Being literal, as most Autistic people are, I mean what I say, and I (foolishly it would seem) expect people to mean what they say back to me. So, when a builder says that something isn’t a problem and will be done in a certain time frame, (given no extenuating circumstances of course), I have a tendency to believe him. When a mortgage advisor (who has taken exams and is strictly monitored by Ombudsmen) works out all the sums based on my earnings and equity and then tells me that I can afford the teeny tiny house down the road, I am likely to believe him. And when a seemingly lovely couple offer to help us refurbish our horse-box lorry at a cut price deal because we are their guinea pigs on their first conversion, being lovely people ourselves, we are prone to believe that people do good deeds. Like we do. We are good deed people.
However, to my utter dismay, I keep discovering that many people aren’t good deed people, and they just don’t do what they say they will. Either they never intended to, or they are so incompetent that they mess up and expect the customer to pay, which given my heightened sense of justice (another Autistic trait), doesn’t work for me. So, as you may well have guessed, I have been entrenched in a few battles to get what I am paying for and it’s been tough few weeks. Thankfully with the builder, I have a full paper trail of what was agreed, and have photographed, videoed and even catalogued what an utter bodge job these guys did and then demanded more money to continue when it went way over time. They broke a water pipe and refused to fix it unless I paid another £1000 instalment (they actually asked for payment in full and were most aggressive when I refused). They tried blackmailing the money out of me by threatening to walk, but my gut instinct told me that if I paid them a penny more, they would walk anyway. It’s what a rogue builder did to me a couple of years ago, (followed by legal battles that went on for two years) so I was unlikely to make that mistake again. So the builder walked – or got sacked depending on how you look at it after six painful days of us tolerating an incompetent labourer who freely admitted he was hired for our job at the last minute and didn’t have a clue what he was doing.
We’d gone with the cheapest quote because of the mortgage advisor making a right royal mess of my mortgage. The plan was always to do an equity release on my flat and end up with enough money to buy our dream home in the countryside later this year. However, mortgage man Richard was out on his sums by £106,000 and it wasn’t discovered until AFTER we had exchanged contracts. That’s a lot of money! For a few hairy scary days, it looked like we were going to default on the purchase and potentially lose £23,500 which was the 10% deposit. Thankfully buying the teeny tiny house down the road didn’t use up my full borrowing potential and so after frantically trying to find solutions and having to agree in writing that I was happy to continue working until I am 73 years old, the funding was somehow bungled together. BUT. There’s now no equity to put forward to the next house and our new mortgage payments are £300 a month dearer, so we might not be able to help Oliver like we planned. To say the whole thing has been a farce is an understatement, and the cause and effect of this has been doubly stressful as I no longer have the money to consolidate my debts and pay a builder to fix everything. My credit rating is excellent thankfully, so I’ve just borrowed more money as part of the solution. It makes me feel really quite sick with anxiety and I have never liked debt. I firmly believe this is how they enslave you; borrow money and then work yourself into an early grave to pay it off. Obviously I have no intention of working until I am 73, and plan to be debt free with a source of income inside the next few years, but as I approach 50, I can’t help looking at where I am at and how I got here, and despite the rat-race nightmares of hiring builders and being misadvised by financial ‘experts’, I’m pretty darn chuffed at where I am.
It would have been wonderful to have the finances to pay professionals to do everything, but instead we have been forced into refurbishing much of the house ourselves. Apart from the fact that my bones are seizing up and I’ve discovered muscles I didn’t know I had by doing so much hard graft, it’s been quite amazing to do this project together with Paul.
It’s felt like we are young honeymooners doing up our first home together. It’s a complete do-over, only this time we are both with the partners we are supposed to be with. The difference is astonishing, and it makes me want to run around telling couples who are miserable that it doesn’t have to be that way. I look around and see so many people settling for less because they are too busy focussing on goals that don’t matter, and forgetting all about joy. Our main goal should be to find joy in everyday things. And silver linings from stormy horizons. I’m learning that mistakes are also gifts. Would I have bought a light fitting from the charity shop for a pound if I had the money to buy everything new? Would it have felt like such a hidden treasure had it not been so welcome? We couldn’t afford a new kitchen, so I painted the old one and have transformed it. I think it’s better than a new kitchen! Why have I always moved house and put a new kitchen in? I’ve had to break this conditioned notion that new is best. It isn’t! Upcycling and mending what we already have should be our priority if we want to save the planet. I am always going to try and source what I need second hand from now on and only buy something brand new when I really can’t find a greener option. If I have to buy new, I’m also going to try and buy local and support a local trade.
Dare I say it (and do I mean it?) but I think I’m looking forward to entering my sixth decade of living and can look at my life and be pleased with where I am at. It has sod all to do with money or equity or property or any measure of success by Western standards, but more to do with who I am, and who I have become. I like the me I have matured into, and the self loathing I had grown accustomed to living with has shrunk into the background like a bad dream. I am starting to see myself the way that Paul sees me, and to acknowledge that whilst I am disadvantaged in many areas of life because my brain is not typical, I am also very gifted, creative, articulate and so capable in some areas, I can be like Wonder Woman. Fierce and brilliant. And strangely unpopular despite my kind heart. Why is it that society shuns people like me? Is it because I don’t know how to schmooze at parties? Being literal and honest can made for very cringeworthy interactions and I know I sometimes make people feel uncomfortable. It’s not my aim, but I can’t help point out things that are wrong or make no sense. It’s like tourettes, but instead of swearing I blurt out my feedback on the uneven positioning of a display or I will wonder out loud why there are no vegan options in a meal deal. Partly, it’s curiosity as I want to understand things. Like why tradition is so important, or why someone has made certain choices. Sadly, this often comes across as judgemental, rude and is often completely unwelcome. I often don’t realise this at the time however, and agonise over every word I said at home later when I can clearly sense I have said the wrong thing, but don’t know what. I find it sad that people don’t seem to want the truth; not even truthful enthusiasm for something that is good. I can be embarrassingly happy about awesome things. Paul loves that about me; I haven’t lost my childish awe and joy when I encounter something good. But people are more likely to remember the negative stuff like when I tell someone pigs are more intelligent than dogs when they just want to enjoy their bacon sandwich. I’m the girl that told the other girls at sing club it was heading towards becoming bitch club and was ousted for it (it was genuinely like being back at school they were so unkind about other women not there to defend themselves).
But I am glad of this part of me. I fight for justice and fairness and above all, kindness. People who know me know I have no malice or hidden agenda and know I am never intentionally mean, but that I will always say it as it is. I’m the one to ask if we can discuss the elephant in the room because I just can’t pretend everything is fine when it very clearly isn’t.
Up until recently, I would attend events I didn’t want to go to, to make small talk with neuro-typical people I have very little in common with, and pretend I was having a great time because I was just grateful to have been invited. But I am now aware of what a liability I am socially; I get why I don’t fit in and have gone through stages of grieving my lack of friends and family, to accepting I am not wanted by most, and finally now realising I don’t want to be around anyone I have to mask my real self from to get them to like me. I’m excellent company to people who have nothing to hide and who want to be around people like me. And that’s the key isn’t it? Choosing to be where you are wanted. That is fine when choosing who you want to spend time with, but not so fine when it’s people you have to live alongside and they aren’t quite so friendly or reasonable.
Society currently doesn’t want people like me, but as I live in this society and am not quite ready yet to go and dig a hole in the mound at Pi Acres and live in it like a crazy lady, I have to do something to help change it. But I also have to at least try and pick my battles carefully as it’s exhausting. I have more battles going on right now than I need, so I will not be going to Shirley’s all women shindig because it’s my idea of hell (sorry Shirley, this is no reflection on you) and I do not feel guilty that I have said no. My attendance is not required and I just don’t need to put myself through the anguish of parties anymore. I will however, be putting myself quite squarely in the firing line and standing up for my rights when I feel passionately that they have been ignored. Or I have been ripped off or bullied. There’s been some strongly worded and much edited correspondence coming from this laptop the last few weeks including an email to Step-heavy upstairs telling her that she and the entire management committee are ableist and guilty of discrimination. They told me that I was not allowed to have Paul with me at management company meetings despite my admission that I need support to attend these things, but that I could request that a proxy attend on my behalf. So I had to send Paul to a meeting upstairs that I wasn’t allowed to go to despite being a director of the management company. That’s madness! I was also told that despite being a director of the management company I was not allowed to draft a letter for Step-heavy (my remortgage application required some simple questions answering) for her to sign. They are the most awkward, unpleasant, unsympathetic lot I’ve ever had to live alongside (and I’m from London originally!) so I no longer care if they think I’m highly strung/crazy/too sensitive. In fact, I care so little now what they think of me that I’ve rented out the flat (subject to references) but have kept my parking space at the rear. I’m going to put a caravan on it.
So, that brings me to the horse-box lorry and what has happened that has made us ditch the project and buy a caravan. I sold my cute little red Fiat 500 last year and the money was put aside to refurbish the horse-box lorry into ‘tiny house’ living. We planned to stay in it on the land when we could this summer and then sell it. It didn’t cost us much and we have been sitting on the cash from my Fiat patiently waiting for months and months for work to start on it. I had drawn plans, written lists and sourced all secondhand and free bits for it, and I made sure I liaised thoroughly with the people due to work on it. Everything in writing. However, they turned out to be as sneaky as the damn builders and it’s destroyed any trust I have in them. I shan’t bore you with too many details, except to say that without checking with us first, they spent 15 days stripping off all the metal panels (so Fern is just a naked frame now) and asked us for £1800 for doing so.
It’s brought us to a rather unpleasant stalemate situation because we haven’t got £1800 to effectively pay to make our lorry worse than when we gave it to them. Doing this has made it a project not worth continuing with – financially at the very least. Despite the fact that it was always a budget conversion on an old lorry, and we had sourced all second hand/free cookers, showers, windows etc they are now claiming they thought we wanted a bespoke, top range conversion and money wasn’t an object! How do you deal with that? Apart from that, their timing couldn’t have been worse, what with the builder, the mortgage advisor and the management committee all being either incompetent or shifty. I just don’t have the tolerance anymore to be taken advantage of, and although Paul is warning me I have started to sound like I don’t care, I have to toughen up. Being a kind person doesn’t mean you allow people to take advantage of you and in fact, it is unkind to future empaths like myself not to try and protect them from the same experience from the same sharks. So, the money that was put aside for the first fix on the horse-box lorry has now gone on a caravan. It’s not a fancy one, but I will work my Shelley magic on it and we will stay on the land in it this summer. The shed at Pi Acres had an attempted break in last time we went, so I shan’t be leaving the caravan there when we aren’t there too. We’ve been planting willow (Andrew has more for us apparently so I am most happy about that) and will be planting up hawthorn and holly next time we go. Sadly we had to cancel a couple of events like path making (Paul has started cutting a path up to the top of the mound) as we will soon be moving into our new home. We have to leave the flat immaculate for the new tenants so there’s that to do as well. I feel guilty that we aren’t at Pi Acres right now, fixing the broken geodome or sorting out the area for the caravan but it is what it is, and the land will still be there when we are free to come and love it properly again. We’ve invited the local scouts to share the space with us so I’m excited about that too. So long as they respect our compost loo, all is well. I don’t want to have to deal with any more unnecessary shit. Literally.