Well done. I used to get those feelings, but at least they finally eased off after several years. I managed to do myself no lasting damage. The scars have all faded. That was before I was on medication.

Hmm? I'm struggling to hold one conversation down elsewhere, I'm afraid. Will be in tomorrow, or later if the person I'm talking to retires to bed.



PSD

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This is the work of an Italian narco-anarchic collective. Don't bother insulting them, they can't read English anyway.

Loneliness is a bizarre feeling. Sometimes, loneliness makes me feel so low. Makes me want to cut, triggers attacks, it can be a real killer. Other times there's nothing i want more.



TMH

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One golfer a year is hit by lightning. This may be the only evidence we have of god’s existence.

Popped in later, no-one about.



PSD

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This is the work of an Italian narco-anarchic collective. Don't bother insulting them, they can't read English anyway.

Dave,

Thank you for writing so beautifully about your children. It makes me think of how my parents must feel, and once again reminds me that however much I have had to deal with, it must be so much more difficult for them. I get along fine with my sister if I don't see her often and then only for a short time, but they have to deal with her nearly every day: giving her rides here and there (we're both visually impaired, so can't drive, and she gets too freaked out to take the bus), helping her with her house and garden (which she rents from them for only a small fraction of what they must pay to keep it up), and dealing with what we all think of as "Vicki logic". High-functioning autism is particularly difficult because she is so aware at all times, and yet has these blind spots which, because she has a relentlessly analytical mind, she has to work around somehow. And she has no sense of humor about herself, as I understand it a common problem for Asperger's sufferers—they tend to be too literal. The combination is exhausting, and because she appears so functional, when she loses it in public it can be dreadfully embarrassing. Anyone who knows her will just take it in stride, but strangers will stare at a thirtysomething woman behaving like an adolescent.

I am afraid for the future, when my parents are gone and there is no one else to look after her. There are of course some things I will never be able to do for her, such as driving her anywhere. But she won't listen to me like she listens to them because I'm her kid sister; I haven't the authority. And honestly, I don't want it. I love her, of course, but we are too close in age to be the sort of compaticble siblings parents dream of (I was supposed to be younger, in fact, though in my opinion the generation gap in our family is quite wide enough). We bring out the worst in each other, and I don't think it can be helped. I can say to myself, she's just winding you up, let it pass. But she can't. So I am afraid.

And it makes me so angry because she is such a wonderful person, so intelligent and generous, and she never holds s grudge (thank God—and unlike me, I fear). She thinks very deeply about things, she's an NPR junkie so every time there's a local election we grill her for info about candidates because she always knows more than we do. She cares very much about people, lots of people, and wants to help everyone. She has frequent dinners at her house (which my mother ends up helping her with a lot) for her friends, mainly other Asperger's cases and members of her synagogue (she's being Jewish again now, long story). She could be so brilliant and do so much; before she gave up her dreams of making something of herself she was going to be a theoretical physicist. (I looked up to her a lot when we were in school, naturally enough; when I went to college I wanted to be a physicist too, though applied. But I didn't have her math skills, and bombed out in the first term thanks to a quirk in my college's calculus instruction.) It has always seemed to me that the real geniuses, the people who make the extraordinary leaps of understanding that define our progress, are incredibly focused and intent on their particular fields. These are her strengths: focus and intensity. (God are they ever; to this day I shudder when I see Wonder Woman—a two-year obsession—and I will never forget the time she decided it was the bomb to put mint in everything, and I do mean everything.) But although she is focused, the Asperger's gets in her way and she can't carry through. She doesn't lack for drive or enthusiasm, but there's an impassible hiccup in her follow-through, and I think it is killing her slowly, because she knows it.

This winter when we were having a family dinner at the parents' she announced that if some significant advance is not made in the next couple of years to help her get her life together, she wants to end it. This isn't the first time she has threatned to kill herself, but it has been a while since the last time. I can't even say this time is different, though I know she thought so when she said it, and has brought it up a couple of times since then when trying to get her way about something (one of her less attractive traits, emotional blackmail). But here's the thing that keeps me up nights: what if her life really is so awful that death would be preferable? I can't go there myself. My life is often nothing to write home about, but I seem to have the usual complement of survival instincts and have never thought about suicide except academically (or watching Heathers). I simply can't relate to her experience, so how can I say to her that life is worthwhile anyway?—yet how can I *not* say that? All that can be said is that we don't want to lose her. But I wonder if that is selfish.

Well, I didn't expect to get into all this! I really need to be packing my closets and bagging books. Good night all, and thanks for listening.

There are times I think the burden of mental illness is much harder for the famly members than it is for the sufferers. In the midst of my worst depression (the one that I tried jumping in front of a moving car and only my hubby's quick action stopped me. And I can't remember it) hubby told me that seeing me like that literally tore him apart, because he couldn't do anythng to fix it for me. My mums blood pressure wnet sky high so the doctor wanted to hospitalise her, but she refused because she wanted to be there for me. I saw my father cry for the only time that I've ever known. And in the midst of it all I didn't care what I was doing to them. I only cared about how I felt. and that hurt them even more. I could see all of this once the depression had eased, but not in the middle of it all.

Some of you have problems that make mine seem a lot less serious, and thus (perhaps) a bit easier to cope with. That wasn't how I expected the fforum would continue helping me to fight off the depression from which I was suffering around the turn of the year... My sincere condolences to all of those concerned, and best wishes for as much improvement in their conditions as possible.

************************************************************

(No frivolous sig from me here, on such a serious thead.)

On the radio I heard a disabilities campaigner say that society has been very successful in making such problems invisible to the public, which is probably true. Well at least we're visible to each other, and nobody seems to mind.

Re autism, Joshua is a very different case, and I often think I'm the one that got away. As far as I know the doctors don't know what it is, can't cure it, and don't know what causes it, which seems as hopeless a diagnosis as you can get. I can understand Vicki feeling like that. It must be very sad to live trapped in a mind that seems very sensible to you when no amount of external help seems to make sense to you in your own terms, and yet to know as the years draw by that you are, most definitely, different, alone, and without obvious help.

(Alone - yes there are plenty of others, but alone-ness seems to be a strong part of the problem).

I'm not qualified to say anything about this. Bea had depression a few years ago and I'm not / wasn't good at helping people, especially because when I had my stress related health problems (not sure if it was depression, but i had hair loss, insomnia, irritability and my body just stopped my periods for 4 months) I just packed my bags and moved to London.

But I just wanted to reccommend:

"The curious case of the dog in the night time" by Mark Haddon.
It written in the voice of a 15 year old boy with Asperger's Syndrome and it's a very good book...

I've suffered from depression for nearly 25 years on and off - a lot more off now than on I'm glad to say. I didn't and won't touch any anti-depressants and my doctor understands this. Now I don't even bother going to the doctor when I have an attack - I have my own ways of helping myself.

My mother once told me to pull myself together - that still hurts although I know now that she was at the end of her tether with life in general and it wasn't me (it didn't help that the attack came whilst she was having major financial worries because my father was refusing to pay any maintenance). But don't you find that some people still imply that?

Depression is a horrible thing to suffer but it helps so much to know that there are people out there who understand and can give support, be it quietly and through cyberspace.

Hugs and love to you all

Compared with all of you, I think I was very lucky, as mine was a minor form. Still it was awful for me, crying at every second, memory loss, constant tiredness and a general feeling of helplessness about everything in my life.
It also took me ages to get any sort of help, namely a doctor, because I had this crazy idea that only weak people felt bad about life, or people without the kind of family/friend/work support and situation I had. I should just snap out of it.
I'm glad I did in the end, I'm glad my mum got tired of seeing me like that and asked our family doctor about a good psychiatrist, and I'm glad she was such a wonderful doctor who explained everything about the illness and the chemical imbalance my brain was suffering.
She also directed me to a psychologist, but I hated him, and since she saw I was having the support of my friends, she didn't pressure me to go again.
I was on medication for 2,5 years, starting strongly then slowly diminishing the dosage to the end, and I can't thank medication enough. I saw my psychiatrist for those 2,5 years every 2 months, talking about anything and everything.

With my depression, I learnt to rely on my friends more, to share things with them, to leave the constant shell I lived in.
And it was the kick I needed to go and buy my own flat (only moved a couple of years later, as it was still being built when I got it).

I still remember New Year's Eve 97/98 though.... I spent it in bed alone crying my heart out and falling asleep out of sheer exhaustion....



Post Edited (07-21-03 17:07)

Thanks for the reference, Carla, I'll check it out. I'm planning to give Vicki Elizabeth Moon's book about autism, I think it's called The Speed of Dark, for her birthday next week (because the copy of Harry Potter I ordered may be a while coming).

That really is a wonderful book, i also recommend I'm OK You're OK by Dr Harris and The Noonday Demon by Andrew Solomon. Books are great solice for me. So im always on the look out for some new ones!



TMH

//---------------//------------------//
One golfer a year is hit by lightning. This may be the only evidence we have of god’s existence.

I think that it is amazing how people are able to write so frankly about their experiences here. I used to suffer from very mild depression (which included self harm), but luckily my attacks are getting further and further away. However, I was never able to talk to people in the way you guys have, and I admire you loads for it.

Re books, has anyone read 'For the Love of Ann' by James Copeland? Its the true story of an autistic child, from the time she was born until she was 20, printed in 1973 (Ann was born around the time autism was first recognised as a condition)



I drink to drown my sorrows. Unfortunately they've learnt how to swim.

Coo, like me, for example... And I'm sure I would have heard off Anna, so ~I guess you might not have told her either. So that's you, me, Cod and Anna just out of our circle of friends...



PSD

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This is the work of an Italian narco-anarchic collective. Don't bother insulting them, they can't read English anyway.