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  1. Greetings, As I stated in my first post, my name is not Eustace, but I'm fond of anonymity. I have decided to join a website such as this for my own gain, that is, to share with others in the hope of understanding things to a greater extent. I understand a little background information about me is required to progress, or, I suppose, it's decorum for a site such as this. Therefore, this topic shall hopefully give those who wish to know about my situation, that which they desire. I am twenty two years old, and have lived up until May this year what could be considered a normal lifestyle. Bypassing what's probably in, or near to, thousands of experiences, since middle school I have not felt - for use of a better word - right; as if pacing a muddy path through dense woodland, screened by a thick fog severely restricting view, and without a means to acknowledge location and sense of direction. The latter is but a fragment of the nebulousness of my issue, and simply defines a world I cannot comprehend in its entirety, but for twenty two years as I say, I managed to survive and function ... semi-normally. Last March I went away on some voluntary work and came back in June, yet while away I experienced five panic attacks, which at the time, I justified with the reasoning 'I'm far from home and have a lot of work to do' - an entirely logical and rational response indeed. The problems that prompted me to change things began upon my arrival home. Panic attacks started happening frequently when going about my daily business, leading me to question my mentality as separate from my situation. I started drinking with my friend again, and on one night, in a taxi home with my friend, I encountered another (I had had many before this point) what I suppose could be closest described as an existential crisis. I ended up self-harming that night for the first time, but had once before at the age of sixteen attempted suicide. Both of these occasions I regret, I fail to see how I could not regret them, but would not go so far as to say I would not go back and stop myself doing them - they revealed to me, there is no reason to live in and of itself; justification for something such lies in the individual ideal. I digress, but these things all accumulated to the acknowledgement that I am not ... well, thus must do something about it. I went to the doctors. I went purely for the sake of my panic attacks, and was questioned as to various things, such as self-harm and suicide attempts, and the result of the appointment was to begin a course of CBT sessions. Talking with the counsellor about my depression, anxiety, consciously acknowledged delusions on occasion, it became clear I am indeed not very well, but so to did something else arise - an interest towards finding out precisely what is wrong. I have always been inclined towards needing to know rather than wanting to, and during research of hundreds upon hundreds of possibilities, there was but one that I entirely fitted into each and every category of criteria, Aspergers Syndrome. Bringing it up with the counsellor in the next session, she told me she had an inclination that was a possibility, but has no real expertise in that field, but recommended I go back to the doctor. I did so, and worked through the interrogation of various questionnaires, to the result that I scored almost top marks, that is, an indication that I was highly likely to have the condition. I have been through seventeen, hour long CBT sessions now, been through two out of three NHS sessions, one being the induction to see if I was indeed applicable, the second being a comprehensive background information session, and the final I believe to be the ultimatum as it were. The latter session is on the ninth of December, and I'm simultaneously eager and apprehensive to attend; I'm to learn what is or isn't the case and the next steps. All information gifted me to thus far has revealed an almost definite indication that I'm highly Aspergic(? Is there an adjective?), thus, for more information for you gentlemen and gentlewomen, I shall detail the things that lead me to believe this is indeed the case, listed under two headings - these being external indications and internal indications. External indications symbolize the aspects of my condition that affect me, yet are outside of my control. Firstly, you; people that exist as beings as separate from my own existence. Now, for twenty two years, I have been able to manage people, but no longer can I do so. In high school (En Anglais, "secondary school" but my school was named "BLANK BLANK High School"), I struggled tremendously with socializing; never did I venture out with friends after school, I was always to tired and needed to regenerate. I believe this to be the cause for my symptoms reminiscent of Anemia; I would go to school, come home, sleep, wake up, go to school, that was the cycle. Never could/can I deal with people for more than a few hours at a time; it wears me down like a strong wind against an exposed cliff edge. I became highly addicted to gaming, which holds true considering a statement I heard once, "games are for those who cannot achieve in real life, thus make up for it in fantasy, or fiction". I still struggle with that addiction, but am well on my way to defeating it. I now aspire to be an author, and have been told by various friends, family, general people and professionals that I'm a genius in that respect, yet still, I require a mindset to write, and that mindset is elusive and fey in nature; something I still have yet to fully comprehend - it stands somewhere between consciousness and sub-consciousness; I'm not Eustace when I write. Many times I read over my works with awe, 'Where was I when writing this?' a question I ponder regularly. Again, I fall upon tangent. Indeed, I struggle with people, with social decorum, with conceited meanings within speech, body language and facial expression, but have studied at length about sarcasm. The latter is something I wish to share with this site in the hopes that my ability to write will enlighten a few towards understand what I do of sarcasm. Eye-contact; the bane of social encounters. What a horrendous sensation arises from a moment of optical recognition, it's as if some aggressive half-being strums the optical chord between eye and brain as if it's an instrument. Thoughts that normally exist within the confines of my skull, organized and filed with precision, scatter in all direction and with such velocity - this from but a moment of pupils meeting. I cannot begin to solve this issue of mine, I have no rational way in order to fix this, if anyone has any advice, I plead for you knowledge. Yes, internal indications. These symbolize things relating to the Aspergers criteria that exist within myself, and can be controlled - some to greater degrees than others. For instance, perception play a role. Since I was a child, my senses have been very sensitive indeed; labels were ripped out of all clothing, sounds are mostly coarse and dissonant, and smells are generally putrid, overpowering and offensive, however, in listing these things I lack enlightening the beneficial aspects of my hypersensitivity. As a child I owned a white rabbit toy made of cotton and with a silk string (in fact, I owned many throughout my youth, it's just mother never told me until later how many I would lose and she would have to restock), and oh how I loved the feel of that silk string upon what I believe is called the columella part of my nose, and how tremendously this would calm me down. That is the earliest memory of my sensory delight, but other such things are, for instance, during school I used to rest one ear against the table top and listen to the scratching of pens and pencils - this most definitely the cause for my lack of work and falling asleep in lessons, and my most recent delight is lifting the fur at the back of my cats' necks and smelling there. I feel the balance between positive and negative sensitivities is generally equal, this can shift rapidly and with force however - it takes but a brush of an arm by another, a motorbike to race past, or any perfume/aftershave to cause me severe distress, resulting in the need to either shutdown for a while, restart myself, or blast out for a while. I have a prodigious amount of things more to say, but I fear for an introductory post, this may turn more away than towards. If this is the case, then, well, I don't really know what to do, but I'm here, so, I suppose I will just talk to other people. Hopefully. Thank you. Eustace.
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