Masking and Manipulation

Many articles I've read over the years will explain that the autistic traits of a person with ASD can feel manipulative. I have never once read an article which identifies manipulation as a symptom of the disorder. Many believe that those with ASD are not able to be manipulative, that manipulation is evident primarily with narcissism, NOT autism. 

High functioning autism, as I perceive it now, is somebody who is hyper-alert and sensitive to their own needs, wants, discomforts and desires, whilst the outside world and all that it encompasses- feelings, wants, needs, discomforts is detached from them. It is, by nature, a self-centred disorder. 

I believe that, having lived with Peter for 10 years, that he is fully capable of manipulating situations to benefit him- to ease his discomfort and to give him an advantage. 

When I started dating Peter, several of our work colleagues congratulated me on beginning a relationship with such a "good bloke." 

"He'll take good care of you!"

"He'd marry you tomorrow!"

"If I had my time again and I had to choose any man to marry- it would be Peter."

"Oh, I absolutely love Peter."

These are more or less, the exact messages I sas given; Peter was the best. Not the most attractive, or the most charming, or charismatic, but lovely. 

By the way, we never did marry at all.

The general consensus is that people love Peter, because on the surface, he's kind, gentle and caring. Peter is able to mask for periods when it's important and work is no exception. Interestingly, I watched Peter socialise in several different groups when we worked and lived together and I saw how he changed depending on the company he was in. A lover of gossip, he could also contribute (carefully) to the bitching of people from other groups, people he was well associated with, before doing the same about the group he'd been involved in the bitching with. People didn't seem to get wise to Peter; he was everyone's best friend. But alongside him, I saw it. 

Before meeting his Dad, his friends told me "he's just like Peter!" 

"Lovely guy. Will do anything for anyone."

This is exactly how he came across, with a sprinkling of distrust thrown in- afterall, I was potentially going to disrupt the dysfunctional harmony of the FOO (family of origin) and he, like Peter is protective and possessive of it. But, it became clear after our first year together that infact, Peter's father is far from gentle- quite the opposite actually. He has a short fuse and I have since learned from Peter that he spent much of his childhood being shouted at; I also saw for myself that his mother was constantly met by his impatience and exasperation. His need to control everything became the obvious explanation for his "helpful" nature. Peter was learning from the master masker in his family.

Unbelievably, Peter is adamant that he had a wonderful childhood and that his father's outbursts had "no impact" on him. This is the level of his devotion and loyalty to the FOO. These links are deeply entrenched, which I think is a large part of the reason why some of these men never fully committ to us. 

Is it not manipulative to paint yourself as one character in public and another in the privacy of your own home? Of course, we all act differently in some ways when we're in public and can fully relax and be ourselves at home, but the level of these personality changes are extreme. We call it "masking" and for many of us women who enter into intimate relationships with these people, we are deceived by the mask.

In counselling, we discussed Peter's behaviour during a particular situation. She has met Peter, as she gave us a session of relationship counselling just months ago- it is she who last suggested that Peter has ASD. She liked him a lot, just like many of the other 50-something women who told me they wish they'd married a Peter. She described him as "sweet." 

However, I explained how, every Tuesday, I finish work early to collect the children from school to avoid the costs of wrap around care. Peter then would come home from work slightly earlier too to make dinner whilst I took them to their dance class. After dinner, he would put the children to bed and I would finish my work as I'd have to finish abruptly to get to school in time. Peter says he isn't able to do any school pick-ups at all due to the commitments of his job, I therefore asked him to support me in picking up the children on Tuesdays. This system has been in place for around a year. I told her how, when a social opportunity arose for Peter- on a Tuesday, he would suddenly forget that I had to work late to make up for my early finish and that he needed to do bedtime, as had been agreed. He  would hold off telling me and then mention it when I was in the middle of something that needed my attention, knowing I couldn't think about it properly, knowing I'd struggle to complete my work on that day, knowing I'd probably just say yes to stop the onslaught of chatter from both him and the children.

Peter could have asked his friends to arrange it for another day, tell them he couldn't do it, but he never did. He always brought the ball back to me, to be his mother-figure, to avoid any disruption to his social group. To be deemed the easy friend- he's everyone's best friend don't forget. Just not mine. He would prefer to resent me than his friends, just as he would prefer to resent me over his family.

This exact situation happened twice within 4 weeks and the second time, she suggested to me that Peter is manipulative. That he manufactures situations so that I have to be the bearer of bad news, or traps me into agreeing to things that I don't have the time to really consider. It bothered her, I could see it on her face, because she was doing the same as me- questioning the "sweet" man that had sat before her just months before. 

I believe that self-centredness is at the core of the disorder of high functioning autism. To feel comfort, reassurance, inclusion at all costs, even if it is at the detriment of the person they supposedly love and care for. This is why we become the enemy. Time becomes a resource to compete for when their are little children who need us both and love becomes a scarce reward for appeasing them.

Now that we're separated, Peter keeps reaching out for my attention, masked by questions and information about the children. It's torture for me as I can't quite break away from this relationship, which is what he wants, to continue possessing me in some way, any way. Several times, I've given in and reached out to him emotionally, just yesterday, he didn't respond to a very emotional message describing how he'd hurt me by implying that I should have put up with his mother blanking me, better. 

Peter didn't respond. 

He never does. 

Many would say that this is largely due to his alexythmia, but I've seen him behave differently- reaching out to grieving friends and colleagues, painting the picture of the caring, doting friend. I'm the mother of his children and yet my distress is of no care to him- afterall, there is no audience to praise him for it. 

https://www.healthline.com/health/autism/alexithymia

I could go on with events and situations which have been manipulated by Peter to work in his favour. I could spend all day writing about how he sought advantage from my vulnerability as a mother with a newborn, how he would put me into the position of "decision maker" when I was tired and then twist the situation to work for him and say "well you made the decision!" 

And again, this brings me back to the nature of our condition, "Cassandra Syndrome" where our reality is a million miles from the reality that others see. Because some of these men really are the masters of masking and manipulation. 

Turning Point

It's amazing how an inspirational meme, a Tik Tok video or listening to a therapist on You Tube can alter your perception of things.

I usually avoid Tiki Tok and YouTube like the plague, preferring books written by renowned psychotherapists and heavily endorsed articles. However, what I'm realising is that real stories from real people can hugely get to the heart of your own experience. That revelation of "me too" and the sense of feeling less alone with our troubles can make us feel heard, validated, visible. 

I'm thankful for the Cassandra Syndrome support group on Facebook, where there are over three thousand of us speaking the same stories, experiencing the same loneliness and despair. A lot of us share material that speaks to the sisterhood of sufferers and survivors of this unintentional, but undeniable, Emotional Abuse.  

Many would argue that abuse needs to be intentional, but when you have cried out hundreds of times about the same hurt and the same causes and yet that person STILL fails to do anything to change or even just explore their own behaviour, surely we are now entering the realms of abuse? It's a secretive and silent abuse of emotional deprivation, invalidation, neglect, gaslighting and isolation. Many of us are mothers, trapped inside the home, exhausted, uncared for, unwanted, undesired, unloved and yet held on to, like possessions. This is not ok. 

We are living in a world whereby the behaviours associated with high functioning autism are being more and more excused and as a result, my God, there are sufferers. Millions and millions of sufferers who have children with these people, have built homes with them and lives with them. And yet, these people can not relate at all beyond the day-to-day temporary masking. Of course they suffer too- everyday is a struggle for the neurodivergent. But these people DO NOT make for positive relationship material. You can call me ableist, discriminatory, whatever- I don't care. Because this truth remains. Eventually, you will no longer be cherished, you will not be desired and the minute that you disagree with them, raise an issue with them, you actually become the enemy. 

I never wanted to break up my family like this and I never wanted Peter to leave- not really. I just wanted him to work harder at us and make me a priority, SHOW me that I mattered. I couldn't carry on the way things were anymore; I became convinced that I would become seriously ill. Peter can't help his ASD (that he still denies having btw, despite two psychotherapists suggesting otherwise), but he CAN help the effort he puts in to prioritise ME and US ! That has nothing, NOTHING to do with ASD. So, no I don't want Peter and I to separate, but the way I see things now, I have a home, I have my girls here with me, safe and sound, our finances are exactly the same as Peter is still covering most of our outgoings, so what have I lost? I've lost the black cloud in my life, but other than that, life is pretty much the same, aside from the fact that I'm practically much busier of course.

Life won't stay like this forever, but for now, I think I'm finding contentment. For now, Peter is ok living with his parents, the kids are ok, in their family home, I'm less overwhelmed because he's not here. We're all ok. Peter is likely to avoid change at all costs- we know that, so the worst that could happen is that life stays like this for a while, the best that could happen is that Peter seeks out the therapy he needs and starts to work on Us with a view to eventually returning home being able to properly committ and connect. I could probably wait this out for years if I wanted to. 

The ball is well and truly in Peter's court. 

For now, I'm going to make the most of the break and the freedom from our relationship and you know what, after Christmas, I might even start dating. 

Two weeks separated

It's been 2 weeks since he left and I've just about survived it. Both children have been poorly during this time and so I'm thankful that I took some time away from work; I'm exhausted! 

I'm glad to be returning to work next week having tested out our new morning and evening routines now that Peter isn't here. My situation is much different to many, as Peter has always been practically hands on with the children. I've never had to experience the load of the morning chaos single-handedly before, but I have learned that for some reason, it's calmer. I don't think that the juggle of the mornings ever came easily for Peter, but he persevered in his usual sense of duty. 

The children are doing well. 

They have adjusted to the changes; not going into Peter's room first thing in the morning; not having Daddy to dress them and brush their teeth. I think they've realised that they need to do more and be more independent, often without me saying so. 

I really miss Peter, not just practically, I just miss his presence I think. Feeling safe and secure. I miss touching him, even though I didn't touch him enough. I don't miss the superficial conversations, or sitting silently on the sofa in the evening on our phones, or the sinking feeling when the children have gone to bed, wondering whether he'll connect or hide away for the evening. Maybe I just miss the idealised version of him. I find myself feeling guilty, wondering what I could have done differently, despite giving my all. It's ironic really that men like this, who haven't made the same sacrifices, don't experience the same level of conscience. 

It's difficult as Peter isn't able to have the girls over night at the moment or for very long, so he is having to spend a lot of time here at the house. The children don't deserve to miss out on him putting them to bed, or eating the odd meal with him. I had to call him to come over on Tuesday evening as our youngest daughter refused to eat anything unless Daddy came to eat with her. I called him, he came over and I put him a meal out too. Our little girl then sat merrily eating her dinner, because Daddy was sat next to her eating. I can't rob her of that experience.

It's a fine balance between keeping things civil and pleasant for the children but showing Peter that life is different now. I worry that his life hasn't changed enough, even when he's had to leave and that, for him, he's able to deal with everything pragmatically- that everything is more or less the same, he "just" sleeps in a different bed, in a different house each night. 

If I'm honest, I realise that I didn't want the end to be the end, that I thought Peter might put up a fight or finally tell me he loves me and go back to therapy. But he hasn't. I had a moment of weakness on Wednesday and I cried to him about his lack of effort and lack of fight. He was very confused... "but you told me it was over." 

These types of men don't realise that they are the masters of their own lives and can make choices, fight for what they want, let go of what they don't. He's spent his entire life floating from one thing to the next or remaining stagnant, resisting change. I'm not sure he'll ever experience regret or realise what he could have done to avoid all of this. These men don't just resist change, they resist growth, "I am who I am."

I feel a sense of sympathy towards Peter at times, because although I see a man who is stubborn, defiant, selfish at times, I also see a man who is frightened. Scared of his own feelings, lost and bewildered as to why his life has fallen apart and too fearful to expore the reasons why. Self awareness should be avoided at all costs.

Unfortunately, I think he will ride the wave of his discomfort and wait, do nothing, before our new situation feels comfortable to him and contentment kicks in. For me, I'm not sure contentment really will happen, because although I needed to initiate this separation, I never wanted it. All I've ever really wanted is to love him care for him and that be reciprocated and even that, is a concept that he finds difficult to grasp. He was "doing" all of the things... parenting, cleaning, chauffering, days out, days in, cooking... emulating behaviours of the perfect partner, but never really "feeling" or connecting on a deeper level.

I can't keep exploring whether Peter is afraid to feel, or is infact incapable of feeling because I've lost myself in the process. Separated life is far from the life I wanted and in the midst of the worst recession the UK has seen in years, a messy living arrangement is the best we can manage. Moving on isn't possible like this. But perhaps what is possible is letting go- of the expectations, of the whys, of all the questions and of the day-to-day low level pain and disappointment. I now have some space to grow and some space to just breathe. 

But mostly, space to feel. 

All Hands.

Sometimes, your big hands would touch me- reach out and stroke my back.

Felt like heaven, strong and soothing, Tracing softly over fading tan lines.

Before returning to other things.  

Mostly, they've built our home; drilled, hammered, knocked and nailed. 

Once, they painted me a chair- you were so busy that week. 

I missed your hands. 

Following plans and schedules, they've washed and loaded, scrubbed and folded, but rarely, have they reached out for me. 

Those hands have carried our weary children over hillsides, saving sanity on muddy Sunday afternoon scrambles.

They held mine sometimes, your huge fingers threading through- always hurt a little, a stretch for my fingers to fit yours, But I never minded.

There were times I cried.

And I'd find you eagerly scrubbing down tiles or counter tops to make it go away.

Next, you'd pour tea. 

Place a mug on a coaster

And leave.  

All hands,

Sans heart.  

 

And now, your hands have gone from our home, there's a hole where they once tasked for us-

But, there has always been a hole.

Your mind rests where your hands are.

And so you fade away, forgetting. 

I make my own cups of tea now. 

You put on a load of washing this morning when you collected the children; what has changed?

Because we needed more than hands,

More than painted chairs

More than you know.  

Grieving.

He left a week ago today. 

I'm sat on the sofa in my dressing gown making lists on a cold and rainy Thursday afternoon. 

This is the most productive I've been all week- slowly, I'm picking up some of the shattered pieces and building a new picture- meal planning, Christmas planning and finally, finally, finally speaking to friends about what has really been going on. 

I reached out yesterday on social media- not to slam him or to slam his family anymore than I already have done over the last week. I created a limited post to limited viewers telling them what is and has been going on. The sense of enormous relief, the cover finally lifted, mask off, has been freeing. I feel less closed in and much less alone now. Trusted friends and acquaintances have messaged to check on me, called me on the phone- asked to see me and said the kindest words. I never realised that so many people think I'm strong. 

Most people were clueless about my misery.

Most had perceived that I was living a lovely life with my gorgeous girls and a man I adore- and that couldn't have been further from the truth. Painting perfect family pictures through social media hadn't helped with that. I told people that no, I was not ok and with this, came so much love and warmth; I was finally able to cry yesterday. Finally able to cry some of the anger away. 

I've spent many years feeling unable to stand up to the underhanded, needling of the women in his family, but finally being out of these "limitations" I wanted to. So, I didn't write letters and burn them, as cathartic as that can be, I wrote them to his mother and his sister and sent them; told them exactly what they have done and how they have made me feel over the years. Of course, there has been no response because they don't care how they make people feel nor do they feel any accountability. But it was time to stand up for myself. I didn't need to protect him and these superficial relationships any longer. Free at last. I allowed the anger to spill out rather than consume me. It belongs to them afterall.  

I ensured that Peter saw my words, to make him see; copied him in. As predicted, he didn't respond, though I'm glad I gave him the opportunity to. A wise sister messaged me to say that, ASD doesn't restrict an intelligent man's perception of respect and she is so right. ASD is not an excuse for him to have enabled negative behaviour towards me over the years. And anyway, as he's undiagnosed and adamant that he "doesn't have ASD" he has no excuse at all!

I'm grieving for what I thought would be, the life we didn't have, for our amazing girls who have been so strong and resilient, but mostly, it's for him. 

Grieving for a version of him that never really existed. 

A Cup of Tea at a Time

He's gone.

It didn't happen the way I'd planned; it wasn't well thought out; it wasn't a calm experience for the children. It was done on the back of frustration, hurt and anger, which makes me feel sad and disappointed in myself. 

We were making dinner and I asked him why he hadn't tried to fight for me. Why he hadn't returned to relationship counselling? Why was he so reluctant to go for neurodivergence testing after the psychotherapist suggested it? 

He told me he would tell me why tomorrow. I became suspicious and asked him to tell me why, right there and then, not tomorrow. He then enlightened me that his sister had screenshot posts I'd written in a feminist group from months ago that I left straight after she joined. The posts were about domestic inequality, the impact of old-fashioned values and how men with ASD often make the domestic labour gap even wider in modern homes. In one post, I'd respectfully touched on his parents' old fashioned values. 

His sister, rather vindictively, would have needed to search my name to dish up the dirt as I'd left the group when she joined. Peter however, was adamant that she must have fallen upon these historical posts rather accidentally. Usually, a stickler for the truth, yet delusional where his Family Of Origin are concerned. She had then shared her nasty little findings with the family, as a result, further perpetuating the enmeshment that they all share as THE "main" family group. As is often found in ASD males, their loyalty to the family of origin is unwavering no matter how dysfunctional; Peter's is no different.

Rather than ask me about the posts, find out why I'd written them, if I had, what I'd said, (as apparently he still hadn't seen the screenshots), he had decided that this was good reason to give up and believed her "accidental findings" story. What hurts is that Peter has never been so quick to believe me about anything. 

It was 2014 all over again.

Standing in the kitchen arguing after another underhanded criticism from his mother about my parenting, him siding with her before he truly knew the facts. She "didn't mean any harm." 

I immediately asked him to leave. 

To pack his things right away and leave. 

His sister had not only broken my privacy but had used the information to drive a further wedge between us and he just accepted it. Because the real villain in his eyes is me, for reaching out and speaking out in the first place. For not doing better at being silently miserable. 

These people are not healthy. She is another masker, another agreeable, insincere, nicety-nice, undiagnosed Aspie. Everything must centre around the Family Of Origin and traitors will be punished. They are infact so enmeshed that any criticism of any family member is a personal blow to them. I've seen it countless times. There are no boundaries. They are all the same person.

So Peter left in full support of himself and his sister's actions and reasons. He put our children to bed as they cried themselves to sleep, kissed them good night, packed a very small case and left to return back home. To his parents. To his real family.

He is coming over to see the children this evening and I will make myself scarce. I had planned to go out and enjoy myself this evening- "I'll show him!" But after a sleepless night and high emotion, I just want an early night and home comforts and my kids. I don't want him here in this house and we need to find a way forward, a new normal. 

Friends tell me to take it an hour at a time, a day at a time and I got through the first day. I sat next to a lake eating crumpets and sipping hot chocolate this afternoon in the beating sun on a freezing cold November day.  I felt a sense of relief. Me, returning I think. Oddly, I thought of my old dog who died a few years ago, not used to being in the outdoors, feeling my old self without him there. 

Cups of tea feel comforting; I've counted four so far today. I tidied up, wiped the stove, washed some clothes. Life really does go on. Little tokens of comfort and warmth have got me through today- that warm sun in the cold air, messages to friends, a last minute video call with my therapist. My children who have been so brave.

Peter used to make cups of tea for me as a way of connecting- it rarely went deeper than a cup of tea for him; I need more. So, from today, I make my own tea, not to connect, but to stop and pause, to take a breath and remember, that life goes on. 

Blowing his Cover

When he was away, I learned that I can manage without him; that all of his practical input is do-able myself. More do-able because I wasn't emotionally exhausted as I often am when he's around.

I felt a sense of relief at him not being in the house bringing down my mood, dampening the air with his serious interrogations about my day, what I'd eaten and where I'd been. 

After our lovely, two day injection of passion prior to him leaving, I really did miss him, but only the version of him I'd embraced for those two days. I did not miss the practical, apathetic, insular version of him that I see every other day of the week. 

I think I implied in my previous post "Isolated" how envious I've become that his life is still full outside of family life, whilst my social connections have withered away over time. This has led to us leading separate lives, one where my life revolves around home, family, children and work, whilst his revolves mainly around work, children and his social life, which he has kept me distanced from. 

Sociable Peter is not like Partner Peter at all. Sociable Peter is very agreeable, light-hearted, empathetic, trustworthy, loyal, understanding, flexible, chatty, involved in everything and approachable. Partner Peter however, is competitive, secretive, apathetic, neglectful, disinterested, disloyal and non-committal. 

The isolation I've felt, the self doubt, the sense of shame at not seeing Peter in the same light that others do, has eaten away at me. His mother and sister in particular have been quite delusional when I've sought support and understanding from them about Peter's neglectful behaviour. They condescend most of the things I say, according to Peter they "can't help it" but interestingly, it's usually just women that they seek to condescend. 

When everyone else thinks our ASD partners are great, it's like being gaslighted not just by the Peters that supposedly love us, but by every single person around us who knows them. 

Whilst he was away, I felt no pressure not to rock the boat and I informed his parents about how unhappy I'd been and that I thought it best that Peter goes to stay with them for a while. This was a huge step. But I've done it for my children aswell as myself, because I want this separation to be as kind to them as possible and they need the security of their own home just whilst they get used to Peter's absence. 

His mother never even responded. 

His sister responded with "fine" after explaining to her why I was cancelling our future plans. There was no empathy whatsoever from any of them. I have lost my function, I am no longer a resource, so they didn't need to engage with me. It is easy to see where Peter gets his lack of empathy from. His father merely responded with "ok" similarly to the responses I regularly receive from his son. 

I have no emotional connection with any of his family, nevermind Peter. It's an isolating place to be when you've moved to his hometown, where all his friends and family live and you are cut off from emotional connection.

I have since found a meme about "quiet quitting" a relationship and what that looks like and I found myself sharing it to my social media pages with no explanation. I feel ready to show my truth. That he quit long before I did. I don't want to bad mouth Peter, or cause him distress, but I don't want to play pretend anymore. I told my boss yesterday about what I've been going through these last few years, explaining to her just how lonely I have been through the tears. She was so kind to me, she made me cry. She told me how she sees me and sees our family and it wasn't as I'd imagined. Some people really do see the cracks and can tell who is the one trying and who is pulling away. She knew. 

I've told Peter "you don't get to quit US and keep ME." He said "I know," but at no point did he try to prove my observation wrong. 

Peter is hurting. 

But not for the right reasons.

I've blown his cover and he's angry with me. He hasn't fought for me, he hasn't asked if we can talk about it, he hasn't told me he loves me; he's merely accepted everything. And now, because his parents know, he has agreed to move out as soon as possible. His parents, like Peter have accepted everything, offering no support to myself or even Peter, in a bid to save his family.

He is confused after our two day rendezvous, he thought we were back on track, but I know deep down that a rendezvous is all it will ever be. I do question if things would have been different this time on his return from his all-male holiday if I'd have embraced him with open arms, but I don't have the strength to find out. I really want to reach out to him and touch him, kiss him, love him and I'm sure he would reciprocate at first, but the minute I show any form of "negative" emotion, he would punish me with emotional neglect and withdrawal. 

Last night, I really got to the core of things and asked him if he liked me. I was scared for the answer. I discovered that he likes me as a mother, he likes me as hard worker, but he never elaborated on liking me as a person at all.

I see him "liking" his friends' wives comical quips on social media to his friendship group that they have been included in that I haven't. But he never "likes" my memes about family, the pictures of our children and will never ever "like" any of my vocal support and cheerleading for those in minorities. He's spent his life trying to fit in, what the fuck am I doing trying not to?! He will never like me for challenging the status quo.

And he will never, ever like me for blowing his cover. But for me, the veil is lifting and for that, I think I feel a bit better.