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.