Wednesday, 13 January 2010

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and Asperger’s Syndrome


It must be remembered that people with Asperger’s syndrome (AS), as it is with anyone on the autism spectrum, have difficulty making and maintaining friendships so therefore have little or no benchmarks upon which to judge their personal experiences and feelings. Asperger’s syndrome is not a ‘mild’ form of autism. It is a form, and brings its own set of difficulties. The privilege my Kanner’s cousins have is to say nothing and throw a tantrum. I am cursed with speech, constipated by it. I must, to the death, voicelessly scream to be heard.

We are labelled egocentric. Ours is a self created world, where the individual on the autism spectrum can live without fear or confusion. It is conducting our own orchestra so that all the different aspects fall in to a manageable tune. There are few people who, in truth, do not prefer to maintain a high level of control in their lives. Typically, most like to plan their careers, holidays, children’s schooling, where they live and how they spend their money and free time. For people on the autism spectrum, life can be a labyrinth of stress, conflict, confusion and culture because, although born on this planet, its habits, customs and language are alien.
Asperger’s syndrome is not a mental health issue. Along with other autism spectrum conditions, it is neurological. The brain is wired differently from that of most other people. We are not Asperger ‘victims’, as newspaper headlines suggest. We are more likely to get mental health problems, such as depression, because the world can be so difficult to understand. Communication and self expression are really hard for people like us. Some, with classic autism, do not even bother to try and can have delayed speech, or non at all. Nobody would dare to suggest a blind person was ‘victim’ to sight loss, or a wheelchair user ‘victim’ to mobility problems. Ours is a ‘hidden disability’. We can walk, talk, hear; most of us speak and certainly feel. Anyone with any form of disability would tell you the biggest obstacle they have in life is the prejudice of other people.

When I began to look at the relationship between obsessive compulsive disorder and Asperger’s syndrome, I never expected to find anything as traumatic as Tony Attwood’s description of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder: ‘In OCD, the person has intrusive thoughts he or she does not want to think about: the thoughts are described as egodystonic, ie distressing and unpleasant.’
‘Distressing’ and ‘unpleasant’ are sanitized words that in no way express the devastation experienced by those whose autism causes so much suffering. Even very small diversions can be intolerable.

When I became pregnant with my eldest son, now 26, I became terrified of dying. Against a background of high media profile CND (Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament) activity, coupled with having been brought up as a Quaker, who are traditionally pacifists, it fed my deepest fears. Crossing the road became an ordeal. What if a car came ‘out of nowhere’ and killed me, and my unborn baby? Life revolved around listening to the hourly news on the local radio. I would wait, coat on and ready to go out, feeling physically sick with fear, for a news bulletin saying someone, somewhere, had pushed the red button to launch us all into oblivion. It did not help that we lived a mile from both an army base and motorway and eight miles from an airport. All of these were realistic targets for nuclear attack, according to CND propaganda. This was how life was until we moved house, when my son was 18 months old.

Attwood goes on to explain that typical people obsess about ‘cleanliness, aggression, religion and sex’, whereas in children and adults with Asperger’s syndrome, their thoughts concern ‘cleanliness, bullying, teasing, making a mistake and being criticized’.

It is worth noting that cleanliness is first and foremost in both of Attwood’s lists. We may think OCD starts and stops with obsessive hand washing, house cleaning or performing tasks in exactly the same order, at the same time of day. The second words in Attwood’s lists are ‘aggression’ (typical) and ‘bullying’ (autistic) which is interesting because they are both very obviously related, yet somehow different. Aggression is generic but bullying is very much more personal. Aggressive is rarely, I would suggest, either a word or term directed at the self, by the self. Who ever says, I am feeling aggressive towards myself? Bullying is very much from one to another.

As someone with Asperger’s syndrome, it is quite easy to identify with the latter list; and also the former, because Tony Attwood does not include religion or sex in autistic obsessions. Anything can be obsessed upon. Whilst age and experience deal with most of the above, it is important for people involved with AS adults that it is by degree these issues are conquered or, at least, controlled. It is useful for anyone to understand these difficulties, differences, disabilities, exist. We learn to cope but not necessarily recover.

One way of doing this is by absorbing ourselves in an area of special interest. For some, and I mean specifically those on the autism spectrum, they can lead to employment, or a resource to making friends and meeting people. As many spectrum people find socializing very difficult, it helps to have interests that bring them into contact with like-minds. They may be obsessive and compulsive but would not be diagnosed as having OCD because their interests are pleasurable, an escape and a way of building social networks and friends.

Author Daniel Tammet first came in to the public awareness in a 2004 television documentary. Called The Boy with the Incredible Brain in the UK, it showed how Tammet, a man with both Asperger’s and savant syndrome, broke the European record for reciting pi to 22,514 digits. He is a linguist and teaches French and Spanish through online courses. Now the author of two books, Tammet has built a successful career out of his special interests and obsession with numbers. As a child, he had no friends so invented one of his own. In his book Born on a Blue Day, Tammet describes Anne, as he imagined her name to be, in great detail, from her height – he pictured her to be very tall- to her clothing and gentle tone of voice.
Dr Liane Holliday Willey also has Asperger’s syndrome. As doctor of education, she specializes in the area of psycholinguistics. Willey developed an obsession with language at high school.

‘Words and everything about them,’ she says, ‘hold my concentration like nothing else.’

She enjoys their shape and the way they can be moulded into ‘precisely what they should’. As someone who often struggles to make conversation, the written word offers the opportunity to express thoughts and ideas that spoken language cannot. Like Tammet, Willey also had imaginary friends.

Ten year-old Kenneth Hall, who has AS, wrote a book describing his life and family relationships, discussed things he enjoyed and others which he found difficult. He has invented his own ‘world’ and calls it Gaelica. In his book, Asperger Syndrome, the Universe and Everything, Kenneth says this: ‘Gaelica is better than this country because there is peace there. In Gaelica I am king but I am not superior.’
Hall, Tammet and Willey have all found ways to cope with stress and lack of peer relationships through fantasy worlds, imaginary friends and obsessive interests. Tammet is even inventing his own language, Manti.

Tammet loses himself in landscapes of his mind that visualizing numbers gives him; Hall has Gaelica and Willey her love of language and adolescent fixation with America’s wild west.

My eldest son went through patterns of intense interest as soon as he was able to toddle around the local library and choose his own books. He went through various passions, from space travel, reptiles, spiders and snakes, heavy plant machinery and farming. Fiction never interested him very much, which is typical of a child with Asperger’s syndrome. Once he had absorbed as much information as he could on one topic, he would drop it and move onto something else, without ever looking back. It was as though his prior passions had never existed. He was also extraordinarily dextrous with his hands and became obsessed with painting Citadel miniature figures. He rarely played with them but took great pains to add minute detail to the characters. On eyeballs no larger than a pin head, he would paint red lines on the corneas by using a single hair from a paintbrush. Like his younger half brother, Oliver resisted making peer group friends and was often in trouble at school on account of his odd and often violent behaviour.

Martin, the youngest of my three children, has left his obsession with cars behind and is now making friends through his new love: the skinhead scene. He has carefully researched the roots of the culture and is currently building an impressive library of ska and reggae music. He has attended events, nights out and gigs and has helped to organise functions of his own. Through his interest, he has travelled around the country and co-moderates skinhead internet forums. On his Facebook profile, Martin, who calls himself Ron, says:

‘I'm a skinhead nor more no less, i like my reggae and ska along with soul, non racist OI and some punk. I also like drinking beer going to do's and having a laugh with mates

A skinhead is a skinhead and a racist is a racist!’ (spelling and grammar his own)

For people with autism spectrum disorders, special interests can provide positive opportunities, careers and escape, for some they may become more sinister and harmful. These interests are very different from obsessive compulsions. Reflecting on the egodystonic aspect of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, when the ‘special interest’ tips over into an all consuming terror, it inhibits one’s ability to function normally.

Gary McKinnon

At this point, it may be useful to look at a very high profile case, regarding a man called Gary McKinnon. He hacked into the US defence system to look for evidence of extra-terrestrial life and free energy.

He was diagnosed with Asperger’s syndrome after Professor Simon Baron Cohen, of the Autism Research Centre in Cambridge, saw a news report on McKinnon, identified his autistic traits and invited him to Cambridge, where an official diagnosis was obtained. He believes that McKinnon is very likely to commit suicide were he to be imprisoned in the US.

Many people on the autism spectrum would immediately identify with McKinnon’s state of mind and agree with Baron Cohen that his motives were altruistic. What Baron Cohen may fail to appreciate is the absolute intensity of McKinnon’s fears.
Let us look at why Gary McKinnon was ‘obsessed’ with UFOs, free energy, and, perhaps, (US) national conspiracy. He possibly felt he did not ‘fit’ into normal society. My guess is he was looking, among other reasons, for himself in his search for extra terrestrial life. A very high proportion of people with ASDs, like Gary, feel they must be from another planet so it makes sense to go out there and look. His lack of imagination, which is one of the diagnostic criteria of anyone with Asperger’s syndrome, did not appreciate the outcome and trouble he may have caused. It is very common for people with ASDs to describe themselves as ‘alien’. It explains their detachment and lack of belonging in the wider community. Once an idea has been planted inside the mind of an autist, as I call them, it is incredibly difficult to get away from it. Obsession takes hold and egodystonia takes its suffocating grip. Absolutely nothing else matters and perspective ceases to exist. Autistic people are very literal. It is an absolute in the black and white mind of the autist. Eating, washing, work, social connections, family, time, relationships and even going to the toilet are irritations that need to be attended to.

Professor Baron Cohen says:
‘Tragically, this narrow attention-to detail, and relentless pursuit-of the truth, together with his (McKinnon’s) reduced social awareness, has led him to act in a way that has brought him into serious trouble.
‘It is important to recognise that his emotional age or social intelligence is at the level of a child, even if his intelligence is systemising at an advanced level.’ (Daily Mail 08th July 2009)

McKinnon’s deep seated interest became obsessive.

McKinnon exchanged his paid job for a full-time hacking career, he stopped washing, became nocturnal, ate rarely, smoked marijuana and spent all day in a dressing gown. (Sunday Times, August 2, 2009).

McKinnon’s alien thoughts had taken over. He was compelled to find out if there was ‘life out there’ and what, he was convinced, the government of the United States was hiding. His mother, Janis Sharp, says, in an interview on BBC Breakfast Time, ‘passions become obsessions’ and that ‘people with Asperger’s tell the truth even to their own detriment’ .

Has anyone in the media sought opinions from another Asperger’s syndrome ‘sufferer’? Whatever happened to the balance we are taught to seek as journalism students?

In my experience, it seems that the neurotypical (non autistic) world needs to segregate, or pigeonhole, certain traits. It is far easier to slap on a label, from ‘unique individual’ to ‘alternative’, ‘eccentric’, ‘weird’, ‘geek’ or tags far less flattering but too numerous to mention. Worse still are those awful preconceptions that, like fallen boulders, we somehow have to crawl out from under. This is the attitude that Gary McKinnon is facing from the US Government. They have decided that his actions were indeed malicious and will not consider the altruistic motive that Professor Baron Cohen describes.

Dr Temple Grandin, autistic, author and the designer of one third of all the livestock-handling facilities in the United States tells a story of a young man called Tom McKean in her book Thinking in Pictures.

‘(He) became frustrated ...... because the professor flunked him for finding a better way to write the program.’

She goes on to say ‘A more creative professor would have challenged him (Tom) with more interesting and difficult program writing.’

Gary McKinnon’s biggest crime may well have been his ability to make the computer defenses of the US Government look stupid. It is purely arrogance on their part to choose a vulnerable, naive yet genius of a man to make an example of. He has not been the only person to successfully ‘hack’ into their computers and other prosecution and extradition attempts may yet follow.

What can the rest of us, Autism spectrum people that we are, hope for? Greater awareness and understanding of the motives, passions and obsessions of the misunderstood race that struggles so much to find a place. Perhaps, if and when this is achieved, we can set aside our fantasy world and take thrones in this world, where our frequent mental and emotional maelstroms finally find peace.

Wednesday, 23 December 2009

A Modern Day Christmas Fairytale


Once upon a car journey back from the City of Glass, somewhere south of the Great Lakes, Gorgeous was pondering. What could Sexy buy her for Christmas?

Sexy earned a meagre living rescuing helpless motorists from their folly. It was hard work occasionally appreciated by the few and he had little money to spare. Had this been an old fashioned fairy tale, his armour would surely be as rusted and worn as the faded orange high vis jacket worn by knights of the road today. In all weathers, fair or foul, did the gallant Sexy travail from A-roads to B and motorway. He pulled cars from damp ditches, unfroze locks, jump started flat batteries, changed wheels, and cursed the top spec German motors for their shite electrics.

He missed the days when he stood tall for Queen and country, driving and commanding tanks in distant lands. Yet he loved his job, for he enjoyed nothing more than getting people out of fixes and seeing them safely home.

And this is how he met Gorgeous.

Gorgeous, although now five minutes past her youthful best, still had quite a bit going for her. She was intelligent, a student of words and the arts yet also worked as a chef at the Purple Palace. Leaving work one night, she found her beautiful minibus to have a flat tyre. So she did what all modern day, right thinking people do. She called out breakdown recovery. Sexy did not laugh at the corroded bodywork, nor ‘help’ graffitied on the back doors. It was a heap but neither of them saw the rusty bucket the blue transit van really was, but a means to an end: a lifestyle option for someone who liked outdoors, dogs and muddy boots.

On the way home, Gorgeous and Sexy chatted about everything that mattered, from internet dating to life as a mature student, army life and small villages in the heart of the National Forest.

Gorgeous quite liked the look of Sexy, so hid her email address on his job sheet. Thus a simple lift and shift job grew to romance and the ultimate challenge.
Although many suitors had come her way, some princes from foreign lands, others humble tradesmen, none could give Gorgeous what she most desired. Not one of them could conquer the greatest challenge of all for none were worthy.

And that is how it came, on the journey back from the City of Glass, that Gorgeous laid out her challenge.

On a scrap of paper, she wrote:
Herein lies my wish for Christmas.
No-one has ever given me the key to their heart.
I would like a key to your house,
Which is the key to your heart.
But only if you take back the one you gave to Ex.
That way I will know your sincerity,
For it is important to know you have
No keys to the heart of another
Nor they to you.
And in this way
You will win the key to my own heart
And it will be yours to keep for as long as love lives between us.


Chapter two

It was Christmas day and Gorgeous drove the miles from her house to see Sexy and discover whether or not he had taken up the challenge. Would he really be the brave one, strong enough to accept and fulfil the wish that she held so dear?

The day was long and full of seasonal merriment. Sexy held court to guests and made welcome all who came to his door. So flowed much wine and all were in good spirits. All, that is, except Gorgeous, who wound anxiety beneath her benevolent smile as gift after gift was unwrapped.

One by one, the guests either left or retired to bed. Gorgeous was still waiting. As Christmas Day came to an end, Sexy took the hands of Gorgeous in his, pressing a small box into her trembling hands. For fear of her eyes betraying her heart, Gorgeous looked away from Sexy as she opened the fragile wrapping. Inside the box was indeed the key she had asked for. Bright rainbow coloured, beautiful and on a small chain. She remembered her note: But only if you take back the one you gave to Ex.

‘Did you do it?’ she asked. ‘Did you take back the other one?’

Sexy looked away. ‘Not yet,’ he replied, ‘but I will, I promise.’

Snow began to fall.

Gorgeous held her head up as she wanted Sexy to see the tears shining brightly in her eyes as she gave the key back.

image courtesy of Rock.love

Friday, 27 November 2009

Tribute to the (as yet unknown) suicide victim

..... apparently, somebody chucked themselves under a train between Derby and Long Eaton this afternoon. Rest now, my friend, whoever you were. Rest. I wish you had recognised the one person to talk to, to remind you that the black dog passes, that night is followed by morning. That spring follows winter. Rest in peace, sweet person. No more will you hurt; never again will you smell the dawn of the brand new day that brings hope and, with it, life, in all of its fragrant trauma. For in everything, we learn and grow. Our tears make seedlings of new life and adventure. In life we can neither say never or forever, but in death there is no uncertainty. It is forever. In the certainty of death, there will never be foolish optimism.

Sunday, 22 November 2009

Fashion, as I see it



We had to write 400 words in a seminar on the subject of fashion as we see it. I added a bit to it and have published it below.

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Fashion, as I see it, is a casual uniform that binds like minds to one another. It is all about conformity, grasping for identity, whether it be with peers, pop idols or other influential figure.

We all have a 'look'. Mine is scruffy. Just glancing around the seminar room where I currently sit, there are girls in leggings, similar to those I wore in the late 80s and early 90s. In those days, it was popular to wear them with gaudy bat wing sleeve pullovers. Now, they seem to be worn with close fitting, sleeveless tops beneath something that looks like the lovechild of Slashed Vest and Table Cloth. If I wore one of those, I would probably be constantly snared by seat backs or other peoples' luggage on the train. My laptop back pack would shred what was left.

The lads seem to either wear jeans that are too tight and scream infertility treatment ten years hence or, worse, falling down over their arses, showing an expanse of boxer shorts. I'm torn between a furious urge to scream, 'Pull your fucking trousers up!' or dacking the scruffy bastards. If they are so intent on showing their pants have Calvin Klein embroidered in to the elastic, why not go the whole hog? The only name labels we had as kids were the ones from Cash’s. I remind myself of my gran who, back in the 60s, would often go off on a rant when men started growing really long hair and pulling it back into a pony tail. She would end it with,

‘It makes me want to get a big pair of scissors, go behind ‘em, grab hold of it and cut it off,’ she’d say with a fairly frightening sweep of hand with her air cutters.

And what is the matter with good, fresh air? Have these youngsters balded prematurely and feel they need to walk round with their hoods up? Has central heating turned younger generations permanently nesh? How long will it be before stocking masks, once essential accessories for stars of Police 5 are all the go?
'It's stifling,' I want to tell them. 'Liberate your heads and free your minds. Give it freedom to turn around and take in the morning sky, the starry nights, the sights and sounds of the city. Head coverings, from brollies to beanies are bad for the soul. They shut life itself out.'

I look at what I'm wearing: fairly clean jeans and the sleeves of my Sheffield Hallam University sweatshirt rolled to the elbow. It now has a raw edged collar because the hood is in the duster draw at home. My most expensive item is my boots. El Natura Lista. Brown ankle boots bought from Jones the Bootmaker at the beginning of last week for £75 and that was after the '£20 off all boots' discount had been taken into account. Dyed with natural vegetable colouring and with recycled rubber soles. Flatties. Not like the ankle breaking, killer heels that a lot of the young female students wear on a two for one drinks night up West Street.

I've gone through a fashion or two in my 48 years but have always preferred the durable, practical and comfortable as is common among people, like myself, on the autism spectrum. Maybe that look, in itself is a fashion statement.

Photograph copywrite www.orble.com

Wednesday, 18 November 2009

Clockwork or All Wound Up, by Philip Pullman


If you missed this book the first time around, it is well worth taking a look.

The preface sets a Christmas card like scene of children sitting by Grandfather’s feet, illuminated by the glow of warm log fire-light. He tells the story, one imagines, against the howling wind and lashing rain of a cold winter night. Pullman says of some stories, ‘Once you’ve wound them up, nothing will stop them; they move forwards till they reach their destined end, and no matter how much the characters would like to change their fate, they can’t.’

Ignoring the aimed at children format, this dark fairy tale is filled with suspense and analogy. The Corgi Yearling edition I picked up from Amazon is illustrated by Peter Bailey’s eerie pencil drawings. This is where Oscar Wilde’s Happy Prince meets the Brothers Grimm and Pinocchio, with some Tales of the Unexpected thrown in. The sidelines combine laugh out loud funny with searing wisdom aimed at the adult reading to the child.

This story is one to be read aloud, under blankets, on the sofa, by Grandpa on a cold night. Just not at bedtime.

Sunday, 15 November 2009

Streeet Poem for Parents

Wonderful joy!
An hallelujah moment of
definable bliss.
To go to the toilet
for a p**s
and leave the bathroom door open.
It says,
‘In peace you do
your busy-ness.'
No-one else is home.’
Apart from two dogs
And four cats that hiss.

Tuesday, 20 October 2009

Calling Earth: The Artificial I (this is a poem)

Calling Earth: The Artificial I (this is a poem)