About me

Hello, all! I just realized that I never really did a proper introduction post, so here it is.

My name is Zimmie. I'm nineteen years old, and I have... issues which have been variously diagnosed as PDD-NOS, NLD, clinical depression, and DPD. NLD is the only one that I feel really fits. I know that there is a lot of controversy about whether NLD is really distinct from Asperger's Syndrome or this is just diagnosis splitting, but I have one key difference: dyscalculia. I cannot do even addition and subtraction with more than two digits on paper. I got the PDD diagnosis when I was very young – a kid with high verbal skills who didn't socialize, was very physically awkward, and easily overwhelmed by noise or movement. My parents, in what would prove to be their consistent response, didn't believe the results and threw them away. The outcome was that I went through most of school with no stigma of diagnosis, but also no idea what was wrong with me. Yes, I was bullied – sometimes physically, mostly verbally – the entire time, but it didn't really get through to me until about high school. Then, things started going really badly. I was very depressed, almost failed out, and my parents withdrew me and put me into a long-distance program so that I could study at home. I graduated on time, and went to a good college. (Here, I made my first friends! And was asked out by a very nice girl. ^_^). Unfortunately, I was on medications which were very, very bad for me. Early last spring, a medication stage sent me into mania, during which I almost attempted suicide and was hospitalized. Hospitalization was, unfortunately, a traumatizing experience. I was encouraged to withdraw, and instead took medical leave. Right now, I'm living at home again, taking online courses, and hoping to be allowed back in the spring.

...That paragraph may sound whiny, but not everything is! I'm trying to find my way in the world, a world I wasn't quite shaped for, and often this results in a lot of confusion. Sometimes, though, good things happen!

I like reading, history (especially of Soviet Russia), knitting, Celtic music, curry, rabbits, my brothers and sister, and comic books.

And yes, the little avatar on the right really is what I look like, purple hair and all. I dye it.

ETA: ah yes, the psych ward diagnosed me as bipolar and borderline... But since the psych ward spent two weeks talking out of their asses, I don't give these credence. Even more since everyone I've talked to since has taken one look at the sheet and gone, "What? No!"

Transitions and the Chasm

I recently described NLD as "in the chasm between Autistic and not." I think it's an apt way of putting it –we're not full-on Austists, but nor are we neurotypicals. It occurs to me that much of my life has been lived on the borderlands, in the twilight, braced on the liminal line, too much of one but not enough of the other. In folklore, liminality is a powerful state. It also figures in rites of passage, but those must end. Will I follow the pattern of separation, liminality, reintegration? Or will always be a shadow-being, the threshold keeper? The answer is, only time.

Lately, I've been realizing how much I have in common with Dee. We have similar senses of humor, taste in books and films, idiosyncratic dress styles, are highly creative people, and like roleplaying games. The last thing she actually introduced me to – I had never played before college. ^^; It makes me feel a little weird, since she's Emmy's ex, but also makes me laugh, because when I met her I went "That girl is amazing! I wanna be as cool as her!" And, hey, I kind of am.

My siblings and I are doing a great room switcheroo. I have lived with Janet for the last few years, before which Janet lived with Scott, and Parker had his own room. Now, Parker has essentially moved out, I have Parker's old room, Janet has Scott's old room, and Scott has our old room so that Parker can store his stuff and sleep there when he's home. Oy! Parker's room – now my room – is a refurbished crawl space. The ceiling is peaked, and it's accessed by a trapdoor. Yes, trapdoor! I'm now fairly cut off from the rest of the house, which I like. I can basically keep my own schedule because it's too much trouble for the parents to come check on me, and I can play Beethoven symphonies late at night. The only problem is that it's much smaller than the room I shared with Janet, and all my stuff doesn't fit. I have shelves around all the walls, and stacks of books on the floor, but I'll still have to give some away. I let Janet keep a lot of the YA novels that I was given which she still likes. Still, I'm loath to give up any books...

In this NPR article, the author writes about going to see Ponyo with his ASD daughter, and the similarities between them. It's very sweet, and the author obviously views his daughter's PDD-NOS as part of who she is, not something superimposed on her "real" self. That and the overwhelmingly positive comments are heartening. :) I keep meaning to go to Ponyo, maybe with Janet (I hate going to the cinema alone). Miyazaki movies are always amazing, and they have a special place in my heart – My Neighbor Totoro was the first film I saw, in the theater, no less. At age four, I got bored about half way through and demanded my father come out of the theater and read to me, right now! :D

The line about prolonged, enthusiastic hugs hit me with a pang, though, reminding me again how I'm not back at college. Part of me is glad for this – no crowds, no organization hassles, no new room, no overstim, no dining hall, no friends who drink, no interpersonal worries. But then, no girlfriend, no firm, warm, encompassing hugs from Jaye, none of Arax's concern, her crazy-sugary cookies, her late-night tea. No community that accepted shut-off, strange, shy me as one of their own unquestioningly. And that's what I do miss, a lot.

What makes things so much better: I got a card from Jaye today. It was of a wind-twisted tree on a promentary. He said that it reminded him of me – "in the rocks, without water, this tree made it," – and on the inside, he thanked me for supporting him through the year and the summer. It meant so much to me not only because I like and care for him and it meant he was thinking about me, but because when I try to comfort someone, I never know what to say except to give them advice, and assure them that I love them and they will get through. And apparently this is enough.

Lost, sometimes

Conflicted on medication, oh yes. My psych has given me Abilify, supposedly to help from getting sensory/socially overwhelmed. And it would be nice not to have to hide, to lock oneself in a bathroom stall and shake, to barely not break down crying, to be able to stand the noise of a restaurant or the subway. At home I'm in a low-stim, very low-contact environment almost all the time. I hardly ever got the type of social overwhelmed-ness that I got at college before I went there, just because I didn't have to deal with such big groups of people, or so many interpersonal things at one time. Once I quit Debate things got much better, but it still happened. And furthermore, I know that I won't be able to maintain this lifestyle – basically locking myself in my room and only coming out for class and meals – beyond this semester. So, the bottom line is, I may be able to use Abilify, I may even need it, but I won't be able to find out until the spring, and in the meantime, it makes me very groggy in the mornings and evenings, so much so that I can hardly wake up, and that, fluoxetine, and a subway pass mean I'll eat into my savings every single month. No money for cheap, happy-making things like a coffee or comic books, and definitely no money to go see Emmy. *sighs* I'm going to see if I can work extra hours this month and next. If I can make $100 I'll be able to break even on drugs+subway, AND be able to buy a bus ticket some time in October.

Parker is back at school – nobody to talk news with until I catch him online, and no one to call me down for a cup of tea and anime. Janet is working on her college applications. She wants to go to one school very badly, and I enjoy how excited she is about it. And nervous, too. I keep telling her that, with her application, the Ivies are going to fall all over themselves for her. I don't really see Scott much, which is fine. We've never been very close, but he seems to be doing well.

Sometimes, I lie awake with the lights off, and I can't remember where I am. Every room I've lived in forms in the darkness, flashes away. I feel dizzy, as if it's just me and the platform at my back, spinning through the sky, through the universe. I wonder where is up, and where is down.

:)

As a (vaguely) autistic person, I tend to do the hand-flapping thing a lot. To prevent this when talking to somebody, I tend to either jam my hands on my pockets or give the thumbs-up sign a lot. The last one is also cover when I don't know what to say. Anyway, one of my flatmates, who is Austrian, has picked up the gesture in the last few weeks. I don't know if she is doing it unconsciously or thinks it is an American thing or wants to make me feel comfortable, but I am touched by it.

Last week we had a fire alarm go off – some idiot who didn't know how to use his toaster. I nearly didn't make it down the stairs because it was so loud, and when I was finally out of the building, I walked straight to the library and hid in the stacks for a few hours. I like them for the same reasons everyone else doesn't – they're quiet, dim, and deserted – and will be sad when they finally renovate.

Drugs and programs

I'm sitting up in bed, leaning against my pillows. My whole body aches, and I feel exhausted. Why? The most exercise I did was an hour dog walk. My shoulders are so tense it hurts to move them or raise my arms. They used to be so tense for so long that I stopped feeling pain, but then I met a friend at school, Tia, who knew how to fix them. Emmy used to rub my neck when it got stiff, but Emmy's over a hundred miles away. I'm begging my parents to let me go back there some weekend. I want to see Emmy, Jaye, Arax, Tia, Isabella – heck, I want to see Dee. I don't think it will happen.

But I know why I feel so horrible. I missed my antidepressants last night, then figured, "Hey, why not see what it's like without them?" The answer? A slight constant headache. And then my body/mind swings from "misery, misery, misery" to "SEX! SEX! SEX!" Then sometimes one's going "misery!" and the other's going "SEX!" Unfortunately, I have no one to share my newfound sex drive with.

Somewhere different now

This morning, my girlfriend, Emmy, showed up at my dormitory door with honest-to-god chocolates and roses.

Well, a rose. I immediately ran to the kitchen, snipped the rose head and put it in a cup to dry. The chocolates went into a suitcase. Then, she carried trash downstairs while I packed clothes, and we scrubbed the furniture and vacuumed the floor together.

A terribly banal last day together, isn't it? The most one-on-one time I had with her was in the dining hall, when we sat with our arms around each other and I laid my head on her lap. She helped carry my things to the car, stuck with me while I returned library books, turned in my keys and ID. You'd think a couple's last day together would be full of holding and touching and I love yous. But she is impassively passionate, and I've held my tears back for so many years they won't come now. She said she loved me when I dragged her into a back room to cry. I clung to her, got my tears on her parka. The whole day, she didn't let go of my hand. I cried on her shoulder. She gave me a kleenex. All I wanted was to put my arms around her waist, to hold her to me one more time and to be held in kind, but on that tiny bench and in our coats I couldn't get a good angle. I took it, and we walked out.

We've cried on eachother twice each. Once, against my bare shoulder, when her cat died. Once, into her teeshirt, in the psych ward. Twice, again against my naked collar, when I sang her a song about leaving. Once, on her parka, when I was about to leave.

This whole thing has thrown us into adulthood, into responsibility, into a much more serious relationship. At first, we were two happy nerds happy to be together, giggling over hugs and playing with eachother's hair. She was my first girlfriend, my first kiss, my first time. I was one of those to her. But it always seemed so fragile – good enough, going while the going was good, but come summer, who could tell? We'd work that out later. But later came in the form of a phone call, when I said I was in the hospital, but not in the psychiatric unit. When I saw her face slowly turning through reinforced glass. When she visited me every night until they kicked her out. When she brought me books and clothes, called me honey, and didn't even blink at my leaving. I would wonder when we would end, and answer myself, "Not yet. It can't end yet." Yet we are still together. Yet I told her I loved her back. Yet I am looking at bus fares, she is looking for open weekends. We have not come to yet.

Family and thoughts

I'm only just realizing that I am the dud of my family.

My father, PhD in mathematics, professional computer programmer who sometimes does Secret Things for the NSA.
My mother, board member of multiple NGOs before she started an art career.
My older brother, Parker, a Harvard undergrad taking graduate seminars, speeding towards a degree in Computer Science.
My younger sister, Janet, fluent in three languages and working on a forth, getting a 4.0 and speeding towards linguistics in the Ivies.
My younger brother, getting a 4.0 at a math and tech charter school, and has had his eyes on MIT since he was thirteen.

I was the first to take a college class, the first to come out, the first to flunk a course, the first to go to a therapist, the first to slash her wrists, the first to get diagnoses from the DSM, the first to go on psych drugs, the first to drink, the first to date, the first bring up uncomfortable subjects at the Thanksgiving table. I was the last to pick a college, the last to consider a career, the last to get an award, the last to join any organization, the last to get up in the morning, the last to find friends, the last to realize.

Janet and I have one thing in common: we're the odd ones out. She is genderqueer, and I'm the only one who knows, though I'm encouraging her to talk to Parker. She is also almost certainly some kind of autistic, too, but I'm not forcing that. My PDD has been the least of my problems. But none of my siblings know what to do with an artistic mess like me. Parker regards me with wary sympathy -- "What's the matter? Why?" Janet asks me to talk, then looks embarassed or at worst cries. Scott ignores me. It's probably for the best.

But I love them.