Duvet day

Today is the twenty-seven anniversary of the day I met my husband. It is a beautiful story and one I love to tell.

I am not going to share it today.

Today, I struggled to get up, let alone showered and dressed. I don’t usually “do” depression, I can feel low, but sooner or later I get bored and start doing stuff.

I don’t seem able to do that today.

I woke at eight. Made a couple of coffees, went into the bedroom to get my running gear and ended up back in bed for three hours. The bed feels cosy and safe.

I eventually got up about midday, made a pot pasta for lunch, then managed a shower about one. I actually made it to Lidl to get some shopping done, before retiring back to the sofa to curl up for another hour or so.

I came to the computer to put Star Wars on – the familiar sounds might cheer me, even if I don’t watch the actual screen. Actually, I quite like listening to familiar films more than watching them; the dialogue and music is somehow comforting. Interesting that the spoken words are so potent to a reader like myself.

So what caused this mood drop?

Bad coffee

Yesterday, my husband invited me to meet him for coffee. I didn’t much want to go, but I needed to get something off my chest: the time at the beach on Friday and the conversation afterwards weighed heavily on my mind and I was not a happy puppy: I felt angry.

I did at least ask how he was when I got there, but I started by saying that I was hurt and angry about the day before. That led him to tell me how he felt.

He said that he’s tried to accommodate me and my strange behaviour – “how much more does he need to give?” he asked.

He has asked many times that I come back to him to him on subjects, but I don’t. This has been true. I hope that this behaviour is changing as I accept my limitations and start taking notes either during or after the conversation.

He asked whether I believe that none of how I am is behavioural; he then kept asking me “is such and such innate?” meaning part of preprogramed ASD, and I would say “no, that’s behavioural”. ASD doesn’t cover or excuse much of the way I have been, however it does explain an awful lot to me.

For example, he asked whether “it was innate to shame and blame” or “to attack weaknesses”, and of course its not.

However, shutdowns are very much ASD, as is “stubbornness”, which is actually in my opinion) an manifestation of “psychopathic demand avoidance”.

He accuses me of only talking to people who will feed my belief that I have ASD. I don’t think either my counsellor nor the mental health nurse have an interest in whether I have ASD or not, they only want me to be healthy and well.

I said that if I accept that this is my condition, then I can use techniques and skills that others use to manage it and avoid the worst excesses of it. In some respects, it doesn’t matter about a formal diagnosis if the medicine works … except, that it does matter to me – why is that? I think/hope that an independent professional diagnosis might better convince my husband of my reality.

He says that he should always have been my priority, and that he still should be. This comes from my prioritisation of other relationships and is a fair cop. I have excuses, but that’s all they are.

He said that it’s only since I discovered my own shame and owned it, that he’s realised how much I have put onto him. That hurts to hear, but I am glad that I can lift at least some of the burdens I put on him.

He says that I never talked to him about how he felt about his dad or losing his kids, or his family. I was surprised by that statement because I thought he talked about it quite a lot.

He said that, regarding his body issues or other things that I was very much “I don’t think he is, therefore he isn’t”. I thought that simply saying that “you’re not fat” or “you’re not old” would be enough as was the right thing to do. My words don’t help and they don’t help him to feel heard. However, I don’t want to accept that he’s fat or old and neither do I want him to accept those feelings.

After a while, I returned to how I was feeling, especially about the ASD list that I’d given him. I said that he “accused me of making shit up, but it was him making shit up …”. “Excuse me?!” he said, “Fuck off, you’re getting angry and loud”.

I froze. He asked whether I was shutting down, I indicated “no”, but actually, on reflection, I was shutting down. He talked for quite a while afterwards, but I didn’t hear any more. I was almost frozen (although not quite).

It was nearing five in the afternoon when I went to the bathroom and stayed there a while trying to regain myself. When I came out, he was outside having a cigratte.

We walked together until I got close to where the car was parked. He hugged, but it was tentative and not warm.

When I got to the car, I got in and closed my eyes.

Half an hour later I was able to drive back to the flat.