I can’t be bloggered! 

So here it is. 

A blog about not blogging. 

I’m in a strange place. My new meds are kicking in and I’m not sure what’s happening internally. I feel sort of dreamy, out of it, non-functioning and, not to put too fine a point on it, odd!. A little disembodied. 

I like to have control. I need control but right now I feel floaty. And the headache, the perpetual headache above my right eye. That’s really distracting actually. It’s like I’m permanently peering at something. But only through my right eye!. 

I feel insecure. 

I’d like to blog. I would. I really would. But there’s no support, to my mind, for me to continue. 

I notice, particularly on twitter that certain bloggers are widely supported. I’ve particularly noticed a group of female bloggers who actively support and promote each other’s blogs. That’s nice. It’s not envy or jealously I’m experiencing but sometimes it would be nice to have that depth of interest in what I write; to feel I contributed something meaningful. 

But I don’t. 

They say writing is cathartic. For some I am sure that it is but I’ve come to a point now where I just feel nobody is interested. 

Perhaps I’m not interested myself anymore. 

But it’s more than that. It’s feeling that I’m contributing something. That I’m going to say something that sparks debate. That I’m going to say something that people will find stimulating. 

And that’s clearly something I lack. 

I know I’m not intelligent enough to write those deeply personal and educational posts that do interest people. I don’t have the grasp of the technical issues that many do so people aren’t getting an intellectual frisson of excitement from what I write. I don’t write about “the issues” that clearly stimulate discussion. I’m not learned enough to contribute meaningfully re gender, sexuality or topics ending in “ny” or “ism”. 

All I have is my personality. 

And that’s not enough. 

I don’t embrace the left wing politics of many. I’m too objective, too balanced. That brings more problems as I can’t rant against the establishment, rail against injustice or put forth impassioned tirades. Perhaps I’m too reasonable. Perhaps I’m too nice. 

Or too boring. 

So there’s no point in bothering is there ?. 

There are a million blogs about Autism out there. Blogs written by people who appeal to other people, whose description of the challenges they face and how they overcome them, of their achievements and their struggles, are greatly more appreciated than mine. 

Perhaps I’m not good at promoting myself. But I’m not much good at anything so that’s hardly surprising. I’m not good at getting myself across. And I don’t have the backing of people who will promote what I write in the way the aforementioned women do. They are just so supportive of each other. It’s a really good thing. They have a bond, a common purpose and interest. They are there for each other through their blogging and interactions. They seem to all “belong”. Long may it continue. 

So that’s it. 

It’s time to keep things to myself. It’s time to stop pretending I’m good at this or that there’s genuine interest in what I write. It’s time to stop believing that what I say has actual merit. It’s time to stop fooling myself that what I write has made a valuable contribution to another persons life. 

It’s time to fade away. 

I can’t be bloggered any more! 

Standing on a rocky ledge, staring down into a heartless sea

Such is life. 

Not just for me but, particularly recently, for all of us. 

The world seems very uncertain. The world seems unbelievably spontaneous. You never know what’s coming next. 

As someone who thrives on certainty and logic I find it very hard to cope with events outside my control. Especially events that churn up emotionally charged responses in others. It’s that loss of control, loss of predictability, loss of order, that upsets me. 

I’m rarely affected by news. I don’t watch it because it annoys me. Too much bias one way or another, too many stories dragged out to interminable lengths, too many stories that start, but then you never hear the end of. I find it irritating and the presentation smug and self congratulatory. 

But some news breaks through. Some news upsets me or leaves me more downhearted and dismayed than before. It’s at times like those that I find myself on that rocky ledge, staring down into a heartless sea wondering where all the love, compassion and common decency has gone in this world. Of course these tragedies bring forth those very qualities but those qualities are more pronounced because they were born out of a tragedy!. Where are they on a daily basis ?. 

I live now, in a very “white” area with little discernible multiculturalism. It’s typically English, quite rural, gentile. Safe. But I remember working with a fantastic Muslim (now a hotshot employment lawyer), a funny laid back West Indian, a gay boss who was the kindest most conscientious work colleague ever in a Jewish area where everyone got on. Yes it was work but everyone talked to each other. Nobody raised a voice, good humour was central to our working life and we pulled together. We celebrated our differences (and this was long before my Aspergers diagnosis) and showed due consideration for everyone’s beliefs. 

I wonder what it’s like now. 

I’ve never understood racism. Partially because it’s stupid and I don’t “do” stupid. How anyone can get upset by someone else’s skin colour seems utterly illogical. I don’t do religious hatred or bigotry either. I’m not religious. If I had to choose one I’d probably plump for Buddhism because I’m more spiritual (I think) but hating someone because they believe in a god that’s not yours or because the way they worship doesn’t match the way you do it is, again, stupid. 

It’s stupidity that’s trying to push us off that rocky ledge. 

The stupidity of the terrorist, the suicide bomber, the fanatic. The stupidity of those whose heads are turned by the ravings of men who distort the words of their gods into something vile and cruel. 

What a stupid world we live in. 

I’m not saying we should love each other. Yes it would be lovely but it would be hypocritical of me to suggest something I couldn’t do myself. It’s more about tolerance. Accept each other’s differences and move on. What doesn’t affect you doesn’t affect you. If my neighbour is a Hindu  how does that affect me ?. When he eats or prays has no direct impact on my tea time or my belief system. Why do we care so much ?. 

If a Muslim gentleman says hello to me as we pass in the street, is it not respectful of me to reply ?. If a Jew steps aside to let me walk down the pavement is it too much to say thank you ?. If a Sikh asks me for the time, do I not tell him ?. 

We view everything with so much suspicion. Some of that suspicion is media fuelled but we can’t see enemies in every doorway. We can’t stop living because a few exist in a world of hate where only self sacrifice and the loss of innocent life are deemed to be the answer. 

We simply can’t. 

As someone on the Autistic spectrum I find the world a confusing place. I find people’s distrust of others deeply worrying. I find it illogical and stupid. I want it to stop. 

We’re standing on a rocky ledge, staring down into a heartless sea. 

Let’s all hope we don’t fall! 

Meetings make me mad! (An Autistic Rant!) 

I hate meetings! 

If I never had to attend another one I’d probably be delighted. 

I’ve always viewed them with a deep suspicion and the ones they hold where I work just compound those feelings. 

I like order. I like to know what’s on the agenda. I like to know who is doing what. And I like minutes. I like comprehensible, comprehensive minutes. 

Sorry but that’s my Autism speaking! 

I don’t like free for alls with interruptions, going off topic and a lack of cohesion. It does my head in. 

At work we have monthly meetings. I am excused attendance but, since they take place about twenty feet away in an open plan office it’s very hard not to listen to what’s being said and cringe inwardly at the lack of organisation. 

These meetings can last ten minutes or an hour. They are divided into two parts. Firstly the CEO of the charity will talk about fund raising. He will reference organisations I’ve never heard of led by people I don’t know who have generously given or been coerced into giving, money to keep us afloat. He will talk about bridge the gap (between who or what I cannot say) and breakfasts here and lunches there. Eyes glaze over and zombie like expressions abound as he rambles on. 

Eventually, having bored everyone into submission he will allow the operations manager to give her spiel about Tax and changes we need to be aware of. That bit I usually understand but given that my brains aching from the CEO onslaught and I’m still asking who, why, what for and how much, I’m often deaf to what she says! 

I’m sure what’s being said is important but, as someone on the spectrum, I have difficulty processing verbal information. I particularly struggle when there is no context and where much of what’s said seems meaningless. It’s jumbled, unfocused and a lot of the time, it seems unnecessary. It’s talking because it has to be done. 

I know everyone needs to know things. To be kept in the loop. But the mass of figures and organisations I don’t know and the comings and goings just leave me with a headache. I’m not even at these meetings yet feel sucked in to the raging torrent of CEO speak!. I feel trapped by a deluge of waffle! 

And if someone interrupts you’ll hear the sound of a head bouncing of a desk as I headbutt myself senseless trying to make sense of the jumbled voices and occasional shrieks of laughter. 

In truth I’ve rarely attended any meeting be it work related or health related where I’ve come out feeling it was worthwhile. Where I’ve come out feeling informed. Or where I’ve gone in with a clearly defined agenda so I know what’s going to happen. 

And minutes! Don’t get me started on minutes. Arriving weeks after the event they relate to (probably so you’ve forgotten everything so can’t argue anythings incorrect) with vague references in them to things that might have been said but were clearly open to the widest interpretation and with comments made by people who didn’t actually make them. Grrr! 

Yeah, meetings make me mad. 

Such hatred sullied us all. 

It was understandable, in a way. 

The residents of Grenfell Tower poring forth their bile and hatred intermingled with their obvious grief. Fury mixed with anguish, written large across pain riddled features. 

But whilst we all share their pain and suffering and, I am sure, think that there but for the grace of God go I, there are deeply unsavoury elements which only add to the tragedy. 



If it really had just been the residents and their families saying those words then yes, you could understand why even if you didn’t share the sentiments. Unfortunately, it wasn’t. 

A demonstration hijacked once more by the vicious elements of the left. A demonstration to do with safe housing and preventable tragedy turned, once more, into a political football. But only on the left. Banners held aloft as they marched screaming obscenities, as per usual, against the Tories. Blame austerity, blame big business, oh, and certainly blame Mrs May. Bitch. Murderer. 

Castigated venomously for failing to meet the victims. But what could she say to people already hostile to her ?. What good would it have done ?. She’d have been accused of not really caring, of just turning up for show. 

After the Manchester attack she privately visited the victims in hospital. Did that garner her praise ?. Of course not. It was done privately away from the glare of publicity that, unfortunately, Jeremy Corbyn now seems to relish. I am sure he cares. I’m also sure he has an ace PR company. 

When she announced a £5 million emergency fund, announced rehousing for the survivors within three weeks and a full public enquiry, Mrs May was roundly booed and jeered, her car was approached in a menacing manner and she sensibly left pursued by cries of “murderer” ringing in her ears. Mr Corbyn hugs people in a very public show and is hailed the caring messiah. I am sure he will have Glastonbury eating out of his hands! 

How many of those who screamed abuse were residents or their relatives is hard to judge. Certainly the television appears to have been given over to anyone who wants to get their hate filled obscenity rich bile spread large across the media. Particular airtime is given to the most extreme. 

Perhaps austerity is to blame. Perhaps it isn’t. Perhaps this is down to companies making a fast buck, doing things on the cheap, fulfilling contracts using sub standard materials. I don’t know. 

But what I do know is that genuine grief has been subsumed. Genuine stories of heroism and bravery lost amid the rants and curses. The serious political fallout submerged beneath a left wing hijack of a tragedy that is genuine, terrible and has no need of such antics. 

Feelings are raw, grief is real but the hatred and the glee with which it is spouted sullies us all. 

The Moderate Centrist : Autistic Politics

Perhaps it is down to being Autistic. 

Perhaps it’s simply down to seeing things practically. Being able to step away. 

I don’t know. 

I enjoy politics. I enjoy peoples view points. I enjoy them more when they aren’t riddled with four letter words and abuse be that directed at myself or MPs. I want to understand and engage in dialogue but all too often I find myself surrounded by hateful barbs and chaotic rants which I can’t follow. 

On the political spectrum I’d say I was centre….ish. Moderate. I don’t think I hold too many extreme right or left wing views, if any. And I think it’s because I hold that ground that I can see all arguments and sides. But persuading me to one takes more than a mouthful of abuse. 

I like Jeremy Corbyn. I think he is a principled man. I’d have a cup of tea with him. But I don’t like his admission that debt is good, I don’t think he understands that money doesn’t grow on trees and he’s a little watery on defence. 

I don’t care much for Theresa May. I don’t hate her, not sure I dislike her, just find her hard to like. She seems deeply uncomfortable at times, very rigid, humourless. Reminds me of George Osborne, a bit cold, hard to engage with. But she is very focused and driven. (Here I do admit to calling GO a cruel and vile man…but that’s as strong as I’ll go) 

Twitter is very left wing. So is Facebook. I struggle with that because so many of the views expressed are rants and hypocritical. It’s hard to reason with people. 

Example : Person castigated and harassed for saying he hates Corbyn but another joyfully agreed with for calling May a bitch and a c**t. 

Sure you’re angry, you’re scared, you worry about the future but name calling, especially like that, is not a vote winner. I don’t find it persuasive. 

Now there’s a lot of screaming about Mrs Mays desperate cling to power and of course, much made of the DUPs rather unsavoury past and present ideology. 

However, the DUP have said they would support Labour if Mr Corbyn wasn’t in charge. And, given the fact that a Labour minority government would probably have needed DUP assistance to pass legislation, it’s a bit hypocritical to complain. And, memo to Labour, you didn’t win!. You got 57 seats less than the Tories. Your day will come and probably quite soon but for the moment, think about why you are still 57 seats behind. 

I wish I could discuss things with people. 

I wish I could say I voted Conservative and explain why without a barrage of abuse and threats.  But why cause myself stress ?. Yes I did vote Conservative (small c actually) because Corbyns debt admission scared me, his figures didn’t add up, raising the minimum wage to £10 an hour would drive small businesses under (and I work for one) and would cost me money as I’d lose more valuable tax credits!. The local MP has helped me in the past so there’s a bit of loyalty there. I wanted to believe JC but just wasn’t persuaded his economics were sound. 

Maybe next time ?. 

I see good and bad in all parties. 

I’m centrist and moderate..

But I don’t get the hate! . 


So I fell off the precipice …

I was so low. 

Am so low. 

I wanted to die. 

Yes, in that moment I didn’t want to be here anymore. 

There was cutting. Blood. 

I’m not proud. I’m just sad. Sad that I was pushed so far. Sad that I wasn’t strong enough to do it…or sad that I even tried. 

My doctor knows. He rearranged his surgery to see me. That was kind. He gets it. And then I felt selfish because he’d rearranged other appointments to see me. And I felt I was wasting his time. He said I wasn’t. He is kind. 

He asked me if I wanted to commit myself voluntarily for treatment. He wonders whether committing me would help. But he knows me. He saw a deeply unhappy, trapped, lonely man on the Autistic spectrum, diabetic, Anhedonia sufferer, dysthymia sufferer, two strokes and suffering the exhaustion of fibromyalgia. He got it. 

He knows there’s no treatment. No pills. No happy pills. 

Just support. Whatever that is. 

So the crisis teams got involved. They rang me. One even spent 90 seconds with me. Didn’t ask anything useful just what time I’d be going to bed. Great eh ?. 

Second team better but apparently you aren’t allowed a life. If you don’t sit by your house phone waiting for their call they get shitty with you. And when they get told to ring back it’s after they’ve gone home for the day. 

Apparently you can only have a crisis between 9.00 and 5.00. 

My physical wounds are healing. My mental ones run deep. Physical exhaustion to mental exhaustion in one vicious circle. Round and round. 

I just want to get off. 

Everyone asks me if I have the means to kill myself. Dumb question. Cupboard full of pills, knives in the drawer, road outside where someone could run me over. Yeah I have the means. 

We all do. 

I’m scared to die but don’t want to live. I’ve nothing to look forward to. Zero. Nothing. 

What’s the point ?. Seriously ?. What the fuck do I achieve by being here ?. 

Everyone would be better off if I was dead. 

Today I’m alive. 

Take each day as it comes they say, take it slowly, be kind to yourself. 

How ?. 

I hate myself. What is there to be kind to ?. 

I fell off the precipice. 

Couldn’t even get that right!