I finished the chapter on university life in “Untypical”. My brother never went to university, however he fell into the trap that Pete Wharmby narrowly avoided while at uni where he was encouraged to drink to excess and how the author found that alcohol and drugs could oil the gears of social interaction.
My brother is a recovering alcoholic.
I’m allowed to write that because my identity here is largely anonymous, but also because he takes that label onto himself.
Reading this book it is clear that alcohol and drugs are a common way for autistic people to cope with the stress of living.
He also smokes pot – almost certainly for the same reasons.
I am very proud of my little brother: he is a very loving father of two darling boys and they are the most important thing in the world to him.
About thirty minutes before bed I read three chapters of “Jane Eyre” until I was tired, using the orange reading lamp. It actually didn’t take long to get to sleep!
I didn’t stay asleep. At half-one I was awake with a hammering heart and rapid breathing. I took a beta-blocker and listened to about thirty minutes of hypnosis. I turned the track off before it had finished as it and the pill had find enough for me to return to sleep.
At half-three I did that all over again.
It didn’t work quite as well, but I did get off.
I woke thirty minutes before the alarm, so I did a little more hypnosis. It’s a good way to relax a little, and even if I don’t sleep was such, I do awake from it more rested.
This morning I can feel a migraine threatening. I’ll have to pick carefully when I take some medication to see it off.
A fellow in the States has contacted me on Discord to get him started in the process towards castration at the Mexico Transgender Centre; since his first language isn’t English and neither is it Spanish. Its an honour to be asked to help him in any way.
Work today is a little difficult; my concentration is mashed up. I am tired. But I am enjoying being among friends.
As we always do every three weeks, we went to lunch together. Feeling tired, I found the conversation difficult to follow at times, but that was ok – it was about tropical fish tanks, so it was just nice to see the other people getting excited about fish and pumps and the size of the tank.
I worked until three, as I wanted to fit in a hospital visit between work and counselling – and I did not want to miss counselling. On the way I had a few times screaming trying to relieve some pressure. I don’t know if it worked.
I got lost in the hospital and was close to breakdown, however I managed to ask a nurse where I was and where intensive care was. I was on the wrong floor.
I put myself together and went into the ICU.
My husband is clearly getting a little better as he was much more together. He was feeling nauseous though. At some point, when there is space, he will be discharged to a ward.
He keeps saying that he wants to go home and I keep pushing back; he really doesn’t look ready to go home – and I’m in no fit state to care for him.
I am feeling very drained.
I am out of spoons.
After rushing home, I actually had time for a tiny bit of piano practice. That was so welcome – I’ve not played fruit several days.
Say six-thirty my counsellor arrived. After a hug, I made him a cup of tea, then we sat on the floors last time and began to talk.
Again I gave my body history the last seven days and the current crisis. I said how I was feeling as best I could, but I felt as though I could explode. As I speak my, a quote from Moby Dick is bright too mind: “as if his chest had been a mortar, he burst his hot heart’s shell upon it.” I am feeling tension in my chest.
I said that I can identify the primary colour emotions, but the shades I cannot get: for example sarcasm can confuse me, as I wonder whether something is meant literally.
I talked about the importance of getting a diagnosis so that my husband won’t feel that I’m making it up, so that I can get the direct advice and I can plan my life, so that I can request better working conditions (the example I gave was phoning people out of the blue – I know of one other autistic developer, but there may be others: programming is the perfect place to hide). I believe that it would also help my husband, since I would no longer be just a whining spouse wringing their hands and whining that they cannot cope: they would be dealing with somebody with an official recognised disability.
My counsellor reassured me that asking for time out to avoid overwhelm, or asking that emotional discussions happen after a period of notice (eg “can we talk about this tomorrow please”), was healthy and working with the condition rather than against it.
He also understood the need for routine and how that helps manage the stresses of life and even it the emotional peaks and troughs. And how important the special interests are for emotional regulation.
I had to admit how angry and frustrated I feel when my routine is disrupted, or I’m not allowed to pursue my interests – then he understood why my husband needs to accept the disability, because if he doesn’t, he will be unable to accommodate it and I will continue to deteriorate, get overwhelmed, be irritable and unreasonable, have shutdowns and damaging meltdowns.
He even volunteered to help by writing supporting letters or emails.
I feel safer with this counsellor – I can say anything and not feel judged.
He seems try be excited by my journey.
So, end of the night, having me tea, indulging a special interest or two: writing my blog, then a bit of reading, then maybe a Star Trek or League of Gentlemen before bed.
I am feeling calmer than I have all day.
Goodnight!
Eunuchorn 
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