Ridgeway Cottage anyhow

I’ve stopped defining myself as suffering from insomnia because otherwise it would make my whole life a tragedy. It’s not even correct to describe myself as a “bad sleeper” because that implies that there is the potential of a better me existing: a superior Susie whose worth is more significant because she sleeps. Right from day 1, this has been a complaint and judgment made against me. All of the worst diagnosis of disordered existence measure your ability or inability to sleep. I regularly fail to achieve the recommended hours. I once spent a night in the Royal Free Hospital, to see if “someone could get to the bottom of this.” It’s ironic to note that I wasn’t quite sure what the point of this sleep deprivation trial was at the time and google wasn’t available at the time (early 1990s). I’ve just googled it and still haven’t got a clue, but it seems I could pay a lot of money if I wanted to investigate further at any point. I doubt I am the only late diagnosed adult to have been...

This morning I have woken up early after making the decision not to go for a run. I feel so overwhelmed after reconnecting with my  autistic self that my head feels funny. I feel like Josie did when she was younger and wanted to know how black holes are made so we went to the planetarium to find out. I feel like my diagnosis was the big bang and I’m still dusting off the debris and rebuilding the authentic Susie. I can hear the omnipresent low level white noise after shock the sonic boom. My autistic ears are the most significant aspect of my diagnosis, the most noticeable change. It’s very much like now they have been given recognition, I can’t turn them off. They are continuously screaming at me, “you feel sound” . It’s noises that wake me up at night. The hearing part of my brain can’t step away from the hyper vigilance caused by the avalanche of trauma I’ve had to revisit in the last 4 years. The are the main character. I used to think there was something wrong with my heari...

At last, things are starting to get a little bit easier and I can start getting on with the whole living thing. After the overly complex stitchery I started on one of the flowers for my embroidered dress at the beginning of the week, it felt like I would never get it either right or finished. My mood darkened, but I kept at it and then suddenly it was finished. The kitchen is no longer the sensory nightmare of the last couple of months, as long as I am the only one in there. I even managed to gather a harvest from the allotment and make a potato curry with my homegrown produce. I’ve also managed to not only go properly outside but took on my own autistic/ PTSD challenge. In true over the top ADHD style, I went on a day trip to The Knitting and Stitching Show at Alexandra Palace, the perfect overwhelmingly stimulating environment to anxiously await the boy’s Kent Test results. If I can cope with needle-felted Sherlocks, then I can probably start to engage in some of those day to day act...