2010 Yarmouth Clam Festival

Today was the long awaited Yarmouth Clam Festival, a tradition in Southern Maine every year. I am sure it's got to be one of the biggest festivals in Maine. The Clam Festival was what I missed most about Maine the last two summers; it was always just such a part of my growing up experience that I hated to miss it. I've been looking forward to it for at least six weeks and despite all my nerves, had quite a good time in the six hours N, R, R, I and various other AS group members spent there today.

Nate picked me up and we arrived there at about 1. Or, I arrived at 1, the rest arrived around 1:30, which is kind of a longer story. It was so exciting to see the street with people lining both sides of it (waiting for some kind of firefighter demonstration), and the famous HUGE food court with its red and white lettering to one side. Fried Clams! Strawberry Shortcake! Fried Dough! Soda! etc. There are probably about 20 stands and they go in a semi circle around a picnic eating area. On one side is a tent where concerts go on called the Memorial Green.


On the other side were the rides, and tons of them. What sheer eye candy! I walked around snappy pictures, trying to capture the essence of the amusement park, the essence of the spirit pervading the place, the joy and action, the colors and fast speeds. The cotton candy, candy apples and fried dough mixed in with the arcade games and colorful, whirling, spinning, as fast as the eye can see, guaranteed to make you barf rides. It's an interesting kind of meditation to be wandering around not focusing on the rides themselves, but on documenting them in pictures. It's relaxing, actually, and that area of the Clam Festival, with its long line of games on one side, is always fun to wander.


I wandered back to the area with the food, and ran into Nate and the group without even trying to. Pretty surprising in a place as big as this. We got some chairs and sat for a bit while we waited for No Banjos, the 2pm concert, to start. A fellow Aspie group member was in the band.

I have to say it was relaxing, to sit there in the shade in a comfortable chair, with friends, and listen to good music. It was covers of 60s classics,mostly British. It was too short - only 6 or 7 songs - but fun. When they did Last Train to Clarksville by the Monkees, I got up and danced, as I love that song; Nate even got a picture. It was followed by a high activitiy up-tempo Beatles song (maybe All My Loving but I can't remember) which I enjoyed just as much. The rest were down-tempo and mostly unfamiliar, so I stayed seated, except to go to the front to snap pictures of the band. :)


At 3, we went over to the rides to explore. There was this super awesome thing I found on my first walk through - they put you in huge plastic bubbles!!! and put the bubbles in the water in a large swimming pool. They put you in, zipped you up, and then inflated the bubble with air! You could then roll around the pool . I actually thought it looked like it COULD be a lot of fun but the idea of being trapped in a giant plastic bubble was a bit too claustrophobic to consider. It was, however, a LOT of fun to watch, and I was very pleased when both N and R agreed to go in!
Snapping shots of them in their plastic bubbles was just awesome, a creative challenge, lol. Never seen that before, must be the new thing.


We tried to get tickets for the ferris wheel; however after a long drawn out process to find and buy the damn things, the one ride I wanted to go on was closed. Oh well. Some of us got things to eat and we headed to the games. There were 5 new Aspie group members I had never met there , well, I think only 2 who stayed with us but still. 3 of us tried the balloon dart game, which has always been my favorite. One of the other girls said to me "I'm just doing this because this is what I used to do when I was a kid," and I said, "I'm doing it for the exact same reason!" I got a big fat red balloon on my 2nd try. The very friendly older operator of the game gave A and I the kids' rate even though we were both in our 20s, lol - so we both got a medium sized very cute stuffed dog and as many tries as we needed to get it! :) Best, and by that I mean least crappiest and certainly biggest, arcade prize I've ever gotten.

We then headed uphill to the craft festival. Fortunately, the hill was not as formidable as I remembered it, nor the weather as torturous as I had feared. The craft festival, while still as big as ever, was actually quite boring, but this was all the more for the better - I only had 40 min to get back to the Blaine concert, so "boring" was welcome for once.


We sat down to relax for 15 min before we trekked down the hill again for the Blaine Larsen concert. Or shall I say, I trekked down. They got stuck somewhere halfway down and I left them in the dust in my eagerness to see my beloved Blaine. :)

Blaine Larsen is a 24 year old country singer who first hit it big about 6 years ago with his haunting song "How Do You Get That Lonely," a follow- up to the just as amazing , goosebump producing "In My High School." When I was in college, I got a friend to take me to see him at a local mall and it is one of my happiest memories of college. It was a very intimate concert of only maybe 30 gathered around in a decrepit, falling down mall to see an extrodinary singer.
I loved it.

So when I heard, a couple weeks ago, that Blaine would be at the Clam Festival FOR FREE, in another small intimate setting, I just about went crazy. I had eagerly awaited it for weeks and couldn't wait to tear down that hill and get to Blaine. Finding a place to sit was difficult at first, but ultimately prosperous. I started on the bleachers on one side, discovered we were permitted to stand at the side and watch him from 2 ft away, went back to bleachers to rest, and ended up watching him from an even closer distance on the other side of the stage for his last song. Not bad!


He started with some song I didn't know...then went into I Don't What She Said, which I did know...1-2 more songs I didn't really know (his voice still sounded good but I much prefer familiar songs), then into "It Did," a song I really like. I ran to the side for that so I could get a good view and have room to move around and sing along. :) After that I felt better cus I figured whatever he sang after I'd at least gotten one good song in. He did a couple more ones I didn't know, THEN, came the moment I had been waiting for. "This is my very first song that ever went to radio, about 6 yrs ago, I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for this song..." My ears perked up and I ran back to the front from where I had been sitting.... it was time for the hauntingly beautiful "How do you get that lonely." I saw him sing it 6 yrs ago in Baltimore, and now the circle was complete by seeing him sing it again in my home state of Maine.

He finaled, of course, with his current single of "Chillin'", a popp-ish summer kind of song that has caught on mostly because it is a pop-ish summer song that doesn't make you think. Not my favorite song, but a decent one still. I was right in front of the stage snapping a picture when someone (from his staff) came out and dropped a huge tin of water on him! It was a joke because the song was about "Chilling." Everyone laughed. Blaine said, "Oh, so is THAT why you asked me how expensive my guitar was earlier?"


He then resumed the song, to much applause when he was finished. 50 min approx. Great show overall. Then it was time for autograph signing - I was one of the first to get to the WPOR table in the back, so I got very lucky - I noticed people were getting their pictures taken with him so I called Nate and asked him to come over and take a picture of me with him. Which actually worked! I didn't even have to wait that long, and I got to talk to him - I told him I' been at the Baltimore/Towson show and he said "Wow, that was a long time ago" and that I liked the song In My High School; he thanked me profusely. Then I asked for a picture and N got a great one! In my head last night I was dreaming about how cool it would be to have a picture taken with him but I didn't think it would actually happen!

Kate with Blaine Larsen!

It was too late after Blaine to do the other 60s concert or any rides, which was fine cus I was pretty tired by then. So we sat by the food and chatted for a bit before we left. We were all pretty tired.

I enjoyed the feeling of connection, of having other people to do stuff with. It was funny trying to do it with a group of 8!!! But we all moved together very well actually an people got along too.
At any given point we were always trying to figure out where someone was ("Where's N? Where's R?") lol but we found each other and reunited pretty quickly. It was a nice feeling of belonging to even have people to worry about missing in the first place.

So, I returned to the house hot, tired and more sunburnt than when I left - although not signficantly so - but overall happy, although it took some time to process this all.

Ready for several days of relaxing, I hope, and returning to a normal sleep schedule. Weather still hot, challenges still many, but I hope to use days like this, as overwhelming on some levels as they can be, to propel me forward and give me something to look forward to during those times when everything else seems to be going badly.

Happy middle of only six weeks left of (yay) summer.
Kate

Kate playing with darts

Sebago Lake

Time for another photo essay. It has been very hot and humid here in Maine and the entire Northeast. I do not so much like it, as seems to be the opinion of most people. It's been crazy....high 80s and low 90s with record breaking humidity for days on end. Originally I thought it would last just 3 days, then a week, now it seems like, well, let's just say I might have to get used to a new kind of July. I have heard the humidity is suppose to temporarily go down for one day tomorrow, but with a high temperature of 88, that isn't much of a consolation. Sigh.

However, today after a week of wanting to, I finally was able to go with my friends N and R to the lake at my dad's house. He lives on Sebago Lake, the second biggest lake in Maine. With a floating dock, noodles to swim with, and kayaks, it is many ways a perfect summer destination.
I had not been swimming in about three years, a huge shame because I absolutely love swimming. When I was a kid, I was never happier than when I was in the pool. Before the humidity started bothering me, I was in the lake a lot during summertime when I was at my dad and stepmom's. Then I was in Oregon one summer and Montana the next time, so it had been a LONG time since I had been swimming.


You know how they say the phrase "easy as riding a bike" or how people think once you learn how to ride a bike, you never forget? Well, I'm not quite sure about the bike part, but I know swimming is like that. It's a beautiful feeling, to be able to pick up something so easily that you haven't done in years. The water felt cold when I first went in, as it always did, but then it felt great; soothing, surrounding you as if in a big hug. The dock was still the same; the metal bars are great for grabbing and playing around. I dunked my head in and the rush of cool water was delightful and surprising. Thus baptized, for lack of a better word, I set out to swim to the floating dock, following N and R.



Here's the other thing that surprised me: how easy swimming was. I had been afraid that
swimming might be too hard after not having done it for so long, or more likely, that I would not have enough breath to swim because of the air quality (which was thankfully okay today).
But it was so intuitive; reaching out to the water and saying "Here I am," reaching out to the water and pulling it toward me, just a few easy strokes with my arms and look how far I've gone!
Holding on to the floating dock and gasping for breath, waiting to catch my breath, just like old times. (It seems easy until you stop, lol.) I couldn't swim very long before getting out of breath - but that was true before too - but what I could swim, I enjoyed.

So we sat on the floating dock for a while, entertained by each other's conversation and the sun and water around us. I jumped into the lake from the dock for old time's sake. I was actually kind of nervous doing that. Took a few minutes to get up my nerve. But it went fine, although due to the force of impact it's something I'd only do once. I used to love the feeling of shooting underwater, feeling the water get colder as I went down further, and seeing how far I could go down before I had to go up again. N said he thought I was never going to come back up again. :)



We returned to the shore and the dock there, and grabbed some colorful noodles to sit on and play with, another thing I always used to love. The only thing I didn't do this time is swim on my back, because the water was too rough and would have gotten in my ears and eyes. Come to think of it, it'd get in my ears either way, so swimming on my back may not be a good option.

N, R and I

We also had some fun on the hammock. Rocking back and forth on that thing is about the most relaxing thing I can imagine, and I intend to do it more when I have clothes instead of a bathing suit on, which I figure will be more comfortable.


We had some of my dad's special house-made smoked pulled pork (heat and humidity and pulled pork, Gee, this place is getting more and more like the South every day. If I see someone serving sweet tea, I'm going to run. lol.) Then we went to Whole Foods, N did some shopping for his stepdad while I grocery shopped. I thoroughly enjoyed shopping in an air conditioned environment. Whee!



The only thing that will take some getting used to is this sunburn - which of course I didn't notice until I was home and saw it in the mirror, isn't hat always the case. I have the classic bathing suit strap marks - lol been a long time since I had those. I don't think it's a particularly bad one, but it's definitely more moderate than the very mild ones I've gotten so far this summer. Ie I can actually feel it. But hopefully if I am patient and wait patiently a few days without getting upset, it will go away. It usually does. We went so early in the day, we were there at 1, that it was unfortunately prime sunburning time. I wonder why you never feel yourself getting sunburnt till you are.

My stepmom gave me an old bathing suit that she had which I was very happy about. It fit okay and is the most beautiful shade of purple. I don't love wearing bathing suits, but they are a necessary evil for swimming.

I felt quite good, although tired, when I got home; but then I tried to watch 60 Minutes and I was falling asleep in the chair, so I went upstairs to rest .

I am afraid it may be another unseemly hot and humid weather week coming up so I will have to gather all my patience to get through it again. Patience is key. Then next Saturday is the Clam Festival I have been waiting for for months. The one thing I probably missed most about Maine the last 2 summers. Let's just say I will kill the weather gods if there is not passable weather that day.

Kate

The Long Journey Home

I wrote this as a possible editorial for the local paper. The idea is use two elements: a) human interest story and b) message to be grateful for what you have, to turn it into an editorial; and the goal is to get it into the paper so that the byline with the info on how to buy my book, which describes the events in my editorial, gets in there too. Whether it will work or not, I don't know, but I can certainly try!

The Long Journey Home

What does home mean to you? For two years, I had no real definition of or sense of home. I moved anywhere from every few weeks to every few months. I couldn't stay in any one place long enough to plan a dinner out, make friends, or have any sense of roots or belonging.

Why did I move so much? I have a condition known as multiple chemical sensitivity, or MCS. People who have MCS have extreme physical reactions to fragrances and chemicals in minute amounts. For example, perfumes, lotions, cleaning products, new carpet or construction, pesticides and air fresheners, among many other things, can all be a big problem. Even the residue from these things can enough to cause mental and physical deterioration.

At 24, after living with my parents in Standish for as long as I could, I couldn't find any apartments or roomshares that worked for me in Maine. So I set off on a journey across the country to find something that would. I used Craigslist or other MCS websites to find other people with chemical sensitivities who had houses that would be compatible with my needs. In this way, I ended up living in eight cities over two years: Burlington, Vermont; Liberty, New York; Missoua, Montana; Newport, Bend and Eugene in Oregon; Ballston Spa, New York; and finally back to Maine where I currently am, in the greater Portland area.

There was another complication. I have Asperger's Syndrome, a high functioning form of autism. This sometimes makes it difficult for me to communicate effectively with others, understand social rules and norms, and tolerate a lot of sensory stimuli (such as noise, certain kinds of weather, smells, fabric textures and so on). The two years I spent traveling from place to place were a challenge, but they taught me a lot about the world and my place in it. I learned the power of my own strength and the value of human connection.

But I longed for Maine. I yearned for the certain "je ne sais quoi" that is my home state. The fresh air, the rocky coast, the forgiving forests. The newspaper that had been narrowed in width by 1.25" years before, causing quite a ruckus; Monument Square, where the open space and familiar shops caused my heart to soar like a bird above the clouds; the narrow cobblestone streets of the Old Port, the radio stations I had been listening to since I was a teenager, and people who knew what real seafood was. I longed for street and city names that made sense to me, the festivals of my youth, for people who knew me. I longed for a city and an area that I had a history with.

The Oregon coast was magnificent, and I learned a lot from the woman who I lived with there. Staying in an ecovillage in Eugene was an experience I will never forget. Vermont and New York were interesting in their own ways, but they weren't home. I felt out of place, like my heart was living outside my body. But because I knew that any given living situation was the best I could do at the time, I stayed.

And then, six months ago, I was finally able to find a living situation that worked for me here in Maine. Finally, the air that had seemed so oppressive in upstate New York felt crisp and clear; the places and people that surrounded me were at once familiar again; and much of the anxiety and angst I had been carrying around with me melted away. By chance, I ended up only a few miles from the house I had grown up in. It felt like coming full circle. I am grateful every day that I live in Maine. Within half an hour in any direction, I can visit a dozen stunningly beautiful beaches; hike in another dozen wondrous hiking spots; buy organic food, wander the streets of the Old Port, and find a community with values that I share.

I took for granted living in Maine before I was forced to leave.
I took for granted the things I was able to do before my chemical sensitivities disabled me in many ways. Now, I try very hard not to take anything for granted, and despite my disabilities, I enjoy life more than I did before my problems started. My hope is that everyone reading this will take a minute to think of what they are grateful for in their lives, and make a point to appreciate it every day.

Kate Goldfield is a freelance writer living in the greater Portland area. She has just published a book about her travels across the country, "Common Scents: Adventures in Autism and Chemical Sensitivity," which is available at http://kategoldfield.webs.com . You can email Kate at KGoldfie@gmail.com .

Asperger's book finished!

Hello all,

I am excited to report that I have finally finished the memoir I have been working on for the last six months, Common Scents: Adventures in Autism and Chemical Sensitivity. It has been a long journey from inception ("Hey! I could write a book!") and thinking of the perfect title ("Well, I have to write it now, because that title would be perfect for a book") to the months of struggling to write it and the following months of figuring out how to best publish it. My sixth grade teacher told me frequently, all those years ago, "Kate, I'm going to see your name in print some day," and I always laughed at him. Yeah, right. When I got older, people told me I would write a book one day. I wanted to, but I never felt I had enough material. Until six months ago, when I finally figured I had a story to tell, and was in a good enough place to write it.

"Common Scents: Adventures with Autism and Chemical Sensitivity" is the story of a young woman's search for physical and emotional safety as she journeys through the mountains of the Cascades, small coastal towns on the Oregon coast, and out-of the-way towns in upstate New York. Along the way, she experiences things she would never have dreamed possible had she stayed in her Maine hometown, and begins to learn the power of human connection."

From the book's website (http://kategoldfield.webs.com)

"It's a tale of adventure. A story of growth. A look into the human psyche, you might say.

Growing up is hard for everyone. It's even harder for those with autism or Asperger's Syndrome (AS). Things that everyone else takes for granted - social interactions, being able to navigate a busy grocery store, making friends - are significant challenges for people with AS. It's harder still when you have to deal with chemical sensitivity as well. Suddenly, no place is safe anymore, because people's perfumes, lotions, and shampoos, as well as cleaning products and fragrances in stores, make you so sick that the normal activities of life become almost impossible.

So what happens when a 22 year old with both autism and chemical sensitivity leaves college and tries to make her way in the world?

The book starts in the spring of the author's senior year of college, where she is forced to leave school because of her growing chemical sensitivities. With much regret, she moves home and spends several months living with her parents.

Desiring independence, she tries to live in several apartments of her own in downtown Portland, Maine. Unfortunately, something in one of the apartments makes her sensitivity to chemicals so much worse that she is not able to tolerate any apartments, nor her parents' house.

So her journey for a chemical free living environment starts.
Primarily using the website Craigslist to find roommates who already live a chemical and fragrance free lifestyle to live with, she travels to cities across the country to pursue this goal. She starts in Burlington, Vermont, and goes to Missoula, Montana; Liberty, New York; Newport, Oregon; Bend, Oregon; Eugene, Oregon; Ballston Spa, New York, and finally back to her hometown of Falmouth, Maine.

In each of these cities, her eyes are opened to the way the rest of the world lives. Each city is a separate chapter. In each city, she recreates the experiences that changed the way she sees the world. In each city, the author talks about the people she meets, and details her struggles and successes with interacting with the people around her.

If you want to learn more, please go to the book's website at http://kategoldfield.webs.com
If you're interested in purchasing, there is a purchase link at the end of the site.
PDFs are also available and Paypal payments can be accommodated by emailing me at KGoldfie@gmail.com .

If you've enjoyed my blog, I know you'll enjoy my book!

Thanks for reading.

Kate

Boothbay Harbor: The Maine Black Bear thanks you too.

A Day at Crescent Beach

Kate at Crescent Beach in Cape Elizabeth, Maine

I wrote this about a week ago and then forgot to post it, so here it is.

A Day at Crescent Beach

Nate picked me up at 2:30, and we had the good fortune of both being ready at the same time for once. We made a quick stop on the way to Crescent Beach in Cape Elizabeth at the Gay Pride festival. I hadn't been to it in years, so I was very curious how it would be different.

The first thing we saw was the giant, beautiful Deering Oaks fountain. I can't remember the last time I saw that thing on - then again it's been years since I was in Portland for the summer. It was so beautiful! I immediately took out my camera and began snapping pictures of everything around me. The wind brew the spray from the fountain on me so I actually got a little wet, which was wonderfully refreshing.


As I had suspected it might be, the gay pride festival was a photography gold mine. Not as much as a big city one would be, and hardly anyone dressed outrageously (surprisingly) but still.
I took a picture of some drag queens sitting at a picnic table, a brief one of the stage where the music was coming from (very brief because that area was very smelly/fragrance and cigarettes), and wandered into the area for organizations and vendors.

The last time I went, several years ago, the Pride festival had only one food vendor - an ice cream truck, which I must say , pissed me off to no end (I had been looking forward to fair food), and maybe one vendor selling pride crafts, and then half a dozen organizations.

This time, they had branched out (Deering Oaks is a large park), and there was probably half a dozen food vendors, maybe a dozen crafts vendors, and around a dozen organizations. It was very fun to wander from table to table in a White Rabbit-esque daze and see what each new table had! I have always LOVED that about festivals; the surprise and joy of looking at all the different tables to see what they had.



I made a spider out of multicolored pipe cleaners someone was handing out. Much fun. I used to love pipe cleaners as a kid.

After about 30 minutes, we'd all had it, and so we continued on our way to the beach, a perfect ancedote to a hot day.

Crescent Beach

We had chosen Crescent Beach for our outing based on the reputation of Cape Elizabeth for having amazing coastal attractions and also for wanting to try somewhere we hadn't been before.

When we went through the gate, I could not believe what I was hearing when we were told it'd be $18 for us to get in - $4.50 per person! I had thought there might be a $2 or $3 fee, but nearly $5 seemed to be pushing it.

As we walked to the beach, we said, "This better be worth it."

It was.

My first sight of the ocean and the roaring waves sent a jolt of excitement through me. It was so amazingly beautiful. The breeze and cooler coastal temperatures made the temperature just perfect; the sun was shining; and best of all, there was a fierce breeze which felt just wonderful. All around us, kids were playing in the sand and water. It had been years since I was on a proper beach in the summer - I'd been away the last two summers, and we tend to stay at my dad's in the summer because we have the lake right there.



I again grabbed my camera and started taking pictures of everything in sight. More photographic heaven. The waves, the kids making sand castles, the baby wading into the tide pool - all seen through the frame of a camera and captured as beautiful memories forever. The five of us walked on the edge of the shore, where the sand was packed down (most of us agreed loosely packed sand was hard to walk on), towards the end of the coastline. We watched a seagull make off with several food items - I ran to try to catch him on camera, but I think I scared him away. In due time, we made it to a rocky part of the coast. More heaven! There is nothing more that I love in life, I am pretty sure, than climbing on rocks. Something about it makes me feel so good. It's probably a sensory/cognitive thing on some level. Maybe it's because it requires hand eye coordination - a physical work out with the mental challenge of watching where you're going and planning every next step!



At any rate, this was a beautiful set of rocks. The colors on some of them were amazing. We ambled forward and the landscape kept getting more and more amazing the longer we walked. Lots more pictures ensued. We sat at a clearing at one point to rest and talk. At one point, I gasped in disbelief and joy when we rounded a corner and I saw what lay before us on the other side - the rocks went on for as long as your line of sight, and with the ocean below and sky above, it was the closest I have yet seen to the Oregon beaches I loved so much.



I scrambled happily with R2 (there are three Rs lol) back the way we had come, and eventually we met up with the others, who had gone ahead. At some point we fell behind again, and had an enjoyable and peaceful walk back down the coastline. Until, of couse, we got a bit too close to an incoming wave. I jumped out of the way, but my right sneaker and foot still got soaked. I was a little unhappy about this, but I figured it was a sign we should stop walking so much and just enjoy what was around us. Which we did, until the rest of them came back for us. That, and take pictures of some nearby frisbee players.

"We thought you gave up," Nate said when they reached us. "Yeah, well, I fought the ocean and the ocean won," I said with a smile. We then decided to find some of the walking trails rumored to be behind the ocean. In the midst of these trails, we found a playground and soon all four of us were swinging to our hearts' content. (What a great picture THAT would have made.) I am very sorry to say my camera chose that point to die on me, and so I missed out on a LOT of good swinging pictures. But there's always next time (and Nate managed to get 2 before it died).

Having not been on a swing for years, I very much enjoyed this. They were solid straight wooden swings instead of those awful plastic ones. I hate the plastic ones because they're just so damn uncomfortable. They make your body mold to them. I couldn't figure out why the wooden ones were so comfortable until I realized that. Wooden ones are relatively rare.

When we'd had enough swinging and playing on the jungle gym, it was time to go to Whole Foods for dinner. Their outside seating was open so we sat at a table outside -much quieter!- and all enjoyed our food.

At home, it would have been swelteringly hot, but we found ourselves a good time on one of the many beaches of Maine. I cannot tell you how happy and grateful I am to live in southern Maine and how proud I am of my state!

Asperger's, Family Gatherings and Adulthood

I have a friend who says he never had much of a family growing up, and he thinks it's better that way. He doesn't want to deal with all the drama that having a lot of family sometimes entails, and thinks he's lucky for not having much of a family. I told him immediately that I thought he was wrong, and that I felt sorry for him. That even when you occasionally hate various family members for one reason or another, even when you want more space, in the end, you're always glad they're there, and that you have them to fall back on. And maybe sometimes when you fight with them, you do it because you're so afraid of losing them.

I wanted to tell him that even when you butt against the boundaries and cry out at various kinds of restrictions family might put on you growing up or at other times in your life, you are glad to have those boundaries there, glad to have that part of your life that you can be a part of; family is a fold that you can always come back to. It is a place you can feel like you belong (for some, anyway), a place where you have your foundation from, a place where you can be with other people who share the exact same highly individual quirks and tastes that don't seem so individual when you're all together. A place where you can see where you came from - and be proud of it. Of course - not everyone has a family they feel comfortable with; not everyone has a family they get along with. I understand that. But what I'm saying is that I am lucky that I do.

As I write this, a very appropriate song has just come on the radio, that fits in perfectly with the theme of this blog. A Father's Love by Bucky Covington.

"He checked the air in my tires
The belts and all the spark plug wires
Said "When the hell's the last time
"You had this oil changed"
And as I pulled out the drive
He said "Be sure and call your mom sometime"
And I didn't hear it then
But I hear it now
He was saying "I love you"
(He was saying "I love you")
The only way he knew how "

Seemed appropriate. Anyway. Back to the point. I think the concept of family is something that gets much better with age, kind of like fine wine and cheese. For the exact same reason that when I was a kid, I never appreciated or liked the Passover seders we went to every year until just about when they were about to stop, I am appreciating the concept of family more now that I am older and (hopefully) more independent.

I spent the day today with many family members, most of whom which were visiting, at my dad's house today. We left at 9:30, a bit on the early side for me, so had the entire day together. I was a little bit zonked out when I got there, so watched TV for a bit until people started to wake up. (We have a household of mostly late sleepers.) When G, my dad's cousin's wife, walked in, I surprised myself by how easy and enjoyable it was to get into conversation with her. For a couple hours as people played rotating chairs and took different spots in the living room, I found myself talking to whoever was near and being able to take part in and enjoy the conversations. When I wasn't talking, I was taking pictures, which is something I enjoy more and more the more I do it. Trying to get that perfect shot is addictive. It's a form of self expression that appeals to me. It's a way to show other people what you are seeing, and since that's always been so hard for me, maybe that's why I like it so much.

Before I knew it was 1pm, and 2 hours had gone by since I had gotten there. At some point everyone else went outside to sit by a bonfire in the fire pit, but I stayed inside with my grandfather since I can't tolerate smoke. I showed him the pictures I had taken on the view screen of the camera, and we commented on them. I had the pleasure of giving him the 74% Dagoba chocolate bar I picked up for him after he said he liked dark chocolate. There are unfortunately few ways that I seem able to fill people's needs in other ways, something I often regret because who doesn't like to be useful?, but food is one definite way I can do that. I am extremely good at finding good food - especially sweet food - that fits people's tastes and temperaments. It was a perfect match in this case. Dagoba makes good chocolate! A world away from Hershey's and imitation chocolates, but that's a story for another day or blog.

Again, maybe it comes down to self expression and emotional connection - if one can connect using food, then why not do so? There are far more less orthodox ways to do so.
Bungee jumping, for example. I wouldn't recommend it as a bonding activity. You know what they say. "If at first you don't succeed, then bungee jumping is not for you." If you must, however, be sure not to answer this ad I saw on the Internet the other day. "For Sale: Parachute. Only used once, never opened, small stain." Always good for a laugh.

We watched an All in the Family episode, flipped around some more channels, and eventually settled on the show House. This may seem very ordinary to you, but the fact is that I haven't watched TV with family for at least five years. It was nice to be able to share what we were watching. I took pictures of my parents in a kayak, and sat around the table with my grandparents and S and G (dad's cousin and wife) talking - in a conversation I was actually able to be part of, which, when you have social difficulties like Asperger's, you never, ever take for granted. Each word of each sentence that you are able to join in on feels like gold.

At that point, around 7 or so, it was time for dinner. Since I hadn't eaten anything substantial since 9:30, I was surprised I wasn't hungrier, but I did have my crackers, roast beef and hummus to snack on throughout the day. I made sure to take lots of pictures of the table before eating. The other good thing about a camera is that if you are with other people and become bored of or left out from a conversation, you can amuse yourself by taking pictures instead of feeling lonely and left out, which is by far a more productive thing to do.

S liked my hummus and crackers, becoming one of the first people I have met to do so (hummus seems to turn off most people), and that was another connection: a connection over food, of the taste and feel and joy of food. I suppose a lot of things that other people experience I may have trouble understanding because I don't necessarily experience them, and therefore it can be hard to authentically relate to others. But food is the one thing I very much have feelings and experience with, as do others, so it is an equalizer in some ways.

Casual conversation is like gold to people who have trouble with it. It may seem so hum drum, redundant, meaningless to others to focus so much on words exchanged with no particular value other than that they were exchanged in a pleasant way, but they matter. The feeling of inclusion matters.

What memories will I have ten years from now? What will I want to remember, what will be important to me? I guarantee it won't be the amount of time I agonized over whether or not I could manage to get up early enough to leave at 9:30, whether the day would be structured enough for me to feel comfortable, if I'd have enough to do, if the music would be too loud, if I'd be able to participate in conversations or if I'd be left out, if people would be outside when I couldn't go outside, if everyone would be watching basketball instead of talking, or any of the other multitude of minutiae (albeit minutiae that was very important to me) that I worried about. What I will remember is all the conversations and connections I did have when I was finally able to overcome my fears enough to go. And that is precisely why I did it. Ten years later, I want to have and cherish memories of my family, especially of my grandparents, who are moving to California and getting a little closer to the last stage of their lives than I would like.

There was recently a post on an Asperger's discussion group that I am on that caught my interest. The writer wanted to know if the "glass window" feeling, or that of feeling like you're behind a glass window, everyone else is on the other side, and you can't connect to them, was normal for Asperger's. Of course, I wrote back to say that it was extremely common, and while he may not enjoy it, he was certainly not alone.

A lot of people with AS have the conversation skills to talk to others but have a hard time feeling a sense of connection, especially emotional connection, to others. It may be that they are putting so much energy and thought into how to carry on the conversation, and what is right to do and what is not, and what they're going to do next, that they simply do not have any brain space left over to "feel" whatever feelings are supposed to come with such communications.

(This is one reason I try to write about what happened to me after a day like this, because I am often too mentally busy "doing" when being social to actually "feel" as much as I should be feeling, and writing about it later allows me to feel the feelings belatedly. I am not saying I don't feel at all at the time, but there is often a delay. The feelings are often more related to pragmatics of the activity rather than emotion derived from it.) It may be that they don't emotionally connect with the topic of conversation, or that fear is getting in the way of connection. I am sure there are other reasons I have left off here because I am getting too tired to think anymore, but you get the gist. I don't believe I have ever spent 12 hours with people, interacting with them the whole time, and you better believe me when I say I need some serious decompression time when I get home - but I am thankful for once to be awake enough to write about it, which really helps me process, and which the last two weeks I haven't been able to do.

Especially here in Maine, in the wake of a local governor's race where the Democratic candidate is a woman, they talk about breaking the glass ceiling for women in politics. Far more important to me, though, is breaking the glass ceiling of Asperger's. And I do believe I made some headway today.

The Benefits of Disability

I was lying in bed one night thinking, as I do most nights. I was thinking about how illness/disability in some ways can actually benefit you. The reason I was thinking this was because I remembered what I was like that brief time in South Portland when I had all or most of the semblances of normal life, yet wasn't happy. All I could think of then was what I didn't have.

And then, after going through the last three years, I realize that most of my thinking is now finally devoted to being happy about what I do have - even the tiniest of things, because they are things I went so long without. And I realize that I would never have been appreciative for these things before my battles with MCS (chemical sensitivity). I kind of like being able to be appreciative of these things. I spent so long in battle, so long in crisis, that it is very easy now to be thankful for things like going out with a friend to the beach, reading (!! couldn't do that for a while), being able to watch TV, having someone to spend time with, and just having a non toxic place to live where I don't have to fight with anyone every day. This is not (here comes the disclaimer) to say that I don't have my frequent moments of self-pity and wish I had more. But they don't consume my life like they did pre-MCS. They don't last very long.

Every time I start to get upset over something my life now, all I have to do is set my mind to a memory, any memory, from how it was the last three years, and say to myself "Do you want it to be like that again? No? Well, then be glad for what you have!" and that is usually enough for me to feel at least a momentary flash of gratitude and thankfulness. Then I go back to bitching. :) No, seriously, but any complaining that I do do is far less in intensity, and that is a good thing.

I wonder why it takes such serious life events for us to wake up and smell the coffee and appreciate what we have around us. Maybe it's just a matter of perspective. Everyone needs to have their perspective shaken up once in a while. It's the reason that my former college became the first in the nation to require students to go abroad one semester in order to graduate. They wanted to give students a different perspective. (I think that is a great idea in theory but I never would have lasted a second in a foreign country. I think they should let students travel to places or experiences that are foreign to them in the US to fulfill the requirement. Luckily they did this after I left.)

I suppose it is for the same reason that I didn't truly enjoy Maine until I went away for college to Maryland. It's very hard to appreciate something you have, to not take it for granted, until you lose it. And hopefully get it back again.

This is not a perspective unique to me. I am reminded of a memoir by Michael J. Fox that I read once, about his struggles with Parkinson's; "Lucky Man" is the title. It was a very illuminating book. In it, he basically says that Parkinson's saved his life; that it was a great gift to him. Before the disease hit, he was always busy, always on the run, no time to think, and if I remember right, his personality suffered - he didn't take very good care of his personal relationships, was sometimes rude and uncaring, and so on and so on. After Parkinson's forced him to slow way down and eliminate all the excess from his life, he started to realize how much he hated the person he had been. He started to realize joy in things he had never seen joy in before. He improved his relationships. He had a better connection with himself, others and the world because illness had forced him to take stock of himself.

This is not to say that everyone should get Parkinson's or some other disease for the perspective it gives, or even that this theme is uniformly applied among all people with serious illnesses. But it is an interesting thing to think about. I hope I am not quoting this wrong or remembering wrong, but I think Fox said he likes his life better now than before he got sick. Yes, he is limited now in many more ways than before he was sick - at least physically - but in other ways, his mind and life have opened up so much.

I guess that's a tiny bit what I was feeling .I am so much more limited physically than I was before MCS, so much that it shocks most people to realize, but on the other hand my mind has opened up. I am more cheerful and thankful than was I before. I wouldn't say this if I hadn't finally managed to come to a good place in my life (and knock on wood it lasts). If you had asked me seven months ago, of course I wouldn't say this. I was miserable! I was in the middle of a crisis that had dragged on for three years. But all I am saying is that now, when I have more or less in many ways come out of the other side of it, at least the worst of it, I take pride in my ability to enjoy what I *have* in the world instead of pining for what I don't.

For example, yesterday I bought my roommate two pounds of fudge, whoopie pies and brownies for a birthday present, and made pyramids out of them for an appealing visual design. I used to die for this stuff, I loved it so much. But I seem to get sick whenever I eat it now, so I don't. It was kind of hard handling it and smelling it without being able to eat it, but I didn't really mind that much. It was a small thing. I had my rice crackers. My rice crackers satisfy me. If I didn't have them, that would be another thing. But in many areas of my life, I have taken things I used to be able to do but can't anymore (go into buildings, stores, plays, etc) and transferred them to things I *can* do (go to beaches and beautiful hiking spots), and what do you know, I think I'm more happy with the more limited selection of things I am able to do now than I was when I had everything. Because I can appreciate them.

That doesn't mean I don't have a longing in my heart to be able to do some of the things I used to do, but I try not to let it control me. Life's too short to be upset if you don't have to be. I hope it will come in time, for now I will just enjoy what I have.

I was going to write something about going to Fort Preble at SMCC with Nate and Rob on Saturday, but I've run out of space and energy. Suffice it to say that I felt a much greater sense of connection with them than usual, and also a sense of connection with the outdoors and the beautiful ocean air and beach, and it just made me feel happy and grateful. Grateful to be a part of something - grateful to be a part of a group!

That was it - the feeling of belonging somewhere, finally, at last. Two people to whom I feel special to and who are very special to me. Friends who understand my needs, and I theirs; friends who I can look forward to fun outings with and good conversations. It took me a long, long, LONG time to get here.

For so long, friends were something that I tried to do because everyone else was doing it. I really didn't understand what you were supposed to do with friends. And if you put me with 90% of the population, I probably still wouldn't. But after knowing these particular two friends for about three years, I think we, and I, have finally got it down. Slow learning curve, yes, but you get there eventually. The hardest part is not judging yourself against the timeline of others; you'll never get anywhere if you do. That goes for both people with autism and other disabilities, as well as parents of kids with autism and other disabilities. Certain concepts take a lot of time and life experience to sink in and take root, but let your child go at their own pace and always love and support them wherever they are, because one day, they will get to a place worth going.

Oh, the humidity of it all

It's not fair. The way psychology works sometimes. The defense mechanisms we build up to keep ourselves from feeling things, from thinking about things, from working through things. How sometimes we have conflicting feelings; we want to try to work through something, get it out there, hope that using words will deflect and decrease its power over us. But then we start to write, and we freeze up. And just can't go there. But if not now, when? If I wait too long, it'll get to a place where it's intolerable, and if I can help alleviate that by writing about it now, I should.

It is no secret that my emotions, physical well being and feelings of stability are very much affected by environmental influences. I am not just talking about chemicals here. Everything in my environment, I am beyond sensitive to. And when I feel a certain way, I often seem to lack the mental ability to imagine feeling a different way. I don't cope with feelings of distress very well. I wish I did, and I wish had the ability to do so; it would be perhaps the most helpful coping technique ability etc that I could possibly have.

So because of that I am very scared of situations that will make me feel sick either physically or emotionally. I just lack perspective. Once I start feeling like that it feels like everything in my life has gone to hell and nothing will ever be good again. A few hours later if the stimulus is gone I can be perfectly happy, but, it doesn't take away from how terrifying the feelings from before can be. I wish I had a way to change that.

If you're worried about and/or hate something, one of the surest
way to increase your fears of it to huge porportions is remove the item for two years and then bring it back. Yup. Nothing like being out of practice.

But it is May 17. I don't know how much time I have left. I am scared. I am scared! Oh so scared. But I must not let my emotions get the best of me. I know where that leads. And it's not good.

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Three years ago, approximately, my biggest problem in life was humidity. Granted, a seasonal problem, but a problem beyond belief in the summer. Humidity didn't used to bother me much before my junior or senior year of college. When I came home from school after my senior year though, WHAM!

Maine is probably the least humid state on the East coast, by far, but you wouldn't know it to look at me. My memories of this time are despicable. How can I describe the symptoms? The feeling of someone sitting on my chest, on my head, the feeling of so much pressure being exerted on my joints, on my body, that I felt like I couldn't walk, I couldn't breathe? I still don't know if for sure humidity is the culprit, or the entire culprit, here; because some days when other people said it was humid I was fine, and many, many, MANY days when I said it was humid, no one else thought it was. So perhaps it is some other kind of atmospheric conditon besides humidity, or in addition to. Whatever. For the purposes of giving it a name, and a more than likely but who knows correct name too, I shall call it humidity.

You can't imagine what this feels like unless you have been there. Maybe others have, and if so I'd like to hear about it. I know a lot of people have trouble with humidity too, my dad included, but I highly doubt they have trouble to the same level I do (unless they're I dunno just stoic about it, less sensitive to it, or can brush it off more easily, who knows).

In Baltimore, I have memories of trying so valiantly to walk from the student center to the academic buildings, a distance of mayne an eighth of a mile... maybe five or six minutes. And feeling like I was going to die before I got there, having to stop, kneel down, sit down, and just mentally yell at myself to keep going. Watching all the happy go lucky people easily walking around me, laughing, and talking about *what beautiful weather* it was elevated it to a level of pure torture.

I remember it being so bad once in Maine that walking from the Maine Mall entrance to the Borders next door, a distance of again maybe three to four minutes if that, was pure torture, a a slow race of endurance, every step an enormous effort. People have used analogies such as "swimming through molassess", and never having done such a thing, I do not know how it would compare.

Even at this early time in the season, there are plenty of mildly humid days, and when I step outside, IF I step outside, I step back immediately. It's a feeling of all the air being sucked from my lungs. It's like someone inserted a tube in my chest and pulled out all the air. I feel faint and weak. Not dizzy per se, but just like I'm not getting enough oxygen. My mental faculties are dulled, I have trouble talking, I'm extremely irritable.

The feeling was at once both horrific and, if I could view it from an outsider's perspective, stunning and slightly curious. At my worst, I mean. The weirdest feeling was simply, as I said, *the amount of pressure being exerted on my body.* I felt like I could not move through space nearly as easily as before. Like my body was being weighted down by something. In addition to the whole feeling like I couldn't breathe thing. Now where in the world could those feelings come from?

Frizzy hair, which seems to be most people's chief complaint in humidity, is the least of my concerns. Or feeling sticky. No, I wouldn't mind either one of those.

But let's fast forward a little. After two summers of battling severe humidity problems, a new little problem showed up. Well, not so little. In fact, it's the one that's defined my life the last three years or so. October of 2007 is when I developed my severe chemical sensitivity problems. And obviously, after that, I had a whole other can of worms to deal with. But it was interesting, in some ways, how some of my symptoms seemed to mimick the symptoms I got in humidity. The pressure on my head after an exposure, the brain fog, the shortness of breath - why, in some ways, it was like having all the fun of the summer, only not in the summer, and with a million other problems to deal with at once! Ha, ha, ha. Obviously, those were not the only symptoms of my MCS; the other ones were far more devastating. Those particular symptoms were much lessened in their MCS provocation, but were made up for by other worse MCS symptoms.

But the idea did cross my mind that if I felt that way as my normal state, what was going to happen when summer came and I got to experience all the fun of humidity in addition to my already compromised state, without the ability to go into any buildings for air conditioning or entertainment? Oh man the nightmares I had over that one. Or would have if I'd allowed myself to think about it for very long.

As fate would have it, I ended up in Missoula, Montana the next summer (where my mom lives). I stayed from April to November, perfectly missing the East coast humidity season. I didn't know before I went that Montana has no humidity, but boy did I love it. It was the first time in my entire life I had ever truly enjoyed being outside. It could be 80-90 degrees and I wouldn't care. Living in Missoula had other problems, of course, but the one great thing about it was the weather. The next summer, as things turned out, I ended up going to Oregon from May to September. Again, this was not planned to have anything to do with the humidity and was purely incidental to my whole MCS finding a place to live thing. But I remember thinking on the plane on the way there, and before I left, "If nothing else comes of this whole crazy venture, at the very least I will have gotten out of the East coast for the summer."

So, for two years, I dodged the bullet. But now ( I hope ) my traveling days are over and I am rooted in my beloved state of Maine, and I want to stay here. I absolutely love Maine nine months of the year. I love the winter. I go outside almost every day in the winter. It's without a doubt the place I want to be, and I value my stability, and the, knock on wood, relatively stable and much more functional than usual last few months I have had here very much. It was a mild winter and a mostly beautiful spring. But nearly every day since I got here in December, I have been dreading the summer. Man, those six months went by fast! On the one hand, I should be happy - I couldn't have hardly imagined in December that I'd still be here and happy six months (six months!!!!) later. I am thankful for that.

But every day forward on the calendar feels a little to me like a prisoner on death row flipping forward the pages to the day of his execution, if you'll pardon the analogy. April 15. May 1. May 15. May 16. May 17. Less than two weeks until June. A sinking feeling appears in my stomach when I think of that. When will it start? When will be the beginning of the end? It has already started; I know that. I only go for walks about twice a week now and I have to force myself to do even that. I just can't deal with the air or wondering how the air will be the rest of the days. The humid days affect me even inside, although not nearly as bad as when I was at my dad's; this house has much better insulation.

So here I am. On the East coast for the summer for the first time in three years. Wondering how best to deal with the upcoming summer season. Three to four months is an AWFULLY long time to be miserable, in my opinion. I could say "Maybe it won't be so bad," although I'd be lying. I do think it will be better because of the insulation in this house. And I am thankful for being able to watch TV to get my mind off things. Of course, a window AC in my room might help (if cost is not prohibitive and if I can tolerate it), but I'd rather not spend the entire summer in my room. Although I may have to. We'll see. Nate and I used to do summer activities in air conditioned buildings, like see plays, go to arcades, out to dinner, and so on. Can't do that anymore. Haven't been able to for almost three years. Oooh, what fun! Summer recreation plans dashed. My dad lives on a beautiful lake, but even though I absolutely love to swim in it, the year I was living there during summer I went in only a handful of times - I simply couldn't bear being out in the humidity. Whole Foods may be the only option; at least I have that!

I did at least finally manage to see a doctor (progress!) who has referred me to a pulmonologist, who is going to do a pulmonary function test on me to see if he can find anything. He's going to do it both with and without asthma meds to see if there's a difference. Of course I hope there is and I hope they can find something that can be helped, but who knows. On the one hand, most people who I have described these symptoms to over the years say it sounds just like ashtma, although with slightly different symptoms (no wheezing or coughing). Others don't think so. Considering that I had a lung collapse at age 13 and was very premature as a baby, I wonder if there is some kind of congenital lung issue that is causing these problems, but of course that's very vague and hard to pin down. I also wonder why I never had these problems till the middle of college, about a year before the onset of my chemical sensitivities - somehow they have to be related. Something was weakened in my body, somehow.

The only other medically interesting note is that I remember once for some reason holding my nose and realizing that most of the symptoms, or maybe half of them anyway, went away while doing this. Of course this not a practical long term solution, and I have no idea whatsoever that could mean.

Barometric pressure has commonly been described as causing feelings of pressure on joints, but I only have these symptoms i in the summer, so that doesn't make sense.

Buying a dehumidifer might help though....maybe more so than an AC...who knows.

Anyway I am totally losing my train of thought focus here so I am going to stop now.

Although on one last note I just discovered something called Biometeorology. It is "the interdisciplinary study of increasing importance as correlations are being drawn between certain types of meteorological conditions and the health of plants, humans, and all other animals." (http://www.anapsid.org/biomet.html)

And don't even get me started about mosquitos. They didnt have them in OR or MT either ,or at least not many of them. New England mosquitos are the worst.

Yes, I am just *so* looking forward to summer, lol

Perhaps writing this will have made me a little more prepared and mentally ready, maybe not, who knows, at least I tried. One more thing to cross of my to do list.

I shall go read some blogs now.

Choose Your Life

I just finished reading a great and very thought provoking book called "When Nietzche Wept," by Irvin Yalom. It was a very profound story to me, and I'd like to share the story with you.

This book is a fictional tale of an imagined encounter between a prominent Vienna doctor, Dr. Breuer and the now famous philosopher, Nietzche, back in the 1800s.

It takes place before the invention of psychotherapy. A woman persuades Breuer to try to help her friend Nietzche, who is suffering, she says, from despair. "Despair?" says Breuer. "What do I know about treating despair?" He decides to try anyway.

Because Nietzche is not willing to consent to treatment, Breuer makes a ploy where he claims despair himself and asks Nietzche, , a philosopher with many ideas about the human condition, to treat him while Breuer looks over Nietzche's physical condition.

At first Breuer tries to pry information out of Nietzche, but Nietzche refuses to share anything personal, believing it a form of weakness.

After several sessions, Breuer forgets about trying to manipulate Nietzche, and genuinely becomes the patient. He is depressed and suffers with an obsession over a former patient.

The long and short of the book is this, which brought up several meaningful themes for me:

Breuer is depressed because, although he has a good life as a prominent, respected doctor, a loving wife and family, money and so on, he feels restricted. He longs for freedom. He feels that he was forced into this life because of his culture and expectations of his family and the culture around him. He doesn't realize this for a long time, of course, but in the end this is what it amounts to.

Nietzche says that the most important thing in life is to "Choose your life." He says that Breuer has not chosen his life, and that is the reason for his despair, and also the reason for his obsession with his patient Bertha. Bertha represents living dangerously, passion, magic and escape to Breuer. Breuer resists this theory at first, but at the end of the book he comes to agree. He is hypnotized and imagines leaving his wife, kids and life to be free in Italy. He discovers he does not like it very much. When he becomes conscious again, he is invigorated because he realizes he actually does like the life he has, and he "chooses" it. "I choose to be married to you today," he tells his wife.

After Breuer has his epiphany, Nietzche finally reveals his story. Due to Nietzche 's loneliness and wandering lifestyle, Breuer offers to let Nietzche stay at his house, so that he will not be so isolated. Nietzche refuses, though, and Breuer is dissapointed, thinking after all this time, he has done nothing to help Nietzche.

Nietzche reassures Breuer that he has indeed given him something very powerful: the freedom of choice. Having been offered an alternative and refused it, he is now free to "choose his life,"
and be happy about it; before he felt bound by it.

"Isolation only exists in isolation," he says. "When it is shared, it evaporates."

"The moment I talked of not being able to touch another was the very moment I was able to be touched by you."

The above remarks are Nietzche commenting on his situation relevant to the therapy experience.

I have read lots of psychology related books, and a good number of books on psychotherapy, but this is the first one that really brought home what the process of psychotherapy was really about.

Another theme was discovering the origin and meaning of each symptom. To do this, Breuer "chimneyswept" (did free thinking/association) about whatever thoughts came to mind regarding the symptoms, which eventually lead to relevations about their meaning.

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Personal application

There is a personal application to this that I was thinking about when I was reading. I started thinking about different ways that you can "choose your life." Choose your way of thinking and your reactions to things - that's something I work hard on and am getting better at. I try to reframe things that happen as best I can so I can not get so angry or scared of things.

Choose your decisions - I put a lot of thought into my decisions and I always make damn sure that I am making a decision that I can stand by and be proud of for years into the future. Even if things don't go as planned, and the decision turns out to be not the best one in retrospect, I know I made the best decision I could with the information I had at the time.

Choosing your will - and standing up to people who would try to change your will and your decisions because they think they know what is best for you - has been another important one for me. I especially think of those crucial few days in Bend, when the decisions I made for myself, and the pressure I resisted in making them, changed the entire course of my life for the better. I am eternally grateful for having, dare I say it, the strength of character and courage to make those decisions, as well as, of course, being lucky enough to have certain other factors fall into place when they did so I that I was lucky enough to have decisions to make.

My roommate, wanting me out on short notice, was hell bent on me going back to my mom's in Missoula (Montana). I was hell bent on not going, provided I could somehow find a way to avoid it. She made the plane tickets. I told her there was a good chance I wouldn't use them. She said fine. And for the next four days or so, I spent almost every waking moment researching other options, some way to escape the fate that she was trying so desperately to force on me. No offense to my mom, but I knew it wasn't the right place for me. I knew I wouldn't flourish there. I had too much of life left to live, and damn it, I wanted to find a way to live it. I felt that it wouldn't happen there.

I was stuck in the middle of Oregon, on the other side of the country from my family, with no ability to drive myself anywhere and knowing almost no one in the area. That, and I had severe chemical sensitivities that prevented me from being able to live just about anywhere, which is why I was in the middle of nowhere Oregon in the first place. Some might have said it was impossible. Clearly, my roommate thought it was. But I didn't (think, at the time, about possible or impossible. I just knew I had to put every ounce of myself into the task of trying, in every avenue I could, or else I would regret it forever. I would not go easily.

I am forever indebted to both Julie and Joe. Julie was the one who found me the eco-friendly apartment to live in in a hippie commune in Eugene, and Joe is the one who agreed - at 5 p.m. the day before I was supposed to fly to Missoula, no less, talk about a last minute reprieve! - to drive me the 2 hours there. My friend Leslie was gracious enough to let me stay in her house the last night I was there.

I had never met Joe before. I had only talked to him once. I knew him through an online friend in Australia - she was his stepson. He had no obligation towards me, no reason to say yes, but he did. He said yes. Against all odds. He was my last hope, and he said yes. I tell you, that was the sweetest "yes" I have ever heard in my life.

It was a big risk - going to some hippie commune in a city I'd never been to, not even knowing how I'd get my groceries, with someone I'd never met (but trusted, as I wouldn't have gone with someone I felt was going to put me in danger). I am not a risk taker by nature. But to me, not doing it was a far, far bigger risk. I wanted to live my life. I wanted independence. I wanted chemical free living arrangements. And if this is the way I had to to do it, so be it.

I chose my life.

I chose my life.

What a statement. I didn't think that much about it at the time, but others have told me they feel I have courage, bravery, all kinds of words I never would have applied to myself before. They reminded me of how many people languish in situations that are toxic for them - physically or emotionally - not making any effort to get themselves out. I did.

And here I am at what I hope is the end, or at least a good long stopping point, of my long and winding journey. Back home in Maine. Living with a woman who brings a smile to my face every day, in a town I love. In really the best possible situation I could imagine for myself, although of course nothing is perfect.

I'd say my long and winding road worked out all right.

Many nights, I get frustrated and hopeless and so fed up with the problems I still have. But then I get a glimpse of memory of how much worse it could be, would be, and I feel a flash of gratefulness that temporarily eclipses those feelings.

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My roommate from Bend, who I hadn't spoken to in several months, emailed me a few nights ago out of the blue. In her well-intentioned email, she mentioned the equivalent of an "I told you so," saying something along the lines of "See, I told you you'd be better off living near family." The comment and a seperate one she made angered me so much that I had trouble containing my anger. I followed my own path, and I ended up okay. Had I followed the path she so direly wanted me to follow, I would have been living a very dependent and unhappy life that I would have had a lot of trouble getting out of. The fact that I ended up near family is wonderful but incidental. (I did have family help in moving here, which I appreciate and want to acknowledge, but it is besides the point that I am trying to make.) The fact that I had a lot more journey to follow before I could end up in a place that was right for me is the important part and the part that she apparently doesn't get. My life was meant to be lived in Maine, living independently, not in Montana.

And so when I read "When Nietzche Wept," and his ideas about choice, I was once again grateful for the choices I made. While those few days in Bend were not pleasant to endure, they were in some ways my proudest moment. I think people should live for themselves, and do what they think is right, to the best of their abilities, instead of falling prey to other people's will. Sometimes, you don't have any choice, but if you do, you should follow your heart. Whether the choices eventually turn out to be right or wrong, you will never own yourself, you will never be satisfied with your life or yourself, if you do not follow your own will.

I have a lot of living left to do and I hope I can continue to put these ideas into use. I am not saying that I do not value advice and support from others. I do very much, and I do not deny that the support and advice of my nearby family has been invaluable. But you have to have the final say. I would like to be able to change my thinking and my life circumstances even further, but if there is one thing I have learned, you can't rush things, or push yourself into situations you're just not ready for. They won't work. I hope time will eventually have in store for me a life that is more in lines with the one I'd like to live, but I suppose I have to be patient and wait.

This principle is perhaps particularly applicable to people with disabilities, who have to learn how to live with, and how to accept, a whole new set of challenges they didn't ask for or want. But those who undertake the extremely difficult task of embracing their challenges and accepting them as part of them are perhaps the most inspirational of all.

In the meantime, I have to figure out how to apply the principle of "Choose your life" into not getting frustrated and angered at at the health challenges I am facing that so much restrict my life. It helps to have a routine, and to remember what I am capable of. I am always on guard with my mind, trying to train it not to linger in areas that will be unproductive for me. Time will tell. Until then, veni vedi vici.