SPD, Proprioception and Acting Mad

Hello again you assuredly beautiful lot.

I’ve been trying to think of ways to explore this subject in a little more detail, and in doing so have come to the obvious conclusion that I can only talk about my own experiences, and try to pull them apart to render more clearly the sketches I have thus far put forward.

I have mentioned before that SPD, when glanced across can seem like an excuse for bad behaviour dressed in the clothes of the merest normal seeming personality traits. It’s true, and in my fairly mild case atleast difficult to identify by itself with out a lot of work. Of course, being able to pin-point moments of meltdown can put you on the right path.

Seeing these meltdowns with perspective can really let you in to how odd anyone with SPD can seem to observers. With me, my senstivities and seeking activities serve only to make me seem odder on a social scale.

My attention out in public is always divided heavily between attempting to satisfy and yet moderate my need for proprioceptive input, remaining part of a conversation, constant rechecking of how I am understanding the things people are saying (minus the ability to appropriately read non-verbal, and sometimes verbal, communicative subtleties),  and watching out for any incoming signs of meltdown.

So, as opposed to just sitting and chatting, I find myself fidgeting, stretching limbs, standing up, sitting down. rolling my shoulders, flicking my fingers, pushing at the skin around my finger nails, tapping, rolling glasses, all kinds of things, in a constant circuit of sense satisfying wibbliness.

I’m not sure how that comes across. I don’t even really know if anyone notices, but I know I do it, and I find myself checking with increasing frequency to see if anyone else is doing these things, so I also look a bit furtive most of the time which I don’t think does anyone any good when you’re trying to sit and relax.

All of this is fine and doesn’t hurt anyone else really, it just causes me to be a bit on edge most of the time. Then comes the time when someone speaks to me, and I can guarantee you the first thing someone says will have to be repeated, because I have been elsewhere in my head for however long. Also fine, it just means if there’s a throw away comment chucked in my direction I’ll just fall over it trying to reply. So maybe I don’t, and spend some time wondering if I come across ignorant or, you know, detached.

I don’t feel like I’m coming across very well here. I’ve tried to describe how a situation that’s meant to be fun can end up being quite hard, and how in turn that extra worry, at certain times can lead to meltdown friendly situations. I think that alot of this is because I actually removed myself from social situations specifically because I kept having bad times. Maybe given practice I can get the routines back to an acceptably efficient level to function more normally, but I will be careful; before now I didn’t have the  knowledge to recognise or manage my mind states, and I don’t want to lose that just to be comfortable.

Well, I’ll sign off now people have arrived, confident I’ve probably undermined my own case quite heavily, and realising I’m on a meltdown borderline jut because I was happy not talking to people and doing this.

Rock on and take care.

Frobot.

Social SPD, it can be pretty funny.

Well, I wasn’t going to do a third, but it’s in my head now.

So, we move on to the practice of being inside an SPD head. This is going to be tougher to write, partly because so much of it is just part of how I live that its difficult to pull out what is SPD and what is coping mechanism, defensive behaviour or habit.

Firstly we’ll start with conversation, especially debate. This is a big one really, as it starts with interesting thoughts and moves on to getting wound up and sad. See, the thing about alot of different sides of the SPD coin is what is perceived as a need to control others, and environments, add to this the much limited ability to understand non-verbal communication and things get tricky really fast. This is directly connected to being unable to not question even the littlest comment if you don’t at first get the exact meaning of someones words.

I know how this seems, like some young, dumb mothaflipper thinks he’s cool by pulling apart the every fabric of someones point at a level of abstraction that smacks of “missing the point, asshole”.  I can tell you now, from my point of view, that is not the intention!

In fact, its the opposite of the intention. Missing out on some of that information that other people take for granted leads to holes in understanding, and in my mind atleast, there’s no way of formulating a response with out all of the data. It isn’t the same, but think of how communicating with someone who is Autistic or has Aspergers sometimes has to be pin-point specific to get yourself understood.

It’s kind of like that, some of us just do not understand simple things. Take it from me, I came up with a theory for why Time is circular (right or wrong, it’s complicated) but can barely get the hang of being asked if I’m OK. I know, I know, how can you not get that right? well, it’s when you are aware of the multiple possible connotations of the words but don’t have the data to discern, with absolute accuracy, which conclusion to draw.

This is a trust thing too. In some rare cases, I am able to trust what people say as much as if I had just thought it myself. This isn’t a measure of closeness, it’s a way of describing being able to understand someones meaning with out second guessing them or yourself. It’s about knowing that when they say “yes, let’s do that” they mean it, and not “fine I’ll do it because I have no real opinions until I’m sick of doing things you want all the time” or whatever else.

I think I described that badly, but I’m going to leave it in there as an illustration. The point from those two paragraphs is this, SPD means I cannot totally rely on what I think is true, I need the closest to psychic fact as I can get. Which I can’t have, because I’m not psychic, except in very rare circumstances where I understand that persons approach to communication.

Actually, I’m kind of tying myself in knots here and not being very clear, so I will leave this for a bit. I hope interesting stuff comes from this for someone.

Take care,

Frobot

Inside Adult SPD and Whats my Meltdown trigger?

Hey to you, my little field of flourishers.

I hate starting blogs, obviously. I’ve only just finished my first blog of what it feels like to discover your own SPD after 32 years of living within a framework that just doesn’t work, and I wanted to try and use this mindset to work out what my triggers are.

I mean, I have no idea where to start. As someone on the Sensory Seeker page, I can see now why I can go from extreme happy fun times to melting down at friends. I get it, I rake the stimulus in by the bucket load, hit saturation, and end up out in the world of noisy, bustling people, with out knowing that ‘now I should go home, or explode’. So I see how that happens. The thing is, I’m sure there are specific triggers, and if I can identify them I can internalise the data and then I won’t have to work at identifying when enough is not too much. It will be embedded. That’s a process of course, but step one is definitely finding out what the signs and triggers are.

So where to start? the one thing I do know, is that if I ever clam up and *really really* don’t want to talk, then I shouldn’t, and also that at that point I need to walk away from the conversation or group straight away. If I don’t, I’ll eventually be dragged into a conversation that will start to well up, pretty fast, like a landslide that you are quite certain isn’t happening until it hits you, and you crazy arguing about quite literally nothing. Just being aggressive to people who have done nothing to deserve it, if you’re lucky. If not, its just full on screaming and crazy talk, hair pulling and tears until it goes away and you haven’t a clue how it got to that point.

From there, it’s all about the guilt, the shame and the ramifications. If the episodes continue, it becomes about counting your friends on one used ice lolly stick.

I’d like to point out here that I’ve been very lucky. I can recall all of my worst public and private meltdowns in vivid clarity. I remember the words, I remember the volume, and the hurt, confusion and responses I have received. I also, in some very special circumstances remember the forgiveness that eventually came along, and these people will always be on a pedestal of greatness for me, as at the time I couldn’t give them the ‘excuse’ of SPD, I just had to apologise and say “I don’t know, I don’t really think (insert any tirade of abuse here) is true.”

So, thanks everyone.

But, onto triggers. As far as I have been able to pinpoint, it seems to be people talking to me. I mean, that’s it. If I don’t want to talk anymore, then, you know, don’t try to talk to me. It seems most of my meltdowns start with me clamming up and people wanting attention suddenly.  Or maybe it isn’t sudden, and I’ve just come to the end of my words for the day. A lot of seekers like to retreat to compression spaces, especially when they are young, squeezed in under a bed or wrapped tightly in all of the king size duvet, to hide essentially. It seems I’m OK with not talking, the sticking point comes when I have to explain that I’m not talking, because I just don’t want to, that’s more talking dammit! leave me be!  That and this could be in the space of a second, its a defence against letting the meltdown come out, and I know then that it has been a close call indeed.

I’m at work, and this is approaching TL:DR for a lot of people I suppose.

Take care

Frobot

SPD and finding out what the hell it means

Morning Meat Bags!

I’m going to jump on WP today to have a natter about whatever the next few words out of my head are…um…growth, back to compassion and getting to be an adult.

These seem as good a point as ever to start pouring the effluvium from my head again, and I’ll be honest, we all know this blog is just so I can pour content directly from my brain pan to an alleged ‘audience’. Call it catharsis.

Basically, the last nine months have been like going through some kind of mental re-puberty. I’ve discovered things about myself, by luck more than anything else, that have enabled to put into context more or less everything I have ever done or (mis) understood.

Essentially, I’m probably not crazy. I now know I can *expect* to misunderstand a lot of what people say, I can expect to have to take away with me points to consider from very simple conversations, and that’s kinda cool.

overall it means I can re-evaluate my approach to social interaction with something like a reasonable amount of information, as opposed to just guessing all the time. It’s good. The upshot of this is that I am more confident in facing the world with reason and integrity, rather than the bullish false bravado that feeling disconnected from everyone by simple lack of understanding has grown within me.

Sure, I can’t blame everything on this, but I can work on the rest in peace now, and can go about being who I want to be and not just watch myself be someone I’m not. Maybe those people around me won’t notice much of a difference, and maybe they will, but I know the difference, and it feels pretty cool.

The difference? Well, here’s a URL to a pretty good blog post;

http://www.spdbloggernetwork.com/2011/03/07/sensory-modulation-disorder-sensory-seekers-and-sensory-avoiders/

Although this is normally focused around children, guess what happens if a child isn’t diagnosed? Yes, they grow up. I would be a ‘Sensory Seeker’.

So thanks for all the patience friends of mine, I hope to reward it by learning, and growing, and being better able to give back.

Take care

Frobot

Simplicity, patience, compassion.

“Simplicity, patience, compassion.
These three are your greatest treasures.
Simple in actions and thoughts, you return to the source of being.
Patient with both friends and enemies,
you accord with the way things are.
Compassionate toward yourself,
you reconcile all beings in the world.”

I have been ignoring you, and for that I am sorry. Essentially I have been unable to string coherent thoughts together again, which means there’s no way I can communicate with the outside world properly.

But that’s the past. and here I am now considering three words, Simplicity, Patience and compassion.

I don’t think I can write about this very well.  Basically, a long time ago I decided that to try and understand how to fit within the world by looking at the most abiding texts, things that have lasted, and continue to seem relevant. To me that was the Tao Te Ching and the further writings of Lao Tzu. Over the years it has been a source of great amusement to me to hear both science and religion come out with thoughts that had been said thousands of years previously, both sides of that coin slowly but surely providing us with the same ultimate answers through a different framework. In my head, the philosophy of Lao Tzu and his contemporaries is that middle ground. The heavy use of symbolism creating a landscape for thought that effectively and efficiently allows the communication of non-verbal ideas, seemingly conflicting sentences that conceptually do not need to conflict, but grammatically.

But recently for me, it’s all about simplicity, patience and compassion. The reason for this is that I am first complicated, which becomes impatience and that in turn hinders compassion. In my core I am a compassionate and open person, but by allowing the complexity to overcome me I am finding I have little energy for patience, which clouds my judgement and prevents me from dealing with people with compassion.

Basically, I am 90% tool, but I don’t have to be.

And that’s it really, I wanted to talk about these three words so I could force myself to consciously understand why I think this lesson is valuable, and now, my audience of phantasms, I will away and ponder.

Take it easy.

The process of creating a creative process.

Hello as yet ill-defined demographic!

I’d just like to say, I’m getting annoyed now. I’m writing with the idea that people I know will read what I’m saying. I don’t mind that, but it makes me want to not write the things I would normally. Regardless of whether I write competently or well it is something I enjoy doing.

The knowledge that people I know personally, and who’s opinions I respect, will read this and, in my head at least, guffaw in exasperation at my attempts to be literate is crippling my sense of creativity or experimentation. Nothing seems to flow, so this is an entry about that. My lack of flow, basically a diary entry that I hate to put up but I need to keep writing.

The key here is to write at home, on paper, and then just post it up. By writing within WordPress I am too aware of the online community that is my immediate audience. There is no distance, no slight remove to act as a buffer between thought and distribution. To work effectively i must be encased in a bubble of security, deluding myself that only I can get access to it. This is totally aside from the possibility that no-one will actually read this, this isn’t a concern of mine. The worst that can happen if no-one reads it is that nothing happens, that’s great.

I love how the best way for me to work is to not even trick myself, but to accept that I am lying to myself and just carry on. I know this anonymity is a lie. I know the feeling of distance from an audience is a lie, as is the security from criticism that is writing in pencil, but it works. It’s crazy.

And I quite like it.

The long and the short is this; real-life acquaintances are going to have to get used to some high grade creative pretension if they keep looking over here, and if I ever get these drafts posted!

Well, take it easy!

Rebirth; The delivering of an adventurer to his rightful place.

It had been a long time since Tonbogiri had felt connected with the wild. Over time, the same old paths had gone stale, the life gone out of the life around him. He felt that Deathwings’ essence would linger for a long, long time. Stranglethorn would not recover soon.

With a heavy heart and empty mind he trudged his favourite trudge, talking all the way to Woofbag, his favourite Wolf.

“no good friend, no good. I’s never felt lost here before.”

In a moment his morning changed. A glimpsed movement, a half-heard sound, a whisper in the trees all at once had him on edge, Woofbag was alert, yet not concerned.

Tonbo’ walked on, drawn to the the tree line at the edge of a cliff down to the sea. Below him, but close by, was a ripple in the air, distorting his view of the waves below. As he drew closer to the edge, a wind blew up around him, in all directions at once. It was unnatural that much was certain, and still Woofbag stayed serene.

With each step the winds grew more fierce, until without warning they gathered their strength at Tonbogiris’ back and forced him over the edge. He didn’t have time to even call out.

Sometime later he woke, in Orgrimmar of all places. Lying on the floor of the Valley of Wisdom, concerned Tauren faces all around him. Woofbag was licking him, as was Mowgrr and Braaagh, his Cat and Bear friends. He was damp! A few Blood Elves were staring at him, and one was even laughing. dumb elves, always showing Tonbo no respec’. Pah!

As he went to stand, he felt heavy. Changing tactic, he went to roll over. He rolled a long way. Why was he so far around? Dat sun is killin’ me, I dun remember that before Lying on his front mid-stand, in confusion, he saw his hands. Furry fat hands, what are they, uh, doing on the ends of my…fat…furry…arms.

“What’s this crazy Mojo friends? what’s this?” he said aloud.

A strong hand gripped took his arm and helped him stand.

“I am Jiu Xiong Windfist, do not worry, or panic, you are not as you once were.”

“huh?” Was all Tonbogiri could manage. He was led to the inn, and sat in a corner. Windfist continued;

“You have taken a Step-Sideways, walked into the realm of self and purified your state. You have woken true to your name.”

“er, well, huh?”

“When you were young, no-one had a name like you, did they? think on this, and I will explain.

Firstly, Your name is one of our words, it means ‘Butterfly-Cutter’ A blade of such speed and sharpness that it would cut a butterfly’s wings. One of three names, the others being Nihongo, and Otegine.”

“I know an Otegine…”

“Indeed. A small enclave of our people keep tales of three who will return, the last to come at a time of great change and influence for our people. An adventurer, pure of intent. There are not many who hold to this, they do not see the point. Our prophecy does not mention any direct benefit to our people, so it is was cast aside over time. Those of us that stayed the course know the truth, the three will be our guides. Not leaders, or examples, but bold guides who’s differing aspects will teach us lessons of great value.

You are the last, and will show us folly.

In short, you are here to make important mistakes for us, so that we may grow strong, and wise. “

“hold on mon, you’re saying I’m one of you guys? All along?”

“No, not all along. All along so far you have been what you were, a Troll. Now, this is a different time, a new existence where you will always have been what you are now. To us, you are a beacon, and a sign that our truths will manifest. It is good to see you, as we have waited a long, long time. “

 

 

 

 

*written as a bit of fiction to join in the festivities surrounding the MoP launch. Just a bit of fun really.

Heaven is Free of Potential; The Freedom of Inaction or Imprisonment

A combined force of all knowledge will awaken the tired old god within, pushing the boundaries of matter, words and concepts further into history, as all became the creator of the worlds they perceived.

An answer to the questions of Creation, each became their own reason why. Enlightenment was a personal journey to a personally created destination, no more a place than a need. Tutoring in this concept is pointless,  one cannot be told what the goal of the subconscious is.

In some cases attempts were made to achieve a sense of understanding. The goal of the journey to bend ones will to join that of another. The results was not two, but one remained, containing both or the originals. Progenation with the opposite effect, thinning the population of fertile minds by creating one from another. Many were surprised that a super-consciousness was not created, but the truth that an individual is just random collections of decisions and experience, meant that the combination of two is just a more random collection done again. Each two became only one, their value halved.

Creation fought this union of will and matter, attempting to gain control of itself once more, only to find itself uncreated, and universal constants unravelling through physics tearing apart that which is and that which is not. Down it came, unbecoming a whole or part of anything as the very idea that was an idea turned itself over to nothingness, Will becoming naught and creation returning to blankness.

Non-time space that contained no matter, energy or volume, real nothing that could not be, utterly devoid of the spark of energy that begets all things. This was the human created paradise, Heaven within which perfection existed.

Perfection does not allow for the potential to fail, as that is itself a flaw. Perfection can only be free of potential, free of entropy, free action, free of all. In this finest of all Heavenly Paradises, nothing could ever be, so nothing could ever not be.

The dark, the un-creation, the final goal for so many.

Oblivion.

The Health Trailed off

Good Day people!

This is just a quick note to let everyone know; Honest Fitness has traveled over to a New Blog, to keep the two very different offerings of content separate from each other.

Now, if you want, you can find my journal of personal growth here;

http://fitnessfrobot.wordpress.com/

Hope to see you there!

Take it easy!

B.Dolan’s Church of Love and Ruin.

 

B Dolan

What Cheer? Brigade

Madge of Honor

Vockah Redu and the Cru

I haven’t written a review of a gig before, but if ever I was going to document something I’d seen it would be this.

This a review, not a rating, or a judgement, I’m simply going to review the things that happened, for my own sake as much as anything else. I don’t want to forget it, I don’t want to leave it behind to the mists of time and some average photo’s. If I write it down now, I will have a record in a detail that I won’t be able to summon up later on. So here it goes.

In the run up to the Church of Love and Ruin, I was filled anticipation, excitement, and a little bit of anxiety. I’m noisy sometimes, but not necessarily willing to go and ‘get involved’ in that way that a good party needs. I imagined lots of forced audience participation, people dragged out of the crowd to be a part of the show (poor, poor Louis) which makes me uncomfortable. The reality of the situation was that there would be a bringing down of barriers between audience and performer, but it would be done with consent, that no one was going to be in a place they didn’t want to be.

So, after we turn up to the venue we’re greeted by the performers, B.Dolan and Vockah Redu at the merch table. It’s always great to see the guys you’ve paid to see in conversation range, especially as a welcome to the gig. We said hello, we paid our commercial dues and wandered into the venue.

The first Performers for the night were the What Cheer? Brigade, and this, Ladies and Gentleman, is how you warm up a crowd.  Quite apart from the obvious spectacle of 19 tattooed, dressed down, dancing, musicians parading into a space playing as they go, the sheer noise that a host of brass instruments and drums can make is sure to get your attention, and deafen you a little. This was an English gig in a room with a little too much space, so from the off the What Cheer? Brigade had their work cut out to get us involved. What appeared to be the lead-man had to come and get us all, bring us closer in to fill the gaps between performer and audience, to really get into everyone’s faces and pull them into the music.

And what music. marching, Samba, hip-hop break beats, even some off-beat D’n'B inspired rhythm in there, topped off with a cover of none other than Slayer, Raining Blood. Slayer, played by a brass band, absolute effing genius.

We were made (ha!) to drink, dance and be all round uplifted by this awesome, curious group who honestly seemed like they just wanted everyone to have fun. This was very definitely going to be a show about putting on a show. No-one here was in it for the money, this was a party.

Eventually of course, the glorious din faded and the brigade made their way out. B Dolan came to introduce the next act, Madge of Honor. Now, I’m no burlesque expert, I’ve been exposed, no pun intended, to very little of this particular art but unsurprisingly enough I was willing to give this one a go.

She was funny, she was smart, she was naked, mostly. I don’t know that I have the eloquence or experience to add any more to this, only to say that with out her presence, the show would have lost more than a pair of nipple tassels. A key and very important element of the show and its atmosphere, the very reason for its existence was tied up into this one artist who made me remember there are a lot of things we English need to work on, and relaxing about sex and fun and entertainment are most definitely up there.

Our next performer is the only act that I have ever seen that I can honestly say the UK isn’t physically ready for.  It’s not that psychologically we can’t cope, it’s that bit up there, about relaxing into partying. When a man comes on stage dressed in a top hat and very large black coat with a huge collar and sunglasses with blue and red LED’s all over them I don’t think I’m wrong when I say you won’t guess what’s coming next. Vockah Redu and the Cru are like nothing I’ve ever seen, an almost non stop backing track of samples and whole sections of popular songs melded together with Vockah providing a singing, rapping, speaking accompaniment over the top, punctuated by high energy, and as far as I could tell high risk, dance routines, aswell as a little Madge cameo.

A high energy, visual and auditory explosion welled up on stage and sneakily clattered me in the back of the head when I wasn’t looking. Despite having no idea if I was being duped, or even what exactly was going on, I suddenly found I didn’t care. I wanted in on this mans deal, a character who legitimises himself by simply doing what he does at you, around you and sometimes possibly even despite of you. The impact of Vockah Redu and the Cru was such that the void left upon his departure was immediately bordering on tangible.

We weren’t left to our own devices for long, as another turn from Madge kept up the pace of the show, and the variety.

Then the main event. B Dolan himself up on stage to share with us his views and feeling on a number of subjects. This time around, and it’s new on me, Justin Timberlake seems to have done enough to earn the ire of the man, and what an ire. Blistering, well delivered and thought-provoking, the tirade of ill will issued forth from BDolan‘s mouth would seem childish and aimless had it not been supported, as ever, by reason, explanation and great story telling. The return of a particular favourite of mine, “Who killed Russell Jones..” was as powerful an indictment of celebrity culture and the abuses forced upon artists by recording executives so distanced from normal human culture that they no longer are able to understand the misery they are undoubtedly responsible for, all the while clad in the legal obscurity of Corporate Law, as the last time I saw this particular Headliner, alongside Scroobius Pip. For the Church of Love and Ruin BDolan is clad in a purple robe reminiscent of Catholic priests, and certainly by the end of the set you feel a sermon has been delivered, with important points to deliberate on during the journey home.

BDolan’s set was powerful, at times fun and he has poignant down to a ridiculous level, his on-stage persona needs no band, no back up, no help what-so-ever to engage and challenge the waiting audience.

Tonights finale was courtesy of our star act being joined by the What Cheer? Brigade for one last brassy hurrah, ending the gig on an up, a happy ringing in our ears as we were moved out to the streets to work out how the hell to process what we had just seen. Thank you Vockah, thank you Madge, thank you What cheer? Brigade and thank you BDolan for bringing us this show. If you weren’t there, and if you aren’t planning to catch any of the remaining shows in Reading, Brighton or at Bestival, then you are truly missing out on an experience.