out of a single Kiddush (a tall task considering I didn't really fit in with the other congregants). He not only made a personal impact on my life in the ways that I've previously spoken of; but he also made sure that I (and everyone around) knew how special I was. He wore many hats, among them: mentor, teacher, friend, husband, and son. I don't think that there's a single person he met that he didn't make smile. He has certainly affected the lives of many people, all different ages and generations. Dr. Marcus had the wisdom of a 500 year old and the heart of an 18 year old. He lived every day to its fullest and always remembered to 'think young.' He was also a very determined man. I watched him go through years of physical therapy. As a student of his, I was sure that he'd succeed so we made a deal that when he was better, we'd go dancing. We never made it, but I know that we will meet again and dance one day in heaven.

People like Carol: my "other mother". When I went to college, my mom made sure that I wouldn't be alone in an emergency. One of her close friends from work, Carol, lived and worked near my school and had offered to be my lifeline. I was skeptical and against it until the first time I needed her. Carol dropped everything she was doing to meet me at the hospital when I was sick. She stayed with me ALL NIGHT until my mom arrived even though she had to work in the morning. She went above and beyond the call of duty and became my other mother that very night. She was someone who was there through the good and bad. Someone who had absolutely NO obligation to me but loved me anyways. Her love and strength inspires me. Carol was diagnosed with cancer and never skipped a beat. She worked almost until the end, keeping the seriousness of her situation a secret so that no one would be burdened by her impending passing. I wish we had known so we could have supported her, helped her carry the burden, and said our goodbyes; but she was a strong and steadfast woman and she lived her life exactly as she wanted to. She was and will always be a huge inspiration to me, an amazing role model, and my proof that I could be close to someone that I wasn't related to and hadn't known since I was a young child.

There are so many more inspirational people in my life, but these four are each particularly special in their own ways. If I described them properly, it should come as no surprise that each of them inspired me to be an even better person and that if I can effect the lives of even half as many people as they have, I'll consider myself extremely successful in my goal to change the world.

Independence Day

Independence Day

Independence is such a difficult thing to obtain when you're an Aspie. Sure, one could say I celebrated my independence today by working both my jobs in order to enable myself to pay MY OWN bills.

The truth is, I don't know if I will ever truly be independent. I do live on my own but even that took a lot of work! I had to demonstrate my readiness. My four years of living at college meant nothing. I had to prove myself again from scratch.

I know my family only meant well, but I moved out on my own (half-way across the country) fully knowing that there were people expecting me to fail. For someone with low self-esteem like myself, that put a HUGE weight on my shoulders. I didn't want to let anyone down and I wanted to prove to everyone that I could make it on my own.

My ability to make it on my own was put to the test shortly after my arrival in Texas when I lost the job I'd moved my life to take. The day I lost my job, I cried and broke down... and by that night, I was already applying for new jobs. For a long time after I lost my job, I hid. It didn't matter to me that I'd gotten three jobs to replace the one I'd lost or that I was doing something that required so much strength that I never had shown before... I was too afraid of being seen as a failure.

But I'm not a failure. Everything in life happens for a reason. Losing my job led me to personal growth. Personal growth led me to creating this blog. This blog is continuing my personal growth each and every day. I am doing things I never imagined I would do. I am approaching strangers at work and starting conversations with them. I am receiving wonderful comments from my customers regarding their experience with me as their saleswoman. I found a way to stay here in Texas and am making things work for myself.

That said, even though I live half-way across the country, I am not entirely independent. I rely heavily on my family. Some is monetary but most is emotional or supportive. When I'm having a panic attack, no one can calm me down like my mom. Any time I need to send an important communication, I always run it by my mom and dad first to make sure it's clear, polite, and proper. I've run my resume and mock interview responses by my brother so many times, he could probably go on a job interview for me. My grandparents are there for me whenever I call, no matter how late at night, and will stay on the phone with me for as long as I need them. 

...and my family does all of this without complaining or expecting anything in return. 

So today we celebrate independence. With Aspergers, celebrations come with "smaller" achievements. I'm not fully independent and that's okay. Today I embrace and celebrate the independence I have and I thank my lucky stars that I have such an incredible family to depend on. 

Not So Undercover Anymore

Not So Undercover Anymore

When I was first diagnosed, I called myself the "Undercover Aspie". Hardly anyone knew and those who did were sworn to secrecy. I was afraid. I was afraid of how people would treat me. I was afraid of how people would react. I was afraid of letting people down. I was afraid of not being good enough. I was afraid of losing my job. I was afraid of everything.

Very soon after my diagnosis, I moved to Texas. It was a difficult task; convincing my parents that I could make the move. I had to show them that I knew what was waiting for me in the real world. I made a budget, showed that I could do my own shopping and take care of myself... but honestly, I had no idea what was waiting for me. 

The real world can be an unforgiving place. 90 days into my dream job, it slipped away. That afternoon, in a fit of anger, I wrote a post on an Aspergers group on facebook. I thought it was a secret group... I was wrong. My mom called me and told me to take it down, but it was too late. I didn't know it at the time, but several people back home had already seen it. 

The amazing thing is that those who saw it started to understand. They realized that I never meant to say the wrong thing or act the wrong way; it was something I couldn't prevent. Several of my friends approached my mom and talked to her about it. I didn't find out for a few months, but when I did, I didn't really know what to think. I was still uncomfortable with people knowing.

But as each day passes, I feel like I am embracing who I am. A large part of me is my Aspergers and it always will be. I can either hide it for the rest of my life and be ashamed of a part of myself or I can proudly wear my Aspergers as a badge of honor. It's not always sunshine and roses, but I need to look at it that way.

A few months ago, I noticed that I began slipping my Aspergers into the rare conversation. Someone would comment about my vast knowledge of technology or something that brought it to my mind and I would make a passing comment. Sometimes the person responded and sometimes it was completely glossed over. The response was always the same: "I never would have guessed". I guess that's how I went undiagnosed for so long. 

It's interesting that I felt more comfortable slipping a comment about Aspergers into a conversation with a stranger versus a friend, but I truthfully didn't care about what the stranger thought of me. I was terrified of being patronized, protected, and looked at differently by those whose opinions I cared about the most. 

Over the past 20 days or so, since I began my blog, I've started to emerge even more from my cover. Before, nothing about my Aspergers was in my name... now my blog is connected to my google plus account. I've begun sharing my blog with at least one new person every day. I have still not shared it as a link on my facebook account, but I have sent links to it via messages to certain friends, old teachers, family members, co-workers, and online friends. I've also shared the link with my psychologist and my counselor from college, with the hopes that my blog will both give them insight into my mind and/or help one of their other patients or clients. 

I don't know that I'll ever shout it from the rooftops, but I know that, at least today, I'm not so undercover anymore.