This has been a stressful and emotional week. My husband and I had marriage counseling early in the week, which is helpful, but always makes me emotional and kind of depressed (depressed because we even need marriage counseling in the first place). Then my husband started a 12 step support group to work on some of the acting out behaviors he struggles with. I’m glad he started the group, I think it will be good for him and he could use the friendship and accountability partners, but I was also kind of bummed because his support group gets to meet in person and I desperately wish I could find a support group for me that meets in person.
I feel like I’m dying for that face to face interaction, but the only support groups I could find for me only meet online for right now and it looks like it will be that way until at least September because of the rules of the church where they normally met before Covid. I’m still going to try to be a part of it, but it just isn’t the same. Part of me is jealous that my husband gets that in-person attention and I can’t.
On top of that, my husband and I had a fight yesterday (or more accurately, I had an emotional meltdown and he sort of closed up, not knowing how to respond). The argument was about the trip we are taking to Buffalo, NY next week and about him making plans for it that I didn’t agree to and wouldn’t like so that he could visit an old friend. More than anything, I was just upset that I felt like he didn’t even think about how any of it would affect me or make the trip harder for me.
What would Maya Angelou write?
Something bold & direct.
Something that plays on your conscience.
Something privileged ears need to hear.
Something regal and hauntingly beautiful to your ears.
What would Maya Angelou write?
Something not quickly forgotten.
It’s a dreary day here. The fog is so thick, I can’t see past our nearest neighbors’ houses. It kind of matches my mood inside. Feeling sluggish, depressed, and exhausted.
I’ve been having crazy dreams at night, which are leaving me feeling like I haven’t slept. Last night I dreamed that Trump died, but I was surrounded by Trumpers when I got the news and their grief and anger was so overwhelming, I had to pretend to be heartbroken too or I was afraid they would hurt me.
A couple nights ago, I had the EXACT same dream at least three times in a row, even waking up at the exact same moment. That dream was about some weird plot to invite everyone around to this huge mansion or castle-like building and then kill them all off one by one until only the mastermind behind the plot was left. Each time it got down to only the one guy left, I would wake up. It was strange because I wasn’t really in the dream either, it was more like I was watching it unfold from a viewing point, like watching a movie or something.
I’ve also been struggling a lot with insecurity in my relationship with my husband. He is doing everything he can to show me that he is sorry for hurting me in the past and is working on fixing his own emotional issues, but I still feel insecure and scared at times that he will somehow undo the progress he has made and go back to old habits.
So here is a sneak peek into what it is like to live with autism and sensory integration issues. Recently we bought some new bath towels because some of our old ones are in pretty bad shape. I love the bright new royal and navy blue towels we bought, but I can’t stand to use them yet. Why? They aren’t coarse enough yet.
You see, if I use a towel that is fluffy and soft, my body doesn’t like the feel of it, and even worse, I never feel like it is drying me – even though it is. It makes the whole bathing experience feel incomplete and messed up. I have to use the old, ragged towels until the new towels have been used by my husband and washed enough times that they lose their fluffy softness, so I can stand the feel of the fibers against my skin after a bath.
It probably sounds minor to you, but it is hard for me to see those beautiful new towels and know that I can’t use them or it will drive me crazy. I don’t want to use the faded, ugly ones, but they do provide a superior drying experience. Ugh, I know – first world autistic problems, right? But it is annoying.
Over the weekend my husband and I went over to Indiana for my uncle’s viewing and funeral. Although the occasion was obviously sad, it was really nice to see some of the relative I rarely see, especially my cousins. One of my cousins even told me that he had been reading my writing and loved it. He encouraged me to “keep doing what you’re doing”, and that meant a lot ♥ I didn’t even know any of them read my work!
I got a few momentos to remember my uncle by as well, which was nice. Since we both love Egyptian art and mythology, I got several of his Egyptian figurines, and a quilt that was made by my great-grandma. Having that connection to your roots during sad times like this can be comforting and make you feel a part of something bigger than just you.