Thursday 30 July 2009

Page Eleven

Today I’m writing in Greenfield…

I go to sleep alone, wake up alone. No animals. For 55 years, there were animals.                                                

I fall asleep and wake in the dark and the semi-dark, shades pulled down. In my own life this wasn’t so. Rarely did I pull down a shade or a blind, as I always wanted as much light as possible. Even at night I wanted the windows bare, wanted to see the dark sky when I woke up in the night.

And then there’s silence. While I have a radio, I can rarely bare to turn it on, to listen to our radio shows without my friends.

Darker, more silent, more solitary than living ever, ever was for the 55 years I had animals.

This is what neurotypicals gave me, what they’ve made of me. They made this with sheer meanness, with laziness and indifference; they made it with lies, they made it with money and power that I don’t have.

Click to more on this.

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Wednesday 29 July 2009

  Page Ten

                                                                     

I’m here in Turners for the 2nd day in a row, doing my haunting, and being haunted in return. I need to live here again, and can’t find any way of doing it right away because of wait lists in subsidized places. I need to go to sleep and wake up in the town where I did so with animals for nearly 22 years. And for 33 years before Turners, I always lived with animals. I can’t erase the pain and emptiness of having a life-long choice taken from me. I had to make my own world. For decades one of my own worlds was one I made in my head, and all my life animals were another one of my own worlds, and books and music made up another. The older I got, especially after 40, the more acutely I realized that I couldn’t deal with worlds other than my own, and I didn’t want to anymore. It has nothing to do with being delusional: I’ve never heard voices or seen things that aren’t there or simply dreamed things up. I think it has to do with Asperger’s that has gotten more severe as I’ve aged and been subjected to more and more psychological warfare.

I’ve called the tree a peace tree. That’s not what it’s called in the catalog, but rather my own name for this tree on this post. Peace is something the denizens of this town would never let me and my animals have.

(artificial tree at www.signals.com)

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Tuesday 28 July 2009

Page Nine

Turners Falls

Yes, I’m here again, haunting. I haunt Turners, and Turners haunts me. And it seems it will always be this way. And all this haunting is for the same reason: I haunt the town because it’s where my life was and all my love, and the town haunts me for that reason, and for the further reason that this is where we were destroyed, these are the people who didn’t care, who left me living outdoors for two months without ever an offer of a couch or a spare room.

                                                                      

This is only one person’s story. Isn’t that all that any journal is, one person’s story? But it’s no fiction, it’s all truth, and it’s complicated, and my reactions to everything that’s happened since the psycho-chick with criminal connections moved into my building in 2006 are complicated. It may be a dark story, and I may be a dark, wandering ghost, but everything in the blogs is truth, as far as I could identify the truth at any given time with all the lies and smokescreens being thrown my way.

Related page:   Future

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Wondering

Page Eight

Wed 15 July 2009       Turners Fails

I’ve always been an extreme questioner, a wonderer. I question everything, and I wonder about everything. It’s one of the things people haven’t liked about me over the years: Why do you have to question everything? Why do have to try to figure everything out? It’s the way my brain is, a brain that always wants to know the answer, even if I don’t understand why the answer should be what it is. This leads to more questioning and wondering. My brain’s been this way forever. I suppose if I were a sensible person, I would have tried sometime in my adult years to take my brain in hand, to discipline it, to tell it to shut up when it wondered about too many things and too many people. But I didn’t, I always just let my brain go where it wanted to go. Another failure, it seems. Another abnormality. Just another oddball thing of mine to make me so unappealing.

this mask, and others, are available from www.toscano.com. one of the things I used to collect in my own life was masks, but I had nothing as elaborate or expensive as this one. I circled it in the catalog: a dream for a someday that never came.

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Back to nobody

Page Seven

Mon 6 July 2009     Greenfield

I wander over the pages of a book, but I can only sustain it for a few pages. I read with animals around me all my reading life, until 16 months ago. It’s extremely, hugely hard now, to read the printed page. Even pages on the internet.

This book that I’m trying to read is an autobiography of an autistic. Autism is more severe than the Asperger’s that I have, but I’m finding some things in common. I’ve already mentioned this book (Nobody Nowhere), and I chose it as much for the title as for the subject. Nobody nowhere is what I’ve so often felt like in my life in relation to other people, and with the loss of my home and everyone I love, that feeling is intensified to a degree I can’t describe.

I’d known for years that if I lost the animals, there would be grief and emptiness like I’d never known before, but even so, I wasn’t prepared for the many months of  alternating shock and denial and grief that I would go through until finally settling into the emptiness.

The Asperger’s page                                     

all photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2009-2011 by anne nakis, unless otherwise stated. all rights reserved.

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