Don’t cry because it’s over.
Smile because it happened.
~ Dr Suess
Don’t cry because it’s over.
Smile because it happened.
~ Dr Suess
‘In one word, what’s it like to be married to an Aspie?’
I can’t argue with that..
Next, I ask him to describe me in as many words as he can..
OH: ‘No chance!’
OH: ‘Er, because you’ll kill me?’.
I do what I consider to be my ‘girly’ laugh (it isn’t) and tell him not to be a silly
sausage but, to be fair, he is danger of ending up under the patio depending on what he says about me..
OH’s Description of Me
Passionate, Intense, Accurate, On edge, Careful, Opinionated, Knowledgeable, Fixed, Driven, Family.
Fair dos.. nothing in this list warrants a swift whack on the back of the head with the garden spade. However, I know how psycho I can be so I thrust the paper at him again..
‘I’ll bury you under the patio IF you’re not 100% honest about my crappy bits.’
OH: ‘I’ll need a bigger piece of paper then’.
I know from his face that he isn’t being literal and that he is, in fact, taking the piss..
A few minutes later, he gives me the additional words..
OH’s Description of Me Continued..
Impatient, Relentless, Opinionated, Unmoving, Indecisiveness, Moody.
I can’t argue with any of these either, though he does say opinionated twice.
‘Oi, Div, you’ve written opinionated down twice!’
He pipes up, ‘Oh yeah, you’re repetitive as well’.
So there you have it.
Straight from the horses gob.
I will be honest here and say that, by rights, I should live ALONE somewhere remote (but with WiFi) because I’m not good at the social stuff. I also like my own space and struggle having to share it. In addition to this, I go through the entire mood spectrum in any given day. I can be happy (ish) but one word out of place will summon Grumpy, Psycho, Nutter, Stroppy, Flouncy, Cranky and Loon faster than you can sing Heigh-Ho.
OH literally doesn’t know where he is with me. I do his head in. Official. I think my indecisiveness is possibly the worst thing for him because when I am overwhelmed, I literally can’t make a decision between having coffee or tea.
‘Do you want tea or coffee?’
“STOPPPP, IT’S TOO HAAAAAARD” *has breakdown*
I’ve just been diagnosed but I’ve known I’m autistic for the last four years and OH married me with that knowledge. Despite my attempts at ‘normal’, he’s always known I’m a weird sod. YET HE DIDN’T RUN?
Being with an Aspie is hard work. My issues are severe at times and I’m a lot to handle at the best of times. I feel slightly guilty because when we met I was still very much trying to fit in (therefore not being me) but over the last five years it’s become a gradual process of being truer to myself. The menopause has played a part in that because I’m too sodding knackered to sustain that level of pretence anymore. I guess I’m lucky because I have an NT husband who admits he doesn’t understand me, yet still wants to be with me.
In the spirit of good will and all that, I’d like to pass on a few tips which may be helpful to NT partners both male and female.
Your Aspie may need a LOT of alone time. Let them bugger off to do their own thing or they’ll be, like, super cranky.
As much as their obsessions may bore the CRAP out of you, it’s a good idea to let them wax lyrical about them now and then. It’s worth it just to see their faces light up, no?
You’ll need SHIT LOADS.
Because I’m crap at verbal communication (and misunderstand things people say to me) we communicate via email when I need to get stuff off my chest. It’s a lot less stressful, believe me.
Learn about Aspergers
I cannot stress how important it is to understand your partner’s autism as best you can. Nobody is expecting you to know how they feel but it helps to understand why they do to certain things and what you can do to support them.
Tell your partner what you need from them. Don’t hint or expect them to read your mind. Write it down if you need to.
Make sure you do something for YOU. Something that takes you away from Planet Autism for a few hours every week. It’s important because living with someone who is autistic can be wonderful and exhausting in equal measure. Go whack some golf balls about or thrash something non-living. Whatever sorts your stress levels out, right?
When in doubt, ask The National Autistic Society on 0808 800 4104.
Or there is The Aspergers Syndrome Foundation
Most Aspies have sensory issues. I am over-sensitive to almost everything but especially to smells. The overwhelming stench of B.O (not mine) at school, still haunts my nostrils 3o odd years later and I REFUSE to indulge in any kind of amorous activity in the morning because I can’t stand morning breath, mine included. It’s like tonguing a haddock, no?
Slightly whiffy in NT world can be ‘OH MY GOD, WHAT IS THAT FARKING SMELL?! – whiffy in Asperger world. Similarly, overdoing the Paco Rabanne is a no-no. I never said this was gonna be easy, now did I?
Some Aspies can be hit and miss with personal hygiene. It can be a case of CBA or things like brushing teeth hurts due to sensitivity. Me? I can either turn myself prune by over-bathing or forget to bathe for a few days. When I eventually get a whiff of my own undercarriage, I frogmarch myself up to the bathroom and throw myself into the shower until I smell of coconuts.
It’s safe to say that life with an Aspie is never boring. Me? I think I need a NT partner to keep me from floating off into outer space. OH keeps me grounded, or as grounded as I can be. Sometimes I wonder how he copes with an Aspie wife AND son but he manages it. His escapism is to ‘bust a cap’ in some drug lords arse on his online mafia game. It keeps him sane, innit?
I educate him about what it’s like to live on Planet Loon as best I can but I know he can never really understand what it’s like to be autistic, no more than I can ever really understand what it’s like to be ‘neurotypical’.
Maybe Aspies should wear a some kind of warning system which alerts their other halves when it’s safe to approach them and when they should run for the hills?
GREEN= You may approach me.
Means: I’m in a receptive mood so fill your boots.
AMBER= Approach with caution.
Means: I’m a bit cranky and it could go either way.
RED= DO NOT SPEAK TO ME. DO NOT TOUCH ME. DO NOT LOOK AT ME. DO NOT BREATHE IN MY DIRECTION!!! I’M KILLING YOU IN MY MIND ARRRGGGHHHHH
Means: I am in full-blown psycho/meltdown mode. I may become mute or verbally vomit words that make no sense whatsoever. Go, save yourself.
Hope this helps. 🙂
*WARNING* This post contains the word ‘fart’.
Since I’ve been on the decaf I’ve not been a morning person. In fact there’s only a 30 minute period in the entire day when I’m actually firing on all cylinders and then my brain disengages again. I’m also functioning on depleted supplies of oestrogen and this could explain why my inner grumpy went orbital the morning I walked in to find OH’s dirty undies casually draped over the chair.
OH assures me it’s due to having a ‘hairy bottom’ though I think it’s also to do with the numerous ‘rump rippers’ he fires into his ‘drawers’ throughout the day.
Truth be told – I’ve yet to come across a male who hasn’t left varying degrees of skiddery in his underpants. Having been married twice and birthed three sons- I’ve seen more skidmarks than Brands Hatch but apparently I can still be caught off guard and so I found myself faced with a dilemma – did I wash them, toss them, or set fire to them?
After conducting a brief risk assessment (see what I did there?) I reluctantly chose to violate my washer with the offending skivvies. So I shoved them inside the machine (via the end of my mop) and slammed the door before they could escape. Then I threw in a box of Daz and left them slapping against the door on a hot wash while I staggered off to dry-heave over the kitchen sink.
It got me to thinking about how long into a relationship bad habits creep in and according to an article in The Telegraph – it’s three years and six months after tying the knot. It’s what is known as ‘the comfort zone’. OH and myself married last year but we’ve lived with each other for nine years so I’d say we’re well into the comfort zone!
Early on in relationships people stifle burps and politely leave the room to
fart break wind. They take time over their appearance and are considerate to their partners. OH even let me have the TV remote in the early days – imagine that?
Muffling farts with a strategic loo flush?
*sticks hand up*
However, it was OH who took our relationship to another level the night he fired off three consecutive
trumps farts into the sofa while watching Top Gun just at the moment that GOOSE DIES!
This is real life and real life is..
Morning breath that could strip the paint off a barn door.
Watching the light of your life floss his undercarriage WITH HIS UNDERPANTS.
Sniffing what’s left of the crotch of your leggings (with elastic bits pinging out) to see if you can get another day out of them.
Women shuffling around the house in tea-stained dressing gowns or worse – onesies.
Men strolling round the house in saggy man pants or worse – onesies.
Leaving your ‘trimmings’ in the bath – eh ladies?
Toenail clippings on the floor…
The first time OH clipped his toenails off onto the carpet, I had to hold myself back from grievously bodily harming him. One of the talons pinged it’s way into my wine glass, although OH was oblivious to it as he was deep in concentration tackling his big toe at the time.
Folks, if my Dad had given himself a pedicure over my Ma’s Axminster carpet – he’d have needed those clippers surgically removed. Truth.
Clipping your hoofs in front of your OH is most definitely NOT bringing sexy back. Do it over the bath or the bog, eh?
Everybody does it but the female of the species generally do it in private whereas the males can spotted knuckles deep anytime, anyplace and anywhere.
I blame TV’s portrayals of so called ‘perfect relationships because it gives people unrealistic expectations of what relationships should be. Humans aren’t perfect, therefore life isn’t perfect and neither are relationships. Richard Gere strutting into a dusty old factory wearing a uniform and slinging Debra Winger over his shoulder?
Only in Hollywood.
Whereas Jim Royle picking his nose, farting and announcing to ‘Baaaaaaarb’ that he’s off for a “Tom-Tit” is entirely believable.
Snoring is another thing we tolerate in the early days because our brains are releasing happy-go-lucky neurotransmitters into the bloodstream. However, once the happy juice wears off you could quite happily beat the living shit out of them with a shovel in order to get some sleep! Am I wrong?
Having said that, I woke myself up snoring not so long ago, so, er, moving on….
After the infatuation dies down is when the real love begins.
Love is commitment.
Love is knowing that your partner is flawed but loving them anyway.
Love isn’t a bunch of roses or a box of chocolates (or a cactus) it’s a feeling in the heart which no amount of money can buy. When someone loves you despite your faults, you have something really special.
That’s what love is.
OH loves me despite the fact I’m
a bit very strange.
He’s not fazed when I turn psycho due to lack of hormones. You know, the hormones that make us bearable?
So I tolerate the skidundies, the TV remote hoggery and general man habits because he tolerates me.
I even forgive him for ruining Goose’s emotional exit from Top Gun.
Because that’s what love is.
*OH sportingly approved this post but wishes it to be known that he picks his clippings up afterwards.
This is true except for the ones which shoot under the sofa. *snorts*
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