Brucie

Page  Eighty

Tuesday 7 December 2010, Turners twisting

Once again, there’s no photo. I have so few photos with me in the ponystall. And even if I ever get back what’s in the storage, it’s only a part of what I once had. Many pictures and rolls of film that were mine have been thrown out by other people. Not to mention a host of other belongings.

Brucie was another grandchild of Maman (there were twelve of them, after all). Brother of Chloë and Spot and others. He had the familial smallness, and likewise the familial white hair with grey patches. Because he was, from birth, the stockiest of the six kittens, we started out calling him Big Bruiser, which was eventually shortened to Bruiser. But as he got older, three or months, becoming a young feline fellow, I felt that Bruiser was no longer appropriate, that he needed something with more dignity. Hence Brucie. But there was disagreement. When Bruce and Chloë were five and a half months old, my mother decided she wanted them, and off they went to live with her. But she liked Bruiser, and went on calling him that for a long time, maybe even until he died. Whereas I would always refer to him as Brucie on the phone with Mum, and when I’d go out there for a visit I would never, ever call him Bruiser.

If any cat at all in Maman’s family can be said to have had a bit of the bully in them, then it was Bruce. But this family was so thoroughly good-natured that their version of bully was very, very mild indeed. Though he wasn’t the first-born of the kittens, he was definitely the leader, the boss. A benevolent and kindly boss who was loved by his siblings, who never feared him. They simply deferred to him.

Another driver, another car, another dead cat. And the eternal debate over outside versus inside cats. In another post like this, I decined to set forth the arguments on either side, and to defend my reasons for opting, most of the time, for letting my cats go outdoors. And my mother had always let hers go out as well. Someday, when I’m further along putting my small books about the animals together, I will write about that debate, but not today.

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

(part of the book All My Stars)

 

the printed page

 

Saturday 16 January 2010…     Greenfield  by: mishi

Posted on: 01-16-2010 @ 09:57 am

 

 

I’m re-reading Donna Williams’ Nobody Nowhere. There was so much in that book that was true for me too, both as a child and as an adult. I need to review that information. ….. And now much later the update that I wasn’t able to redad her book through a     second time. By January of this year, reading books without animals around me became impossible. I’m only able to listen to audiobooks, and only certain ones. If Donna’s book were available that way, I would certainly listen. I found a great deal of myself — my reactions and perceptions — in that book.

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

(clip art photo)

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Neurotypical Grime

Wednesday 24 November 2010, Turners Tongue-poison

Thanksgiving eve. I’m not doing any of the things that I’m supposed to do this day, as this day bears no resemblance to other such days that happened for 55 years. I exist in a twilight zone that has no relation to the stolen life that was my own.

And once again I’m interrupting the copying of the Wrongplanet posts for this interjection.

Neurotypical grime.  You know how it feels when you’re sweaty, and you’re doing yardwork or walking around in a sandy area — tiny particles of soil and sand cling to your damp skin, and when you get inside you feel just plain grimy, and you can’t wait to wash it off? Well that’s how I feel when I’ve been among people. I feel like there’s a grime both on me and in me that I need to get rid of because it makes me feel irritable, nervous, and as if my cells are clogged. It’s been that way at least since my teenage years. People — their game-playing, the confusing and inconsistent nature of both their words and their body language, their complete lack of solidity and reliability — leave me feeling soiled. I need to cleanse.

Animals were always my chief method of cleansing. Adjuncts were baths and mediations and music and books and art and nature.  And talking over the shaky feelings with someone, if I was lucky enough at any moment to have such a someone. Since the stealing of my life, I come back grimy to no animal family, no ability to read books in print, almost no ability to listen to music or meditate or have anything to with art. The cleansing rituals, like so much else, were stolen and murdered along with the animals.

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

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time

Thursday 24 September 2009by: mishiPosted on: 09-24-2009 @ 10:46 am

 

 

Turners FallsNow I’m listening to an audio edition of Mark Haddon’s The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time. I’ve listened to this book once before, back in my own life. Though it’s a novel about a boy with Asperger’s, rather than a true story, I like it very much. Maybe you know it. I have many things in common with the character Christopher, though I kept inside all my life most of the impulses that he acts out. But I wanted to act them out; I wanted to a whole lot.Listening to the radio shows I listened to in my own life with my animals is too much, I can’t do it. Listening to books hurts less, so that’s what I hear. I can just hang around the rented room in silence.

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

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Look Me in the Eye

Friday 11 September 2009

by: mishi  

(after a digression for animals, returning to the copying of wrongplanet posts)

Posted on: 09-11-2009 @ 11:01 am

 

 

Greenfield

It’s 18 months today since my life was taken. Sometimes…, well, nevermind.

I’m nearly finished with John Robison’s book, and still feel a lack of detail concerning his Asperger’s. Next I’m going to read his brother’s book, Running With Scissors, to see if I get a little more info there.

I wonder now and then what would have happened in my life if I’d never taken my parallel life in my head away from myself. It served as a buffer between me and the NT world, and when I made myself stop it at the age of 42, the NT world began to frighten me more and more with every passing year. If I’d kept that life in my head, would I not have grown increasingly more scared? And when people smell fear, they go for you. At least, that’s been MY experience.

 

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

(dora maar menorah at www.signals.com)

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face to face

by: mishiPosted on: 06-27-2009 @ 11:40 am

 

 

Sat 27 June 2009        Greenfield

This morning I was on my way to this library when I saw a sign for a pancake breakfast at a church. It’s a church I like to support a tiny bit if I can (though I am an atheist) because there’s a woman there who’s very good to me every Friday afternoon.

So inside, this man I’ve never seen before invites me to sit with him. It turns out he has Asperger’s too. So we have breakfast and talk and it’s good, and the first time ever that I’ve met face-to-face another person with Asperger’s. He gave me a list of books he likes, and the first one I’ve asked the library to get for me is Nobody Nowhere, by Donna Williams. Maybe you know it already.

 

Share   ~~~~~~~~~  website  ~~~~~

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all photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2008-2011 by anne nakis, unless otherwise stated. all rights reserved.

 

They so want me to be delusional

Page Eighteen

mishi…   Posted on: 09-16-2008 @ 01:28 pm

 

 

tues 16 sept 2008,  the shelter in Turners Falls… 

 I remember that some months ago I read that 90% of Asperger’s children are subject to bullying at school, and I figure that we can extrapolate from that statistic the fact that all Aspies are much more subject to all kinds of bullying in their lives than NT’s are. And I have indeed experienced a great deal of psychological bullying in my life, but none greater than what the mafia-chick, the psycho landlady, and the federal types have done (or seem by inference to be doing, based on the little information I got from Matthew). They have bullied me in that way, and through my physical illnesses. As if I were the criminal. No, it was the landlady and the other tenant and their pals who were, and are, the criminals, and yet I had everything taken away from me and was hung on a hook to dangle for organized crime (it seems), more than six months ago. What I thought was being done by the DMH alone was, I now know (based, as always, on Matthew’s words), was possibly also being done at the behest of others. I had accidentally, unwittingly stirred up a real, bona fide mob, and though I’ve led a crime-free life, I’ve been the one punished. punished incessantly for 6 months. I seriously doubt they would have hung a woman on a hook who was not poor, or who had a husband or family of humans to stick up for her. Even after they found out in early July that I am autistic, they still didn’t take me off the hook. They haven’t taken me off yet (and Matthew has never yet disputed my belief that I’m somehow bait). I’m sure they wouldn’t have done this behind-the-back, bait-hook “protection” if I weren’t single, or poor, or weird.

Update 14 Sept 2009: I still feel the same way, a year later. If in fact I had this protection done in this underhanded way, then I still believe it was because I was to be used as bait. And I still believe this wouldn’t have been done to me if I’d been of a different social class, and married, and neurotypical. 

And why do certain people so want me to be delusional? Why is it so important to them that this be written down on papers and passed around verbally? I think partly it’s because delusional is a diagnosis certain psychobabbles enjoy making: just as a murder is a more exciting case for a cop than a break-in is, delusional is a more exciting diagnosis for a bonehead to make than, say, clinically depressed. It makes them feel they’re earning their pay. And also people simply don’t want to believe that in this small community the ugly thing that seems to have happened to me vis a vis criminal types and federal types could happen to anyone. Not in this “nice” little community.

~~~~~~~~  website  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

(this post is part of the book Spite and Malice)

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Comment By: Monkfish(Posted on 09-19-2008 @ 10:20 am)
Comment: what a bunch of cunts!

 

 

Comment By: Demongirl(Posted on 09-28-2008 @ 11:46 pm)
Comment: I hated elementry and middle school becaused I was bullyed so bad I am totally afriad of any kind of human contact what so ever! So I don’t have any friends, just so I feel safe! I don’t even liked to be touched by a person! EVER! Which is why I’m designing posters for my thesis that promote better treatment of autistic children in school so they will have better lives. It seems like we get the worst end of the stick just because we have some diffilculties. SO NOT FAIR!

 

 

Comment By: Dyfi(Posted on 10-01-2008 @ 05:43 am)
Comment: I have Aspergers and I am bullied soooo much. You think thats bad, the teachers fuckin blame it on me. I get hurt, I assaulted someone.

 

 

secrets

Page Fourteen…..         Posted on: 06-26-2008 @ 09:47 am

 

 

thurs 26 june 2008….      Greenfield….    I have a secret, which I have kept a secret for fifty or more years until yesterday. I may have told one person four or five years ago, but I’m not positive. Anyway, it seems to be out now. I bang my head. Not very often, and not very hard. I’ve never made a bruise or a cut or anything, as it’s not meant to be self-damaging. It’s meant to jostle the electrical currents jumping between my synapses. When NT’s fill me with too much anger and too much fear, it becomes so large, larger than all my cells can hold. So a few well-gauged bangs just shuffle everything enough that I can try to think about the next step. I’m not even going to ask if any of you do it, because I have this sense that head-banging belongs to a more severe form of autism. I never, ever, in 50-odd years let anybody see me do it until yesterday. My parents, siblings, child never had a clue. Even at 3 or 4, I had this ominous feeling that NT’s would make a big hairy deal out of it. It’s nothing. It’s just a physical way to dull down emotions that are affecting me too much in my cells.                                                                        Update 22 Sept 2009: When I first wrote this last year, I didn’t say that the person I had revealed myself to was Matthew, my supposed protector. We were in the alley beside the health food store, talking about this mob-connected tenant who had lived in my building, and I banged my head a couple of times against the brick wall. It made him very nervous. And later, on visits to his apartment, a couple of times he did indeed make a big hairy deal out of me banging my head. 

 ~~~~~~~~~  website  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

           

 

 

 

Comment By: Butterflair(Posted on 07-06-2008 @ 09:22 am)
Comment: It’s okay, don’t worry about it.You don’t have to explain to anyone. They probably think you got frustrated about something. Just be yourself, your family loves you no matter what. That’s what family is for, unconditional love.

 part of the book Neverending Solitaire

~~~~~~~~~   Share   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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On and On

Page Five

Tuesday 6 May 2008     Greenfield

It’s eight weeks today since the sheriff’s guy evicted us.

I’ve been ripped out of my own world and thrown into the human one in a bigger way than I can stand. I walk streets and hang here and hang there now that my life is gone, and people are crawling around me every minute like so many ants. They sit too close, walk too close, talk about nonsense. Once in a great while there’s an interesting conversation, and I eavesdrop, but mostly it’s boring, superficial, even irrational drivel.

I only fit in my own world, the one I made for myself with my animals, my books and music and art and radio shows and so on. The DMH allowed it all to be taken away, and dropped me into a world I can’t handle.

Do any of the rest of you Aspies have to do this? To create your own world in your own space and stay mostly clear of that other world around us?

                                                                          

(figurine available from www.gaelsong.com)

                                          ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Update 2009:  And now it’s February 4th, and it’s 2009, and I’m in Northampton, and in 7 days I will be 11 months homeless. When I wrote this original entry I was already horrified that the Department of Mental Health had allowed my whole life to be taken from me and me to put out of a home in my fifties, and that in eight weeks they had done nothing to correct any of that. Eight weeks without my own life, without my own home, without the ones I love seemed like an eternity to me then, so how do you think it feels that it is now eleven months. But on top of all of this that is already destroying me by inches, I was told last July that — because of a mafia-connected tenant in the building where I last lived, and a dead mafia grandfather of my own — I am being tracked people who want to “kill” me (said Matthew) and am being protected by none other than federal goons (undercover) down from the branch office in Burlington, Vermont. Or so I’ve been told by good old Matthew Lacoy in Greenfield. As if the nightmare I was living because of the DMH wasn’t enough.

here to the Asperger’s page of my website.

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(this post is part of the book Spite and Malice)

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hodor

Page Three….      mishi  Posted on: 05-05-2008 @ 10:15 am

                                                                                                  

“nature has planted in our minds an insatiable longing to see the truth.” ~~~  ~~~  cicero

well, my mind has that longing in any case, but I don’t happen to see it in most of the minds I meet.

It keeps going…

mon 5 may 2008…    greenfield  thank you, Hodor, for your kind message. it’s only the second cyberspace message I’ve received.

I have never, ever lost the feeling that I am on the wrong planet, and I’m in my fifties. in fact, in the last ten years or so, that feeling has  become even stronger.The Department of Mental Health in greenfield, mass destroyed my life, my whole sense of identity and purpose, and sent my “mental health”, which they were supposed to help, presumably, into the worst condition it has ever been in.

they don’t believe that death from grief is possible, death from too much trauma. they only believe in death from pills and razor blades. they cannot think outside of the prosaic and ridiculous boxes taught to them in their psych courses.

I don’t understand the human code of communication and conduct, or I only understand it so far. animals I understand a great deal more. and they understand me. other humans seem to find me just as bizarre as I find them. I’m tired, depressed, sad, less interested in one breath in, one breath out than I’ve ever been in my life.
the ones I love, who loved me, are gone.

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see the DMH page of my website outline

wed 21 jan 2009, northampton —- what I was hoping for back in may last year, in the early days of blogging, was that people, even just a few, would take an interest. an activist lawyer or journalist turning up would have been ideal, but barring that, even just a couple of regular people who read about the destruction of my life by a juggernaut of an agency and empathized with the situation, felt the same hurt and outrage, would have been a great comfort. especially here, on wrongplanet, where other people with asperger’s would read what had been done to me….. but now it’s ten months, ten days that I’m homeless. now I also know the things about my life that matthew lacoy told me abin july 2008: organized crime trouble and federal protection. and if you don’t believe that, then you are just as dumb as I was not so long ago about the ways in which innocent people can get snared in a mob-world hornet’s nest.

july 2009, turners falls: still trying to fight the delusional label. I suppose I’ll be trying to fight it to my last breath. I didn’t dream up or hallucinate or hear body-less voices to get the thoughts I got about being in protected by one set of thugs on the government payroll from another set of thugs who are not. these things were told to me by a flesh-and-blood human being who is still in greenfield, where he’s been for years. there are no delusions involved. what did happen is that the trauma that had already just happened in my life last year combined with this new information from this man to keep me in a constant state of anxiety and anger, and in this state I pulled many more people and events into my protection situation than probably belonged there.

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read…    Spite and Malice…   The pygmies keep dancing

~~~~~  website outline  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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all photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2008-2013 by anne nakis, unless otherwise stated. all rights reserved.

 

 

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