One Amazing Woman

It’s been awhile since my last entry. I guess you could say my need for routine has loosened a bit... I still jot notes down every night but I no longer need to publish a complete blog post before going to sleep. That said, I am pleased that there are some changes happening in my life that will allow me more time to write again. I still feel that this blog is important, not just to me, but to someone who will someday read it and use it as a resource, either to understand the mind of their child or to understand themselves.

I stopped my daily writing in September, when my mom came for a visit. I was so excited for her arrival. A lot of girls say it, but my mom is truly my best friend. We have a closer relationship than most mothers and daughters do. We had the same extracurricular activity for 20 years. We spent night after night at the studio together. We had rituals like Tuesday night dinners at Friendly’s before dance and cookies at the bakery on Saturdays between classes. At home, my mom would call me into the family room and FORCE me to practice my dances... but I always knew them and that always made me feel good about myself.

But it wasn’t just dance. My mom is simply awesome! She knows from my voice when something is wrong, she always knows how to make everything okay, and she’s the only one who can calm me down when I am panicking. She knows just how to make me laugh and when to be serious. Sure, we fight. Every mother and daughter do... But I wouldn’t know what to do without her.

The day of mom’s arrival I was on cloud 9. I got to work and was dancing around the store telling everyone who would listen that my mom was coming. All day, I kept peeking towards the front of the store, waiting for that familiar face to come through that door. Of course, nothing is like it is in the movies. My mom came in while I was with a customer and rather than running to greet her as I had intended, I instead had to settle for a tiny wave and 15 excruciating minutes of a customer asking inane questions about every item on the shelf in front of them.

FINALLY the customer decided to leave, of course empty handed, and I was free to go give my mom a hug.  This showing of affection surprised my co-workers who know me as the “please don’t touch me” girl. (We have a customer who comes in regularly and gives me a hug every time he sees me. After explaining about my Aspergers 6 or 7 times, I finally decided to just grin and bear it and awkwardly stand there until he lets go.) I’ve always been able to show affection towards my family members and have never had an issue with physical contact when it came to family (except with my Nana, who said I didn’t kiss her like I meant it... I was just putting my lips to her face... but I don’t know if that was an Aspie thing or not), but I can see where my co-workers shock stemmed from.

What happened next truly surprised me. My coworkers figured out a way that I could leave for the day and spend more time with my mom. They took care of everything. They got coverage, managerial permission, and sent us on our way. I had been excited for my mom to meet my team; the people who I was working WITH not beside... but they gave me a more momentous thing to celebrate: true friendship. It’s not co-workers who will go out of their way to make sure you get to spend time with your mom; it’s friends.

Creatures of Habit

A month ago, my mom came down to Texas for a week-long visit. I love it when she comes but it’s also stressful in a weird way. I spend days cleaning my apartment, trying to make it look respectable for her, but never quite get there. I finally admitted something to her that I only recently admitted to myself. I keep my apartment messy on purpose. I hate always feeling alone and if I keep my apartment messy and full, I can pretend that I have someone else living there, they’re just never home when I am. It sounds crazy but it makes me feel like I’m not alone. While she reiterated that there are better ways to pretend someone else is living there, she began to show signs of understanding. It’s not that I don’t try to clean up; there’s something in my brain that’s fundamentally against it. I’m not a hoarder by definition, but I keep things around (that could be thrown away) simply because I like the feeling I get when my apartment looks “lived in”.

The other stressful thing about my mom (or anyone from home) coming for a visit is my unending desire to prove that I’m making it on my own. I want to show her that I keep a well stocked kitchen (complete with healthy options), that I properly ration out my money, that I am thoughtful in making decisions, and that I can take care of myself. Of course, it’s very easy to revert back to my old ways when my mommy is back by my side.

After putting off going to an adult ballet class at the local civic ballet since the day I moved here in January of 2013, I asked my mom if she would go with me. I didn’t want her to know that I was scared, so I called her up with a simple request. I told her that the most important day of my life had happened when I was just two years old and I had no memory of it. I then asked her if she would take me to my first ballet class (as a 24 year old) and give me a memory to hold onto. Of course she said yes. I think she knew that I was frightened to go alone; she was just too considerate of my feelings to say anything.

The day of the ballet class was insane. I was running around my apartment trying different hair styles and outfits, trying to make myself look like a “betty bunhead” when I’ve always been a “tip top tapper”. I wanted so badly to fit in with the image I had in my head of what the other girls would be like. Mom wasn’t worried in the least, but I made her go a whole hour before class started, so we could warm up and I could size-up the place.

Of course being me, I had some interesting thoughts during the class that didn’t go through a filter (because I don’t have one) and instead came right out my mouth. I kept talking about how much I hated the floor in the studio because I was used to turning on hardwood and we were using floors with marley (for the girls who were en pointe). I asked way too many questions and steered the group off topic several times. At one point, I even made a nasty comment that no one seemed to understand that I weighed (AND I ACTUALLY SAID MY WEIGHT OUT LOUD)! I had planned on talking to the teacher at the end of the class so that he understood about my Aspergers, but as mommies always do, mine was worried and pulled me aside, asking if it would be okay to tell him. Actually, it was more a discussion of it being unfair not to tell him... but either way, the point is, I had evolved to the level where I was going to disclose about my Aspergers on my own, but with my mom around, I let her take over and do it for me.

Later in the week, we went to a movie and I saw firsthand how different things are now that I have my diagnosis. First and foremost I want to say that I am in NO WAY upset with my mother or wishing my mother had acted differently in ANY of the situations in this post. I am so glad she was here and miss her so much every day that she’s back home. That said, things have changed and I would be remiss to avoid the topic.

We went to see an R-rated movie on a weeknight. I go into a movie like that with certain expectations; the biggest one being that I will be in a theatre full of age-appropriate viewers. I was sitting with my mom in the theatre, creating my bubble of space around me, when the previews started. It was already dark when the people in front of us chose their seats. It looked like four adults and I had no reason to believe it wasn’t. The beginning of the movie was fine. About an hour in, the person in front of me began shaking. At first I thought she was having a seizure, but no one with her was worried, or even noticed what was happening. After my initial worries subsided, I became increasingly irritated. She began flinging herself against her chair-back, as hard as possible, then looking up at me and grinning (as if wondering to herself, “Is she mad yet?”). I held my tongue for about 40 minutes then finally asked her to stop because it was annoying. All of a sudden, everyone’s mad at me. Come to find out the woman who was banging into her chair was actually a kid and her mother was really angry that I got irritated and asked her to stop banging. When I realized it was a kid, I got so upset I was shaking and crying and couldn’t think of anything else. The mother was demanding an apology after the movie, but in my mind, I was afraid things would get worse once the lights were up.

That’s when mom stepped in. She told me to stay put and stay quiet. She went down and told the woman about my Aspergers, my lack of filter, my inability to properly modulate my tone of voice, and basically “got me out of trouble”... but something was still bothering me. After we got home and she explained to me how I could have better handled the situation, I was still wondering whether everything would have been different if I hadn’t had my diagnosis yet. I love my mom; she’s my best friend and I trust her more than anything, but I don’t know that I can believe her reply that she would have handled things the same way regardless of diagnosis. I feel like she would have been angry with me before we got the diagnosis and she certainly would have made me go apologize. I am so grateful to have a mom who wants to take care of me, but when you live on your own, halfway across the country from your family, you sort of need to sink or swim on your own.

I finally understand why my mom has been so against my desire to move back home and has firmly stated that if I return to the area, I need to maintain my own residence. We are creatures of habit. We resort back to the ways we’ve always done things. I’ve always relied on my mom. She’s always been the one to intervene. She doesn’t want me to lose all of the amazing gains I’ve had in the last year and a half just because we’re creatures of habit.

(I promise the next blog will have all the great memories from my mom's trip)

Time To Get Up and Try Again

So it’s been awhile. A lot of things have happened and every time I started to write, I wasn't sure where to begin or how to go about it. Should I write one horrifically long post that no one will ever finish or several shorter posts that will each be read, but that I will need to order, organize, and prioritize? I chose the later.

First, I want to explain where I went. I lost myself for a bit. I experienced a setback in my life that I couldn’t come to terms with; and when I finally could, I just wanted to forget about it. When I last posted, I wrote of an interview for a job that I really wanted (and honestly felt was mine to lose). Shortly thereafter, I found out that I didn’t get that job. It had nothing to do with my qualifications or my drive; but management didn’t feel that I was “mentally ready”. To me, their reasoning was a crushing blow. 

I’ve worked so hard to become the woman I am today. The “me” from a year ago would not recognize the “me” of today. I am self-reliant, self-assured (for the most part), sociable (or attempting to be), hard-working as always, still honest to a fault, and am gaining self-confidence almost every day. I worked hard to develop good relationships with my co-workers and to establish myself as a leader. Towards the end, I was seeing the fruits of my labor.

It became “MY TEAM... MY DEPARTMENT... MY GUYS” when I was talking. As I said to my general manager: “the department became my baby. I’ve been there the longest and had trained each and every one of the guys on the team. I feel more responsible for what happens in my department because I’ve been the model. When a guest comes back with a problem, I work hard to solve it and always apologize profusely and look for a way to gently remind my peers of a way to prevent the problem from happening again.”

That may not seem important to many people, but it’s a huge step for me. I’ve never had a team before. I’ve never truly been a part of a group that all worked together. Sure, at dance we did group dances, but the other girls always hung out outside of dance, and I was rarely invited. There was an age difference, my mom worked at the studio, and I was not yet versed in the rules of socializing. This job changed my life and gave me a once in a lifetime feeling. A feeling of not only being included, but feeling like a leader.

Losing the leadership job I’d applied for was a crushing blow because I’d been doing it. The person who’d previously held the position had been grooming me to take over, as requested by management. I felt like I’d been doing a great job. I took ownership, I was a leader, I was ready... but they didn’t see it that way. They said I’d made huge strides but that I wasn’t ready yet. They needed to see a longer history of this behavior.

I am ashamed to say I cried right there in the general manager’s office... sobbed actually. After being told I wasn’t mentally ready, I had a breakdown; proving that he was absolutely correct. That stung. I finally excused myself to the ladies room and called my mom; still bawling my eyes out. I told her that I hated myself. I called myself a failure. I think at one point I may have even said I hated having Aspergers (if I didn’t say it, I definitely thought it). She did her best to calm me down and told me that I should be thankful; that my manager was looking out for my best interests. That he wants me to succeed and he was afraid if I got promoted too early, I would fail.

Not believing a word of what I was saying, I went back to his office and reiterated my mother’s feelings. “First, I wanted to thank you for believing in me from the day you met me.” The conversation was long and sappy and since I didn’t believe in it at the time, I didn’t write any of it down for my blog past that first line... but I know I promised not to lose my dedication and to keep doing better.

On our general manager’s first day, he asked us all to write him an email introducing ourselves and talking about the things we loved and hated about working at the store. Below is my response (written on 10-30-13):I want to start by saying that I'm not your typical salesperson. Less than a year ago, I was diagnosed with Autism. Most people my age would use that as an excuse or crutch; a reason for not going after jobs that involve communication or social skills, but not me. I knew, after completing four years of Disabilities Studies in college, that it was late for me to begin receiving therapy for my Autism. Knowing this, I applied for and accepted three jobs that would put me into situations where I was least comfortable; approaching strangers, making small talk, listening to and understanding the needs of others, recognizing when I'm misunderstanding or being misunderstood... all of these things were encompassed in the two retail jobs and one restaurant job I took. 

What I love about my job here are the strides I've made in my communication skills and confidence levels since I started. The four days of sales induction literally changed my life. I learned for the first time how to properly communicate. The role playing conversations that were so foreign and uncomfortable to me on day one were simple by day four. Since returning from my induction, I have flourished. I've received customer compliments and both my family and friends have noticed a vast difference in my communication and socialization skills. 

What I dislike about my job, specifically about working in the cellular phone department, is that my department is like one big clique that I'm not a part of. Even new employees in other departments have noticed that I never seem to be accepted by my direct co-workers. I always feel left out and while I know that work isn't about socializing, it's difficult to work with people who don't seem to like you. Within days, it seems like they've either accepted a newcomer or they've exiled them. Those that are exiled typically don't stick around for very long. I was the exception, but it's getting harder and harder. I feel like I'm always walking on eggshells just to keep things civil with my co-workers, but they sit and joke, laugh, go out to dinner, and all sorts of things all the time. I hope that can change! I vastly appreciate your dedication to Employee Rapport.

Thank you for taking the time to ask us how we feel. I look forward to getting to know you.

Now go back and read the comments I made about my computers team. Look at the amazing growth that occurred in just 11 months. Am I still upset that I didn’t get the job? Of course I am. I felt like I deserved it. That said, it’s time to get up and try again.

Do You Believe?

My head is spinning right now and I’m going to do my best to make this post make sense.

I went to the movie theatre today to see Step Up. To my surprise, after buying my ticket and snacks, I learned that the movie times I had viewed were incorrect and I had to choose a different movie. I decided to see If I Stay.

Usually I watch those kinds of movies in the privacy of my apartment. I never know quite how I’m going to react and am typically too shy to show my reactions in public. For some reason, today I went anyways.

I don’t usually discuss the goings on in my head, particularly when it comes to thoughts of life and death, because I brought them up several times to different therapists when I was young and was told that children shouldn’t think of those things. I don’t know whether other people contemplate the world in the same way that I do or not, but I’m going to put it out there, and if you think I’m nuts, so be it.

One of the first thoughts I had when I was little (at least one of the first thoughts that I could remember) was that we were all parts of someone else’s story. I wondered if we were characters in a giant videogame or if we were playing roles in a movie. It seemed like we had free will, but what if someone else was calling all the shots? After all, we’ve all done things we swore we’d never do.

When I was about 3 years old, my grandfather and my great grandfather both passed away. I didn’t fully grasp it at the time, but I had some ideas of what death was. I used to go out into the driveway and blow bubbles up towards the sky. I’d try to get the bubbles all the way to heaven so that my grandfather and great grandfather would have something to play with while they waited for more family members to join them. I thought of heaven as most television portrayals: a castle of clouds and everything you dream of (except your loved ones)... And in my mind, I saw my family members being given the ability to come back to earth to watch over us and love us. I didn’t believe in ghosts, but I believed the spirits lingered.

As I got older, I contemplated what you feel when you die. Is it like going to sleep? Is there something after or is there nothing? Is it like being in a sensory deprivation chamber for all of eternity or is heaven real? It took me a long time to realize that the only people who knew those answers were people who could never answer them. I had to choose what I believed in and have confidence in my choice. With my massive phobia of death, I had to choose the belief that would ease my mind as much as humanly possible.

I chose to believe in spirits and signs and the ability to communicate without actually talking to someone. When I was a junior in high school, my great grandmother got very sick. I wasn’t allowed to see her, because it was too risky. I could have gotten very sick because of my auto-immune disease. She was my hero; my everything. I loved her to infinity and back. The day she passed away, I had a bad feeling. I was at the hospital she was at and I begged my mom to let me go see her. When all my pleas failed, I went to the restroom and attempted to communicate with her telepathically (no, I don’t believe in telepathy per say, but I do believe that if you try hard enough to tell someone that you love something important, the message gets through). I stomped on the floor to get her attention, and I told her how much I loved her. I told her how much I wanted to be by her side, holding her hand and giving her hugs, but that I couldn’t be. I told her she would always be my hero... then I wiped my tears, washed my face, and went home. Today I know that what happened was for the best. It was better for me to tell her all this while imagining the healthy woman I knew than to tell her while looking at her wasting away in a hospital bed on her final day.

That night, we got the call and my world stopped. I began to doubt everything I ever thought about life and death. I began to wonder if heaven was real and I was so afraid that I would lose her forever. I did something that night that I thought I would never do. With my mom and grandmother by my side, I went to say goodbye to my great grandmother.

I never told anyone this before, but when I touched her cheek and felt the coldness, I knew that in some way, I was right. Her soul wasn’t in that body. I was touching a shell... she was still out there; and she still is today. When it was time for her funeral, we did something that no one is supposed to do in our religion: we sent her to heaven with everything she would need. I gave her a picture from my junior prom and set of power beads (I have one for each of my grandparents and one for myself), we tucked her in with a blanket, put on her reading glasses, gave her a book and a nightlight... everyone in our family put something in. My little cousin put in her pink baby; a doll that had gone everywhere with her since the day she was born. I don’t think I need any more confirmation that there’s a heaven.

That being said, confirmations still come. Signs come to me in all shapes and sizes. I had a friend in high school who was diagnosed with cancer. He was eccentric and fun and definitely one of a kind. The day he passed on, three long years after his fight began, it snowed. It was 43 degrees outside. I simply smiled. I knew he was letting me know that he was okay... moreover, I was imagining all the havoc he was undoubtedly reeking on heaven and how much zanier heaven would be with him in it. Ever since, any time I need to know something (good or bad), something zany happens with the weather. I’ve had it be torrentially downpouring on one side of the building and sunny on the other, I’ve experienced streets so flooded that my car practically floated down them, and so much more. And of course, it rains like crazy every year on his birthday.

My first day back at work after Carol passed was incredibly hard for me; but somehow, she kept letting me know that she was there. My first guest of the day was named Carol. Another one of my guests was from Hicksville, New York (where she lived). Another guest came in with his dog. I’ve never liked dogs, but the last time I was with Carol, her dog was with us. This dog stopped in her tracks and stared at me, wagging her tail. Finally her owner told me that she wouldn’t move on until I acknowledged her. After petting the dog, I began to tear up. I had received three signs from Carol that day.

Last week was difficult for me. The one year anniversary of Don’s passing was on August 21. I was already emotional due to the number of ALS Ice Bucket Challenge videos out there and was feeling sad that all this awareness didn’t exist last year when he was still alive. Even though I was emotional, my day had to go on. When I got to work, my first customer of the day was named Don. His son kept trying to do a duck voice (something my dad does VERY well). Later that day, I met a man (another guest) who needed to take a call during our interaction. I heard him say he was going on an ice run and thought nothing of it. We get a lot of truck drivers at our store... BUT THEN he told me that his brother has ALS and that no less than 300 people were getting together to do a giant ice bucket challenge that afternoon. I started to cry. I showed him a picture of Don and told him just how amazing I thought it was that he was going to do something so big; he just gave me a hug (and surprisingly, I let him).

On Friday, I had an interview for a job promotion that I’ve wanted for a very long time. Something I always admired about Carol was how dedicated she was to her job. I wanted a job that I would love as much as she loved hers. Due to my Aspergers and anxiety, I never have an easy time with interviews, but it’s even harder when it’s a job I’ve been dreaming about for months. After my interview, I was feeling down, as I always am after attempting to do something (like an audition or job interview)... I guess I feel like if I don’t expect anything good to happen, I won’t be let down when it doesn’t. Anyways, after my interview, I went back out on the floor and was approached by a lovely woman. She had just gotten out of the hospital after having a very severe infection which led to severe memory loss. She had been in the store the day before and had purchased an ipad, but needed help setting it up and accessing her passwords. After a short time of helping her, I needed to look up her information. Something had drawn me to her from the moment I saw her, but I didn’t know what it was. Upon entering her telephone number into my computer, I learned that her name was Carol and she lived on Susan road (my mom’s name is Susan and Carol was her friend and co-worker first). Carol then told me that her husband’s name was John (same as my Carol). I pulled out my phone and showed her the background photo, a picture of Carol and I from my graduation. She told me that I should call Carol up and tell her I’d met the Carol of the future (and of Texas). I told her I wished I could. I continued on to tell her that Carol had passed earlier this year but that she makes sure to send me lots of angels.

So, where did all of this come from? I guess the movie got me thinking. I’ve been writing this entry for hours, ever since I got back from the movie... I was even drafting it in my head during some of the scenes. For once, everything just clicked and I realized that yes, I fully believe in the theories I’ve spent most of my life developing and believing in. Heaven is real, angels are real, souls never leave, and signs are certainly real.

I believe.

Overcoming (Seemingly Impossible) Obstacles

Overcoming The Seemingly Impossible

Phobia No More!

Everyone has things that they're afraid of. Some are rational, like heights or death... some are irrational (like my phobia of blue cheese... it's MOLD people!)... some are common, like arachnophobia... and some are made up, like escalaphobia: the fear of escalators (yes, I created that one too). 

I don't know how "Normies" deal with their fears, but I know that for me, a person with Aspergers, each fear seems impossible to conquer. 

This past week, I cannot explain how, but I faced more than one of my fears head on. I am terrified of standing up for myself, but I did. I hate putting everything out there for people to see and judge, but I interviewed for a promotion that I really want anyways. And I'm paralyzingly afraid of heights, but today, I somehow overcame that.

At my job at the pizzeria, the boss I've previously referred to as Harry, has been making me feel badly for some time now. I'll be doing my job, stop for two seconds to breathe, and be reprimanded for not working hard enough. I'll be standing at my cash register minding my own business, when a waitress comes up to ask me something, and Harry makes a snarky remark like "are we having a slumber party and doing each other's make-up and hair?" 

The other night, I hit a breaking point. My cash register wasn't working and I was counting out change to my customers instead of just reading the change amount off the register. One of my customers had his young son with him. His son was looking at me with an interested look on his face as I was counting out the change. I smiled at him and said "this is why little boys and girls need to go to math class". I was shocked and humiliated when Harry retorted: "You didn't count that fast. I wouldn't be too proud of that if I were you!" in front of my customer!  

I was ready to walk out, but I'd promised my mom that I wouldn't quit... so I stayed. I didn't say anything to him, but I did seek comforting advice from a friend and co-worker. The following day, I didn't want to go to work. I was still really mad and embarrassed and confused. I decided to go and just keep my distance from Harry. 

That worked for a good portion of the night... Unfortunately, another one of my irrational fears had to mess everything up. I was pouring some blue cheese dressing into a container for a customer and was having trouble getting it out. One of my managers told me to shake the container and the other told me to refill it. Being irrationally afraid and grossed out by blue cheese, I chose to listen to the one who suggested I shake it. Unfortunately, the other manager got very angry very fast and cussed me out. I asked what I did wrong and she remarked that it "wasn't rocket science"... and she was the one I sought solace from the night before. 

I forced myself through my next two customers then took off for the back of the restaurant in tears. She did come over and talk to me, but I admitted to her that about 95% of the tears were about Harry, not her. She didn't want me to talk to him, but somehow I was bound and determined. I was going to find out why he said what he said no matter what. 

I calmly approached Harry and asked him about his comment from the previous night. He didn't understand why I hadn't asked then and he didn't understand why I took it so seriously (even though I've explained the literalism that comes with Aspergers at least 10 different times to him), but he did apologize, something I never thought I'd hear. He told me that he was glad I didn't just quit, because that wouldn't have solved anything... and he told me if he didn't think I was smart, he wouldn't let me work the cash register. 

He went on to say that (in answer to my question) if he was getting a tax break for having me in his employ, it was due to an answer I gave on an onboarding form and that he doesn't see me that way. He said that he didn't see an issue with collecting the refund, but that I was plenty hireable without it. He also put to rest my fears that I had been forced on him by an employee who no longer worked for the company. One of the managers had taken pity on me when I lost my job and within a day, had gotten me a job offer at the pizzeria. When she was later fired for stealing, I noticed Harry's attitude towards me start to change and became very concerned that he'd only hired me because she asked him to and that with her gone, he wanted me gone too. 

As hard as it was for me to have this conversation, I NEEDED to do this. It had been building for months and it was time to put everything to rest!

In other BIG news, I conquered my fear of heights today. I have never been able to climb the ladder at the electronics store I work at. I climbed it once and froze, unable to move up or down, scaring my guest (who was in the military and offered to climb up to get me, but couldn't because it's against company policy for a customer to use the ladder). After that incident, it was determined that I would not attempt to climb the ladder again. 

I have NO idea why, but tonight while I was working, I climbed the ladder three separate times. I was clinging to the railings for dear life and stepped down like a toddler just learning to walk, but I did it! At this point, I just pray it gets easier!

Sending out good vibes to all of you; hoping you can share some amazing stories of overcoming seemingly impossible obstacles as well!

Hard to Say Goodbye

It's been awhile since I've written. I've been on an emotional roller coaster and haven't been able to express myself the way I wanted to. With me, emotions are a very difficult thing. If there is something going on in my life that is causing anxiety, stress, depression, etc. I get physically ill. I am plagued with chronic migraines and, although I know I am my own worst enemy, I cannot always stop them from appearing.

I recently had a migraine that landed me in the hospital. It was the first time I'd ever truly gone to the hospital alone. I put on a brave face, took my hospital bear with me, advocated for myself and told the doctors and nurses exactly what I needed; but I was petrified.

My bear is on the right. The dog on the left is one of the bears I made for the kids in the pediatric ward of the New York hospital I had stayed in during my college years. I loved playing Santa and bringing stuffed animals to all the kids.

When I was growing up, I always had my mom or my grandfather at the hospital with me. When I got to college, Carol became my hospital buddy. For a short time, she was joined by a boyfriend of mine, but SHE was the one I relied on. 

After calling my mom to let her know I was going to the hospital, it dawned on me that I wouldn't have either of them. Luckily a friend from my community was able to drive me to the ER, but for the first time in my life, I walked in alone. 

I do have to say that everyone was very nice and that once I explained about the Aspergers, they knew how to act regarding my treatment. There were some miscommunications; like when I asked the nurse if she could get an IV nurse (I have bad veins) and her response was that everyone knows how to do IVs... I think I offended her, but after she got me on the first stick, I told her she was my new best friend. 

As weird as it sounds, getting through an entire hospital visit alone was a huge accomplishment for me. Of course, at one point, whether it was wishful thinking or the pain medication, I did think Carol was in the room with me, but the bottom line is, I made it alone. 

But the thing is... sometimes I don't want to be alone.

Before I even moved here, my mom was concerned about me. How was I going to get along in a place where I knew no one when I have such a difficult time with socializing? For the first time in my life, I had an answer to that question. During my brief 48 hour visit to the city I would eventually move to here in Texas, I met a girl (a co-worker) who I felt in my heart was going to become a good friend.

I'd never had such easy conversations before. I realized after the fact that the tour of the city, apartment search, and lunch were all a part of my interview, but somehow she made it seem so that 'stress-free. Any other time I would have been completely tongue tied, awkward, and shy (all while my brain was racing a mile a minute) but with this girl, I felt an openness. I knew I had found a friend.

And she was a great friend. At work, she was my mentor. She had the desk next to mine, introduced me to everyone, showed me around, taught me so much, and proved to be a friend outside of work as well. I quickly learned that we liked the same restaurants, had the same taste in movies, and that she had a heart of gold, something that's truly hard to find. 

When I lost my job, I was of course upset that my dream had been put on hold... but I was worried that losing my job would also mean losing my friend. I shouldn't have worried; for she gave me true friendship and no one had the power to ruin that.

A few months later I found myself working by her side again. I was ecstatic! After several months of not really fitting in with my co-workers; here came my best friend (in Texas) ready to change everything. I went to work on her first day with a huge smile on my face. At the time we were in different departments, which my mom thought was good, because we would have been talking all the time and not working at all if we were together... which at the time was probably very true. Even still, something as little as catching her eye across the room made me smile. Her friendship means the world to me. 

As time went on, we began working in the same department and once again we made a great team. When she got promoted, I was thrilled for her. I told my mom I was lucky; after all, how many people get to work for their best friend? 

And I was lucky. She took me under her wing again. She let me know when I was miscommunicating or when I said something that she or someone else didn't like. She let me know when I had an expression on my face that wasn't welcoming and happy and always asked if I was okay, rather than just telling me to suck it up and put a smile on my face. She taught me how to be a leader, how to be a coach, and how to have a symbiotic relationship with my coworkers. 

...And now I have to say goodbye...

I'm absolutely thrilled for her. She is going back into working in the speech language pathology field. I know in my heart that's where she belongs. She's an amazing therapist and I'm so happy that she has the opportunity for a second chance at her dream. 

So why am I crying? As a good friend, I am supportive and happy and can't wait to hear how amazing her new job is... but it's hard for me to say goodbye.

She knows that when she first told me she might be moving, I called my mom and asked her if I could come home. I said that I had stayed in Texas because I had a friend and if my friend was leaving, I should too. That's not happening. 

I'm not saying any of this to make her sad. In fact, in a big way, she's still helping me grow. She showed me that I can make friends and now, with her moving away, I need to show her that her friendship and guidance has shown me how to make new friends. She will still be a huge part of my life. I am counting down the days to her wedding and am trying to figure out different ways for us to keep in touch... but what I'm discovering as I'm writing this is that her leaving is a challenge being extended to me: "show me what our friendship has done for you".

I won't say goodbye... I'll say: 

"Challenge Accepted"

The Girl Who Always Says Too Much

So, when I initially started this blog, I had planned for it to be a daily blog. Something I've realized while on this journey is: while I have a lot to say, it may not all mean something to the readers I have picked up along the way. I've always been the girl who said too much. A one paragraph assignment would turn into a one page paper, a three page paper would become a five page paper, and so on and so forth. For years, people have tried to get me to regulate my output and after going back and reading every entry here, I have begun to see what they mean.

IN NO WAY does this mean that I will stop writing. What it does mean is that there may be an inconsistancy in the frequency of posts. I feel that I will have a much stronger impact if each post I write has a clear directive and meaning for the readers and myself.