|Big problem. Huge. Huge Problem.|
I have a friend on Facebook who's been posting these "Problems of an Aspie" for a while now and given the "lens" I see through they all ring true for me. I usually laugh when I read them because they are so familiar, but immediately after I laugh I feel a twinge (sometimes an intense twinge) of anxiety that each of these problems create. I thought it would be interesting, fun, a little scary and possibly therapeutic to elaborate a little more on each one and how it effects me personally.
Problem #1. Other People touching my stuff.
I hate this. I've always hated this. Even when I was child. I knew I had to share my toys with my cousins, and being the agreeable, soft spoken little girl who never wanted to do anything wrong, I did. Still, I hated it, and god forbid something ever got broken. There were inconsolable tears. It was the end of the world. The voice in my head would keep repeating, "I knew I shouldn't have let them play with it", over and over and over again. No one was responsible. No one was careful. Honestly it was torture. I see these same tendencies in my son. He shares because he has to, but if it's something very important to him, he's started "hiding" those toys or objects so no one can get to them.
I still have this problem as an adult. Luckily I don't have to share too much anymore, but even when my own child uses my iPad, I feel it. The anxiety. If he should happen to leave it on the floor that voice starts in again. It's automatic. It's involuntary. It just is. I simply don't like it. If I'm working on painting a doll, many times someone will come over to look at it (which I also hate, but working in the dining room leaves me little choice) and they will pick it up. Pick. It. Up. And I think...who does that!? Who just puts their hands all over someones work? I've voiced my discomfort with it a few times, but usually it comes out as "please don't touch that...or please don't ruin it." I end up seeming like a crazy person who is extremely over protective of her vinyl heads. And I guess, in a way, I am. What I would like is for people to respect that and just know that they aren't supposed to touch my work. Ever. It won't hurt them at all not to touch something that doesn't belong to them. And for me, it would eliminate a tremendous amount of anxiety and an overwhelming feeling of invasion. Its almost as if a complete stranger has just touched me. Without asking and without warning. To sum it up, it just plain sucks.
Just this afternoon I had to attempt to reel in my reaction to another incident. I say incident because to me that is what it was. To my BF, it was probably nothing. I also say "attempt" because I'm sure I wasn't completely successful. The back story is I had blood drawn this morning, which turned out to be difficult because I'm dehydrated. I have been on and off for the past month and I'm trying to fix it. Water alone isn't doing the trick so I got Gatorade purposely on my way home. The back even further story is I do this often, BECAUSE I know I'm dehydrated and more times than not my BF takes it, drinks it, or gives it to his son before Hockey. To give him credit he usually does ask first, and because, in many ways, I'm still the agreeable, soft spoken little girl, I say Ok. But it is torture. Today, I couldn't say Ok. I said something like, "I bought that purposely because I'm dehydrated. I don't mean to be a bitch, but..." I think he said something like...Ok...it's no big deal, relax. And most likely for him it is no big deal. For me, however, it results in a full-on, internal Aspie Rant.
You can't keep taking my Gatorade. I keep buying Gatorade and you keep taking my Gatorade. I take the time to plan and go to the store and buy what I need and you can't just take it because you don't want to take the time and plan and go the store. If you want Gatorade then say you want Gatorade when I ask you what you want at the store. Or leave early so you can stop and get your own Gatorade. If you buy something that you need I don't take it. I would never think to take it. And I hate it when you drink my water.
Yeah. This is what happens. Luckily, it mostly remains internal, because, really, who would understand this? I sound like a crazy person going on and on about fucking Gatorade. It takes a tremendous amount of energy and restraint to keep these kind of thoughts from spilling from my lips. But unfortunately, the fact that I can't just let this out, is what makes the anxiety worse. I have to suppress my Sheldon Cooper like tendencies, because in real life, it's just not funny. There is no laugh track. This type of ranting and raving will get me nothing but a diagnosis of certifiable.
How to solve Problem Number One: Stop touching my shit.
Hope, who lives in a place where nothing is simple.