The All-New Planet Cutie Weblog Show

Wedding

noreply@blogger.com (m.lawrenson) — Sun, 24 Aug 2008 23:06:00 +0000

I went to my brother's wedding on Saturday 16th. Needless to say, it was awful, but then these events are not designed to be enjoyed by the likes of me. I had planned to stay for the ceremony and go back home, but I got far too drunk and had to stay. Chalk up another for anxiety and lack of self-control.

After I got back, my mother (for some reason) my mother had a go at everyone for our perceived 'messiness'. She then ordered me to tidy my room and accused me, apropos to nothing, of having had 'too easy a childhood'. Yes, me. Too easy a childhood.

I'm no longer on speaking terms with her for that. When she realized, after about 4 days, she said 'fuck you and you know where you can go if you don't like it'. Who am I to disagree with such amazing logic? So, I'm planning to move out. Perhaps not the most logical of decisions while I earn £180 per week, but I have not reached my age, I have not lived the life I've lived, to be spoken to like that. My peace of mind is worth far more than money.

Maybe the National Autistic Society can help me, because my parents surely won't.

M.Lawrenson has had date

noreply@blogger.com (m.lawrenson) — Sat, 12 Jul 2008 22:34:00 +0000

So, I went to Cardiff on my date. I think there maybe something there. Who know?

M.Lawrenson has a date

noreply@blogger.com (m.lawrenson) — Mon, 30 Jun 2008 20:11:00 +0000

Yes, after several years (well, the vast majority of my life) my love-life seems to be looking up. I have a date on 8th July. More details when I feel like revealing them

Basket case (official)

noreply@blogger.com (m.lawrenson) — Tue, 15 Apr 2008 14:03:00 +0000

Three weeks ago I was diagnosed with Asperger syndrome I've been wondering how to explain this in a blog post. I've decided on the blunt approach.

Those that have ever known me will not be surprised. They will see it as the reason why I drove them to distraction at a small press comics convention, didn't feel able to commisserate them on their recent bereavement, or sat in the corner writing during pub meets. It may surprise them to learn, however, I was trying to do the right thing. But I wasn't able to figure it out, so people assumed (as people often do) the worst.

As for my feelings on the matter, my diagnosis tells me that I will never be able to do certain things 'properly' (eg. social interaction, time management, proportionate interests). I've known that for most of my life. But people haven't believed me. If needed, I can tell them about my Aspergers diagnosis, though no doubt some will dismiss this as 'something you read about on the internet'. I no longer care, much.

A charming anecdote, I'm sure

noreply@blogger.com (m.lawrenson) — Mon, 24 Mar 2008 18:23:00 +0000

Reading about the death of Beatles associate Neil Aspinall today, I found this quote about his meeting George Harrison for the first time when they were kids :

"This great mass of shaggy hair loomed up and an out-of-breath voice requested a quick drag of my Woodbine. It was one of the first cigarettes either of us had smoked. We spluttered our way through it bravely but gleefully.".

The irony here being that both Harrison and Aspinall died, too young, from lung cancer.

Hurricane Smith blows out

noreply@blogger.com (m.lawrenson) — Sat, 08 Mar 2008 22:47:00 +0000

A minor figure from my childhood died the other day. The obituaries of Norman Smith will no doubt concentrate on his pre-fame life as recording engineer for the Beatles and producer of Pink Floyd.

However, of more impact on my life was Smith's vocal career (I hesitate to say 'singing' because Hurricane had a voice like a creaking door put through a megaphone). Numerous times during my childhood, my father subjected Smith to ridicule for being, well, old. And to be fair, he was 48 when he had his first hit. I don't think the 'fashionable' hairstyle and moustache he adopted to disguise his age helped either. Hurricane was older than my grandfather, also named Smith, by about 4 months.

Here's to you Norman, for your life encapsulating the world in all it's ridiculous and bemusing incredulity.

M.Lawrenson attempts to rehabilitate self

noreply@blogger.com (m.lawrenson) — Sat, 22 Sep 2007 01:56:00 +0000

Over the last few months I've been aware of my reclusiveness. As, I'm sure, have my few remaining readers. I've just not done very much. My house has sold, finally, and I'm getting used to have something resembling a disposible income. I've bought a few books (on subjects like Ludwig II of Bavaria, King George III and Princess Alice of Battenberg - detect the common theme there, and no, it's not that they were royalty), watched episodes of Mythbusters and drank some half-decent wine. But I've not done anything as far as Future Plans go.

I don't consider myself as yet ready to go into the world of work. I have what could be termed 'major issues' about people and their intentions towards me. My actual thoughts and feelings about this are not the subject of this post, but I need to do something about it.

What normal people do when they seek to be social is, I'm told, go to the pub and drink enough so they can talk to people easily. People who know me, and long-time readers of my blogs will know that my attempts at this (and I have tried, believe it or not) have been disastrous. I usually end up drinking too much, talking complete crap, and ending up sitting on my own to avoid a panic attack. Since I can't do 'unstructured', the logical step is to do 'structured' instead.

So, looking to do something new (and with the help of Dr. Whisky's website, I've joined The Scotch Malt Whisky Society. No, I don't do things in half measures, and since I'm now over 30, I feel qualified to drink single malts. I've already planned a holiday in Edinburgh for a few days this month, and that'll give me somewhere to go when I've done the museums and shops. Plus there's a 'New Members Tasting' on 2nd October in London to provide me with an easy learning curve. I can take guests so anyone who wants to come with me can (I promise not to get hammered as they'll only give me five single whiskies to try), if you think you can put up with me for two hours.

I'm also looking at booking the Australia Encompassed trip for next year, which will be me and 18 others in a truck going round Australia for 18 weeks. Well, I'm bound to learn something.

Doctor Who : Season 3 - The Graph

noreply@blogger.com (m.lawrenson) — Wed, 04 Jul 2007 21:47:00 +0000

Click for legible version.

Doctor in Distress

noreply@blogger.com (m.lawrenson) — Wed, 20 Jun 2007 23:31:00 +0000

Been spending many hours reading the last 18 months of NHS Blog Doctor, the weblog of 'Dr Crippen' , an increasingly disgruntled GP somewhere in the UK. If, like me, you have had many dealings with the National Health Service and been somewhat bemused and irritated by the 'service' you've received, reading his blog will be enlightening, to say th least.

One Crippen's major beefs with the present NHS is the phenomenon of the Nurse Specialist, who are becoming more and more numerous as the government seeks to save money. Nurse Specialists appear to be mere nurses who, having been on a few training courses, are now performing functions traditionally done by doctors. Crippen likens this to giving an airline cabin crew control of a plane because they've seen the pilot fly it many times and so must have picked something up about it. He wonders why he spent all those years in medical school and thousands of life-destroying hours as a junior doctor if nurses can do the same job by learning how to read and perform from a protocol sheet. He is not happy.

Suddenly, my years of treatment make sense. Despite being referred to various places for depression (and other unspecified mental issues), and prescribed numerous drugs, I never saw a single psychiatrist for my entire 8 years in the North Staffordshire mental health system. I was assessed for group therapy, yes, but by one of those nurse specialists (which I took for normal practice, not knowing any better). In other words, I received much treatment, but no actual diagnosis. A completely bizarre system, and one explained by the fact there were only two NHS psychotherapists in the whole of North Staffs, to whom I was plainly not ill enough to see.

One the house money comes through, I will be seeking a private psychiatrist. The only problem will be getting the right one...

Choo Choo

noreply@blogger.com (m.lawrenson) — Sun, 10 Jun 2007 19:58:00 +0000

Presuming idiot boy does eventually come through with the cash (I'm wondering how it'll all be worked out), I will have some sort of disposable income for the first time in months. My living costs at the moment are negligible, paying for food and little else. I will have to pay back money I owe to various people, plus my now maxed out (at £3900) credit card. But I should be left with a fair chunk of money. I'll buy my parents a hard drive DVD recorder, as their old VCR is no longer sufficient for anything approaching the modern world. For myself, I fancy a holiday, not having been on one since 1987. I don't really fancy Europe, what with the language barrier, plus the fact that most European cities are now full of drunken English 'staggers' looking for whorehouses. It's not pleasant to see and the locals may make (understandable) assumptions about me.

I'm looking at Australia at the moment. Yes, the flight won't do the planet any good, but I reason (I, in common with the vast majority of people, indulge in self-deception) that since I don't have a car, and I've never been on a plane, my carbon footprint is somewhat less than average and has been for a long time. I don't really want to sit in a hotel in Sydney for 10 days which seems to be the main Aussie holiday option - if you're going to go all that way, it seems odd to do very little. So, to see some of the country, I'm looking to go on the Ghan train. And at 2800km and 2 days travel, I should be seeing a lot of it.

Fancy

noreply@blogger.com (m.lawrenson) — Fri, 08 Jun 2007 12:07:00 +0000

My house has been sold. In theory, at least. Idiot boy found a buyer for it at £73,000 cash (he originally wanted to sell it at £55,000 - the numbers don't add up there and I suspect some sort of scam). After costs, (solicitor, estate agent etc.), mortgage payoff and idiot boy's share, I should be left with around £30,000. Which is a fair enough profit on an outlay of £27,500 back in 1997. Idiot boy and his fiancee (they intend to get married in about a year) came round on Sunday and I signed some papers which the parents said were above board, so all should be final in a few weeks. I can't escape the feeling, though, that idiot boy is planning some new scam to deprive me of my rightful share (I, after all, paid for the house for 4 and a half years, 1 of which while out of work, to which he contributed not a penny). If you knew him, you'd understand what I mean. I'll be very glad of the day after which I'll never have anything more to do with him.

Brain

noreply@blogger.com (m.lawrenson) — Thu, 07 Jun 2007 12:26:00 +0000

First up is the latest report of my psychiatric health. It's been chequered as ever.

I moved house on March 4th. The Thursday before I went to the doctor about 'the thoughts', as I call them. As always, I saw a locum who I'd never seen before (I was beginning to think they were no longer treating me as a worthwhile case). Unusually, the Polish female I was put in front of listened to what I said, but put me on Fluoxetine and a week's worth of diazepam (to get me through the phone calls I'd have to make) nonetheless. I was also given strict orders to see my new doctor in Preston as soon as possible.

The following week, after the move, I went along to my new doctor and explained myself (for some reason in this modern world of information technology, patient records take 2 months to move between practices). Since they were hearing all this for the first time, I was immediately referred to the local psychiatric outpatient department, with a warning that it would probably take a month to get seen. So three days later, I was phoned up and given an appointment for the following Saturday. Just think - back in Newcastle Under Lyme it took 5 months for psych services to send you a letter saying they were thinking of seeing you in the distant future.

Thankfully the hospital here is a mere 10 minute walk rather than the half hour it was back in Newcastle, although it being far larger it takes a while to find the right place exactly. After being shown the way, I went along and waited until called. It being a Saturday, there were few people around (I'm guessing the place where I was is some kind of day centre). I was shown to this huge room, made larger by the fact there were only three people in there, and answered all the questions put to me to my best ability. The copy of the letter sent to my GP said I appeared 'flat', which was fair enough. Naturally, my condition baffled them. I didn't appear severely depressed, but was certainly not normal. I was put on a waiting list to see a consultant psychiatrist.

I waited about a month for that, which was fair enough also (I recognise the fact of waiting lists for non-acute cases such as mine). The appointment with the consultant was in a different part of the building. It certainly looked far more forbidding and secure. I heard later that this indeed is the place where the 'cases' are kept in for treatment. I saw the consultant in a small, pre-tech age office (you expect offices in hospitals to have at least one computer nowadays). I I answered the questions (such is the lot of the psychiatric patient) and was narrowed down on the diagnosis to avoidant personality disorder (surprise), schizoid personality disorder or Asperger syndrome, but was told that any diagnosis is imperfect as any one patient will match many similar symptoms for a variety of disorders. He said that whatever I have, it's a deep rooted part of my personality rather than a specific illness, so he was going to concentrate on treating the immediate symptoms. I was given a prescription for mirtazapine and another appointment for 27th July.

Yet again I have appeared to baffle medical science, but it's better than being slagged off every week and being told I wasn't helping myself, as happened in group therapy.

Feel Free

noreply@blogger.com (m.lawrenson) — Thu, 07 Jun 2007 05:19:00 +0000

I lost my internet access for a while after I moved (broadband is like that). I got out of the (never very strong recently) habit of updating this blog. I hope to make several posts over the next few days updating you on what's been going on over the last 3 months or so. It'll help to break it down into easily chewable pieces. Feel free to ask me whatever questions you want, just in case what you want to know is something I don't feel important enough to post (I'm often wrong about this, as I'm wrong about many things).

Who needs the future?

noreply@blogger.com (m.lawrenson) — Sun, 18 Feb 2007 03:13:00 +0000

I know it's 3:14am (as I type this, anyway), but since I came of the antidepressants my sleeping pattern has gone back to what it was when I was in my early 20s. Basically, I sleep 10 hours and stay awake 16 hours. Not enough hours in the day, I'm sure you'll agree.

I find myself looking at the clock after being awake 10 hours and thinking "Isn't it time to go bed yet?". Yeah, sleeping is one of the few things I look forward to. Don't know why, as I all I end up with is disturbing dreams. They tend to consist of me doing the things (education, new job, relationship, people) that everyone says I should do to make me feel better. But even there, in my dreams, I'm no good at them. I end up in some kind of confrontation and people yell at me for being shit. Then I wake up and realise it's another 16 hours until it happens again.

Hell, my life is long hours of boredom followed with slightly shorter hours of disturbance. I wish it would stop.

The outside world is your enemy

noreply@blogger.com (m.lawrenson) — Mon, 12 Feb 2007 01:09:00 +0000

I don't know what other people do, but I don't get out much. In fact, I don't get out at all. Now I'm not working, all I leave the house for is to buy the groceries. I'm not lonely, and I don't miss people.

What's life like for someone like me, you ask? Well, imagine you're just walking down the street, minding your own business when you're suddenly grabbed by the collar. Before you know it, you're involved in a game, let's say (to use an anglocentric example) baseball. You get the impression this game is important, if not the be-all and end-all of life. When it's your turn at the plate, you realise you know absolutely nothing about what's going on and naturally become confused and scared. Inevitably, three strikes are thrown and you're out. You slink back to your 'team' because it's the only place you know around here, where everyone calls you a 'fucking moron' for not knowing 'what the fuck you're doing'. They punch and kick you a few times, then throw you back onto the street from which you were grabbed.

People are not nice, and their capacity for understanding is not great. If you can't instantly follow the rules (which, I admit, most people seem to know instinctively) then you're beneath contempt. That's what life is like. I've tried. I've tried for years. But whatever I do is always wrong. So now I keep myself shut away, because you have to protect yourself, don't you?

Psychoative medication update

noreply@blogger.com (m.lawrenson) — Tue, 06 Feb 2007 11:57:00 +0000

As of last Wednesday, I am no longer receiving any medical treatment whatsoever. Due to forthcoming events, group therapy sessions at the local psych hospital are no longer practical. After 4.5 years, I'd probably stayed at least 2 years past a useful time and at least one person there was seriously resenting my existence (ironic, as she was the one person who'd been there longer than I had). And anyway, due to what I presume to be funding issues, the group is being wound up after Easter.

I was on Dosulepin for 6 years, but the doctors (for some reason I never seem to see the same one consecutively - they must think I'm malingering) decided to wean me off it, though it's possibly a good idea after 2 attempted ODs in the last 6 months. It's all very well being involved in decisions about your treatment, but a doctor supposed to know more about it than the patient does. I was supposed to go onto Citalopram according to one of them, but another didn't give me a prescription for it when last I went.

Back in October, yet another doctor put me on Propranolol, a beta-blocker which is normally only heard about by the general public when they hear some golfer or snooker player has tested positive for it. Apparently, it was to treat my anxiety. And I must admit, while taking it I found it very hard to be anxious while sleeping 14 hours a day and spending the remainder semi-conscious. I ditched it after 2 months because it's other main effect was massive heartburn, oddly one of the few side-effects not mentioned in the leaflet.

So far it appears my issues have defied modern psychiatry and psychopharmacology. I believe something is badly wrong somewhere in my brain structure or biochemistry, but I have no real evidence except my own personal experience. One day I may have the opportunity to have my head CT scanned to see what areas are/are not lighting up, but I can't see it being soon.

The All-New Planet Cutie Weblog Show

noreply@blogger.com (m.lawrenson) — Sun, 04 Feb 2007 15:33:00 +0000

So it's been 6 months? No, things aren't a great deal better, but more of them are in the past now. Though I'm not sure what to say about everything that happened. If you can remember anything you wanted to know, just ask. I have plenty of free time, and there are only so many episodes of Samurai Pizza Cats you can download.