Lizards

Here come the lizards

Someone is talking to me. I reply. Am I doing the right thing? Why are they looking at me like that? Have I done something to offend them? Best get on with my work and not think about it.

Here come the lizards, here come the lizards

I must have seemed distant or standoffish or something. I can't think of anything I did wrong. Must have been something. I'm sure they're probably talking about me now and how weird I am. I can't ask them because I'll seem even weirder.

Here come the lizards, here come the lizards, here come the lizards

I'm sure they're avoiding me. Did they give me a funny look just then? Why did they start whispering when I went by? Are they laughing? I must be the laughing stock of the whole place now. Close your eyes, and remember to breathe. It's not working. Why do I have to think these things. I wish I'd not thought anything at all.

Here come the lizards, here come the lizards, here come the lizards, here come the lizards

etc.

Update

Sorry for not posting for 2 months. Been busy. Busier than I expected to be 2 months ago.

Further to my 'assessment' for Incapacity Benefit, I passed. Passed, that is, fit to work. To be ill, I had to score 10. I scored 5. I doubted their methodology, but it seems they were right. I got a (minimum wage) job 2 weeks ago, and it's not been easy. The work is easy. But the people. The people are difficult. I no doubt have been building a reputation as an uncommunicative weirdo there. I'm resigned to this. Such things happen wherever I go. I no longer expect anything from anyone, let alone sympathy and understanding

I had a meeting with my psychiatrist 3 weeks ago. I've been referred to the Sheffield Asperger Syndrome Service to see if they can spot the bats flapping round my head. I got sent a large questionnaire for a close relative to fill out, and directions to the place for an appointment to see them at the end of January.

My life is not easier, just difficult in new ways.

Olthwaite

My father watches a lot of TV comedy. He always has. Mostly his tastes run the gamut between Bernard Manning and Roy 'Chubby' Brown. Occasionally, he watches something more challenging, as long as it doesn't contain anyone too intelligent to make him resentful.

Ripping Yarns was one of those.

One episode in particular (along with the more typical spoofs of public school, sport, colonialism and the Second World War) was titled 'The Testing of Eric Olthwaite'. This was the tale of a young man who talked ceaselessly about one or two subjects to the exclusion of all else. Eric was so boring, his parents ran away from home.

I wish mine had.

I was, and probably still am, someone who can talk endlessly about things that interest me. My father is the same, but since he does not share my interests to him I am boring. Throughout my childhood he mocked me because of this. I once bought a comic that said Sol Brodsky was dead. I thought my father, a 1960s comics fan would be interested. No. For years afterwards he recounted the tale in an 'Eric Olthwaite' voice saying "Sol Brodsky's dead today, mother". I was 13 years old at the time.

I learned a hard lesson here. Whether it has standed me in good stead is another matter. I learned not to say anything if I had any doubt about how what I said would be received. I learned that if I was enthusiastic about something, people would ridicule me for it. I learned that if something is enjoyable, then it's sad and pathetic.

Now I live an entirely enclosed life. I stay in this room and indulge my pursuits. And I don't tell anyone. They won't understand. I think they'd understand more if I was viewing porn and 'extreme' action videos rather than looking up Royal Geneologies and Adam Curtis documentaries. But sex and violence (and combinations of both) are not sad and pathetic.

Discovered enthusiasm is ridicule. You will be destroyed for liking things others don't.

And now, my parents complain I stay in my room and never talk to them. I'm sorry, but some things are hard to forgive.

Medical

I went for the medical yesterday. Went about as expected.

Found the anonymous building it was at surrounded with scaffolding and the sound of construction work. One of those things if you live in an expanding university town.

The office was remarkably large but barely furnished The doctor didn't bother checking anything physical on me. He looked and sounded bored as he ticked off the checklist on his PC. I can't really blame him if the people in the waiting room are any indication of those he has to see (I think most people would describe them as chavs - there was even a sign in reception that said "Consumption of Alcohol is Not Permitted on These Premises").

I was asked the usual questions. How did I feel? How did my feelings affect what I was able to do? Was I capable of this, that and the other? Do I drink or take drugs? Do I have any friends? Was I anxious in coming here today? And I was expected to know the answers to all these questions.

He asked me how I was getting home. I always find it unnerving when people try to make small talk, especially when they so obviously have no interest but do it because their training says it's a Good Thing to Do.

His report will be passed to my Personal Advisor, who I've yet to meet and probably has not learned of my existence. No doubt this will be a poorly-paid Civil Servant skilled in hassling and demeaning the 'unworthy' as those are the types who tend to be successful. Even if only people come off Benefits just to avoid them. It all goes towards hitting government targets. And we all know targets are more important than people.

Medical

I received a letter on Wednesday. I have to report to a 'Centre' to undergo a 'medical examination'.

As suspected, I must have tripped off a function in a computer program. I've been on Incapacity Benefit for a year. Therefore all efforts must be made to get me off it. No doubt the Benefits Agency have 'targets' to meet.

Since I'm on IB due to 'depression' (what my sick notes say), quite how they'll examine me is open to question. There will probably be a written test, probably box-ticking as this is easy to quantify. I will probably fail, and thus judged fit for some sort of work, as I'm not catatonic or psychotic. Basically, I'm being set up to fail because some civil servant wants a performance-related bonus, just as I lost my job because a manager wanted to make his presence felt.

After that I will be passed to what the letter terms a 'Personal Adviser' who will make me attend a 'Work Focused Interview'. This will assail me with hassling and demeaning words and demands that I justify myself, and prostrate myself in order to get work.

If my benefit is stopped, it's no real loss. I have over £30,000 in the bank so I won't starve. It's just disconcerting that I'm going to have to go through a system that presumes I'm a malingerer and must be punished.

My own plan was to start applying for temporary jobs in retail (my previous line of work) around November, when shops traditionally look for extra Xmas staff. But my plans mean nothing in the computer-generated, cost-cutting, target-driven world of the Benefits Agency

Alcohol

I drink too much. You don't have to tell me.

They say that an alcoholic is someone who drinks more than you do. I average a bottle of wine (or equivalent) a day. And what's worse, I drink it at home. Alone.

Despite the physiological evidence (ie. the liver breaking down alcohol at a consistent rate no matter the conditions), it's a 'given' that drinking alone is worse for your health than drinking while 'out'. That is utterly stupid. Maybe they think that being with people mitigates the toxic effects. Though I've never noticed any difference. I drink when I'm 'out' to numb the stress, rather than make me sociable.

What with the evidence from town centres every Friday and Saturday night, it seems that people 'going out' end up engaging in a lot of anti-social activities. But that's ok. It's traditional. These facts are known. Anyone who stays at home to drink is a depressive and violent family abuser. Right?

I've never hit anyone or smashed up the place after drinking alone. In fact, I don't even get what could be termed 'drunk'. My drinking harms no-one and nothing. But people maintain an inbuilt suspicion and distaste of someone who drinks alone.

You're probably thinking - but surely if I didn't drink, I'd feel so much happier? I can't speak for other people, but drinking or not makes little difference to my overall mental state. I had a breakdown at 18, at which time I drank maybe twice a year. I had problems and depression for many years without alcohol. So why do I drink, you ask. There's no complex psychiatric explanation here. I drink because it makes life less boring and stressful for the duration.

And anyway, society thinks I'm a sick weirdo. So why confound their expectations?

Room

I spend the majority of my time alone. It's better that way.

I have enough money to do a lot of things. I could 'go out'. I've heard normal people 'go out'. From what I've seen this involves going to loud places, drinking, dancing and being obnoxious to the opposite sex. I don't enjoy these things. Because most people do, this makes me a bad person. I've been told I should keep doing these things until I enjoy them. A curious suggestion.

I'm alone in my bedroom. It's getting dark. People will be out having fun. I don't understand them. My mother tells me the world 'doesn't bite'. Unfortunately, it does. It bites like a shark with lockjaw. I've been out many times. Often I end up sitting alone while the people 'do their thing'. Sometimes others ask what's wrong. It's too difficult to explain, especially in loud and impatient atmospheres, so I say I'm ok. I don't need 'help' or 'pity', I just want to leave. But that would draw attention to myself, and if I'm in a strange town, where would I go?

People eventually get annoyed because they don't understand me. Why do I bother 'going out' if I'm not going to 'try to enjoy it'? But if I wasn't going to try, I'd've just stayed at home. The problem is, I'm just not trying in exactly the way they want me to.

I can't match up to these standards of peoples' expectations. So I stay in. It's easier that way.

Shopping

I love buying things. Doesn't everyone?

Actually. I like having things and taking them home for my personal usage. I dislike having to go and buy them. The irony is that the things I enjoy the most are the most traumatic to buy.

The local Oddbins has much I want. I'm probably incapable of not finding something to buy there. It's a small shop, and not many people are usually in. I'm a discerning buyer. I like to look thoroughly. For some reason, the person behind the counter seems to think I'm confused. I'm not. I'm looking. I don't need any help. But I'm always being watched, or thinking I'm being watched.

The second-hand bookshop I frequent is worse. I don't mean it's a bad place. It's a place with books piled up everywhere in an order that may make sense to someone. The sign says it opened in 1867 and it seems to have retained most of its start-up stock. There's something for everyone in there. You just have to find it. The owner is a garrulous sort. He tries to start conversations with customers. I don't know what to say. Usually something stupid. I'm not good at general conversation. Specific things, yes. If he wanted to know about the subject of the book I was buying (for example Princess Andrew of Greece) I could talk about that. But no, he asks about me.

I used to work in retail. I know strategies like these are used to put customers at their ease, and project a helpful image of the business. All it does with me is make me anxious. I wander around the town centre in less demanding shops for ages before going in. When I finnally do go in, I spend ages in there, worrying.

I know it's silly. But I can't stop it.

Friends (2)

But why don't you find friends online, I hear you say? Surely it must be easier. Well, yes it is. But it comes with it's own problems.

This was long before MySpace or Facebook. Almost a decade ago, I discovered 'instant messaging'. I made a few friends. And I fell out with almost every single one. While the internet takes out the anxiety of face-to-face talking (and body language and other assorted 'skills') it makes neither you, nor other people, easier to get along with.

The few people with whom I managed even a medium-term friendship were no easier. The more we talked, the more pressure I felt under. If MSN started up, I was seen online. Many times I didn't want to talk, but not to have done so would have seemed rude. If they didn't talk to me, I wondered what I'd done wrong.

For me, nothing is ever simple.

They say that if you have problems, you should talk to someone. But what if you know that, whatever you say, it'll only make things worse. You will be expected to do something. If you don't do it, they want to know why. And always you ask yourself - why are they doing this?

I've often been told I'm hard work. If only people knew how much hard work they were,

Friends (1)

I've tried to have friends. It's never worked out.

At school, no one liked me. I don't know why exactly. I was probably too different. Children are merciless. Anyone who is different to a perceptible degree will be destroyed. Eventually I figured this out by the age of 10 or so. I managed to get people to tolerate me. Eventually.

Most of my 'friendships' have been with those who wanted to exploit me. Whether its for copying the answers to schoolwork or borrowing money, no one has ever wanted me for me. I've tried other people. The barriers of my difference are too great. I'm too much like hard work.

I've often wondered why people seek to have many friends. People are programmed to be social. Most of them. But why choose specific people to talk to about things? Common views, goals and interests? Who knows. I certainly don't. What I do know is that friendship is far less altruistic than most people want to believe.

Persecution

A lot has gone on in my life. Much of it convinces me I'm persecuted.

My house cheque has gone into the bank, and shows on the balance. But my available balance is still only £6. My benefit is now 3 days late and will probably not now show until next week.

I presume my bank has had enough of my being constantly overdrawn. Not content with charging me £5 for the overdraft itself, £34 for failed direct debits and £25 every 5 days for unauthorised overdrawing, it now seeks to keep hold of my money now I'm actually in credit. The benefits agency no doubt has realised I've been on incapacity for a year now. I've probably set off a 'presumed malingerer' function in the computer.

I'm poor and ill. I must be punished. I must not have any enjoyment lest it encourage me.

Poor

My financial problems after nearly over. Yesterday I banked the cheque from my house sale.

The worst thing about being poor is not the fact you can't go on holiday. Nor is it not eating and drinking what you'd like. Not even the hassling from the various organisations to whom you owe money.

It's not being able to do the small things. My benefit is late. I didn't even have the bus fare so I could go to the bank. I had to borrow the money for even that. You know the worst thing? It's paying for something by debit card and having it declined. A humiliation in a public place. There's nothing you can do except slink away.

You end up feeling that people are looking at you. Thinking "Who's that poor scum? What right does he have to exist?". I have problems with people looking at me anyway. I don't need any more reasons for them to look down on me.

The world is a very harsh place if you have no money. And other people harsher still.

Work

I've not worked for a while now.

I did have a job at one time. Most people would have considered it a poor job. I stacked shelves, or rather filled freezers, on a supermarket night shift. It was minimum wage, of course, but it paid the bills.

I lost that job about a year ago. What I did to lose it seemed amusing at the time. I pretended to take a photograph of a colleague. That was my fault. I admit that. That's one thing. Whether I got what I deserved is another.

I was the victim of many phenomena. One was the exponential assumption. This is the kind of logic that says 9 is nearly 10, so we'll say it's 10. And 10 is nearly 12, so we'll call it 12. And 12 is as close to 15 as 9, right, so it's going to be 15 from now on to be on the safe side.

The 'victim' of my faux-photography took it badly. She complained. This is automatically assessed by the system as 'harrassment'. Because I am male and she is female, the system classes this as 'serious harrassment'. According to the company code, 'serious harrassment' is 'gross misconduct'. And 'gross misconduct' is a sacking offence.

All over a non-existant photo.

I didn't have a hope in the hearing. The initial hearing was taken by managers who had previously been friendly with me, but who now treated me like scum. The latter is probably what they always thought of me as, but had to act as the former because of their managerial training. The second hearing was taken by a new manager who I I'd never met and another from a different store. The new manager wanted to make his mark. I was the mark he made.

I appealed, but I had no hope there either. To change the previous verdict, new evidence was needed before they could even consider it. Difficult to get new evidence when you can't even go into the store or even contact anyone save the designated 'colleague representatives'.

That was a year ago. I've not worked since. I went to the Job Centre, but they said I'd be better off on incapacity benefit. Difficult to disagree. I felt in no condition to submit myself again to the same type of people responsible for my position.

I am ill, true enough. But whether it's something I can recover from enough to be considered for work again is yet another thing.

Hello

I'm the disordered one. I never asked to be like this.

Throughout my life, I've been misunderstood, ridiculed and persecuted. From what I can tell, it's not all been my fault.

I'm not like other people. Other people figure this out in seconds. Because I'm not like other people, I must be identified, marginalised and destroyed. They've yet to succeed in the last action. But many times, it's been close.

They don't know what I have. A personality disorder, maybe, or Asperger syndrome. The tests are inconclusive.

A lot of people think they are lonely and disliked. I know, I've heard about them telling all their friends. A lot of people also say they are depressed , until someone pays them some attention, after which the depression vanishes. My life is not like this. I tried to have friends. I got it wrong. I check out all the signs for moderate-to-severe depression. Nothing has been any comfort to me so far.

So if you want to know what it's really like to be alone and unhappy, you should read this blog. I can't promise you'll be in any way uplifted. Or that you'll even have any liking or sympathy for me. But what you will get is the truth.

Because this is what life is really like.