A funny old memory...

I was searching through old files on my computer today and came across one of the oldest I've got - from all the way back in early 1995. It contained two poems written by my then-10 year old neighbour, Sarah C, one of which was about me.

It made me laugh heartily and reflect that in some ways I've not changed all that much since I was 14...

MY FRIEND IS CALLED A DIMWIT.

By Sarah C.

My friend is called a dimwit,

She lives across the road.

Most people call her Christine,

But I don’t think so.

She talks like she’s a dictionary,

She talks like she’s a twerp.

She talks like she’s a maniac,

But she’s my friend,

And that’s that.

Matters of the Heart

Twice recently, an old friend has come in to do a bit of shopping while I've been on the checkouts at work.

This friend was part of my close group in year 12, and the subject of a crush that lasted most of the year ;) We were friends first, and spent a lot of time chatting on the phone and in person that year; by the end of the year he was well aware of the crush, but managed to gently make clear the fact that while he loved the friendship, the feelings weren't reciprocated enough to start anything at that point. And I was ok with that - a little disappointed of course, but hey, I was 16 and it was a crush. No biggie.

I've hardly thought about him since then, except for the odd memory or a do-you-remember session with other friends from that group. I ran into him once at uni when he was getting his degree and chatted briefly, and we're facebook friends (though he is not a very active user) but otherwise he's not been on my mind at all.

So why, tell me, does my heart leap when I see him in person? And why does seeing him for a few minutes at work leave me with a head full of him and an irresistible desire to stalk his facebook photos to see his face?

It doesn't make any sense. It was a schoolgirl crush, 13 - count 'em, 13 - years ago. It's utterly idiotic that when he came in to work for the second time I caught my breath and blushed as soon as I saw him. WTF.

He hasn't shown any particular interest, either. He was really pleased to see me the first time, and the girl on the checkout next to mine got all giggly because he obliquely asked whether I was single, but I think that was just conversation. He hasn't made any overt effort to contact me or anything (and with FB, I'm right there) so I doubt there's any interest beyond reminiscent friendship there. Certainly nothing to spark off this ridiculous pseudo-crush my emotions seem to be having off in a corner by themselves.

WHAT THE HECK. That's all I'm asking.

Ouch

I'm still sorting through those boxes of papers and bits and pieces. There's so much accumulated stuff there, and reading parts of it (particularly when flipping through old notebooks to see if they're still usable) is quite painful. It's like reliving the past 5 years of my life, the problem being that I already lived them and they were sodding miserable. In one notebook I found pages and pages of journaling from when I was making up my mind / screwing up my courage to quit my archaeology job and leave Sydney. I was living in a constant state of fear and anxiety in that job, never knowing where the next blow was coming from, constantly on that fight-or-flight edge. I had to slam that notebook shut and chuck it away as fast as I could. I know now that a lot of my problems in that job were generated by my own issues as an Aspie - all the misunderstandings and confusions - but it was still a crazy-making place regardless. I've worked as an undiagnosed Aspie in places that were not that manic. It was not just me! But remembering what I went through at the end there was gut-wrenching.

I've found some good stuff, too, of course - old cards and letters from caring friends, photocopies of good papers that still interest me, random photographs, etc. And a few bits of humour.

The following was written on a piece of notepaper from that same archaeology job. It was fairly early in my career there, and was inspired by two draft reports I'd received back from the client in a heavily, and idiotically, edited state. "C" is the client's comment; "A" is the snarky answer I wished I could give! All of the comments are real and came from high-profile public clients.

C: There does not appear to be an executive summary.
A: Appearances can be deceiving. Executive summary is on second page.

C: Significant vistas: you have not addressed the view of the building from the grave on the hill.
A: You can't see the building from the grave on the hill.

C: Spelling error: unkempt
A: No, that's the correct spelling.

C: The "grassed area" you refer to is not grassed. Do you mean that it should be grassed?
A: No, I mean that it is grassed. What you mean is that it is wild grass, not lawn. Would you prefer "abandoned lot" to "grassed area"?

C: "Possibly Pinus radiata" - is it possible to be more positive?
A: If it was, would we have said "possibly"?

C: Is this paragraph out of place?
A: . . . No?

C: The diagram only has 4 layers . . .?
A: There are four lots of information represented in the diagram

C: I disagree that this item has heritage significance and should be retained.
A: Me expert, you client. You don't have to like my findings.

C: This information is not referenced. Please cite your source.
A: That would be your email on the subject directing me to include this information.

C: Please remove all interpretation schemes and suggestions from the report as it is not part of the scope of this project.
A: You mean the ones you requested at the last minute, right before the report was due?

C: The section on indigenous heritage has disappeared.
A: You did mark it as "irrelevant: remove" in the last edited version.

C: I don't understand this sentence.
A: That's not my fault, please consult a dictionary.

C: "Item is of little significance." Do you mean it is of no significance?
A: No, I mean it is of little significance.

C: "Maintenance is the responsibility of the client" - this is incorrect. Maintenance is the responsibility of the tenant.
A: Remember those emails I sent asking for information on who is responsible for maintenance? This is why answering them would have been good.

C: ?
A: Are we playing guess-what-I-don't-like-about-this-section? "?" what?!

Any theories on why I burned out after 18 months of consulting? Anyone?

Disassociation

The brain does very weird things sometimes.

Hornets (aka huntsman wasps or spider-killing wasps - big-ass waspy things) are one of the few insects I really can't deal with. Most I'm quite comfortable with or can at least handle with a minimum of fuss. But hornets - especially the slim ones, that are shaped like a normal wasp but twice the size - give me the creeping horrors. I scream and run away from them like I scream and run away from nothing else.

Yesterday I was thinking about this, and wondering why. I cast my memory back over various events involving wasps and hornets, and the only thing I could come up with was when I saw my cousin Vanessa get stung by small wasps when I was about 14.

Except . . . something about the memory was off. I "knew" it had been Vanessa that got stung, but I could remember the flailing from my own perspective. What?

So I sent my brother an email, and he confirmed that it was me that got stung by the wasps. Vanessa was there, along with our friends from across the road, Shane, Donna and Sarah; but I was the only one that got stung. For some reason, since then I'd altered the memory, disassociated myself from being the victim and put my cousin in that role instead.

I wonder why on earth I did that?

There's one other occasion from my childhood when I know I disassociated a memory. When I was about 11, my friend Erin and I were mucking around in the kitchen, "cooking" (which usually meant either screwing up and wasting ingredients, or getting bored and giving up halfway through). We'd opened a can of something, and from what I remembered, Erin cut her thumb on the edge of the can, right across the knuckle, and it was rather scary and bled everywhere. It was years and years later that I suddenly went "wait a second, the scar from that is on MY THUMB". It's still there today, for that matter. One slightly jagged cut scar, right across the knuckle of my left thumb. But at some point my brain had gone "do not want" and started telling me that it was Erin's thumb that got cut, not mine.

It makes you wonder what else in one's memory isn't real! *cue Matrix soundtrack*

And I still haven't figured out why I'm so scared of hornets in particular. Maybe it is just simply the fact that they're big, solitary, unfazed by most attempts to kill them, and they come at you at head height with malice aforethought. That's enough, right?

Three Reunions, Three Lessons.

I had the last of my three 10-year high school reunions yesterday. It was a fantastic night and I really enjoyed it. I guess I'm now used to the whole reunion thing as I wasn't nervous at all for this one! That also comes from sorting through a lot of my "stuff". My self-esteem did not depend on the night going well, and since it did I just feel better about myself!

On the way home, I reflected on the three different reunions and the emotions and self-beliefs that surrounded each one. Like most teenagers my high school years were fraught with dramas and traumas, and being an Aspie with difficult and divorced parents I had perhaps a harder time than many dealing with the trials of teenagehood. In some ways, the reunions have let me 'go back' and fix some of the things that were going wrong. I've learned an important lesson out of each of the reunions - a different lesson each time.

Before the first reunion, for EHSHS, I was incredibly nervous. I was only at EHSHS for Years 8 and 9 (1993-94) and didn't really feel like I had any right to be going. I also had to get there very late, because my uncle's wedding reception was the same night. I was convinced that only a couple of people would remember me, and that they would probably wonder what I was doing there since I hadn't graduated with them. I even asked the people running it whether I was allowed to go!

When I got there, I was immediately greeted with great excitement by dozens of old friends and acquaintances. Most didn't even remember that I hadn't been there the whole time, or alternatively had wondered where the hell I'd gone since my friends hadn't managed to pass on the fact that I'd been custody-shuffled up to the northern suburbs. I was hugged by people I barely remembered, and "glomped" by a few who had really missed me. It was wonderful and I went home feeling like I'd regained a whole portion of my life that went missing after I left EHSHS.

Lesson One: You Are Memorable. I am not background noise. My appearance and manner and personality leaves a pleasant memory that people can retrieve immediately. I am missed when I leave and welcomed when I return. I don't need to fear being forgotten or unnoticed.

The next reunion was for GSHS where I did Years 10-12 (1995-97) after going to live with Mum. Before the GSHS reunion I felt even worse than I did prior to the first one. I was very much unpopular at GSHS (my friends were all in the year below me because my own year didn't 'get' me). I felt again like I had no right to be there and would be teased / laughed at / shunned for turning up to the reunion when I was so unwelcome at the school in the first place. I was terribly nervous.

What I found, when I got there, was that everyone remembered me, and no one remembered that I'd been unpopular. People kept asking things like "oh, were you at that party where . . .", and I kept having to say "no, I wasn't", thinking all the while ". . . because you guys never once invited me to a party!". They didn't have any recollection of my status as class pariah, and welcomed me with open arms and great enthusiasm. I hadn't been one of the crowd, but all they remembered was that I had been there through the most important years of high school. That was all that mattered to them.

Lesson Two: You Are Acceptable. Kids in high school are stupidly obsessed with conformity. My oddness was unbearable to them back then, but they're adults and they're over it. The person I am today is acceptable to the people they are today. I am not a pariah and no one sees me as one. I am accepted as one of "them".

This weekend's reunion was for FSHS, where I repeated Year 12 in 1998, having gone back to live with Dad at his new house in a different suburb after stuffing up my tertiary entrance exams in 1997. I wasn't nervous for this one - I knew that T, a good friend of mine, would be there, and I had better memories of the people at FSHS in general. I was pretty sure I was going to be welcomed, and hoped I would also be remembered.

The evening was delightful. Most people remembered me (some after a bit of prompting lol), and if they remembered me as half of "Christine and Brett", well, that's fair enough! Most were quite fascinated by the path my life had taken, and I found I had a lot in common with many of the girls I spent the evening with. It was a really great night.

Lesson Three: You Are Respected. People think very highly of someone who has three degrees, who followed her dream to do archaeology, who made a sensible decision to get out when it wasn't working out, and who does such an undeniably difficult and underpaid job as primary school teaching. In fact, the stuff I can do seriously amazes people, even if I consider them far brighter than me! So far as mannerisms can tell the story, everyone remembered liking me at school, and many remembered my dream to do archaeology. I am seen as someone who has achieved, who has strived, who has Gone Somewhere and Done Something with her life. No one cares about what I don't have or thinks less of me for it. What I do have is sufficient.

At last night's reunion I also had a long chat to my high school sweetheart (the aforementioned Brett), who was there with his wife and child. I found that, for the first time since we broke up in 2000, chatting to Brett triggered none of my "stuff". I think I'm starting to get my head around my past and put it away.

The three reunions have helped to set right a number of misconceptions I had about myself, and have replaced them with the positives listed above. And that feels good!

Changing Hurts.

Growing pains of the soul and mind are no less painful than those of the body.

At the moment I'm digging deep into my childhood, doing the work I need to do to understand why I get pulled into negative relationships time and time again. Part of the answer is the straightforward issue of being an Aspie growing up in a neurotypical word which has given me a desperate need to belong, to be normal, to be seen as fitting in. Sticking with bananaheads because being in a grown-up relationship made me one of the "real people" is part of my problem.

But the more painful issue is one of sibling dynamics. Throughout my childhood, my brother was the one who acted up and acted out. Not that he had no reason - diagnosed with ADHD and undiagnosed with Aspergers, he didn't exactly have it easy. But his problems were so visible. He got into trouble, he had manic episodes, he broke windows, he had to change schools so many times because the staff were running out of patience with his issues. Not all the time - not every day - but he was certainly a high-maintenance child.

I was the opposite. I never acted out, and when my problems did bubble to the surface, they came in the form of hysterics and inconsolable tears. I was a withdrawn, introverted child, the polar opposite of my brother. My problems were no less severe - diagnosed ADD and undiagnosed Aspergers - but I was no trouble. My brother received the lion's share of everyone's attention, because he had to. He needed it, for sure. But I needed it too . . . and never got it. That is the great unmet need of my childhood - for someone to look past the fact that my brother was loud and I was quiet, and realise that I needed help too.

Time and time again, when my brother worked himself up into a state and started acting out, my parents would rescue him - new school, new counsellor, new hobby etc. For years and years and years I waited for my parents to rescue me too. I just knew that sooner or later they would realise just how much pain I was in, how much I was struggling at school, and pull me out, find me a school that would work for me. It never happened . . . because they never knew. And I never asked for help. How could I ask, when my brother so clearly needed their attention more than I?

One effect of this dynamic is relatively easy to deal with: I need to learn to acknowledge my own needs, recognise them as valid, and be prepared to stand up for them. Another effect . . . not so easy. I have to ask myself: do I get into these relationships where I am still suffering and still living out that silently-going-crazy coping role because I am still waiting to be rescued? Is the part of me that puts up with these relationships that same little girl who waited all those years for someone to notice the pain? Am I unable to say no to crazy-making situations because it's my way of giving the universe / my peers / my parents / others one last chance to do what I needed them to do all those years ago?

I have to put that pain to bed forever before I can let someone into my life. I need to make peace with the fact that child-Christine and teen-Christine are never going to be rescued. I have to learn to live with how it was, not how it should have been.

I haven't the faintest idea where to start, but I'll get there somehow.

I'm watching "The Holiday" this evening and want to share this quote:

Iris: "I wanted to get away from one guy, an ex-boyfriend who just got engaged and forgot to tell me."
Arthur: "So, he’s a schmuck."
Iris: "As a matter of fact he is a huge schmuck . . . how did you know?"
Arthur: "He let you go. This is not a hard one to figure out."

EXACTLY.