A Successful Trade

I had a sad day, but I'm back now, as good as ever.

Depression rarely shows its ugly head anymore, and when it does, it is blessedly brief. But when it does come, it is scary, because there's a history of depression in my family. All six people in my family of origin have a history of depression, and it spreads out from there, to lots of other relatives on all sides.

There's a history of a lot of things in my family. Depression, mental illness, abuse, and addictions. I am the only one who has gotten help, I am the most highly educated, and I live a lawful life. Even in my extended family, I am the only person who has asked for help of one kind or another, stuck with it, and seen my life benefit tremendously as a result. The benefits I reaped from joining the human race were the reasons I furthered my education to three college degrees, and became a psychotherapist. The help I received also enabled me to intentionally choose a good partner, make myself a nice home, and create two loving sons with my husband.

I see the many issues in my family as avenues through which help could arrive. One person might seek help for alcoholism, one might seek it for depression, and another might seek it for overcoming violence. I sought it for the incest. Because the issues are intertwined, you can't address one while ignoring the others. Therefore, while inititally I went into therapy to discuss the incest, we ended up discussing so much more. And I ended up learning about, and recovering from, so much more.

Conversely, and unfortunately, anyone in my family who goes for help for any one thing is also going to be confronted with the same overwhelming array of obstacles to overcome. I believe that I am the only one who has "recovered" because I am the only one who was willing to fight through this huge barrage of painful crap.

In my family, this makes me the odd one. And it used to make me lonely. But that hasn't been the case for many years. Long ago, I decided not to put my life on hold, either trying to make others get help, or waiting until they did. I realized I would be much happier being surrounded by even just a few loving, supportive, non-abusive friends ~and "adopted" family~ of my own choosing, than dozens of relatives who just don't get it.

What's Wrong With This Picture?

Yesterday my beloved Aspergian brother Mike and I went into NYC (3 hr bus ride from PA) to see John Elder Robison's book debut signing & reading at the Union Square Barnes & Noble store. He appeared there with his wonderfully successful author brother Augusten Burroughs. This was especially meaningful to me, because it was through reading Augusten's books that I realized that my brother was Aspergian, thus leading to his (finally!) correct diagnosis. I was going to blog about how great the event was. And it truly was. But now that I'm here, I just can't get it up to do that.

John's relationship with his brother reminds me of my brother's and mine: My brother Mike is the straight Aspergian, and I am the gay non-Aspergian. Well, OK, so I'm not gay. And I'm not male. And I'm married with children. But that's beside the point.

Augusaten & Polly @ Foxwoods Casino in 2006

Mike and I had a great time talking on the bus, then having dinner and hanging out before the reading. We both loved the presentation: A great combo of education and hilarity. Then we talked all the way on the three hour bus ride home. We don't often have time to sit and just talk for hours, so that was a real treat. Mike was excited about what he heard, and I was excited for him. I was on a real adrenaline high.

Then this morning I processed this picture. I thought about some things that went wrong yesterday. Things that went very wrong, and which everyone but Mike noticed. I started thinking about obstacles. (See my post of 9/1 for some history.) Early this afternoon I fell into a depression, which rarely happens to me anymore. I wanted to tell the world to fuck off, then crawl into bed, and pull the covers over my head for the rest of the day.

John Robison & Mike @ B&N in NYC

Of course, I didn't give in to my desire for delicious self-absorption, because I had a busy day ahead of me. I probably feel better because I made myself keep going. I have settled into an almost-teary sadness that will probably prevail into tomorrow, and if I can have a good cry, it will dissipate even sooner.

It's good to soak in encouragement and inspiration, but it's also important to be realistic about goals. Don't get me wrong: I am very happy for John. He has worked hard, is a real sweetie, and deserves every iota of happiness and success he has garnered. But the fact is that not every Aspergian has the potential, or capability, of being anywhere near as high-functioning as John Robison. And not every abuse victim will recover as successfully.

Be Back Soon!

I am currently going through a period of great inspiration in my memoir writing. I'll be taking a little break from my blog so that I may continue to concentrate fully on my book. I will be happy to respond to any comments left on my blog entires, and otherwise I expect to continue writing the blog in about two weeks. Thanks for stopping by, and I'll see you then!

More Thoughts on Lunch w/John Robison

One of the things John and I talked about was, how do we weed out the effects of abuse from the symptoms of Asperger's?

In the case of the Aspergian in my life, he was locked in his small bedroom all day long, for days on end. This was done to him during his early childhood years, when he was about three to five years old. (He might have been a little older, but this is my best recollection.) Before he was locked in his room, all of his books and toys, and anything that would provide mental stimulation were removed. Screams of protest and attempts by his sisters to help him were met with punishment. After his sisters discovered that the parent hid the key over the doorsill and learned how to let him out, the parent took the key with her so that there was no possiblity of rescue.

Let's assume the effects of this kind of abuse were that the child felt different, felt unworthy of being with others, and felt that he was bad. (You can fill in your own effects if you prefer. The point is, clearly there were effects.) These feelings about himself would effect the child socially. Plus there was lots of other abuse as well. The room-locking was only a little piece of it.

Add the fact that the child has Asperger's to the equation. Asperger's main symptom is poor social skills. Years later, you have an adult who has all of the symptoms of Asperger's - the poor eye contact, the social awkwardness, inappropriate comments, etc. Plus you have some of the signs of abuse - poor eye contact, social awkwardness, inappropriate comments, etc.

The purpose of a clinical diagnosis is that it provides a framework for treatment: When you identify what someone's problem is, then you can apply the proper treatments to it. In this particular case, my question is, how do you know what problems in adulthood are from the Asperger's and what are from the abuse?