I beat Lyme Disease, I survive and thrive

I beat Lyme disease 100. I can't help but wonder if my body now contains antibodies to this disease. If you know, please let me know!
In May 2013, I was diagnosed via the Western Blot test. I spent 2 years living on my couch, barely able to move much less walk. Some days I managed to get to the grocery or an appointment with my cane, other days I didn't have enough strength to get up.
After vehemently researching and asking my doctor for various meds, my symptoms began to recede. I was in a highly toxic and unhealthy relationship, as well. No sooner did I inform my ex that I was leaving and my symptoms all beat a hasty retreat.
I am 100% cured of Lyme!!! I have zero residual symptoms.
Healing is definitely possible!!!
My other blog Aspergers and the Alien, contains an assortment of posts which detail both my struggle and my healing.
I really wish I knew if my bloodstream contained antibodies that, given the correct laboratory treatment, would help sufferers fight off the disease or, maybe even a vaccine could be created.
I wish I knew a scientist to ask.
Your thoughts?

Eclipse Reverie...poetry

Eclipse Reverie
*
Nothing could have prepared me
For the moment
Night's curtain fell
Mid-day
*
Like a flower
Crushed
In Luna's palm
Extracting Sol's inner essence
To the brim
*
Fiery orb
Once powerful, omnipotent
Now snuffed
Eclipsed
Riding in the backseat
*
Frenzied wave
Proceeded the blow
Uncertainty rolled
Like a drunken fool
Confusing fowl
Silencing leaves
*
Majestic sky coupling
A chaotic embrace
Eerie, iridescent
Shimmering jewel
*
Cast into
A glomourous shadow
I shuddered
It felt like
The moment before dying
*
Darkness receded
The event
Forever etched
Stoic silence
*
The sky, no longer appears
Sane
I feel betrayed
By sights, senses
Once trusted
*
I question my own
Mortality
My sense of stability
Quakes

I Am David, My new favorite movie, a review

Being Autistic, there are few movies that I can whole heartedly relate to. "I Am David" is the exception.
Truth or fiction, doesn't really matter. This is the story of a young boy, who doesn't know how to smile and has experienced profound loss, abuse and neglect. He is completely on his own. I Get This.
He's taught the world is a terrible place, that there is no safe place and people are cruel. It's all he knew for his early years. He is told to trust no one and can't recognize good people from bad. I Get This.
People pry with that introductory question "where's your family?" It's like, the universal neurotypical greeting because the majority of persons have someone that loves them, misses them and is waiting for them at home. David has no one. Yes, I can relate. A child completely on his own, uncared for and unmissed.
It's a rarity to find a film with a plethora of parallels to my own life and suffering.
And the hope...the wish of finding someone that...genuinely, unconditionally cares...wow. I cried buckets.
Other characters continue to note how odd his eyes, so deep, like he's seen and experienced wounds no child should know. The seriousness of his face, devoid of any childlike innocence.
I love this movie. I positively love it from my heavily biased position.
I can relate.

I talk with my hands, I can read my distress

My hands are the external barometer for any internal distress. If I awaken, as has been the case for a week now, with flapping or shaking hands, I know that I am above the ordinary limit of sensory overload and high stress. Those days are best spent laying low, in bed or quietly hiding in my room.
Throughout any given day, I am given the gift of hands that portray my inner turmoil or calm. All I need do is become aware of what my hands are telling me and seek shelter in flapping storms.
The other hand sign is when my fingers are splayed, straight, unmoving rigid and stiff. This means I can no longer process any new information and I need to shutdown. It's like muscle tension tells me how high my distress is.
Oh, I'm still not fluid with words...but I had this to say, eloquent or naught.

Moving to a New House, Autism, Aspergers and Mutism

I moved to a huge townhouse from a small, cramped one bedroom apartment last week. I have rarely been able to talk since as I am thoroughly overwhelmed by, well, everything. I haven't been able to speak to my therapist or friends about this heap of issues.
My Mutism..its like, I'm standing at the top of a mountain full of fears, concerns, questions and comments...if I get these stressors down to a certain level, I can talk. No sooner do I get the levels down then I'm hit with a new conversation, new things I must do and try to understand, then I'm back in mute mode. It's been very sporadic and unpredictable, the times I can talk and the times I can't. It's best to stay inside and avoid the possibility of not being able to speak.
It's embarrassing. The distress from being in a larger place presents a huge number of new issues.
There is finances to manage, figuring out what things can be bought for the house and which can wait. And more, there are so many more issues that I just have a hard time acknowledging and discussing.
My only hope this week is that I'll be able to talk with my therapist. I need to deal with these unsettling, difficult problems or the Mutism will just continue. This is the longest spell whereby I've struggled with my Mutism.
I saw my family doctor last week, mute. It was an interesting and uncomfortable appointment. It's like she put on kid gloves. I communicated via my phone texting. At least I still had words in my head that I could write. The times were my mind goes blank...well, it's difficult, nay impossible to communicate.
I do see that therapy is the answer for me as I have become aware of some underlying issues promoting my Mutism.
Just laying low and taking care of myself.

Aspergers and Selective Mutism

Selective Mutism and Aspergers Autistic Adults

Will I Ever "Outgrow" My Child Abuse, Being Hungry and Starved

I've caught myself monitoring my thinking, not easy for someone with a Dissociative Disorder, but it happened. I was dismayed to become aware of how many dozens of times, in any given day, that my thinking took me to the old times of daily childhood abuses.
Today, I found myself clapping after completing a trip to the grocery store and filling the cupboards. I spent the better part of my childhood hungry...very, very hungry for days at a time. I'm haunted by the memories of hunger. I wonder if I'll ever accept that there will always be food in the house.
I'm frozen. So much more I was going to write, however, that last paragraph has me going in all directions.
Since I have Multiple Personality Disorder, MPD, I wonder a) how many of my different parts or different people, as I call them, suffered with the irrepressible, unmitigating and gnawing hunger? In order to derail this train of thought, will I have to address it with each alternate personality, one by one? Or is it possible to strictly address the feelings and emotions around starving and would that somehow filter down or through all the various alters?
Starving, hmmm, that's a word I don't like to use. The word is a trigger that elicits the old memories. That tells me, in my 20 odd years of therapy learning, that I need to further explore this item.
Starving is cruel. It's body betrayal. Your body is begging for something it desperately needs and there is no way of fulfilling that need, as a small child.
I want to run...away from this topic, this writing...the memories and this insane wanting to examine them.
Ah, another clue that I am on to discovering some dirty faced, unpleasant and heavily suppressed thoughts and feelings. Run, dammit, run, stop.
Discomfort, high discomfort and unsettling distress. Part of me wants to run; to keep that door shut and locked away behind the heavy, burlap, dark curtain of denial, whilst the curious warrior of me, that breaths to heal peers her eyes, flashlight in hand...wanting to know, to solve this vexing problem. An invisible challenge of wills. My physical symptoms of high anxiety tell me that I am oh, so close to learning something...something important, painful and hidden.
Starving, being hungry for hours at a time, opening the cupboards and eating crumbs, uncooked and stray spaghetti strands...no, that's the story I always say. The feeling, the physical sensation, the growling pit, the weakness of having a body that needs, needs, needs and it hurts, viscerally, hurts the mind, the spirit and the heart...hunger is utter, undisputed helplessness...there is no running from it. It doesn't fit neatly into a box or jar for the shelf...It Didn't Go Away!!! To nap, to sleep, when I'd walk or read or play, the Pain of Hunger Never Went Away!!! If I slept hungry, I awoke hungry. If I walked to school hungry, there was no distracting from the discomfort. I couldn't wish it away.
I hated it! I hated it! And I couldn't fix it, couldn't make it stop or even calm down at all. Hunger was an untamed beast that consumed me to the point that I couldn't focus on anything else. It was such a needy, constant companion. I just wanted it to stop and go away and it wouldn't, it couldn't. I need food and I had none. I needed money for food and I had none. God, I hated being alive and starving!!!!!
I envied birds that ate worms and crows that feasted on garbage. I stole lunches from other kids; took snacks from the teachers lounge. I tried finagling ways of getting invited to classmates house cause I'd hope they had food there.
Nope, still no big mystery solved. I listen; I feel. My thoughts race trying to distract me from the truth...from the truth of...things I would eat that shouldn't be eaten...
I ate other people's garbage.
At school, I'd linger so that is be the last one out. I remember watching the other kids dumping their leftovers. As casually as possible, I'd reach in and snatch a sandwich crust, half eaten apple and, if lucky, a cracker or homemade cookie. Then I'd hightail it to the restroom, shut the stall door and eat whatever morsels I'd gathered.
I was so embarrassed, deeply ashamed of what I was doing. I felt guilty, stealing like that and hiding. I couldn't let anyone else see me. Couldn't let a teacher catch me cause then I'd be in big trouble...no one was supposed to know, or so mom taught. Hunger was something to be ashamed of. Stealing was just as bad.
In the summertime, you could find me perusing the garbage cans at the local park we played at everyday. Weekends were the best with leftovers from picnics and family get togethers.
(Hangs head. Deep, deep sigh) I used to look forward to trash day when the streets were lined with garbage cans. I'd find excuses to not walk with my siblings, so that I could find something to eat. I loved...sigh, just read that...I loved finding the rare garbage cans as most people used trash bags were I lived. Picking from cans was relatively easy whereas finding an open trash bag wasn't. Sometimes I'd just look at a bag to see the different shapes the exterior made. Pizza boxes were always worth the risk of opening up. I scored probably more than half the time on getting crusts or a stray pepperoni.
It makes me queasy to think about...to write about...to admit...the depth of desperation...to lower myself so, all in the name of hunger. God I was so hungry.
Hunger isn't like a bruise that slowly starts to fade and lessen in intensity..just the opposite; it got worse with each hour.
Going to sleep hungry was the worst. Knowing that in the morning I'd wake up even more consumed.
I was a garbage eater. That is the thought, the memory that I was hiding from myself.
Now, my stomach turns, my eyes fill with water and I'm filled with the sense of, for lack of better phrase, being a low life.
I was just a kid. A hungry, starving kid and I did things to survive, ate things that were highly questionable, dug through others garbage and I'm filled with...humiliation and even regret. Desperation forced me.
Sigh, yeah, I'll get other this...at some point now that I know what it is.

Best, Unusual Dog Names

In no particular order:
For small dogs: Mister Big, Giant, Thumbtack, Spot, Ladybug, Dimi, Nightlight, Puddles, Twinkie, Petal, Bob, Titan, Puck
Any size: Mister Whiskers, Meow, Kitty, Hound, Twinkles, Starbright, Mott, Kato, Clem or Clementine, Purple Rain, Amor, Dodger, Fish, Knickers, Leif, Beghard, Behemoth, Behest, Periwinkle, Petra, Amigo, Madre, Puddles, Cupid, Angelo, Rasputin, Rapunzel, Muzzle, Freebies, Flight, Eagle, Heron, The Super, Gungadin, Guido, Hypno, Judge, Mega, Wasabi, Murmur, Gumby, Neon, Sparkle, Paramour, Quinn, Quiche Lorraine, Red, Rover, Luna, Ross, Scrum, Simon, Bull, Toucan Sam, Monk, Belfry, Vida, Vicar, the city you were born in or a favorite city
Big Dogs: Horse, Pica, Moose, Mouse, Vice, Rule, Half-Pint, Tulip, Stan, Modesty, Petty, Tut, Iota, Eatsalot, Jaguar, Majesty, King, Pawn, Prawn, Domino, Old Bean, Linus, Midge, Sarge, Major, Magna, Minnie, Brawn, Merit, Nomad, Duck, Pebbles

And she found...

Words, to be bothersome troublesome things juggled from one to fro, never meaning the same thing twice, twisting with inflection, strangling with remorse, these individual transmuting verbal darts thrown carelessly, like drunken sailors yet, the girl dodged, grovelled, slid underneath never knowing the spoken tarts, unable to read their gibberish rants, perplexed by their certainty of wordage, that truly mattered not. They all meant f*ck you, anyway they said it, whether flowery or patterned, the code mixed in with the nonsensical. Whispers were naught but small breezes, tickling lies and wet, dripping lips. Nonsense, too small a word for the patter spoken. Trivial too mighty a description. Lost onto this dreary physical realm of raining tears and broken roses.

Problems when you're a hermit

Seriously. I take things literally and do not want to lead anyone on.

What it feels like...alone

Incest