Thursday 27 August 2009

Page Twenty-five

Turners Falls

More haunting.

For my animals and me, for my life that was taken. And also for a housemate we had once, who died on a September 5th. One week left to live at this point in that year. I’d wanted him so badly to live, I’d wanted a good friendship (not a romance) between us so badly, because we had some important things in common. He had had a terrible loss (not the first one in his life), and I’d hoped that my friendship and even having the animals to love would be a help to him. Nothing worked. He was 42 when he died, just days before his 43rd birthday. I wander back to that time, to Rick, when his death date gets near. Rick, like just about everyone else, was mean to me too, in his own particular way, so I can’t think of him without bitterness. But I also can’t think of him without sorrow and regret. He died way too young. There were few people who tried to help him after his crushing loss, but he didn’t give anything much of a chance. I went to him with a different approach than others had used, and I’d hoped that different approach might work. More failure to add to my list.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ website ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(orion from a greeting card)



Monday 24 August 2009

Page Twenty-four


Almost out of my allowed time.                                                                                             

Where do I go to find anne nakis… into the past. Into the days and years before 12 March 2008. It’s hard to go there much without my own apartment; my behavior where I live now is scrutinized to some degree. My ability to find who I was is very limited. But that’s all I want, to live in the past where I was me. Follow a backward path into any day before that day in 2008.

The present isn’t mine, isn’t me. I no longer want a truce with the non-autistic world. I want to sink into the past where I was me, and sink into the Asperger’s, not wishing to try to “normalize” myself to any degree anymore. It didn’t work anyway. Whenever I was working my hardest to fit in, I was still way too off the mainstream. Still was bullied, made fun of, excluded, whatever.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  website  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(stone mat at



saturday 22 august 2009

Page Twenty-three                                                                                                                   


It appears I have one person reading this new journal, at leat. I’m writing, I guess, for that one person. Whoever you are, thanks.

There were so many songs in my own life. Bits and pieces of them sing themselves in my head from time to time, tempting me to sing them with my voice. I can’t lately, though there have been other times when I could. All the music I learned over my whole life was learned mostly in the presence of animals, in a home, sung in a home where the animals heard, sung at times especially for the animals.

Back in June and July I could still listen to a very few of the many public radio shows my animals and I used to listen to. Now I’ve had to eliminate even those, and am always lying in my room in silence or with an audiobook playing. Audiobooks were a big part of my own life too, but they don’t hurt me as much as the radio shows do.

There seems to be no hope of getting an apartment anytime soon, where I can have my hundreds of taped journals back, and listen to them, and cry as much as I like, and retreat back into the memories of what was my own life as much as I like. I’m not one of the people on the autism spectrum that desire a truce with the neurotypical world. I desired that for decades, and couldn’t get it. Seventeen months ago neurotypicals destroyed my life, and did other mean-sprited things as well.

~~~~~~~~  website  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(tree of life leathers at


friday 21 august 2009

Page Twenty


I shared everything with my animals. I suppose you can’t know, you can’t feel that, unless you have felt about animals in your life the same way I have.

We had feasts: thanksgiving, solstice, christmas, new year’s, my birthday, their birthdays. I cooked and cooked, and shared it all with them.

I walked with them, different places in different years, under sunrises and sunsets and full moons and the 2001 amazing leonid meteor showers. In snow and in rain and in sun.

I gave up my car to keep my family, as there came a point when there wasn’t enough money for both. I went begging for us when extra expenses had left money really tight.

I walked I don’t know how many miles from the center of Turners Falls to a place in Gill where my nervous, fear-biting dog was being boarded, all so he wouldn’t miss his Friday visit and get cranky with the staff.

And there’s much more to wander through, the sharing of our lives, another time. And the great emptiness.

~~~~~~~  website  ~~~~~~~~~~~~


tuesday 18 august 2009 redux

Page Nineteen

back in Greenfield

Today the tears at the thought of coming back to Greenfield began long before I even got on the bus. I was only able to stay outdoors and do a little haunting of what was my life for an hour, as the weather defeated me.

Ran into a man who “loves” me while I was there. Oh, he’s loved me since 1996, according to his own words. But here he had the day off, yet couldn’t spend any time with me, he loves me so much. He bought me a bottle of water. Gee whillikers.

Gardening is another thing that’s gone, at least for now. I was a gardener from 1992 to part way through 2006. If I ever have a yard again, which I can’t believe in, I will try to make a garden for the 14 animals who were taken from me, a Garden of the Absent. I didn’t invent that, it’s the name of someplace in Viet Nam, I think. I would try to make this garden if I ever had a yard again, but would I be able to? I don’t know. There’s so much right now that I cannot face, things that were part of my own destroyed life. I have no way of knowing how many of them I might be able to face again or when.

I miss the gardening. I loved it. I would exhaust myself and get my immune system furious overdoing it in the gardens. I loved it as much as I loved our music, and our walks, and our togetherness, and the art and books and radio shows that were part of our life. As much as I loved lying down to sleep with animals around me for 55 years, and waking with them in the morning.

I’m wandering Turners as much as I can, which isn’t enough, and I’m also wandering through books on autism and Asperger’s, which is all I’m able to read right now. If you have interest, there’s Nobody Nowhere by Donna Williams, Look Me In the Eye by John Robinson, and Asperger’s from the Inside Out by a man whose last name is Carley. I forget his first two names. Of course there are many books on the subject, but these are the three I’ve been digging in lately. Most of my life I tried to fit in enough to get by; I hid a lot about myself, but my general Asperger’s differentness seems to have been impossible to squelch. I’m sick of the whole business of trying to fit in whatever way I can, and I’ve been sick of it for about 15 years. For those years I’ve been straining for permission from the neurotypical world to be myself, weird as that may be. And what was my answer from the world, in the end? Neurotypicals destroyed my life.

~~~~~~  website  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


tuesday 18 august 2009

Page Eighteen

In Turners Falls again today, but I think the weather will prevent me from doing much haunting. It’s very hot and humid, and I already made myself sick walking too much in this weather in Greenfield yesterday. Will I get to walk to any memories today? Don’t think so.

Had a very weirdo dream this morning, with many elements in it of my life of 55 years, before the last of it was taken away. I had no more cats (they had been taken), but I went next door to a woman who did, and there I saw a litter box. This was a long dream, and there was a lot in it, including, at the very end, my two stolen dogs. But the one feature that is hurting me the most, and haunting me the most, is that litter box. Litter boxes were part of my life all my life, and I was in charge of them and their cleaning for decades. It’s all wiped out. Not a litter box in my days to take care of since 11 March 2008. Perhaps to you it’s nutty, but I greatly miss litter boxes, a job I did year-in and year-out for the loved cats who went with them.

~~~~~  website  ~~~~~~~~~~


friday 14 august 2009

Page Seventeen


So many songs and lyricless pieces of music wander through my mind, and they are in my memory note for note. But I don’t let them stay too long before pushing them away. I can hardly bear them appearing in my mind, much less to listen to them on radio or CD. Years’ and years’ worth of music learned in my own life, when I had animals and homes. Folk music, classical, new age, popular, all unable now to be faced because my 55 years of having homes and animals are gone, gone, for 17 months now.

Love is sacred. That’s a corny thing to say I suppose, but it is. The death of one you love is sacred. I first began to learn about the sacredness of love and death with animals, as a little girl. I was much, much slower with that learning when it came to people.

Matthew hasn’t learned it yet, and maybe never will. For him the job is sacred, and he could never move beyond that to make love sacred. If you want to know who Matthew is, well, he’s spread around this website and appears, I think, on each of the nine blogs. If you come back again, no doubt you’ll find him sometime.

And I, in this new existence that is not my life, and having been caught up for a long time with bizarre and distressing things that Matthew told me, have to return to what’s sacred for me. It’s extremely painful, because returning to it is full of grief and loss and anger. But all the trips to Turners Falls are about wandering around in what is, and was, sacred for me.

~~~~~  website  ~~~~~~~~~~~

(r.monti sculpture at

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


my friends

Page Sixteen

Wednesday 12 August 2009

I’m haunting in Turners Falls again this morning, though I failed to do it yesterday and wish that I had. Yesterday was the exact 17-month point of our last day together (Tues 11 March 08). At this time on that day (11 a.m.) we were living our very last hour in a home together, ever. The sheriff’s deputy came at noon. Thanks to the scheming of a complete lunatic, my 14 animals and I managed to have the rest of the day together, until 8:30 p.m., but how shabbily we had it: packed into a van. Fourteen animals and 3 humans, packed into a van for 8 hours. This was very definitely one of those darkly mixed blessings: we had those hours together that we wouldn’t have had without the lunatic, and I treasured every minute we could still have. But they were hours full of idiocy and discomfort too.

On the next morning, the 12th, 17 months ago today, my animals and I were separated forever on K Street in Turners Falls. One of my dogs had run away during feeding the night before (I had been forbidden to do this feeding myself; it was performed by the lunatic), and four of the cats had escaped their carriers and migrated to a second garage that was crammed with stuff, and they were hiding in it. My three birds were inside the house of a very unholy priest, and I wasn’t allowed to see them. My remaining dog was hauled off to the town kennel in Montague, and the other five cats were taken to the “shelter” in Greenfield, which is no longer there. It took an hour, from 8:30 to 9:30, to tear apart a family that had been together for years. All of the animals had been with me since they were very young. And during that one hour I endured yelling, lying, laughter and insults from a man who is now dead. He was acting, all of it. The yelling, the insults, all part of a stage play he was doing, but why? Why; because I was supposed to get my animals back. Over the next two months I got that message phrased indirectly from a number of people: I was going to get them back. What happened? No one will tell me. A tearing apart that happened on that day and was supposed to be temporary ended up being forever, and no one in Turners Falls (these “christian” people), will tell me why. No one at the DMH will tell me why.

17 months ago today we had to be taken apart forever. I love you:

Mishi    Brainse    Judah    Mandy   Shiloh                                                                                     

Chan    Chailin     Ziidjian   Aram    Abel

Chani    Tuuschi   Lizzie     Canajoharie

~~~~~~~~  website  ~~~~~~~~~~~



tuesday 11 august 2009

Page Fifteen

Some people are built with more fragility than others. I’ve known them, and know them. People who lost the very center of their world, of their hearts, and while they have survived, they are deeply and permanently changed. Some kill themselves. Those that don’t are never the same. Right now I’m in the never the same group. Too much has been taken, too much that was irrevocably a part of who I was.     

I wander in my mind over hundreds of moments that were in my own life, and all that life was stolen from me 17 months ago today, exactly, on Tues 11 March 2008. I wander over songs that were ours, but only in my mind. For 55 years I had homes, and for 55 years I had animals. In middle age I began to have an even deeper desire than ever to withdraw as much as I could from the human world I don’t understand, and live almost entirely in my own world. But that world was taken, 17 months ago today, exactly.

Some people break more deeply, more completely than others do. I’ve known them, and know them. Some keep living as shells with all the meat drained out of them. Some decide to skip all that.

~~~~  website  ~~~~~~~~


monday 10 august 2009

Page Fourteen

Greenfield (another hated place)                                 some of our chimes                                                                                                            

There was always so much music in my own life. My thoughts and memories wander, and they are starting now to wander over all the songs, all the compositions we listened to over the years together. They hurt enough when they’re there in my mind. I can’t bear to play our music (the little of it I have with me), or to turn on the radio shows we got music from. Our music, that of my friends and me, that of my own life, is 99% of it now as lost to me as those friends are.

My own world. It’s most of it been stolen from me now, but what little of my own world I can still make is beginning slowly to claim me, as it should. It’s very tough in my living situation to make my own world; I can only do it part-time. But my distaste for the world outside my door, for the way human beings conduct themselves, is greater than ever, my need to withdraw from it and make a world of my own even greater. But animals were always the largest, the most important part of my own world. The last 14 I had were torn from me all in one day, and that has changed, has darkened and bloodied any future relationship I might have with an animal of my own.

~~~~~~~~~~~ website ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


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