I’ve recently heard from a reader who is going through a difficult time. His name is Steven, and he is a 40-year-old artist with undiagnosed Asperger’s. He is currently homeless and living in shelters (when they’re not full) and in his car (in below freezing weather). As you can imagine, he is feeling very low, and I am hoping that some of you can be an emotional lifeline for him. I would like to put together an email network of people to whom he can reach out for support.
Steven and I have been emailing back and forth for the past week and a half, and he’s given me permission to post the following comment he left in response to my post about Lorazepam:
I am sitting here in the UMass student center using the public computers.
I am 40 years old and homeless. I was an artist once, at least I thought I was.
I am about the walk to the bathroom and take my Colonopin, 2 mg. If I don’t my heart will be in my throat all day, pounding out an uneven and painful rhythm, interrupted only by bouts of sobbing and wondering how the hell I will make it through the day. The shelters were all full last night, slept in the car, it was 20 degrees last night and my exhaust is falling off.
My “Wife” (ex but not divorced after 4 year, insert long story here) is convinced I have Asperger’s, my son does. I read the criteria and if I used my highlighter to outline the applicable information it would go dry.
I wish I could figure out how to live on my own but I fail every time.
The reflection in the mirror has no meaning to me, I often brush my teeth beside the mirror so I don’t have to look through that portal. Sometimes I do, helps when practicing expressions. The correct expressions are important when you need to get people to do what you want them to do.
I have been in the hospital twice in 5 weeks. They were all kind, very caring… They run to put out the fire with full hearts and douse the flames with drugs. A week long bucket brigade that ends with my discharge and ticket back to the streets of Northampton.
I want to die but I am not allowed to. How is it that a man who loves his children so very very much can resent them for keeping him alive?
I need a coffee and my morning meds, bye.
If you are willing to be part of an email support network for Steven, please leave a comment and I will pass your email address onto him. (There is no need to specify your address publicly; I will see it from inside WordPress when you leave your post.) I want Steven to know he is part of a caring community that spans oceans and continents, and that he is not alone in his time of difficulty.
© 2011 by Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg
I can email this guy. I’m about 2 steps away from being in the same situation.
If I can help in any way at all, please add me to the list!!!
Count me in. Let me know if there’s any way I can help.
Add me to the list please. I live in the same country that lets people like Steven struggle in a society that’s lost touch with it’s conscience.
Count me in. Steven and i have a bit in common. I’m autistic, can still remember sleeping on the streets, and have often only kept going for the sake of my kids.
If I can help by corresponding with Steven by email or snail mail or even phone calls I would be delighted. Two of my best friends have Asperger’s and I love being in their company. I have had some hard times in the past dealing with my chronic depression and anxiety and I have been homeless too. I think I can understand a lot of what Steven is going through and perhaps I can soothe him somewhat by letting him know that things can get better in your life if you have supportive friends to talk to.
Sincerely,
Dianne Hardwick
Add me in. Maybe Steven would find it of some comfort to know someone as far away as Australia has been deeply moved by his plight. Hang in there Steven.
Me. If I can suppport him from far away, I will.
Me. Sounds like he’s living my nightmare.
I will also offer what support I can.
He is in my prayers.
While I would be happy to provide emotional support, it appears that this gentlemen’s needs are more immediate than a kind word or an attentive ear (not to diminish the power of each). If a fund was started that was controlled by a third party, I would be honored to donate to help my fellow man. Perhaps someone has an extra room. Seems to me that with a bit of money and warmth and food, emotional support could lead a person in the direction of help. You can’t get social services without an address.
Trying so hard to not cry. That’s one thing the mood stabalizer has done, it makes me cry all the time. I didn’t cry when I found my own father dead on the floor. Now the efforts of a stranger on my behalf reduce me to tears. I’m not sure if I should thank you or tell you to go away, all of you. I just don’t know what to do. I should be thankful, that’s what my mother and or my wife would tell me. But I’m sitting here staring at the computer crying finally, totally unsure how to handle myself. Supposed to meet a girl about a room at 10:00am for $300 a month. Let’s hope I get it, last night was COLD!
Been reading a lot on “connections”. Our need to have human contact but our inability to gain it. I recently tried to go home, to seek out people I have not seen in 20+ years. People I knew back when I was a child, before my status as “freak” was truly solidified, back when everyone was at least a little awkward. Not to say I wasn’t outcast, I was, always. But there was always someone there with me, even if if was just one person. I took this journey because in the past 20 years I have not made one connection I would consider on the level I achieved with these few friends of 20 years past. I found them, I found that some even love me, still. But they have lives. Love or not there is no room for my in these well established lives. It was good to know that I had some worth at least. That’s something. But where does that leave me now? 40 years old and not one true friend to my name, no contemporary ones anyway. I find I have no idea how to establish new connections. I try but I fail. I can bullshit for a while, but then they find out who I really am. I interview for jobs well, I “present” to the psychiatric community very well, so well in fact I was accused of faking it by one doctor last time I was in the hospital, just so I could get off the street. It was like a slap to the face. I had to wonder, AM I just being weak? AM I just “faking it” on some level I am unaware of? I don’t think so. But if I can’t trust my judgement I have to trust someone elses. Trust, who to trust. Something else I have NO idea how to accurately asses. If someone says something to me I tend to believe them. But it seems that most people lie, constantly, and I can’t tell the difference. I thought I knew SO much. But every day that goes by lets me know how little I know.
I am trying for Disability. I don’t WAN’T it. But I think I NEED it. Just for a while, to regroup. To take time to figure this new perception out. To reestablish myself in a whole new way, to learn to live, because I am tired of just surviving. Need to take the time to learn how to live on my own and not fail so miserably.
And why do I keep getting kicked out of shelters? I MUST be doing or saying something to piss people off that I am unaware of. I am not hostile, I follow the rules (mostly), I am even kind to people. I try to keep to myself and not get involved in the drama, egads, I couldn’t surf that garbage if I wanted to. But here I am. Killing the day in Starbucks and rambling on here just to kill time and hope I come up with some sort of epiphany that will solve it all, not holding my breath on that one.
Hi Steven,
I have done the same sort of thing trying to reconnect with people from my past. Sometimes it works, but mostly, it doesn’t. I think that once most people read middle-age, they’re much less inclined to open up and invite in new people — especially people who are different. They’ve got their families, their circles of friends, their jobs, and they’re happy that way.
And I agree with what catsidhe says about being “punished for success.” If people only had the, ahem, theory of mind to put themselves in our shoes and understand what an exhausting effort it’s taken to get through the world every day of our lives, they wouldn’t be so quick to judge. But at least we autistic folks have one another. It’s been a great blessing to my life to find so many people who understand.
I had this conversation yesterday with Josh, about how difficult it is to make new friends at our ages (forties), and our conclusions were similar. Add in uncommon interests and an Aspie, and the pool of likely friends shrinks to almost nothing. Le sigh.
I think of this as being punished for our success. We spend our lives (especially undiagnosed) learning how to pretend to be like those around us. And if we do really well at this, then we don’t get praise for successfully passing, we get abuse for not being as perfect as is expected. And when the shell cracks, and the foundations crumble, and we can’t maintain the pretence any more, when we seek help, our success is held against us as proof that we’re not really affected, we’re not really disabled.
Then you combine that with a lifetime of wondering ourselves if we’re not just lazy malingers, wondering why we have so much difficulty with what everyone else describes as the simple stuff. The dismissal of our problems slots right in with our own self-doubts. Which just goes to redouble our own problems.
I wrote about this in my effort for Autistics Speaking Day.
Damned straight! I could not agree more, VERY well put.
know the feelings very well, and there, but for a few strokes of luck, go i…
i’m here in your corner, anyway.
I’ve lived in shelters. I’ve had to sleep in the car. I have avoided seeing myself in mirrors except when pretending to be someone else. I insist on living for my children. In these ways I have been like your reader. But I have always had the support of my mother and sister. And my children. Which, for me, has meant finding happiness and a home. However, my mother HAS been him. It was my sister and I who made her choose to stay alive. I wonder if, on some level, she ever resented us? I’ll have to ask. I would love to connect with your reader, to whom I already feel somewhat connected just from reading his comment, and would be more than happy to share conversation and a coffee!
So, I asked my mom if she ever resented us kids for making her choose life. Her response,”Resented? Hmmm, not exactly resented. Ummm, it’s kind of complicated. Can I call you when I get home to talk about this?” I can’t wait for her call! I love shedding new light on memories and relationships. I love that colored in feeling I get when feelings are complex and never ending. Thank you Steven for offering me this opportunity to learn more about my mom!
My mom called me back. She explained that she never resented us for a minute because to her ‘resenting’ implies blame. She admitted to a slight feeling of ‘burden’ which, for her, is placed solely on her. I know that semantics is a tricky business, with everyone’s idea or feeling from a word being slightly different so my mom and you may have felt the same. Either way, I felt compelled to share and thank you once again. I hope you have found a room that you feel comfortable in and are able to bring the new year in with a bed and new friends!
Thank you Tsara. I had not expected to inspire such action! I’m glad you got to have some meaningful discourse with your mother. I’ve been doing quite a bit of that in the past year with mine.
And my new place is awesome. The people are really nice. One girl is eeriliy like me. Excessive amount of benchmark events in our lives, and we get on GREAT. So things are looking up.
I am new to this site, and just starting to read. I’m not on the spectrum that I know of but I’ve known and loved people who were. I would be happy to correspond with Steven.
Update. Thank you to the kindness of a couple folks on this string, I now have a roof over my head, YAY! Nice people I am in with too. I will write more, taking a few days to decompress. Thank you everyone.
So glad to hear it, Steve. What a great way to start the new year!
I’d be happy to talk with Steven. I’m a self-diagnosed Aspie, I hope that’s okay.