Words Are All We Have

I HAVE INTERNET AGAIN, and it feels good. Hopefully everyone had a fabulous Christmas and is looking forward to an awesome New Year. We spent it very quietly at Dad’s, and surprisingly for us, had all the leftovers done with within two days, which has got to be some kind of record. Mum, unfortunately, is still making turkey pie,among other things – I am not complaining about this.

Of course, it wasn’t all fun and games – we heard the devastating news on Tuesday that the amazing Carrie Fisher had passed away following a heart attack on Christmas Eve. Not only a wonderful actress and an all-around amazing woman, Carrie was also a big favourite of mine because she never kept her mental illness quiet, and her service dog Gary was a feature at many of her public appearances. I recall – I think it might have been my Mum – well, someone I knew once, talking about Star Wars and how much I loved Princess Leia, and that other person just turning around and saying, ‘Well, you know Carrie Fisher’s a drug addict, don’t you?’ As if that negated every single one of her achievements. As if that was the sum of her life’s work. She lived all her life with bipolar disorder and everything that entailed, and she not only survived, but thrived. She wrote some incredibly funny, incredibly honest memoirs, she starred in one of the biggest blockbusters on the twentieth century, and don’t even get me started on her interview comments prior to ‘The Force Awakens.’ She was human. We’re all human. We all have our weaknesses. Let’s remember her as a woman who did not survive her mental illness – she lived with it, and my God, did she live.


Carrie herself wrote a brilliant column for the Guardian, and in November she wrote one about living with bipolar disorder. She absolutely says it better than I ever could. The column can be found here.


In other news, in my internet travels I came across another article – this time in the Telegraph – talking about a 2008 interview with Daniel Radcliffe (of eponymous Harry Potter fame) in which he discusses living with dyspraxia. I’ll admit to being quite surprised – I like Harry Potter but I’m not a rabid fan and the eighth film pretty much wrecked the entire franchise for me (Fantastic Beasts notwithstanding), so I don’t follow it that closely.  Also because dyspraxia is not usually a condition which makes the news – or anything else for that matter. More recently, Cara Delvingne of Suicide Squad and Paper Towns gave an interview in Vogue in June 2015 in which she talks about having depression and dyspraxia and being bisexual – a cocktail of conditions very close to my own experience. And it needs to happen more. I notice that, when I talk about my dyspraxia and my experience with it, barely anyone bats an eyelid – but the second I bring my autism into the mix, everybody wants to know.


Regarding Daniel Radcliffe, his statement about living with dyspraxia was responded to by the Dyspraxia Foundation USA. It has its own page. Yet the corresponding foundation in the UK made almost no mention of it, and regrettably they don’t keep archives as far as I can tell.  I don’t believe that one condition is any more important than another, and autism is sometimes the more obvious of the two – nevertheless, learning that you have something wrong with you, no matter what that ‘wrong’ may be, is a very scary moment. You’re being suddenly thrown into this scary void that not everyone really understands, and the more people that come out and talk about these problems, the better. I have to sit down and explain what dyspraxia is every time it comes up, and it does get rather wearing. I have to explain to prospective employers when I go in for interviews, that I’m not being rude or nervous, I genuinely don’t like to make eye contact – and only about 50% of them are sympathetic to this.


Carrie Fisher was spoken of as being incredibly brave in talking about her mental illness. I’m not sure brave is the right word. Gutsy, yes. But also absolutely the right thing to do. We need to talk about these things, and to coin a feminist shout that echoes through the inter-web at various points, “Representation Matters!” Be that on the big screen, small screen, or real-life celebrities talking about what makes them human – their flaws and foibles. They make all of us human, as much as we’d like to ignore it.

Talk. It’s hard, but it’s worth it.

Stay awesome everybody.



Picture Credits:

Carrie Fisher


Cara Delevingne




Christmas Crackers

First off, I’m a bit annoyed with myself. This was supposed to be going up earlier in the week. Regrettably, I then went to my Dad’s, who turned out to have no internet. Oh well, it’s forcing me out of room and into being social, which I guess is the point of having a family Christmas.

For a long time, Christmas has been a bit of a weird time for me. Up until the age of about 16, it was me, my Mum, and my Dad in a mildly stressful but ultimately happy dynamic. That fell to pieces at 17, and at 18 I outright refused to come home. Ever since, Christmas has been a mixture of the weird and the wonderful. More weird than wonderful, to be honest.

See, now my Dad has a whole new family (and cat). Josh is still in the picture, obviously, and my sort-of-stepmother has a mother, and three kids of her own, two of whom have long-term partners. Christmas Day rocketed from three people to about nine in the space of a very short time. New house, new town, new people, new baby this year…for an awkward dyspraxic-autistic kid it was like being thrown into the seventh circle of Hell. All my little Christmas traditions went completely out of the window, along with my comfort zone. Which incidentaly, I’ve never found since.


I’ll be honest, I spent the first year of it all drinking steadily. I think I drank about half a bottle of Amaretto, plus some bubbly with dinner. Worked for me, since Amaretto I can drink pretty well without being too ill. My boyfriend and I, however, agreed that it wasn’t a very healthy comping strategy and I abstained last year. Big mistake. Massive anxiety attack slap-bang in the middle of dinner.

If there’s one day you don;t want to be having an anxiety attack, it’s Christmas, made worse when Dad wanted some help and then got pissed when I couldn’t give it to him and accused me of throwing a tantrum just to be awkward. Anyone who knows me knows I grew out of that phase aged about 15. Would he or my stepmum listen to me? Absolutely not. And ever year since, something about Christmas has devolved into some kind of massive argument. Needless to say, I’m not looking forward to it this year.


Well, that’s a lie. I still love the spirit of Christmas; the pretty lights, the good food, and the crap telly. The one time of the year the family really comes together in the season of forgiveness n’ all that. Thing is, I feel more and more like a guest in my own family a lot of the time these days. Mum’s got her lot, Dad’s got his lot, and I’m left somewhere in the middle, drifting from one to the other as time and money allow. I’d stop; but Josh IS my Christmas tradition now. I’m not sure I could ever really stop seeing him, even if the rest of the visit is awkward as hell. My Dad’s partner’s family are lovely people, but occasionally I’m not convinced of how much they understand about a condition like mine – nothing obviously wrong, just a different view of the world that they’re not necessarily expecting.

It harks back to a point made by by our old friend in this post here – If you misunderstand something, it’s Your Fault. It’s not the nicest feeling in the world, misunderstanding something and then being told off because you misinterpreted it. This applies to all the times of year, not just Christmas. And I’m not throwing a tantrum – I’m being overwhelmed. Anxiety attached to autism is not restricted to small children in supermarkets – it occurs in adults to, even adults who are borderline. Dyspraxia itself comes with its own dose of social awkwardness, and I find, especially with me, it’s often this that creates the anxiety; they aren’t mutually exclusive. You screw up in public, you aren’t sure why or how, and nobody will explain it to you.

So think about your family neuroatypical this Christmas. If they’re scared, or triggered, or down, try talking to them. We exist, we’re valid, and it’s not just up to us to make Christmas amazing for the whole family.

Stay awesome, and have a Merry Christmas/Happy Holiday, one and all. I’ll finish on a word from Tiny Tim (A Christmas Carol)

“Bless us, every one.”


Picture credits:

Trees in snow


Driven to Distraction

Joy of joys, I passed my driving test on the third try last week. Considering some of the ridiculous driving you see out on the roads in this day and age, you’d be forgiven for thinking that it’d be easier.

I do get asked, occasionally, “So, if you’ve got dyspraxia, how can you drive?” Same way everyone else does, mate; one foot on the gas, two eyes on the road. Oh, yeah, and a pair of these on my hands.









There’s a very interesting book about the anatomical and cultural constructs of left and right – Right Hand Left Hand by Chris McManus. Left and right – working out which is which, anyway – are an issue for a lot of people. I’ll bet there’s a lot of times you’ve had to think twice about left and right. It’s a spatial thing.

Dyspraxia’s the same; it’s not just motor co-ordination, it’s spatial awareness as well. I can’t follow spoken instructions for the life of me, or give them out – I need a map. I navigate by landmarks, not left and right. The amount of times I hit the kerb trying to parallel park or do a turn in the road is outstanding.  An old instructor of mine seemed to think it was a given that I would know where my wheels were based on the angle of the steering wheel while I was learning how to reverse – erm, no. And even if I could, I’m more interested in not hitting that nice BMW than I am in working out where my wheels are pointing.

It’s also how I failed my first test; I though I had a good foot or so between the wall and the car – my examiner informed me afterwards, very succinctly, that it was only a few inches. Add the fact I missed a sign for a hairpin turn and took it at around 35 miles per hour, and you get a big fat fail.

(Second test wasn’t as exciting – just a car in a blind spot that I forgot to check. Irritating but ultimately boring. I call it ‘foiled by the invisible car’).

But the biggest struggle for me isn’t clutch control or steering, it’s having to work out left and right on the go. I require at lest a couple of seconds to remember which is which. I was pulling out of a car park on the day of my test; my instructor told me to turn left. I very calmly flipped the indicator to the right and then got confused when she said, “No, left.” It took me a full 10 seconds to work out I was going the wrong way. God help me if I ever try driving in Europe, or the US. I mean, driving on the left can be complicated enough, then flip the car around AND all the traffic signals and I think it would end very badly. Hence the L and R inked on my hands. It’s not cheating, it’s a safety net. I checked it at least three or four times on my test. Sometimes it’s not so bad and I don’t have to think as much. Then there are days like that.

This is not to say I’m not a good driver. I’m a very good driver, actually. I may be a bit shoddy on the clutch every now and again but I think ahead, I plan, I observe (most of the time, hehe). And I passed my test within a year of taking my first, so I must be doing something right. I’m looking forward to getting out there as a licensed driver with my own wheels, learning how to drive properly. But the L and R aren’t going away any time soon, I think. It’s a useful strategy – even more so now that I can drive without supervision.  There’s not always going to be someone in the passenger seat to tell me I’m turning the wrong way.

But still.


On a different note, the mountains outside my window looked like an alien planet the other day.










I really love wintertime in the countryside.

Stay awesome everybody.


NOTE: All pictures are for once mine, please don’t reproduce without permission =D