Casual gender stereotyping leads to casual sexism.

And it starts at age 4 and a half, sometimes younger, in our schools and pre-schools.

In my son's Primary School, they are awarded rosettes for good work in forming letters and numbers. All well and good, right? There's a pink one for the girls, labelled "Formation Queen" and a blue one for boys labelled "Formation King". Hmmmm.

My son LOVES the colour pink. He had pink wellies for 6 months and might well choose pink wellies again in the future. He really really REALLY wants a pink transformer. He isn't gender non-conforming that we know, but it wouldn't surprise me if that was part of his story later on. What I don't want? For him to be teased because he likes pink. For him to win that prestigious rosette and be denied the pink one because that's the girls' one.

I've got a solution to this, but I don't know how well it's going to go down with the staff...

 Instead of "Formation Queen" and "Formation King", there could be (should be) "Formation Stars". Gender neutral. Still awesome.

It's early in the term (week 2) but so far there have only been "Formation Kings" and "Formation Queens" and then, they always appear together as a hetero duo. I've not yet seen two "Formation Queens" or two "Formation Kings". This is also troubling, because now it's not just gender stereotyping going on, it's relationship stereotyping.

We've got a "Meet the Teacher" session later this month. That's gonna be interesting.

Good People

Most people think of themselves as good people. Good people are kind, tolerant, loving, and accepting. When something happens in the lives of these people that makes them realise that actually, they’re not quite as tolerant as they thought, or not quite as accepting, this can make them hurt. That’s because they are now questioning whether they are still a good person. This is called cognitive dissonance.

Sometimes, people will decide that they are still good, and that what happened isn’t real or doesn’t affect them – this eliminates the cause of the dissonance. They go about their business thinking “I am a good person” over and over in their heads, and the level of determination they are employing to maintain the façade of what society expects a good person to look like can leave them feeling tired, exhausted even. This pretence can go on for years. They tell themselves they are a good person so often and so frequently that they start believing it again, even though they’ve not truly accepted the course of events that precipitated the mantra. They never will be the person they think themselves to be, as long as they refuse to confront the inherent dissonance inside.

Sometimes, people realise that they are still good, and that though what has happened has shaken their self-perception, they decide they will overcome that and rise above. They recognise that what happened is very real and will affect them, and they quietly make the movements needed to incorporate this new facet of life into their own. This takes time, and it takes a lot of emotional energy to accomplish. During their own changes, they may appear to be quiet or withdrawn and may appear to not embrace the change. This isn’t due to lack of acceptance, this is due to them taking things at their own pace.

Parents in particular can feel burned as a result of a child’s actions. They ask themselves what they did wrong to raise a child who is this way. They believe that the actions of their child reflect upon how they raised them. This happens when the parent perceives the actions of the child as being abnormal, unacceptable, or wrong.

In terms of coming out, it is the parent’s reaction to the child that is most telling. If a parent feels guilt, shame, or like they raised their child wrong… that tells you they believe that being anything other than straight and cis-gendered is abnormal, unacceptable, or wrong. If they refuse to acknowledge the child’s wishes, that tells you they are attempting to resolve their cognitive dissonance in a way that maintains their façade of being a good person but at the expense of the child. Hiding behind the curtain of not understanding whilst not acknowledging or communicating with their child is both hurtful and obvious, and in many cases, sadly expected. If a parent feels shock and even confusion but without the guilt and shame, this is an indication that they are the type who will rise above their feelings and whole-heartedly accept the changes, in time.

If you haven’t the type of parent who is immediately and unconditionally accepting, maybe due to generational differences or perhaps because of their own upbringing, you might have a parent like I’ve described above. Only you can tell which role your parent fits, and only you can decide how to move on from that. It may be that some parents will never truly be accepting of the new you. It is up to you to decide if that is a make-or-break factor in your relationship. It may be that some parents will just need time to get used to the idea. Only you will be able to tell. You know them best, after all.


Good luck.

How do I feel?

I shared my new chosen name to my family yesterday.

I told them how to pronounce it, I told them how to pronounce my title. They already know how to pronounce "they" and "them" so pronouns shouldn't be an issue.

Nobody had a particularly enthusiastic response. I'm yet to hear anything more than "Read it" from my dad and step-mom, and I've had not a single word of even confirmation from my mom and my brother. Husband seems ambivalent.

Way to make someone feel accepted.

I've had friends that I've told be more communicative, supportive and accepting.

I guess this is why the LGBTQ+ community celebrates Pride. Because we have to feel that we matter. It's more than just a case of self-worth, it's a case of HAI I'M EXISTING HERE.

I know it takes time to get used to a change like this, but if you're determined that you will get used to it and accept it, then there's a phrase you should adopt in the meantime: fake it til you make it.

How do I feel? It doesn't seem to matter. But I do. I do feel.

Little Things

I'm newly struck, every day, by the power of little things. The memory of little things.

Little things like... I no longer feel like I have to defend my preference for carrying a wallet, rather than a purse. Or why I've never really been comfortable with the idea of a "handbag". Or why you rarely see me with jewellery. Why I was offended at the idea of being bought a half-pint because it wasn't considered ladylike to have a pint. Little things like seeing my Tesco receipt in the name of Mx C Woodward, and the huge smile that receipt caused.

I'm unapologetic, full stop. I'm not going to apologise for the administrative cost of changing someone else's definition of me. Instead of the (very British) "Oh, sorry, but, uh [insert excuse here]" I'm instead saying "Actually, I'm changing my name, and you might need to change this, too" and I feel stronger each time.

I no longer feel like I'm constantly apologising for taking up space.

You'll have heard that last line from larger ladies who have come to accept their plus-sized bodies. I only started to feel it properly after accepting that I didn't have to think of myself as a plus-sized female, or as being female in any way.

In therapy, there's always a lot of talk about self-acceptance and self-love. I was never able to achieve either of these at the time or even retrospectively because I was never comfortable in my own body. Now I've removed the gender factor, I've started to truly accept myself and think of myself kindly, even. Little things like that. They can have such a big impact.

The damage wrought by living in an uncomfortable shell is starting to heal even over the few short days since I came out as genderfluid/nonbinary. I'm looking forward to where this will take me.

Red Tape

And here we go again.

According to the law, I don't have to do anything to change my name other than to start using it (provided I do so in a way that isn't fraudulent). I'm using the handle "Chippy" at the moment because people need a name, don't they. I thought it might make it easier in an official capacity to change my name down to the letter "C" - that way my official documentation isn't wrong, it just isn't exactly accurate. The more I look into it, the more complex the road seems. I'm writing a letter that will serve as official notice/evidence, and I've a link to a free Deed Poll service to use in case things get really hairy and there is no other option.

Seems like the romantic notion of "a rose by any other name..." is just a notion for some organisations.

I've changed my name before. When I got married, when I got divorced, when I got married again. I've never changed how my gender appears, however, and I bet you that this is the step that most people will find painful to accommodate. From binary options on webforms and data systems to a lack of title options that make me jealous of those with Ph.D.s who can legit use the prefix "Doctor", there are some definite stumbling blocks in my way.

Ones I've already encountered: Blizzard. Good old Blizz won't let me change my name without "official" documentation, despite the common law in the US stating it's not needed. I'm going to give this one last shot by submitting a formally worded, signed doc to them, because at the moment every time I log in, those on my friends list get their screens taken over by all four of my names. Facebook. The Zucky thing about this one is that other people have made-up names or pseudonyms but when I looked to change my name to "C", it wasn't allowed. The shortest name you can legally have in the UK is a single letter. Again, a US based company which you'd think would follow common law. Screw that, I made a second Facebook account with one of my nicknames and lo, I did not have to provide official documentation to do so! PayPal also want "official" documentation. Ugh.

Those who are far more helpful include Tesco (yay!) eBay (yay!) and Amazon. Thanks guys :)

I'm anticipating trouble with the usual suspects, ie, the DVLA, HMRC.

I guess we'll see how it goes.

The great thing about labels is you can replace them with new ones.

I had a crisis of sexuality when I was around 15/16. I remember sitting in the living room of my BFF's flat, seriously asking myself if I preferred boys or girls. I came to the conclusion that actually, both had their good points and bad points, that I liked both, and that I'd like to try relationships with both. At the time, that was a huge shift in my personality, because before I'd just been the oddball who'd never even been kissed before. My label went from Default:Heterosexual to Bisexual that day, and I still identify more or less in that manner, because it honestly doesn't matter to me what's between a person's legs. What's between their ears, what's in their heart... that is what matters. If we're gonna be pedantic, I guess the term Pansexual is most accurate. Physical attraction is way down the list for me. Mental attraction is where it's at.

If the option for gender fluidity had been floated at that time, I think I would have fit quite happily into the non-binary category, too. My later adolescence would have been rather different. Instead of feeling like I had to dress up like some kind of girl in order to attract literally anyone, I could have oh so very happily rocked up to the pub in a t-shirt and jeans, trainers and short hair and not been at all bothered by the discomfort caused by high heels, teeny hemlines and the pressure to fulfil a certain stereotype. But who are we kidding, this was 1997 in the middle-of-fucking-nowhere, Scotland.

Since then I've had discernible waves of femininity where I'll buy and then actually use this stuff called "makeup" and run a noted preference for floaty fabrics and feminine cuts. It never lasts long. I have had longer periods where I'm in the same pair of jeans until they wear through, or the same pair of jeggings (I have a rotating wardrobe of 5 pairs in the exact same style, 3 different colourways). I'll switch from fitted t-shirts to men's XXL ones. I'll wear my husband's shirts, hoodies. I'll shop in the men's sections because they have funnier t-shirts that aren't covered in sexist shite, pompously over-hyped feminist shite or contrived platitudes. Deadpool FTW! Star Wars? Yes please. You can't find those designs on women's clothing so I don't even bother looking.

Since divorcing my emotions from my physical appearance, I've felt less and less feminine. Less female. Not less of a person, not by any stretch. I'm just not clinging to an old script anymore. I have an IUD so I no longer suffer from periods (GET IN!) and I still have a basic aesthetic, I like my hair to look and feel nice, I won't bare my legs unless they're in heavy tights or have had the fur shorn from them. I don't do jewellery and I've been wearing unisex glasses for well over a decade. But I no longer particularly care about femininity. I wear bras for practical reasons, and I choose the brightly coloured ones or the ones with a nice texture because that appeals to me. I never match my bra to my underwear, hell you're lucky my socks match. I was wearing wedge heels for about a year solid, until they aggravated my Achilles tendon. I wasn't wearing them because they were girl's shoes, I was wearing them because I liked being 3" taller. If you can find me a nice pair of Sketchers that will add height without looking like a Spice Girls revival accessory, I'm interested.

My kids get gender pronouns mixed up all the time. Sometimes I don't think I'm helping though. When they ask: "Mommy, are you a girl or a boy?" and I reply with "Meh, sometimes I can be both" I don't think it's the answer they're looking for. They never push for a definitive answer though, they accept what I say and they're happy with that. Oh to be 4 and not have to run the gamut of preconceived gender idealism.

I find myself idly Googling gender neutrality, non-binary, other such indeterminate phraseology. I look for similarity, I look for funny t-shirts. I don't need to look for people who feel the same, I've now lived enough to not need to validate my existence. If I find a community, well... meh. I suck at socialising anyway.

I fill in forms and I hesitate at the boxes with M and F beside them. I'm happily married, but go by Ms rather than Mrs. I baulk at people who insist I follow a feminine path because of the contents of my underwear. I'm starting to use my given first name less and less because it just looks... odd, it sounds odd when I say or spell it. I know a lot of people might find this kind of thinking to be frightening or unfamiliar, but for me it just feels like it ought to. I've no wish to transition to the other end of the gender spectrum, or to cast off what designates my body as female, but I'm in no rush to use it to define who I am.

"I am what I am, and what I am needs no excuses."

Oh Chester.

In the end, it doesn't even matter.

Every time I hear of another life lost to suicide it makes my heart ache. I've been there, tried to do that, twice. I've felt the gut-wrenching pain in my mind and just wanted it to please stop. I've felt like a burden on others, felt like they would honestly be in a better position without me. I've felt it since, but not so intensely that I would attempt it again. I have better ways to manage now than a lot of people who have felt the same. Or maybe it's just because of how I think. But every time I hear about another soul lost to suicide, it makes me grieve a little, makes me consider how the lives of those I love would be different. And that's not to guilt people into not doing it, it's just my own reflection. I hurt to think that another person has gone through that thought process, come to that conclusion, made that decision and acted on it.

Goodnight, Chester.

Days like these I really hate people.

Today I was referred to as denser than a black hole for defending the rights of a woman to simply exist how she is. I've also been called an idiot for saying that there are people who negate the importance of feminism simply because they are not educated on what feminism is.

Both of these things seem like no-brainers to me. Treat people with respect - that means equality, for everyone. Just because a woman doesn't look like you want them to look doesn't mean they are not deserving of a career, of living their life, of having love and a family. If they stand up for themselves, it is only because there is something to stand up FOR, because they have had enough of being torn down, of being seen as "less than". Fuck you and your asinine assumptions, your prejudice. And surely if you know the definition of feminism - the dictionary definition of the word - you can't be against it, or see that it's not important? Equal fricking rights! Same opportunities whether you've a dick or not! Same pay for the same work done! If you are against that, then you need to stay the fuck away from me.

I've also been screamed at because I filled a 7oz bottle to only 5oz and because I insisted on the dinnertable being cleared prior to dinner being served.

Fuck this shit. Fuck today.

Dysphoria

“You don’t owe prettiness to anyone. Not to your boyfriend/spouse/partner, not to your co-workers, especially not to random men on the street. You don’t owe it to your mother, you don’t owe it to your children, you don’t owe it to civilization in general. Prettiness is not a rent you pay for occupying a space marked ‘female’.”

― Erin McKean

I've been pretty. I was pretty when I studied chemistry, I was 19. I was pretty when I studied art, I was 22. I was pretty when I studied hairdressing, I was 27. I was pretty when I got pregnant with our second child, I was 32. I was pretty when he stopped breastfeeding, I was 34. I'm going to be 36 on Saturday. I'm not pretty.

Did I say "pretty"? I meant "slim".

The truth is, I don't recognise myself as female, let alone "pretty" unless I am slim. Slim for me means having a BMI around 25. Below that and I tend to look ill. So let's talk about that.

When I was 19 I was put on a crash diet by the doctor. I got down to 69kg and people thought I had cancer or some shit because I was always tired, never at class, looked gaunt. I had depression and mono and couldn't eat anything above 5% fat content. I was miserable.

When I was 22, I dropped a ton of weight as I quit smoking. I picked up fruit instead of cigarettes and didn't eat much else during the day. I was svelte yet curvy and got a lot of attention. I was also depressed and diagnosed with a mood disorder.

When I was 27, I was slim thanks to having a dodgy thyroid. My BMI was 24.9. As soon as they took me off the thyroxine, I started putting weight back on. I was actually pretty stoked at this age. I was recently divorced, actually doing something meaningful with my life, had met a nice guy on a dating website and had a social life. Post-thyroxine and the weight crept up and continued slowly until I hit 90kg.

Got married to nice-guy-from-dating-website. Full term with first child and I was 102kg. We both started dieting after that and I was just about 75kg when we got pregnant with our second.

I hit 102kg at full term with him, too. Breastfeeding for a year and not being silly with food got me back into my size 12 shorts when second child finally weaned onto a bottle. I started some different meds at that point because the mood disorder turned out to be BPD and - you guessed it - the weight came back on in leaps and bounds.

Every time there's been family trauma (first child was critically ill, we lost my husband's father later that same year) the weight jumps up by a few kgs. I tried coming off the meds, but in November last year I started a different medication and since then I've put on 10kgs, so these days I float between 123kg and 125kg. Almost twice the person I was at my adult skinniest. I'm back on thyroxine because I have sub-clinical hypothyroidism, but it can't even help stabilise my weight. I'm up or down by up to 2kg each week. My weight chart looks like a silhouette of a mountain range.

I have emotionally dissociated myself from my ever-expanding body, so I no longer feel depressed because of my size. Trouble is, I no longer feel anything about it. I don't feel feminine, I don't feel female even. I don't feel sexy. I don't feel sexual at all. My body is merely a means to an end. It allows my brain to learn and process information and it allows me to connect with my family through hugs and kisses.

That can't be healthy, but reconnecting will mean emotional pain, pain that stems from not being recognised as female by virtue of the fact that I am not the size and shape society deems acceptable for a female to operate within. A lot of that is self-stigmatising behaviour, but it's difficult to break. I'm in absolutely no rush to even try until I'm back down to a regular kinda size/shape. I can't accept myself for the size I am, why should anyone else?

What am I doing to lose weight then, I hear my grandmother in particular cry. Well, I am doing what we did the last time and calorie counting. Breakfast and lunch are no more than 400 calories, dinner is usually around 600 (rarely up to 800 and often sub-500). I'm wary of the calories I drink and am weaning myself off of the 400+ calorie milkshakes I casually gulped to relieve heartburn and back onto a more measured coffee with sweetener and skimmed milk. I lost weight 3 weeks in a row but this last week it all came back on in one go.

Losing weight at a consistent rate of 1-2kg per week requires a level of sacrifice I'm not strong enough to make just yet. I'm in the gloomy shadow of residual depression and I simply cannot face preparing, cooking and eating food that I don't like for the sake of everybody else's comfort.

I've been pretty. I'm sure I can be pretty again. It just won't happen any time soon.

Results, results...

I've been waiting a sorry 5 weeks to hear feedback on the Creative Practice module. Two weeks longer than I ought to have been waiting, point of fact. In these two weeks, I've been shouting, screaming, pulling my own hair until it pops out from the roots, biting myself and I've been sorely neglecting just about everything of consequence in my life. I'm a shadow in my own home, incorporeal, barely there. When the stress becomes too much, rage rears its ugly head once again and the shadow becomes a malevolent poltergeist.

Today, I cowered in front of my computer (which was on another go-slow) and I wept. My kids came up to me and hugged me and soothed me, wiped the hair from my face and said "I love you mummy" over and over. These sweet little kids that I'm so lucky to be mummy to.

I don't think they realise, over at the college, that to make someone of my nature (Asperger's, BPD) wait so far beyond a deadline is practically torture. I'm neglecting myself, my duties as a household manager, my parental responsibilities so I can sit in front of my computer or with my phone repeatedly refreshing my emails, waiting, waiting, waiting for the feedback to come through. The worst part is, I cannot logic myself out of this deleterious habit. I can't power through and ignore that this feedback is so very late. I can't "chill", dude. Sorry.

In an attempt to kill time, I've invested a little in myself and bought Photoshop 2017. Tenner a month or thereabouts. Same as a WoW subscription. I think I'll get more use out of this, tbh, than I will Warcraft. Until we can get the right parts to Frankenstein my computer to be a bit faster, I'm kinda in limbo. Can't do what I would like, can't do what I need to do to keep my mind from screaming out for feedback, feedback.

Going Forward

It's only taken half my life to realise, but here it is. There is no fix, there is only a work-around - and nobody is qualified to help me create and implement that work-around. It's all on me.

*Obligatory Trigger Warning - sexual abuse, self-harm, disordered eating/drinking*

I was given an anger management CD once, when I was about 18 or 19. I don't remember much of it, only that anger didn't form part of my issues again until much more recently. Back then, Anger was because I'd been molested by a babysitter. Anger was because a boy attempted to rape me in secondary school. Anger was because I was an easy target for bullies. I went through some CBT and it helped resolve that Anger. All was well.

These days, Rage is the reason I'm on the meds that I'm on. Rage is the reason I sought psychotherapy, because my psychiatrist wants me off the meds. My psychotherapist sent me away with the offer of a refresher MBT course (not needed, the MBT kicks in appropriately enough and a refresher won't improve that) and some sheets of A4 with information for the newly diagnosed, whereupon my brain whips up this image:

So in short, that isn't really going to help. The meds help with containing 3/4 of an episode, the MBT helps with the last 1/4. What I need is to better manage the source of the Rage so that there's less work for the meds to do. Unfortunately, the source is something I cannot control. You see, the Rage spikes because of the kids. Because they don't respect the word "no". Because they aren't obedient. Because they are wilfully defiant in the face of logic, in the face of kindness. Because they are 2 and 4 years old and aren't yet emotionally or maturationally equipped to behave in a respectful or obedient manner, because they are only just on the brink of being able to employ logical reasoning.

Parent of the year, right? Well, if I had known that this Rage monster would rear its ugly head because of these sweet little children, you can bet your life savings I would have pre-medicated to avoid it. I would have built defence mechanisms to circumvent it. I would have employed a more robust support system* and learned to temper my own expectations of the kids. Instead, we have the situation at hand where I have to accomplish all of that at extremely short notice.

(*I have a pretty good support system, we live not far away from my dad and my mom and my hubby is super understanding and supportive of my ever-evolving diagnoses and needs. Sometimes though it's not enough and I've found myself screaming into my pillow and biting my hands because it's all too much to bear.)

I have a flip-chart which I will use when brainstorming with hubby on how to better manage things both locally and globally. I'll put those A1 pieces of newsprint on walls and doors around my house so that I have constant reminders of what I need to do and when in order to minimise the stress and anxiety that inevitably builds until the point of ignition and the Rage explodes. It will be good to have, in black and white, everyone's responsibilities and timescales for achieving them so that I don't feel like everything is up to me and consequently feel like an utter failure when I can't manage to do any of/all the things.

At this point, it is looking unlikely that I will be able to go without meds until the kids have moved out of the family home, but at least there is actually an end point to all of this. What I have to do in the meantime is work my ass off to make sure that my own conditions, illnesses, weaknesses (call them what you will) do not impact on the kids in a memorable or permanent way.

This means I will be continuing to use the various coping mechanisms I've come to depend upon. It used to be that when shit got too bad, I'd cut myself. The external pain matching the internal pain helped me to deal with the intensity of my feelings. Getting it out of my head and onto my body where I could see it provided relief. Once Taylor was on the scene I swore I wouldn't do that any more, I didn't want to have to answer his innocent questions of why mommy was sore. So what does mommy do now? Mommy occasionally goes through periods when she drinks in the evenings and at the weekend more than the recommended amount for a regular and extended period of time (hey, it averages out over the year). If it's not alcohol, it's chocolate. Right now, we are in a chocolate cycle but its coming to a close. It'll be booze by next week. It seems to change around every quarter. Summer and Winter tend to be alcohol, Autumn and Spring tend to be chocolate.

Another, rather odd coping mechanism linked to these, is that I have pretty much completely dissociated my self from my body. I am just...me. I'm not attached to the notion of feeling in any way female. I'm no longer depressed because of the weight I've gained over the past almost 2 years and the effect it's had on my shape. I have an image in my head of how I look and it doesn't change even if I do. That'll do me. My body is a means to an end, nothing more elaborate than that. I'm not emotionally attached to it at all. I've felt (not felt?) this for 4 or 5 months now, and I tell you something, it saves me a world of self-torment and guilt. It has helped lift the miasma of depression that started to settle in the summer of 2015, because a lot of that was linked to the sudden weight gain I experienced as a result of simultaneously stopping breastfeeding and starting medication. So, to sum up: instead of cutting myself, I abuse the calories in food and drink and then dissociate myself from the weight gain that results, all in an attempt to damp down my affect. Seems legit.

On the plus side, my emotions are, overall, in check! I have the occasional wobble but I can pull it back before it spirals out of control. I have the occasional meltdown, but they too are short-lived. I get the Scottish Blues from mid-September to the end of March, but it's more of an annoyance than anything, a factor in exacerbating everything else that I need to be aware of.

And the Rage? Because it all boils down to that, doesn't it. I'll need to find a way to prevent life from conspiring to ignite that flare, rather than try (and fail) to squib the flare itself. All this time, the thought has been "oh, a symptom! Let's try to cure the symptom!" when it should have been "Let's try to cure the cause." Silly rabbit.

Pissing tax returns.

I've got another meltdown coming in the next week or so. This is because I've got to submit my Company Tax Returns for the business I wrapped up last year. Before the printer meltdown I had another one in December, when I had to do my personal tax return. So this is coming, I know it's coming, and I've been trying my best to avoid it until the last minute because it foxes me each and every time and I stupidly think maybe it will have become easier over time. You know, if I leave it and ignore it.

Well, that didn't work last year and I got a £100 fine. I managed to get the return done before the next £100 fine was due, but it was a horrible, horrible time. And this time it's no different. Despite having the User ID and corresponding password written on the very letter informing me of my duty to do a Company Tax Return, I cannot access for the life of me that section of the HMRC website. Tried different things in different ways and it just tells me I'm already registered to use that service... on another ID and to please use THAT one. Just - what - shit - HELP!

And all I can think of is... you stupid fucking cow. Why did you do this in the first place? Well, that's a good question. I was paranoid that my loss-making hobby would be immediately pounced upon by HMRC if they found out I was accepting money for crocheted beasties. I was also very tired. I was breastfeeding in a dark room when I though "let's just register with HMRC and see where it goes." and I went and did it. Somehow, I managed to create a LTD company, no idea how that happened. But I went with it, and it looked like you'd pay less tax than being a sole trader anyway so I thought "hey, maybe it's a good thing after all." My inner cheerleader was urging me on, with assurances that my mental illness wouldn't impact on this, that HMRC keep saying that "tax doesn't have to be taxing" and you're a university graduate for chrissakes, surely you can do a tax return, shit like that.

Oh, how wrong was I. "Tax doesn't have to be taxing", maybe, but if you've a developmental disorder with executive dysfunction and no experience in tax law as opposed to a mental illness characterised by mood swings and a temper, then tax is indeed VERY taxing, if not nigh on impossible.

I keep thinking to myself that if I were aware of all the facts that I would never have gone self-employed. And I kick myself because of how disparaging it sounds when I boil it down to the simplest terms... "If I'd known that I had ASD, I wouldn't have set up as self-employed." Told you it sounds disparaging. And there may be plenty of high functioning autists out there who run their own businesses. But for me, if I'd known how comparatively difficult the official side of it was going to be as a result of the ASD, I wouldn't have even entertained the thought. I know my limits, and I know when something is difficult for me not because of a lack of smarts, but because of the ASD. I'm fairly proud of my intellect. I have a higher than average IQ. Higher than 99.89% of the population or something. Mental illness doesn't stop me from doing something on an intellectual level. Autism, however, makes it more difficult for me to learn, more difficult to process, more difficult to organise. This has the overall effect of making it seem like I am incapable of doing something fairly simple or easy (like learning how to use a printer, for example, or filling in a pared-down tax form).

Seems like every blog post recently is a pity party. It's not really, I'm just reflecting on the past, the present, the potential of the future and realising that everything is now subtly different because of the ASD. If I'm having issues with comprehension, I'm asking myself if it's a reasonable complaint - if it is then I accept and move on. If it's unreasonable, then I query if the ASD could be a part of the issue, and if so then how I can resolve it, given the difficulties that ASD presents me. The knowledge that came with the diagnosis is enabling me to get around the difficulties of the ASD itself. For the most part.

For the rest of it, I've got two more Company Tax Returns to do, and I think 2 more personal tax returns to do as well. Fuck this shit.

So here's a thing.

Every now and then I come across something that makes me really think about my many and varied diagnoses and how I'm different from "the norm". Today, a throwaway comment about my comprehension was the "something".

I have a lot of reading to do for this course and its various modules. Some of that reading is fairly straightforward but some is fairly...not.

Whilst there is a push for us as artists to simplify how we refer to and define our work, the opposite is going on with the information we are given and the reading surrounding it.

For example: "My work engages the audience in a new way of encountering art in society...a mutual understanding, an interaction between people – similar to the dynamic image of the homeostat where all the parts of the network are equal and equally linked..." or "Dialogical work allows the conception of the artwork to consciously be mediated through the relationship between the artist, the audience, and the context."

Now, if you immediately create an image in your head of what that means, then great. If you kinda get the gist but think the author is a pretentious thesaurus-swallowing cockwomble, then you might well be right...and well done for deriving the gestalt. If you're like me... you know what the individual words mean. You know the context in which they are used. But that's where it stops. The quote makes no sense. What I have to do is to break this shit down, sentence by sentence, picking between the commas, and reducing what I find to the simplest possible denominator: synonyms I'm familiar with, picking apart the grammar to see what can be removed to make the sentence flow better. Once I've done that for every ounce of OTT writing, I am able to read through it and get the gist of what the author is putting out there.

And that's kinda expected for University level reading. What's not expected is that I have to do this every day with non-University level reading. I have to do it with what I hear, too, because that's how my brain works.

If what you say or what you have written is too long, too pretentious, too complicated or unfamiliar - it does not compute. I've learned over time to start paraphrasing in my head during conversations... it's one reason I sometimes struggle to keep up if the topic is particularly deep or unfamiliar. It's why I struggle to take in auditory input whilst writing. Why I struggle to think if the bloody TV is on. And I do exactly the same when I read. Think of it like a child who is just learning their words reading a sentence and having to spell out the word before being able to pronounce it... but scaled up - whole sentences, paragraphs. Conversations in real time.

Expectations from those around you that you'll keep up, because they are.

Do you know how much energy that takes? How much concentration? Do you know how difficult it is? Any idea at all how frustrating it is to forget the start of a conversation by the time you get to the end of it because the words got lost in the simplification process...? Or because more than one person was talking so your internal narrative gets scrambled because it doesn't know which words to condense? Or to have to re-read what you write from the start each time so it makes sense? And it is also - just for good measure - extremely upsetting to realise that you struggle with this shit even though you're a fairly smart cookie. Smart cookies should be capable of This, That, T'other. The other smart cookies certainly are.

Information might be "a lot to take in" for you. It's more than that for me, it's "a lot to take in" then "a lot to condense and translate" then "more to take in". Don't assume that because I'm doing well enough and getting the right answers that this is easy for me - quite the opposite. I have a great deal of stress and anxiety because of this. It generates tension headaches. It can precipitate a full-blown meltdown because of I-JUST-CAN'T-UNDERSTAND shit that other people understand just fine!


I mean, add that lot to a somewhat lacking social skill set and you get the "something" that happened today:

I thought I was being genuinely helpful by doing my "sentence re-comprehension" thing live and not just keeping it in my head, but in reality I was probably answering a rhetorical question and by providing an actual answer where none was expected I came off as being a know-it-all attempting to dumb things down for the peasants, and I was told in no uncertain terms (and in a certain tone, it has to be noted) after the lecture that it seemed like I had no issues with comprehension of the materials.

(And it was only in writing this epic rant that I realised the rhetorical question thing. Up until that point I just thought she was being a judgemental so-and-so who assumed I was lying or attention-seeking.)

So naturally, I'm revisiting every similar experience I can remember from Primary and Secondary school, University and College and feeling a bit shite that, only NOW am I seeing this for what it is. And I just wonder, if I'd known then that it was just that my brain works differently, would things have worked out differently? If other people then knew that I had Asperger's, would they have maybe not said or did what they did? There's always the possibility it could have been worse. Kids are cruel, after all. And cruel kids grow up to be assholes.

I guess all I can do going forward is to use this knowledge to make things easier for me, and try not to be pissed at people (including myself) if they don't remember I have Asperger's.

April is National Autism Month in the UK, April 2nd is World Autism Awareness Day 2017. Don't be an asshole.

Why an Autism diagnosis as an adult is hard.

It's been about 10 months since I walked into my psychiatrist's office clutching a piece of paper with signs and symptoms of Asperger's Syndrome that pertained to me. 10 months since she agreed with me, yes, I have High Functioning Autism - because nomenclature changes and Asperger's (whilst descriptive) is no longer considered diagnostic.

Today I had my first proper this-is-because-I'm-autistic meltdown. Oh sure, I've had what in hindsight would be classed as autistic meltdowns before, but back then it was pushed aside as "being difficult", or "pre-menstrual" or because I was depressed with high anxiety, because I was Borderline and had anger issues. Today was different because I felt it escalating, I knew it was a disproportionate reaction, but at the same time I couldn't immediately pull myself out... I was crying hysterically, wailing, utterly inconsolable... and why?

Because I have to learn how to work an expensive printer.

More specifically; I have to learn how to work an expensive printer, using a Mac (when I'm strictly a Windows gal) to access said printer, in a room I've never been in which is chocka-block with classes, and not knowing if the printer will be able to handle the job I'm setting it as there's a lot of black ink used, and I've to get the job all done by the time the college breaks for Easter and the schedule I looked up online isn't that clear on when that is so suddenly TIME is of the essence here and I need to learn this shit quick, but I also have a tax return to do, be part of remortgaging the house, see my shrink and have a tutorial with a lecturer so it can't be done this week which leaves next week which is a week closer to the ambiguously dated holidays and OMG it just spirals further inward until you can barely breathe and suddenly it's all emotion and no rational thought, you saw it coming and you knew it was getting too much but suddenly it was WAY too much and you can't reign it in for 3/4 of an hour at which point you can think rationally again but you still feel anxious and nervous about learning to work a feckin' printer.

And breathe...

Knowing about the autism, I sought to find the best way to learn what I needed to learn so that I could be in and out quick and quiet. I looked online about learning styles for autism but there wasn't a lot out there for newly-diagnosed adults. It's mostly kid-centric. But there was a website that had a few things on it that I identified with, and it made me realise I have to learn to be a lot kinder to myself. I also saw a lot of Taylor on that site and hopefully I'll be kinder to him, too.

Examples:

"People with autism have trouble with organizational skills, regardless of their intelligence and/or age...He is most likely incapable of this organizational task [keeping a tidy desk] without specific training."

This extends to tidiness in the home, too.

"Avoid asking vague questions...Avoid asking essay-type questions."

Because I get lost within the question if it isn't specific or if it is too long.

"An increase in unusual or difficult behaviors probably indicates an increase in stress."

Such as shouting/yelling at your small children, outbursts of anger or tears, neglecting the physical self.

"If the student does not seem to be learning a task, break it down into smaller steps or present the task in several ways (e.g., visually, verbally, physically)."

I cannot count the number of times I've needed an alternative format to learn something. It took me the best part of 3 years, 4 different cars and 2 different driving schools to finally pass my practical driving test, for example.

"Use shorter sentences if you perceive that the student is not fully understanding you. Although he probably has no hearing problem and may be paying attention, he may have difficulty understanding your main point and identifying important information."

And let's not forget the importance of retaining information, which is also an issue here.

"Normal levels of auditory and visual input can be perceived by the student as too much or too little."

Normal levels of ANY input can be overwhelming for me.

"If your class involves pairing off or choosing partners, either draw numbers or use some other arbitrary means of pairing...The student with autism is most often the individual left with no partner."

This happened a LOT all throughout school. I masked this trait by learning to work as effectively as possible on my own, and to this day I will opt to do a big project on my own rather than collaborate because I don't have the collaborative experience to refer to, I don't know how to act.

"Uneven skills development is a hallmark of autism."

Oh you betcha. I'm a pretty smart cookie, I test fairly well as far as Mensa are concerned - though I do have trouble with some questions that seem to have multiple correct answers. Anyway, yeah. I've a decent skill set, but transferable skills are only theoretical. Just because I can do X in Y situations doesn't mean I can extrapolate to doing something similar to X in Z situations.

Now, if I'd known about the autism as a child, I might have developed coping mechanisms rather than masking abilities. I might have grown up being a lot less harsh on myself. I might have learned to take less shit from those who sought to demean me. A lot of what I grew up with that was characterised as a character flaw, laziness, being difficult, being mentally ill... a lot of that was the autism.

So learning now to differentiate between actual autistic traits and other personality traits or idiosyncrasies so that I can better deal with things... that's kinda important. And it's feckin' difficult. For a start, there's a lot of overlap beween symptoms of ASD and BPD, especially as the disorders concern women. It would have been so much easier to learn this shit from the ground up so that I knew what was what and how to handle it.

And that is why an autism diagnosis as an adult is hard. Yes, it answers a LOT of questions about the little weirdo you were as a child, about the awkward and somewhat reclusive teen you grew into before becoming the mixed-up adult you are today... but it also presents you with a host of challenges going forward. Trying to differentiate between what is the autism and what is the rest, so that you can work your way forward in life. That's a biggie.

For me, I have a very short, explosive temper which I'm currently medicated for. I also have meltdowns of one sort or another when exposed to something new that requires my involvement during times of enhanced stress. There is also the unfortunate situation whereby the kids are a source of such enhanced stress. 

Many challenges.

And in other news:

This is all art related so feel free to skip if you like.

My work is going in two directions at the moment. I've got my "Fractured People" series, which I'll be expanding the audience of so as to accommodate all those who have felt "fractured" in order to generate empathy for both sides of the mental health coin... I've also got another project going on which I've not yet got a name for... I use different parts of different Prisma filters and layer 3-5 of them to create a composite image which is then further altered in PhotoShop using their filters and by applying renders I find online which are free to use. When that is printed out onto canvas I then hand finish with paint or other bits and pieces where applicable.

Whilst I've come across some criticism in the past (oh you're just pissing about on PhotoShop, that's not art), I've received a lot of positive feedback on both these strains of work including assertions that I'm simply using the media that fits me best to create my works. I've written an affirmation statement in the back of my sketchbook, and I've kept hard copies of emails which have validated my practice. I need evidence, you see, otherwise my thoughts take over and bam, I'm in the miasma of depression and I'll just give up.

Serendipity herself has paid me a visit. I follow the gorgeous Dita von Teese on Facebook and she updated with an image, a painting she'd had done of her in her favourite dress. I thought to myself "shit, check that hyper-realism, I'll never come close to being that good". A couple of days later she posts a video of that painting being made. It's in French, so I click for Google to kindly translate. And that's when my jaw hit the floor. Turns out it's a collaborative effort that created the image, and that the image is first and foremost a photograph (!) taken by one artist, which has been painted on the top of by his partner. These two (Pierre et Gilles) have been working together for 40 years, creating elaborate stages and backdrops to photograph their models against. One takes and processes the photograph, the other hand-paints over the top of it to smooth imperfections, or embellish as befits the work. Now, these two rebel against the modern/machine and don't use PhotoShop or equivalent programmes at all, it's down to the elaborate setting and then the painting in post-production. But it is a very similar premise to what I'm doing with my second branch! A photo printed out and hand finished with paint and other embellishments. I am still ringing with excitement.

You see, I've not yet come across an artist who does things similar to me. There's Barbara Kruger, who was a heavy influence on my "Fractured People" in as much as 1) the images are completely desaturated, 2) there are words involved on the image, 3) the work is a campaign... but there's nobody out there trying to effect a change to people's perceptions about Mental Health/Illness using such imagery. But for this newer aspect, the filtration and embellishment to tell a story made of single flashes into my life and experiences, this and more importantly HOW I do it, there has been nothing. There are artists ofc who do self-portraits over and over for different reasons, but I've not seen anyone work with a pre-printed image of their self-portrait and finish it similarly to how I do. But I see similarity here. And I am ecstatic.

I guess it's because I feel like I now somehow "belong". I no longer feel like an outsider, making outsider art because I can't be trained in traditional methods. I feel like I have a community now. Like I have something to contribute. I'm so very grateful to have found it.

Scrambled Brains

I've been feeling like a failure a lot recently. It's something that seems to ebb and flow, this feeling. It creeps up until you're almost drowning and then something happens (usually tears and talking with t'other half) and then it drops back to tolerable levels.

The kids are my biggest trigger. There. I said it. They are a trigger and a half. They can trigger me with one solitary word. Most recently it's been their diet that has me stressed. We have a sometime-picky glutton in Kaiden, and a taste/texture aversion and general suspicion in Taylor.

When Kaiden says "No" it riles me right up. I know he likes it, I know he's had it before and then picked on his father and me to "share" ours; and to top it off, I know fine well he's not eaten properly through the day and thus NEEDS to frickin' eat.

When Taylor says "No" it riles me right up. He's not even smelled it, not even licked it to try and work out if the flavour is familiar. And to top it off, I know fine well he's not eaten properly through the day and thus NEEDS to frickin' eat.

Taylor of course is a slightly more complex kettle of fish in that he has more severe allergies than his baby brother (who had egg pasta tonight without vomiting! Go K!), and he's anaemic due to his abysmal diet. The thing is, when I cook from scratch for him, there's only a 50-50 chance he'll try it, and from there only a 30-70 chance he'll eat more than half of what's in front of him. So making cottage pie or mince and tatties or bolognese (all of which afford me the option of hiding a squillion veggies inside without him noticing) is fraught with anxiety because over half the frickin' time HE DOESN'T BLOODY EAT IT.

The kid is overweight because what he DOES eat is all beige and trash. Chicken nuggets, chips, garlic bread (baguette only), crisps, bagels (cinnamon and raisin only), ice cream and milk. The kid would live off milk via intravenous drip if he were allowed. He will eat fruit - apples mostly, sometimes grapes (green only), oranges (only if daddy peels them), and the occasional banana. He will also eat those horribly expensive fruit pouches designed for babies and toddlers. Not the fruit + veg ones. He's too smart for that.

So to reduce my anxiety over this we have decided to start buying ready meals for the kids. Ready meals. Rather than me making kid-sized ready meals for them we are going to be buying them off the shelf so that when they end up all over the frickin' floor I don't explode at thinking about the time, effort, sweat, tears etc that went into that meal, so that I don't take it personally when they don't eat it (or even worse, abuse it). Daddy will also be helping them to eat their dinner whilst mommy sits far, far away so she doesn't choke the ever-loving crap out of the little sweethearts.

When they've grown up enough to eat whateverthefrick is on their plates, I'll start cooking for them again. Until that day comes they can live off of the overpriced supermarket gumpf with a guaranteed 1-of-their-5-a-day inside its plastic housing.

SCREW YOU, KIDS.

Oh, it's been a while...

If I don't have it written down somewhere to MAKE A BLOODY BLOG POST then it just doesn't get done. Much like dishes, laundry etc, it falls by the wayside. Then, one day I look at it and decide it REALLY NEEDS DOING NOW and here I am.

(and yes I just had to review the last post I made because I couldn't remember what it was about. TL:DR it's about getting fat)

I'm the same weight, more or less, as I was at the beginning of the month. I set goals that I thought were realistic but which were ultimately unattainable. I've reassessed those goals and got myself a new little timetable of when I feel I can do my #FatGirlWalking, and it's only 2 times a week (I was aiming for 3 but hey ho) but I am able to commit to those 2 days and times and I commit to walking for 30 minutes non-stop. Maybe that will get better over time. I think it needs to. But I need to figure out when... Can't with the kids around because I close my eyes and immerse myself in LOUD music. Safety concerns there. Similarly, Can't when kids are asleep. I'm at the top weight that the machine was designed for (I knew I shouldn't have looked up that bastarding information) and even just walking makes noise, and noise travels through these houses very effectively. If I want the kids to go to sleep and stay asleep, I can't #FGW whilst they're in bed. Can't when I'm at college (duh, 2 different places at the same time). Leaves... Monday afternoon and Thursday morning. So that's when I do it, and I cool off and grab a shower straight after. It's working for me, I do 5km a week, and there's scope to go longer and do more in those two sessions - I just need more music.

What else? Ah yes. The inauguration of the 45th President of the United States of America. I refuse to name him, he's not worth that to me. He has caused me a lot of stress and anxiety and is part of the reason I slowed and eventually halted the #FGW by the end of January. I was obsessively stalking Facebook and Twitter wondering "WTF has the tangerine shitgibbon done NOW?". My mental health diary shows my mood swandiving and anxiety skyrocketing at the same time from the 19th January. Gee, thanks, 45. Well done.

I'm also back at college. I've got Art and Social Practice as well as continuing with Creative Practice 1. I was slated for Professional Practice 1 as well, but I'm only meant to be on that unit from January 2018. I'll still linger and offer my assistance where needed, it'll help me for next year to know what is expected of this year, after all. Enjoying the writing part of A&SP - I'm not afraid to have my own opinion and make it known. Benefits of age? experience? or am I just foolish? Being unafraid got me A/B for my essays last year so I figure why the hell would I change my MO. Just be who I be.

In other news, we binge-watched "Stranger Things", me solidly backed into the corner of the sofa with the duvet drawn up to my nose so I could hide easily. Series 2 is back at Halloween. More hiding. Also binge-watched "Enterprise" and now I want to dive into "Voyager" again. Not going to rush into "DS9" though. Besides, I've got "MacGyver" (the original and the best) on DVD to watch in the meantime. Just in case you're interested, total paperclip uses up to and including S2E4 => 3. And boy were they pretty implausible - but that's why I like it!

Coming soon, "The Walking Dead". Can't wait to see the new and improved Rick go and kick some ass - Lucille notwithstanding.

Ciao for now.

Rock Bottom

I am officially the heaviest I’ve ever been in my life, including the times I was pregnant with my 8lb kids. Then, I was a mere 102kg and I was technically two people at the time. Now, I am 120.8kg and my poor, poor knees are suffering. And my hips. And my back. And I’m pretty sure I’ve shrunk in height.


So today I went to my GP and asked for a referral for gastric surgery. Biiiiig step. Many changes, lifelong changes. GP recommended I start with the usual diet (yeah, I know what to eat, what not to eat, and all about portion sizes, yadda yadda...) and exercise (aaaand here we all fall down. I hate exercise. I hate being seen to do exercise because I wibble and wobble, fall down in an asthmatic heap and am usually beyond beetroot purple at the time), but has gone ahead and referred my case to the guys in Aberdeen who will bring my case to their meeting where they discuss all the cases, that’s all she can do from there and I thank her for the way she’s handled it thus far.


Anyone who has known me longer than 5 years has known me thinner and has known me bigger. My weight fluctuates THAT much over a relatively short space of time. The only time I was able to maintain a somewhat svelte figure was when I was on Thyroxine. I was a UK size 10/12 and had just met my hubby (sooooo, Feb 2009). I was taken off Thyroxine and put back on an antidepressant around three months after that and then the weight started to creep on again. Fast forward to New Year 2013 and we started to diet together after the birth of Taylor. Late October 2013 and I’m back to a size 12 and *ping* almost 3 months pregnant with Kaiden. Sigh. I didn’t diet straight after having Kaiden because we managed to make breastfeeding work. It was June 2015 before he weaned finally, but by then I was on an antidepressant and an antipsychotic (neither known for their slimming side effects). I was around or just over the 100kg mark for New Year 2016 and a size 14/16. Taylor got meningitis at the same time we buried my Nan, cue weight gain. By June I was in size 18’s. Switched meds in November and by Xmas, size 20’s were snug. New Year 2017, 120.8kg. Fuck this shit. I’m fed up of this yo-yo dieting crap and what it’s doing to my joints.


Thankfully, I’m in a good place mentally with it, which I’m attributing to the new meds. I see my body as a vehicle that gets me from A to B. My internal shadow is a lot smaller than my actual shadow (and it’s a bigger shadow than my actual shadow when I’m skinny, go figure), so it’s only when I’m reminded of how I look that I feel what I do about this vehicle. But importantly, my size and weight doesn’t make me depressed any more. I wasn’t happy when I was skinny and I’m not exactly thrilled to bits now I’m big; it’s a huge revelation to me that my size/weight has zero implications on my mood.


But anyway - can’t carry on; joints wear out, asthma’s getting steadily worse and I really don’t want to be developing type II diabetes (which I’m at a higher risk for since I was a gestational diabetic both times). So a permanent measure is needed. That means surgery.


In the meantime, there’s no harm getting fit so that any future surgery has the best chance of a non-coffin outcome - hence the walking. At the moment it’s half an hour, any way I can manage it. We’ll see how many times a week I can manage that before trying to improve on it. Hoping that by the end of the year I’ll be #FatGirlJogging rather than #FatGirlWalking and doing it (fnar fnar) every day of the week.


Got a blood test on Friday, thyroid panel and fasting glucose. If there are any hidden nasties (like, OMG maybe she’s got an underactive thyroid or, OMG here comes the diabetes train, toot toot) we’ll know in a week or so.


Until then, imma keep on walking. Let’s make it an officially unofficial New Year’s Resolution.