When The Welcome Wears Thin.

Today's post comes out of a few days' musing that I've done. I'm quite a sociable person by nature, but lately, I've noticed something really interesting about myself. I really like my own company. And by "really like", I mean that I only like people staying overnight - three days maximum. 

I found this out when my boyfriend's father came to stay for a week. Whilst I loved having him stay, I felt very claustrophobic in my house and almost as if normal life was put on hold. I felt like I couldn't have a bath when I wanted to, I couldn't work out when I wanted to ... and I have no idea why. I guess it may be to do with the feeling that I had to be a host, rather than just getting on with my life. 

The thing is, I love my solitude. When my ex-partner left me, I suddenly found myself spending a lot of time on my own. I got to know the nuances of my silence, I understood why I enjoyed my own company so much. It gives me space to decompress after a hard day at work, to recover after spending a lot of time with other people, and it helps me to work through things that are bothering me. As well as that, I also manage to get the housework done - laundry, washing up, hoovering etc. Yes, my boyfriend lives with me, but it's teamwork that makes the house run smoothly.

As well as this, my job involves a lot of interaction. As a care support worker, I'm pretty much dealing with everyone, from the patients to their families to the doctors and nurses. Working on a trauma ward is also great fun, because we've got people coming into the ward who have had major surgery to repair broken bones and who are, in all honesty, shitting themselves. It's a busy ward, but it's great fun (and draining)!

Therefore, I prefer to limit my interaction with people in my house. Sadly, one of the things I discovered when my boyfriend's father stayed was that, after about three days, I was ready for him to leave. He's a lovely man, don't get me wrong, but after three days I was thankful I had work so that I could escape and have some time away! It gave me space to decompress and do something other than play host, which was fantastic.

Now I'm not saying I'm a hermit by any means, I'm just saying that it's interesting how much I value my solitude after years of thinking it was the bane of my life.

Let's Talk About .... Friendship!

OK so recently I've had a bit of a falling out with someone I trusted. And by a "bit of a falling out", I mean she totally dicked me over. Let me preface this by saying that I'm a really laid back friend. I don't start drama, I don't care who you date or whether you sleep with one guy versus twenty guys in a weekend. You float how you float, and if we're chill together then great.

However, there are certain scenarios that really get me going. So let me first of all give you the back story of me and this girl. We met in January this year, and got on really great. She was funny, honest, kick-ass and made me crack up laughing til I cried. We became best friends/unofficial sisters pretty fast, and that was awesome. I don't have many female friends so it was nice to get to know someone of my own gender, who was around my own age. We hung out a lot, I got to know her kid (who is adorable, by the way), and generally it was great. I helped her out financially to the tune of £150 when she couldn't pay her rent one month, I bought her food, I helped with the school run and she was a tremendous rock when I had a pregnancy scare with my rapist.

Sadly, all good things come to an end, and I began having doubts about our friendship when she said that she'd consider dating/sleeping with my rapist. Now don't get me wrong, I don't love or even like the guy, but I'm fairly sure there's an unwritten rule about dating your best friend's ex after they've only been split up a couple of months, right? That aside, I moved past it and waited for him to show his true colours, which he did. So that was that.

The thing that really fucked me off, however, was Father's Day just gone. She got a job, which I was really happy about and proud of her for, and she asked if I could watch her kid on the Sunday. I was happy to do it, but less happy when she said "Oh and don't tell ..." (baby daddy's name is kept private). I wasn't too impressed with the idea, but kept schtum for 24 hours. Eventually, my conscience got the better of me and I told him. At that point I found out he hadn't even been asked if he wanted to have his kid on Father's Day, and I made arrangements for him to do so.

These plans got cancelled on the Saturday evening, which was fine by me, but then were reinstated on the Sunday morning. I wasn't involved in those plans, but I did think something was fishy when it all suddenly changed. 

Long story short, I ended up reporting this woman to her social worker. Unfortunately her flat wasn't fit for a child, and she was told this repeatedly both by me and by other people. I can't and won't go into detail about what was said, or what has happened, but I will say this.

I do not regret what I did. At the end of the day, children will always come first before friendship and if a child is not getting a decent quality of life, in the first instance I will speak to the parents - as I had done before. Then, and only as a last resort, will I involve others. I had the same thing happen with my child, and the concerns that were raised were then dismissed once those changes were made. Had I not contratced a serious strain of HPV (human papilloma virus), my son would be living at home. However, I made the choice to keep my son safe and place him with people who I trusted.

This lady's mother has insinuated that I am a danger to children, and I can categorically state that this is not the case. The lady's social worker herself is aware that I am not a danger to children, as is my social worker and everyone who knows me. I babysit regularly for other people's kids and am always praised for what I do. I am a loyal friend, and a true one - one who calls you on your bullshit rather than letting you get hurt because of your actions. However, I'm not a fool either, and if somebody would rather block me and go crying to their mum than sort it out like an adult, that's not my problem. At the end of the day it's her loss, not mine.

So to all my friends out there, I thank you. Most of you have known me a long time and know what I'm like, and you stick by me through it all. For my more recent friends, welcome to the madhouse! I will defend you, love you, stick by you, and help you whenever and wherever I am able. I will also call you on your bullshit and kick you up the arse if I think you're being out of order. Which is what I expect people to do for me. If you have an issue, come talk to me. We'll get coffee, or tea, or alcohol ... whatever you like. We'll sort it out, adult to adult.

Creativity And Me.

One of the things I have always loved about myself is the endless amounts of creativity I have. When I'm not busy saving lives (or at least trying to ...) I'm a poet, author and avid reader. Seriously, it's a mark of my depression if I'm not busy creating something - usually a mess. In all seriousness, though, I write and read more than I do anything else in life.

The great thing about it is that it's an outlet. If I'm stressed, I write. If I'm depressed, it's poetry. And if I want to unwind after a long day, I read. And read. And read. Oh, and pay attention to boring stuff like eating. When I'm happy, I do all three. Not at the same time, obviously, that would be impressive, but I do all three. I love how words can evoke meaning, feelings and pictures of a world that you otherwise wouldn't experience, whilst still being relatable.

I noticed this when I had to explain poetry to my boyfriend. He was saying that he didn't understand poetry, and I said that it was just using words to describe an experience or picture that we've all seen and felt. For example, you can take three poets and ask them to describe love. Each of them will do it in a completely unique and different. It's amazing to think that the differences will be that stark, but that they will also be about something we've all experienced.

Words are like music in a way - they have a way of uniquely binding us together, and bringing us into each other's lives without forcing the issue. It's also a lot like painting - you use the words to paint a picture of what you've seen or experienced, and you show people the words that you otherwise can't say, or express the feelings that would otherwise be kept inside. When you think about it, all forms of creativity are beautiful.

So that's my thoughts on creativity, and how it can be used to paint a picture for others. What are your favourite forms of creativity? Share them below!

Romance Is Dead ... Or Is It?

I've often struggled with romance, mostly because it appears to be dead. What was once long love letters and flowers is now sexting and cheap wine, dates have become quick fucks in bed, and breakups happen by text instead of face to face. Commitment is hard to find unless you're in your mid-20s and over, and knowing what you want in a relationship just doesn't happen. So many people are up for "friends with benefits" or just casual sex that it's become the norm, and a long-lasting relationship is almost a thing of the past.

However, all is not lost! I am currently writing a commission piece for a guy who honestly wins the award for most romantic husband ever in my eyes. His wife struggles with depression, part of which is hating her looks, and he's asked people to write about her as if she's a character in a book. How romantic is that?! I honestly nearly cried when I read the brief, and instantly signed up. This is the kind of romance I love - things that are done just because it would be lovely, not because anyone has an agenda.

My ideal version of romance is a bit old-school, because I like being wooed. I like a man who says "Let's go to dinner somewhere" or "Let's take a drive somewhere" and doesn't want to sit in front of the TV with a greasy takeaway all the time. Takeaway's great, don't get me wrong, but it's not really romantic. I'm the kind of girl who likes a glass of wine at the end of a long day, or flowers on an anniversary (no chocolates though, they get sickly). I also love stuff like this commission piece I'm writing - it's such a thoughtful, loving thing to do and it honestly melted my otherwise frozen heart.

I know everyone's version of romance is different, and some people may think takeaway is the height of romance, and that's perfectly valid. Romance is what you make it. I'm just really glad to see that romance isn't dead after all!

What's the most romantic thing your partner's done for you? Share in the comments!

Having A Rest Day (Or Few).

One thing I always struggle with is taking time off. And when I say that, I don't mean in the sense of a holiday, I mean in the sense of taking time for me. I do my best to work every day that I can, every hour that I can, because I have a massive need to provide for myself and my family, which isn't necessarily a bad thing.

Sadly, working 24/7 often leads to me becoming stressed out, becoming upset and eventually all but burning out. I become physically ill, and find myself shattered more days than I'm not. So once a week (at least) I try to take a day that's just for me. I'll laze around on the sofa, read a book, drink a good few cups of tea, and generally heal myself. One massive issue with this, however, is the people who seem to think they can judge me. A few years ago, I made the mistake of publishing the fact that I was having a rest day on Facebook. Most people were supportive, a few asked what book I was reading, and a couple of people decided to slag me off. I rarely prioritise my health as it is, and when I need a rest it is because I have done far too much. 

Take this week just gone, for example. Monday I was at work, Tuesday I was at work, and Thursday I was at work. On Wednesday I had plans with friends and on Friday I planned to clear my entire flat and catch up on this week's blog. All went to plan until Thursday evening, when I felt myself becoming a bit bunged up. Friday morning arrived, and I was physically ill - sore throat, headache, joint pain, the lot. I managed to make it to the sofa and dozed off there until the middle of the day, when I had an appointment with a friend. After several cups of strong tea, I felt better, but today is the first day I've been able to properly function.

This is why rest days are important for me. If I had taken a rest day on Wednesday, perhaps I wouldn't have been physically ill. The simple act of slowing down would have helped me to refuel, regroup, and find a way to cope with the manic nature of my job without feeling unwell. For those who want to know, I'm a care support worker (halfway between a HCA and a nurse) and I deal with learning disabilities at the moment. This can include challenging behaviour, so I'm sure most people will appreciate that it isn't exactly an easy job.

So, what have I learned from this? Well, the same thing I learn every time - new limits. I've learned I can only do so much before I need to rest, and I've learned that strong tea and books solve most problems. On that note, the new blog will be up on Tuesday as per the schedule. Please don't post troll comments on this as it's pointless (your comment will be removed by the moderator), but feel free to share your tips for effective rest!

Lost In A Crowd.

Something that goes hand in hand with all my other problems is anxiety. Yes, that wonderful demon who shows up like the uninvited family member at a wake. You can't get rid of them because they're family, but my God you wish they'd just leave!

Part of my Asperger's is social anxiety, meaning crowds are my worst nightmare. We found this out a while ago, so I decided to try and minimise it by exposing myself to crowds, making them larger and larger, and I thought it had worked. Sadly, over the last 3 years I've avoided crowds and my anxiety has gradually worsened. Last Saturday my boyfriend and I went to France via ferry, and it reared its head in a big way.

I was fine until we got onto the main deck, and then I realised that just about everyone had gone to France. There were tourists, families, school trips ... it was hell on earth. My boyfriend went into the on-board shop and I freaked, Hands flapping, rapid breathing, shaking ... full on panic attack. In the end I nigh on bolted from the shop and stood outside until I calmed down.

Anxiety isn't something glamorous, by the way. It's horrible. It's like feeling everything suddenly heightens - sounds get louder, smells are more intense, your vision sharpens and suddenly everything is too intense. The whole world is a big, scary place and the only thing to do is run and hide. It's not something where you look pretty, cry nicely, and the whole world goes back to normal. My other half, for example, gets social anxiety and can't handle large crowds. He's a lot better at managing it than I am, mind you, but it still gets to him. It's not something to ever be glamorised by the media, and it leads me into a minor rant about social media.

Social media would have you believe that anxiety is "cute", that if a girl is anxious or a guy is anxious it's something to be all "there there" about. It isn't. I'm sorry if I'm blunt, but it isn't. It's fucking terrifying. It takes patience, time, and understanding to heal from anxiety, if you ever heal at all, and it's not an on-off thing either. Some people have to avoid certain situations because of their anxiety, others are able to cope. As with so much of life, it's a spectrum. Now I'm not here to say that anxiety is curable - it can be, but all too often it isn't. A lot of the time it's simply a case of managing it, or damage limitation when it occurs.

I'm blessed to have an amazing support network of friends and family who have a great understanding of mental health in general (some are anxiety specialists), but so many aren't. So many people suffer alone, and it really needs to change. Whether that's by speaking out, or educating ourselves and others, something has to change in order for mental health to become a norm instead of a taboo subject, or a subject we only whisper about.

Atrocity Central.

The Manchester attack has been dominating the headlines today, and rightly so. Children injured and dead, innocent lives lost ... it's an atrocity that is quite justifiably angering many. The arsehole behind it deserves a punishment worse than death, but sadly the world doesn't work like that.

What bugs me the most though, is the fact that if this were in Syria or other countries in the Middle East, it wouldn't dominate the news quite so much. I don't know what it is about us Brits, but when it comes to atrocities like this, we care more about our own home soil than the fact that it's happening worldwide. That's not to say the attack wasn't horrific - it was - but this kind of stuff happens almost daily between Israel and Palestine. It's still happening in Iraq, in Iran, Pakistan, Yemen ... this shit happens to other people too, and it infuriates me that people see one country as more "worthy" of headlines than others.

Let's get one thing straight - killing innocent people is wrong. Period. Wherever you come from, whatever your background, killing innocent people is wrong. So why is it that I see a huge outpouring of support for the Manchester attacks, but not for the bombings in Yemen? Why was the Charlie Hebdo attack more newsworthy than Boko Haram snatching young girls to force them into sex with ISIL soldiers? This is what pisses me off - terrorism is wrong, no matter what country you come from or what culture you live in. 

And of course there'll be those saying "Oh well she doesn't think we care" or "We should look to our own first", and you're right. We should look to our own. We should also look to those in impoverished countries dying of starvation because their government denies them basic human rights. We should also be looking to negotiate peace where it is possible, to help those who need it, and to embody the human rights we so vehemently uphold. I have neighbours who are Eastern European, and the amount of love and support those people give each other is remarkable. I also have British neighbours who couldn't give a rat's ass about each other.

I'm not saying the Manchester attack wasn't horrific. It was, and my heart honestly breaks for all those affected. What I am saying is that if you're going to condemn these attacks, condemn all of them. Condemn the female genital mutilation that takes place in some African countries. Condemn the brutality of ISIL/ISIS/Daesh/whatever they call themselves now. Condemn the bombings in Syria, Yemen ... condemn the murder of Rohingya Muslims in Burma. Don't just limit yourself to condemning terrorism in England. Terrorism is wrong wherever it occurs.

Speaking Out.

Picture the scene. A 25-year-old woman sits in a police station, trembling with nerves. The officer opposite her is an older woman with kind eyes and a no-nonsense attitude. It isn't a scene anyone wants to relive, but I relive it every day.

Yes, that woman is me, and on the 8th May I sat in the police station and reported my ex-partner for emotional abuse, obtaining audio files without my consent, and sexual coercion. That last part has now been escalated to a rape charge following advice from the authorities. It's been a horrendous 8 days since, but I now feel ready to tell my story. Whether you believe it or not is entirely up to you.

I met my ex on 9th December 2015, and to begin with we were friends. I was going through a court case for custody of my son, and he was recently single. We didn't initially intend to get together, but on 17th February 2016 we did. For six months, we were happy and he was all I ever dreamed of - funny, kind, charming, supportive and loyal. However, in August 2016 that changed. I was at work that fateful day, when I got a message from him stating that we needed to talk. The details of that night will remain private, but it started a horrifying chain reaction that would last until 7th April 2017. 

Every month there would be a massive argument in which he'd scream that he wanted to leave and never see me again, but then stay. I wound up walking on eggshells just to avoid an argument, giving in to whatever he demanded of me to keep the peace - even to the extent of isolating myself from most of my friends - and pretending to be happy so that people didn't ask questions. When he had sex with me, I was always either facing the wall/door or on my front, and until January 2017 that was consensual. It wasn't ideal, but it functioned. We spent Christmas together and I thought we were going to be able to work things out. How wrong I was.

In January 2017, we split up. I did not take the breakup well and begged him to remain "friends with benefits", which was a mistake. A few weeks later, I realised that the situation wasn't working and wanted to leave. However, because I'd become trapped in a rut of begging him to stay, I feared repercussions if I asked to leave, and so I stayed quiet. I kept up the pretense of enjoying what was happening, and I didn't tell anyone that the sex was no longer consensual because I didn't verbally say no - I used non-verbal cues such as pushing him away, going rigid, not responding etc.

Things degenerated further until April 7th, when we argued for the last time. By that point I was so emotionally and mentally broken that he could have done anything he wanted to me and I wouldn't have fought back. What followed was a month of hatred, threats of the police, arguing on both sides and general vitriol before I finally screwed up my courage and walked into the police station to report the abuse.

So how do I feel now? Well, I'll be honest. I'm broken in more ways than I could have ever imagined. I've had to find a way to get my head around the fact that I was raped for three months of my life. I am now in therapy for the damage he caused, and I am pathologically terrified of having sex with anyone. I am wary, cynical, defensive and I've turned from an open-hearted girl into a bitter, angry woman. When I think about what happened to me I am baffled because it simply makes no sense - how could the man I once loved have turned into such a monster? I can't face what happened because it hurts me to think that I fell for a monster.

Do I still love him? Absolutely not, despite having been accused of it. I don't love him - I hate him. I hate him for hurting me and betraying me, and I hate him for stealing the part of me that was most precious to me. I hate him for violating my body in a way that has left me forever broken. I am angry because I trusted him with my body, my soul, and my mind - and he broke every last piece of what I had to offer. I wasn't entirely blameless, and I never pretend to be, but I always loved him with everything I had. My only mistake was giving him everything and expecting nothing in return.

As for what I've learned ... well, I now know not to trust easily. I know to guard my heart fiercely and only let my walls down when I feel safe. I know that if I trust someone, I have to be sure that I won't regret it. And I know that the last 3 years of hell will never happen again because I won't let it happen again. I have shed so many tears and doubted my own sanity, and I will never hurt that badly again.

Now I know there are people out there who'll believe my ex when he proclaims his innocence, and there are those who'll believe me. Frankly, I don't care if people believe me or not. I know what happened, and I know the truth. The rest, as they say, is up to karma.

The Power Of Music.

Music is one of the most universal languages going. Not joking - you play any song or tune and I can guarantee you will bring people together from all walks of life. Hippies, rockers, emos ... they'll all come together and enjoy music. However, it can be so much more than that. Music can bring back memories of a loved one, a breakup, a death - any event in your life can be tracked by a piece of music.

Take the song "Carry On My Wayward Son" for example. I can still remember the event that triggered my love of this song - an episode of Supernatural in which the song is played. I was watching it with the father of my child and I was four months pregnant at the time. Or the song "Roll Alabama" by Bellowhead, to which my son was born. A sadder example is the song "Sound of Silence" by Disturbed, which was played at a friend's dad's funeral in 2017.

Music has the power to evoke any sort of emotion, which is something that I love. As an Aspie, I often find it hard to express my emotions in a way that makes sense and/or gets across to the person I'm talking to. Music, therefore, is often my means of expressing this. I'll send somebody lyrics or a YouTube clip and say "listen to this" or "read this", and the idea behind it is that they listen to it and understand what I'm talking about. A lot of the time it isn't clear, but I usually explain the concept behind it so that people understand.

The other thing I love about music is just how beautiful it can be. A great example of this is "Distant Land" by John Rutter, which remains my all time favourite piece of music to listen to. The harmonies are really well balanced and the whole piece of music evokes a sense of longing that is resolved only when the piece ends. Another good example is the Pentatonix cover of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah", which is another beautifully done song. The arrangement utilises all five of the vocalists, and body percussion, to create a beautiful piece of a capella music that sounds incredible and is incredibly uplifting.

Music therapy is, therefore, my favoured method of healing from the darker times that occasionally dog me. When I'm depressed, I'll usually put on some heavy rock music or symphonic power metal (which also helps when I'm writing - more on that in a second!), or if I'm happy I'll put on some pop music. It's a vast spectrum that I could honestly talk all day about, but I'd probably end up boring and/or confusing a lot of people!

However, one area that I really benefit from utilising music in is my writing. I often find that I create playlists for books that I'm writing, or particular scenes that a certain song fits. The song "Dance with my father" by Luther Vandross, for example, plays a key role in any poetry that I write, and I created a 193-song strong playlist for my debut novel Lady Cannibal. My second novel, Never Surrender, doesn't quite have a playlist yet, but the novel itself keeps evolving so I'm not overly bothered by that. My poetry collection also doesn't have a playlist, but I am slowly getting one together.

The power of music never fails to amaze me with its ability to evoke emotion. At the moment, my favourite emotional song is "Say Something" by A Great Big World and Christina Aguilera, which never fails to make me cry. The lyrics anad the harmonies just marry together so well that it brings a tear to my eye, and the music video is incredibly emotive as well. What I love the most is that it also inspires my creative streak and enables me to write the more depressing scenes in my novels, or the scenes that involve any form of loss or separation. I always find those scenes hard to write because of my past, so using music to inspire those feelings allows me to express the characters' emotions in a more coherent way than relying solely on my own experiences.

What are your experiences of music? Any favourite songs? Tell me your experiences below!

What Is My Autism Like?

Picture the scene. A fourteen-year-old girl sits in a waiting room with her parents beside her. She's slim, with dark hair and glasses, and wears her school uniform neatly. She's called into a room, sat in a chair, and asked a series of questions about her life, schooling, and friendships. Half an hour later, she goes back into the waiting room and cries.

That girl was me, and I'd just been told I was adopted. I'd also just found out I might have Autism Spectrum Disorder, or Asperger's Syndrome as it used to be known (more on that next week).

Fast forward six years, and I'm back in another waiting room. This time, I'm twenty years old. Still got dark hair and glasses, but I'm in jeans and a hoodie, an engagement ring firmly fixed on my left hand. I've been engaged for 2 years at this point, to a man I will never marry. I'm lost, I'm scared, and I'm looking for answers. 

I was twenty years old when I was first diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome. 27th February 2012. My biological mother's 36th birthday, so I'll never forget it. I'd been looking for answers for a good couple of months, but my workplace had finally forced me to seek a diagnosis. That and my adoption file, which I'd received about a month prior to the diagnosis. 

After the diagnosis, I didn't really know what to feel. On the one hand, I felt vindicated and happy that I'd got answers. On the other, I wanted to cry and scream and rant. It felt unfair to be told I had what felt like a life sentence - a lifelong condition that will never get better or worse. It will just ... be. Forever in the background, always niggling at my brain, but never quite taking over. It's taken me nearly six years to "come to terms" with the diagnosis and the stigma attached to it. To this day, I sometimes still wish I didn't have Asperger's because of how hard it is to integrate with a world that just isn't designed for my brain.

So what's it like for me as an Aspie? Um ... it's hard. Really hard. I have a few friends I trust with my life, I have a fantastic little boy, and I have my cats. I've got a great job and a flat that is mine, and that's it. Changes of routine scare me, loud noises overwhelm me, and crowds are my worst nightmare. I like going out, but not on my own, and if I do decide to socialise, it's usually with people I know and trust. I have a wonderful knack for attracting arseholes - seriously, my last ex-boyfriend emotionally abused me to the point where I lost my entire identity in the space of 8 months - and if you want an honest answer, for gawd's sake don't ask me.

There are wonderful sides to being an Aspie though - the sense of humour, the quirky way of seeing the world, the ability to understand abstract concepts and take them that little bit further ... it's not all bad. Yes, it can be incredibly hard to deal with, but it's also one of the best things about me. I honestly wouldn't have it any other way.

Dealing with a diagnosis is hard. Really hard. I ended up questioning my entire life history - whether or not I'd been living a lie, if my parents could have had me diagnosed sooner ... it felt like one big April Fool's Day prank that had gone horribly wrong, and I was stuck in the middle of it all. To this day, I sometimes wonder if I'll wake up one day and not be autistic. Never happens, but sometimes I do hope I wake up neurotypical. Half the time I honestly do my best not to think about it because, if I did, I'd go nuts. 

Being raised to feel like I was neurotypical has definitely given me a more "on the fence" way of looking at things, too. Sometimes I can see the Aspie point of view, sometimes I can see the NT point of view, and sometimes I've got no idea what anyone's talking about! I do sometimes wonder how I'd be if I'd known about the Asperger's from day one - would I be better equipped to cope with the world? - and the same for if I'd never found out. It really is one of those million-dollar questions that I guess I'll never know the answer to.

Asperger's can be a beautiful, wonderful, crazy-arse rollercoaster ride. But trust me, it's worth every second.

A Short Introduction.

Before we begin, I'd like to introduce myself, but not as I normally do in real life. You see, in real life, I skim over the details. I tell you the bits that you want to hear, not the bits you don't like. I try to impress you, to pretend that I'm normal, but that isn't what this is for. This is a time for honesty. So, here goes.

My name is Jess. Short for Jessica. I'm 25 at the time of writing this, a published author, care support worker, two-time emotional abuse survivor ... and I'm Aspergic.

Yep, I said it. I have Asperger's Syndrome. Bit of a badly-kept secret, since anyone who knows me is aware that I have it, but it's there. You'd be amazed at the number of people who think it means I've got some venereal disease! I also have borderline personality disorder and PTSD from the two emotionally abusive relationships I've had in the last 4 years.

Again, yes, I said it. Not one, but two emotionally abusive relationships. Both my baby's father and the man after him turned out to be emotional abusers - one simply called me names and derided me in public, the other ... well, he was and is a narcissist. If you know anything about narcissists, you'll know what I'm on about. If not ... I'll tell you the story in my first proper post.

So what else is there to know about me? I have four siblings - two brothers and two sisters - and I live in Kent. I have a gorgeous son and three cats, and I save lives for a living. In between all that, I write books and I'm a self advocate. Basically that means that I go around telling it like it is about my Asperger's. I'm not one of these ableist people who says I've succeeded "in spite of" my Asperger's - I'm someone who succeeds because of my Asperger's. Without it, I wouldn't be me.

So that's me in a nutshell. As you continue through my posts, you'll find out a bit more about how I view the world. I must stress that I do not speak for the autistic and Aspergic community - all views are strictly my own.