Redo, bitches.

I am starting this blog over. This is going to be, from here on out, an attempt to tell both my story and how my mind tends to work. In order to do this, I need to explain myself first. Not in overly technical terms, but key points and examples. I figure this way will work best rather than saying, “Hey, I have grey eyes and a sarcastic smirk.” That sounds like shit you’d put on a dating website. Which are creepy.

I think in ways that take a while for people to understand. I also don’t say what is on my mind always because it’s hard to hold a conversation about one thing when something else is mentioned and my mind goes off in a different direction.

I have Asperger’s. Which is considered high-functioning autism, though that could be debated. I don’t like looking people in the eye and I have things that I absolutely have to obsess over. I am not generally a social person. I don’t trust people easily, especially not those who are in positions of authority. That may have to do with my PTSD though.... Dunno. There’s a reason I work with kids. Other than being better with them than with fellow adults.

I am a perfectionist who is horrifically flawed. I obsess over things. I do the dishes by hand because I think dishwashers suck at cleaning them. I like order, but I can’t keep it in my home (or my mind). Everything in my professional life is obsessed over and corrected and perfected down to a science. Nothing is done unless there’s a reason for it. My personal life is a mess. I can’t plan anything. I am as spontaneous as a kid with ADHD. I’m pretty sure Sam has mentally threatened to divorce me a few times over this. I have a horrible time of keeping track of groceries and laundry. I can’t stick to a plan unless it’s at work. Grocery lists are for pussies is what I generally tell my housemates. It’s a bad attempt at an excuse, but whatever.

I hold conversations in my head to practice in case someone (mainly a coworker) tries to hold a conversation with me that’s not about work. I replay things and nitpick at what went on until I’m sure I’ve got it right this time. Usually I don’t and I say awkward things because I’m uncomfortable. I act like Maura Isles in social situations, though probably worse some days.

If something is bothering me, I tend to turn it into a joke. People get frustrated with me because they can’t tell actual jokes apart from the ones I make when I’m disturbed or troubled. I’ve been told this is a crappy coping mechanism. I do it anyways.

When I’m mad, I get silent. When I have new residents, they make the mistake of thinking that a yelling Dr. Ryan is the truly mad Dr. Ryan. They are wrong. The time they should grovel for forgiveness or turn and run are the times when I don’t say anything. Usually, groveling doesn’t work. If they turn and run and wind up fixing what they fucked up to the best of their abilities while acting contrite, I may forgive them and start joking again. Depends on how big their fuckup was.

I have a difficult time explaining things aloud. I can think it and write it, but I can’t think of words and translate them satisfactorily when speaking to someone about a serious or deep topic. Sometimes I have to write down what I want to say otherwise I would never get out what I mean in my head. This includes emotions.

When I was a kid, I was abused. The only reason that I’m still alive is because I managed to keep my mind my own personal sanctuary. When things were happening, I would mentally escape into my latest book, write papers for school, sing songs, travel to places I wanted to go. One of my most favourite places was the Redwood National Park in California. I had seen pictures in books and magazines like National Geographic and I was determined that that would be the most beautiful place I’d ever be. That I’d finally feel at peace there. ("Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt." - from Slaughterhouse-Five) The other thing I’d do was map out my life and what I’d hope to achieve once I was out of my stepfather’s clutches. Maybe this is why I hate planning now. It reminds me of bad things. Hmmm. Quite possible.

Since I was abused, I have major issues involving child abuse. Same goes for suicide. Two of my brothers offed themselves. Every time something involving these shows up at my job, I have to do my best to keep myself from seeing myself or my brothers on the table or gurney. It’s never easy and I tend to have breakdowns afterwards. Breakdowns usually end in me drinking myself to sleep or going to a local park and sitting and staring into space for hours despite the weather.

I have issues with addiction. Drinking, smoking, cutting. I smoked a lot of pot and popped a lot of pills when I was younger. Originally my addictions helped with my memories and flashbacks. Eventually, they took over things in my life. I still have issues with cutting and drinking. Drinking mostly, though.

Cutting is my fallback. Or physical pain in general. It’s easier for me to deal with because it’s been a constant 
in my life. Emotions have always been terrifying to me, so I try to avoid them by picking bar fights, playing “wheelchair gladiator” or taking a scalpel blade to my body.

I have regrets like the rest of humankind. My issue is that I let them eat at me. I admit to this. It’s my worst trait and my least obvious (at least in my mind).

I am very protective of those that I care about. I am terrified of my older sister most days, but when she attacks my wife I will grow a pair. When one of my favourite patients was getting the cold shoulder from his parents after coming out, I took it upon myself to speak to them for him. When they took a while to come around, I became his mentor. He’s my buddy and calls me Doctor McAwesome (I shouldn’t watch Grey’s with him, but I do anyways).

I also got him addicted to Buffy. He has a crush on Angel (David Borneaz, ~barf~ who he talked me into following on Twitter for the sole purpose of helping him creep on his crush.) and giggles when I go glassy-eyed as soon as Willow (Alyson Hannigan, my first major celebrity crush) is on screen. I’d adopt him if Sam and his parents’d let me. He’s an awesome kid. Sometimes I wonder if I’d be more like him (happy go-lucky) if I was raised here rather than where I was and by who I was. We still sit up and giggle like school girls on occasion. It’s fun.

So, there’s a lot of shit that makes me up. There’s more but my head is tired and don’t feel like thinking. You’ll have to deal with this for now.

“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”

Song to listen to: "Blood and Fire" by Indigo Girls