Day: November 23, 2012

261: Triple Barf!

| Aspergers Girls

Uhhhhhggggggg! More to process. In prayer, I understood I’d be processing through a lot this month. But really? Who does my higher power or universe or tall cedar tree named Fred think I am? There is only so much a girl can take.

Thoughts are intertwined with emotions and are purging through me at high-speed. I’m on the log water-ride about to hit the slippery slope and crash! I need to row backwards, or jump out and swim, or just scream. But regardless, I’m still in the water.

I feel depleted and wiped clean and then refreshed, only to be depleted and wiped clean moments later. There is so much gunk and junk bubbling up inside me that I am in utter fascination, while clutching my stomach and wanting to barf everything out of my very existence. How I long for a fresh spring of plenitude and serenity.

People who say to relax and let go, really don’t get my mind; nor do they understand the concept of what I believe to be my empathic abilities, a skill which allows me to pick up on others’ energy and the truth or falsehood behind their words.

I am struggling with feelings of great apathy and dislike towards someone and know not what to do, or where to put this. I try my very best to be the very best person I can be, and there is not a moment of my day this is not on the top of my mind. Even when I dream, I am speaking my truth and living my intention.

So much of my confusion stems from the feeling I get, if it can be called a feeling, when someone says something and it is sugar-coated to sound well-meaningful and loving, but in truth the underlying wave is one of “ let me tell you how to be, how to fix you, how you can be better.”

I don’t need to be told how to improve myself; it is all I do all day long, focus on being a good person, and teaching myself how to do so through prayer, listening to higher guidance, talking to friends, reading, silence, processing, and writing. That is my soul’s intention.

However when someone judges me, especially when it is done in a round about “I’m so wonderful and perfect, let me tell you how to be way” I want to physically vomit. I don’t need anyone’s tips or help. I don’t!

My entire childhood my feelings were not validated. If I complained or was sad, I was told one of two things: Things could be worse or I’m trying my best.

Now that I speak my truth, at last, I do not need nor desire to be told how to be better. My feelings were pushed down, and I was only seen and validated when I was happy and joyful. I was put upon a pedestal for my looks and accomplishments, and made to be the trophy for others. I will not be that anymore. I will not have those same energy ties.

There is something about ingenuity and underlying unspoken intentions that eats at the heart of me. Something about the self-centered, look-at-me attitude that gets under my very skin—tiny bugs circulating and pulsating beneath my surface. I can feel this and it hurts and terrifies all at once.

I recognize that each person will create who I am in their own mind. From stranger to foe, people will perceive me based on their limited senses. I know this. But I sense people at a deeper level. I can see dishonesty. I can see the truth of how someone sees me; how they might bend me into a wrong-doer to make themselves feel better.

The fixers….they are the hardest for me.  I used to be that way. I try not to, as I know how it feels to be at the other end. Anyone who feels the need to fix another and reaches out to do so, is in essence not looking at the truth of who they are, and what they still need to fix in themselves. Not that we are broken. We are whatever we choose to be. But the fixers, I do think they are broken more often than they realize.

I have been dealing with a toxic energy for so long and do not want this energy in my life; yet society dictates it is the right and proper thing to do. To keep this person in my life. How does one handle a sick mind? A desperate spirit that clings and tampers with my very peace? Someone who is blind to their own self, actions, and the pain they cause others. Someone who turns blame always to others, who twists reality and truth, to make themselves appear and feel better. Someone who their truth is more important than others? How do I deal with the selfish human, who I recognize as a lonely spirit weeping for love and attention, but who scratches out my eyes so I cannot see my own beauty.

The last thing I want to be is righteous or prideful. I pray over and over for humility. I cannot heal myself or help others if I am ego-based, or if my writing has an unseen and unspoken motive. I believe that the intention behind words and thought does carry energy. If I write something that says one thing but I am feeling another, to me that is an untruth.

I think people with Aspergers, and some others, will get this. There are true words, straight from the heart that flow out of the whole of me. There are words that are not true, that have a hidden agenda…those words I cannot write, and when they are tossed upon me by one blinded by their own ego-based perception, I want to scream.

But then I question my own self. Why has this affected me so? Why do I again judge? Why do I allow this person to harm me in any way, once again? Why have I not learned to protect myself, yet? And I spin out of control into self-doubt and wonderment of my world.

Had I not just said I wanted to love all unconditionally , to see the supposed “flaws” as a reflection of me. So what is it inside of me that needs to be cleansed and seen? What is it in me that is attracting this, all of this, into my life right now?

I am so confused and tired. And that is okay. I am so lost in my mind. And that is okay. I am okay.

And I guess that is the main growth that has occurred; for as I go through this, dragging myself through the muck, I can still see my light, my truth, my beauty, and rejoice that I am still learning, growing, and journeying onward.

260: Owning my Beauty

| Aspergers Girls

eigth grade

I never ever thought I was pretty.

There is something beautiful about a person who  cannot see her beauty on the outside. A sad humbleness that pulls the person into the eyes and soul—a vulnerability that others pick up on innately but generally cannot recognize or pinpoint.

When anyone complimented my looks, I thought one of many thoughts:

1)   You can’t really see me

2)   This isn’t how I normally look

3)   You must have poor eyesight

4)   You are lying

5)   You want to hurt me

6)   You want my body

7)   You are just saying that to be nice

8)   I hate me

9)   You say that to everyone

10) You must feel sorry for me

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I could never own my beauty.

This view of myself, as being not adequate on the outside, is something I’ve held onto since I was eleven. I can theorize until I’m blue in the face, and come up with a plethora of reasons why I doubted my beauty, starting with my overbite and chipped front tooth and ending with being victimized by men.

But the truth is, I think I was made to be that way….this way. I think I was chiseled and molded into this me that I am.

There are beliefs I carry that say: To love yourself in completion is to be vain and conceded.

There are thoughts that scream how can you think you are pretty, look at your flaws?

There is the dark voice that says, you will age and no one will love you.

I’m starting to have flashbacks of all the times strangers came up to me when I was younger, and the messages they said:

You have such beautiful eyes. So intelligent and wise.

Your face has so many angles and emotions; you should be a model.

Oh, I can tell by looking at you that you are one of them—a deep soul.

Do not worry, you are prettier than her, inside and out.

Wow, they didn’t make teenagers like you when I was in school.

Has anyone ever said how beautiful you are?

Those were strangers. Off the street, they would approach me.

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And I never could take in what they said. Never believe it. Never for a moment feel their words or truth. I always had doubt and disbelief. Actually it was beyond doubt. The compliments I quickly shifted into sadness and fear. For what if they were to see the real me? What if they realized how very wrong they were?

Something did happen, though. I began to see how my exterior gained attention.

In some ways I was fortunate. In my youth, with this “beauty,” people were typically accommodating, overly-friendly, and eager to date me. However the experience was more over misfortune because I felt I was not seen for the real me and thought furthermore that because I was truly ugly that I was playing some game of trickery. I believed one day people would awaken and the truth of my ugliness would be seen.

When I went to college, ripped away from my best friend of six years, and not having my boyfriend at my side, I felt extremely self-conscious, vulnerable, frightened, and paranoid. I was beyond shy. I walked with my head down and never ever peered up. I gave off the vibration of Keep AWAY at all costs. I was lovely, but untouchable. I thought I was ugly and unwanted. No one said hello to me. Only one boy in five years at college. I thought for certain that validated my beliefs; that in truth I was born ugly, unwanted, unneeded, and desperately flawed.

If a boy tried to make contact with me in class, I brushed him off with my insecurities or was clueless that he was trying to connect. I took “come on” lines at face value. If a boy asked about last night’s homework, that’s what he was interested in. Not me, only the homework. If he said I looked young for my age, that was the truth of his statement, nothing beyond, no agenda, just an observation. I couldn’t feel or see people reaching out to me. I was lost in my own world of ugliness and isolation.

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When I gained weight in my early twenties, and then later gained sixty pounds from my pregnancy, I saw how others treated me differently based on my weight. I began to see how fickle and surface-level people could be. At that point I had nothing to turn to. I hated myself on the inside and outside, but at least for a long time I could get by on these supposed “looks.”

At this time, I began to really hook onto and believe all the negative messages I told myself. In fact, I had been right all along: I was horribly ugly.

It has taken me the last few months, since late April, to reclaim the beauty I misplaced when I was eleven years of age: thirty-three long years. For the first time in my adult years, I can look at my face and not cry, cringe, or loop over my image. For the first time I am embracing this wonderful woman I am, and morning for the lost years, when the word beautiful was masked behind a curtain of fear.

What I find odd, is I didn’t judge my friends or strangers in the same way I judged myself. I saw their beauty. Their souls shined through. And all I saw was gorgeousness. Now, when I look at myself, my soul shines through, and I too am the same, one with all, pure loveliness.

Some will call me self-centered, vain, obsessed with my looks, or shallow, but I know the truth. I am home. I am reconnected. I am in love again with me. A child reborn.

I still have doubts. I still have those thoughts…and that familiar dark voice. But there is a light, no doubt, that outshines the rest. A light I am learning to embrace more each day.

Photo on 11-20-12 at 10.24 AM #3