Being God’s Beloved Child As an Enneagram Type Four

Today, I read some about the Enneagram again. As regular readers of this blog will know, I’m a type Four. Type Fours’ core motivation is to be fully understood as their unique and authentic selves. As such, Fours often focus on their being different from other people in some fundamental way. I am no different (pun intended) in this respect.

When I was in the early days of my psych hospital stay, my parents came to talk to the psychiatrist. They told him that, ever since I’d realized I am different because of my blindness at roughly age seven, I had tried to make it look like I was different in a ton of other ways. For instance, I identified as autistic (with which I was eventually diagnosed), thought as a teen that I was a lesbian (I am not), etc. Indeed, identity confusion was quite a common experience for me. According to my parents, this was all because I refused to accept the fact that I am blind, rather than because, well, I felt different in some rather interesting, somewhat impalpable ways.

Today, as I read the Day 1 section of The Enneagram Type 4 by Beth McCord, I realized I’ve always focused my attention on how I am not just essentially different from everyone else, but in some fundamental way more defective than everyone else. In reality, this is not true.

I am reminded in this respect of a sermon or something I once heard about a king having two daughters who both got lost in a shipwreck and stranded with farmers or something. Years later, the king found out that his daughters were still alive and he sent out some men to track them down. One daughter believed she was the king’s daughter, while the other didn’t. To whom does it matter? Of course, to the one who believes. This is probably what it is like to be a child of God: we are all children of God, but only those who believe it will delight in His kingdom. I find this comforting to my non-believer friends, realizing that God does not somehow condemn those people or something. Of course, there is the difference that God is all-knowing and all-powerful, so He could’ve made everyone believe.

However, my point is that there is nothing that makes me less of a child of God because of who I am or what I do. I am also not more defective than anyone else based on any of my differences, be it my autism or my blindness or whatever. Neurodiversity and disability rights are clear on that. No matter how fundamentally different I feel as an enneagram type Four, or as an autistic, multiply-disabled trauma survivor, or as just plain ol’ me, I am still God’s beloved child and I do not need to – cannot even – attempt to earn that status any more. After all, Jesus Christ purchased that status for me on the cross.

I am linking this post up with Inspire Me Monday.

What If I Lose My Care?

Today’s prompt for the Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge is fear. More specifically, the organizers ask us to consider whether we ever worry about the “what if’s” of a situation without looking at the positive present. Fear, for me, takes many forms, including post-traumatic stress, in which I relive the past. However, it also includes worrying about the future indeed.

Specifically, I worry about losing my support. Of course, this is a realistic worry in a sense, in that my one-on-one support has only been approved until sometime in late 2023. However, right now it’s only May 2022 and a lot could happen between now and then.

This worry also takes unrealistic forms. For example, sometimes I’m convinced that the psychologist from the psychiatric hospital who diagnosed me with dependent personality disorder to “prove” that I was misusing care, will find out that I’m in long-term care and will report me for care fraud. If she does and if the authorities follow along with her allegation, I will not just lose my one-on-one, but all my long-term care and will essentially be required to move back into independent living with my husband.

In a sense, the fact that this “what if” is my worst fear, does prove sort of that I do have dependent traits. However, dependent personality disorder or dependency in general is not the same as misusing care. After all, I never disputed my psychologist’s claim that I wished to be cared for. What I disputed, is her claim that this wish is unfounded, in that I don’t really need this care.

In a similar fashion, recently I’ve had “what if’s” in my head about moving to another care home. What if the staff there expect me to be much more independent than I am right now? In a sense, one reason I want to move to another care home is to have a better quality of life, a broader perspective. This may include greater independence. But I don’t want to be forced into it.

I am reminded of a question on a personality test I had to fill out for my autism re-assessment back in 2017. The agree/disagree statement went something like this: “Being left behind alone is my worst fear.” I didn’t know how to answer it back then, as I thought at the time that being in serious pain would be worse, so I ticked the “Disagree” box. Then again, at the time, I hadn’t experienced significant time being left to my own resources in at least nine years. Now, I would certainly tick the “Agree” box even though I know it was a red flag for dependent personality disorder. I don’t care.

What if I lose all my care and am left to my own resources? During the same assessment, I had to answer a question about how difficult it would be to stay on my own for a couple of days. I ticked the “Very difficult” box, not the “Impossible” box that I would have ticked now. Then again, if my husband had stocked up on food and I had my computer and phone with me, would it literally be impossible? Hmmm, well… emotionally, yes, it would be.

Dream Small

It’s interesting that, since deciding to want to start the process of finding me a more suitable care home, I’ve had the lyrics to the Josh Wilson song “Dream Small” in my head a lot. This is a Christian song about the fact that, while there’s nothing wrong with wanting to change the world in big ways, small contributions matter too.

Of course, that’s probably not the meaning behind these lyrics being stuck in my head. I don’t dream of ending world poverty or solving the climate crisis. In fact, the reason I want to move to another care home, has little to do with wanting to improve other people’s lives.

However, in a sense, the title of this song speaks to me, as do certain points in the lyrics. I may want to change my life in a big way by moving to another care home (assuming one can be found), but that doesn’t mean I don’t need to pay attention to the little ways in which I can improve my life right now. I still need to focus my attention on my current quality of life.

I am grateful that I finally found the motivation to look up a polymer clay video tutorial again. I couldn’t at the time actually go and work on the project taught in the tutorial, but I will later this week.

I am also grateful to have started reading again. I finally picked up Thrive by Kenneth Oppel, since I really need to finish the Overthrow trilogy even though Hatch was a bit disappointing.

All that being said, dreaming small does mean that small setbacks can get me to become unstable easily. For example, yesterday I found out that the headphones I bought at the end of March and that stopped working two weeks later, most likely hadn’t been sent out to the manufacturer by the store I bought them at. The lack of clarity about this sent me spiraling out of control. It may just be a pair of headphones – material things, money if you will -, but to me, the situation was quite unbearable.

With respect to the care home situation, I am also reminded of a fellow patient on the locked psych unit who told me I needed to focus on changing myself, not my living situation. This was over fourteen years and four living places ago. I do not fully agree, but partly, I do, in the sense that my distress is partly caused by internal sources. If I keep focusing my attention on external circumstances, these internal sources will not change. If I can reframe my thinking around those, I can decrease my distress. The problem is, I can’t usually reframe my thinking.

Autism and Aggression: An Autistic Adult’s Perspective

April was Autism Awareness Month. In previous years, I have dedicated my #AtoZChallenge to autism, but this year, I chose a different topic. For a while, I had it in mind to focus on developmental disabilities in general, but, as you can see, I chose another topic entirely. However, the topic of autism is still on my mind. In the coming weeks, I want to offer more of an insider’s perspective on autism and its characteristics. After all, I am autistic and I feel that the blog coverage on autism is heavily divided between parents of autistic children sharing their stories and adult autistics sharing advocacy. Now there’s nothing wrong with advocacy – I feel passionate about it too -, but there is also nothing wrong with personal experience stories. What is wrong is when these are mostly one-sidedly coming from neurotypical (non-autistic) parents of autistic children. Hence, my insider’s perspective.

For my first post, I am choosing a rather controversial topic: aggression. When parents talk about their child with autism, one of the first things they will usually mention is the child’s aggressive behavior. And in fact, this was the first thing my parents would say when asked to describe my problem behaviors too. It was also what got me to be referred to the mental health agency for an evaluation at age 20, which ultimately led to my autism diagnosis.

I don’t know about statistics of aggression in general, but it is highly stereotypical to equate autism with violent behavior. Autistics are not more likely to be deliberately violent than neurotypicals and they are, in fact, more likely to fall victim to violent crimes.

That doesn’t mean aggression doesn’t occur and, when it does, that it isn’t related to the autistic person’s autism. To say that it’s a “comorbidity” is, in my opinion, doing the autistic a disservice. It is, however, an issue that arises in the interaction between the autistic person and a highly autism-unfriendly world. After all, at least I have often gotten aggressive when my needs for autism-supportive care are not met.

For instance, one day in the psych hospital, a nurse, whom I will call Sara, had said one evening that she’d get back to me the following day after morning report to talk about getting me unsupervised off-ward privileges. The next day, I went up to Sara, but wasn’t able to communicate clearly what I wanted. “I’m not your assigned nurse today,” Sara said. “Go to Daisy if you want something.” Now the nurse I’ll call Daisy was a temp worker, so clueless about my needs or what I’d talked to Sara about the previous day. I got very irritable, because Sara had promised me she’d get back to me and now she was referring me to Daisy. I screamed, walked around the ward restlessly and constantly nagged the staff in an irritable voice. By handover, a third nurse, whom I’ll call Robert, came on and said that he’d put me in seclusion if I didn’t calm down right away. “Go on then, stupid,” I shouted. So he did.

This was not my worst incident of aggression ever. As a teen, my mother reports, I would hit her. I currently still occasionally slap or push staff. Usually, this again results from staff not following through on something or not following my daily routine.

I feel strongly that, though not all incidents of aggression can be prevented by parents or carers providing autism-sensitive support, a lot of them can. If an autistic is aggressive anyway, there are much better ways of handling it than solitary confinement.

loopyloulaura

Also linking up with #PoCoLo.

Five Things I Take for Granted #5Things

Yesterday, DrTanya’s topic for the #5Things challenge was things you (sometimes) take for granted. I realize I take a lot of things for granted that I really shouldn’t. Here are just five.

1. My intelligence. I don’t take it as much for granted as I used to when in school, but i still feel that I pretty much consider my high IQ a given. Not only that, but I usually find that I’m surprised when others aren’t as intellectually capable as I am. Of course, I don’t mean my fellow clients at the care facility. In fact, they have taught me quite a lesson in humility.

2. My access to medical care. I don’t take my access to long-term care for granted, because that was a fight, but my basic health insurance coverage, I certainly do take for granted. Of course, it is mandatory here in the Netherlands and even those who don’t pay their premiums can’t be refused insurance for at least six months while the insurance company tries to sort things out with them.

3. A roof over my head. I’ve never been without shelter, although in a sense I’ve often felt “homeless”. In the psychiatric hospital, I knew several ppatients who had no home other than the hospital and who were regularly suspended from the ward into the homeless shelter. In this sense, it is really surprising that I never even considered this would happen to me, since I too for several years had no home other than the hospital. I think this signals how secure I felt, in a sense, at the ward I resided at back then.

4. Electricity. I never had to pay my own electricity bills, at least not directly. I mean, even when my husband and I lived together, my husband paid the electricity bills. As a result, I’m hardly aware of how much energy really costs. My husband did tell me how well we did compared to other households and we were always relatively frugal. Even so, it all seems a bit abstract to me.

5. Access to a computer. I don’t take Internet access for granted, but access to a computer, I certainly do. Even in my early days at the locked psychiatric ward, I had my laptop with me and there was no way anyone could take it from me, regardless of what the rules said about only certain electronics being permitted. Thankfully, my nursing staff did understand.

What things do you take for granted?

A Letter to Myself Five Years Ago

Today, I stumbled upon a journaling prompt that asked me to write a letter to myself five years ago. I’m pretty sure I’ve done something similar to this at least a couple of times before. In fact, when I searched this blog for letters, I saw that I’d written A letter explaining my life at the time in early 2020, a letter to my younger self in general in October of 2018 and even a letter from my (then) future self in 2019.

Those who know the timeline of my life, of course, will not be surprised that I am going to pick this prompt anyway, as the “five years ago” part of the prompt is particularly significant. After all, it was weeks before I’d be kicked out of the mental hospital. I am not going to bore you with a timeline of the past five years in this letter. Instead, I’m trying to provide some new insights.

Raalte, March 27, 2022

Dear Astrid,

It is tempting to start this letter with a cliché, such as, “How are you?” However, I know how you are. You are struggling greatly with self-doubt and uncertainty. Fear of abandonment and attachment loss. You’d rather avoid taking the next step in your life, leaving the familiar behind to step into unfamiliar territory. Even though you’d rather not admit it, your psychologist is right that you’re scared of needing to become independent.

I want to let you know I understand. Independence is scary. The unfamiliar, leaving the psychiatric institution to go live with your husband, is even scarier. I understand you’d rather stay with unsupportive people you know, ie. in the psych hospital, than live with a supportive person, ie. your husband, under circumstances you don’t know.

And, to be honest, if I had a choice back when I was you, I’d not have chosen to live with my husband. The thing is, you don’t have a choice. Not yet. But you will, at some point.

Please, for my sake, hold on for a bit. Do what your psychologist tells you, but also stand up for your right to proper day activities and community support. It will be hard, living in the community with your husband. But things will get easier.

I am writing from a care facility. In 2019, I was approved for long-term care based on blindness. I also have extra one-on-one support. Please don’t tell your psychologist all of this, as she’s going to time travel right ahead to me and make sure my funding gets taken away. This is just between you and me, so that you know things will improve. I know they will get worse first, but please do hold on.

Looking to you, I do see that you struggle to let go of the familiar, even when it isn’t good for you. I sometimes think I face the opposite issue, chasing perfection rather than being content with what I have now. It’s a true balancing act.

I also want to let you know that, as much as you’d like to make your own choices, being allowed to make those choices also can be a burden. The fact that, now, I am free to stay in the care facility for as long as I want or leave when I want, is quite scary, I must admit. In that sense, your psychologist was probably right about my dependent personality disorder features.

I wish I could tell you that your attachment issues would be over by now. They aren’t. I’m still struggling with them, worse even than I was when I was you. However, I do have a supportive mental health treatment team now,for which I’m forever grateful.

In summary, please do believe in yourself. You have every right to feel that you need more support than your psychologist says you need. You just won’t get it yet. Eventually though, you will.

With love,

Your future self

Benzos As a “Bandaid” for Serious Mental Illness: My Experiences

Earlier today, Ashley of Mental Health @ Home wrote an interesting article about the role of benzodiazepines in mental health treatment. While benzos can be useful as short-term treatment or PRN medication for panic disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, social anxiety or insomnia, they are often used as a go-to “bandaid” med for all kinds of mental health conditions. And by “bandaid”, I don’t just mean short-term.

The first benzodiazepine I was prescribed, was the sleeping pill temazepam (Restoril) by my GP in 2006. I was suffering with significant insomnia, but really I was suffering with what I now know is a combination of the onset of autistic burnout and my dissociative shell cracking, if that makes sense. I was given ten pills to use over the course of a month at least. I took six weeks to use them up and refused to get a refill even though my staff at the independence training home nagged me about it.

Then, once in the psychiatric hospital a year later, I used a number of different benzos, one after the other, mostly for sleep too. I however also got put on oxazepam (Serax) as a PRN medication for my agitation. Whenever I took it, I’d become hazy, fall asleep for an hour or so and wake up just as agitated as I was before or more so.

At the time though, I was seen as just autistic if that at all. More so, I was seen as a manipulative, challenging pain in the neck of the nursing staff. It hadn’t been come to the surface yet that I was a trauma survivor and, if it had, no-one cared.

Benzos can cause dissociation to worsen in people with dissociative disorders. Indeed, I find that I do become more fuzzy and I really don’t like it. Benzos can also cause people with borderline personality disorder to become more irritable or impulsive. While I personally haven’t noticed I become particularly aggressive on benzos, like I mentioned above, after the first effects wear off, I do notice I become at least as irritable as I was before taking the medication. I used to attribute this to the fact that the reason for my agitation wasn’t solved by my taking a pill.

After all, one thing that Ashley doesn’t cover is the fact that people with severe mental illness who get prescribed benzos as bandaids for agitation, may very well have good reason to be agitated. I found that often the nursing staff in the mental hospital weren’t following my care plan or my crisis prevention plan at all and, when I got irritable as a result, I was quickly directed to take my Serax.

All this took place in 2007 or 2008, before I was diagnosed with DID or PTSD or BPD for that matter. Once diagnosed with these, I still ended up with a prescription for lorazepam (Ativan) though. In fact, I at one point took it at a relatively high dose of 3mg per day for several months. Thankfully, my withdrawal symptoms once quitting cold turkey due to a miscommunication with my psychiatrist, were physical only and I was able to go back on it and taper slowly soon enough.

Currently, I do have a prescription for lorazepam as a tranquilizer for when I have a dental procedure. Now that I am thinking about all the things I read in Ashley’s article, as well as what I’ve been discussing with my psychiatrist recently about my fear of losing control, I’m not even sure I’m going to take the medication when the time comes to have dental work done. Which, I hope, isn’t anytime soon.

Accepting My Ordinary Identity in Christ #Write28Days

Welcome to day two in #Write28Days. Today’s optional prompt is “Ordinary”. Immediately, I thought: what a dull prompt! I don’t want to be ordinary. I don’t even want to write about it!

Like I said yesterday, I am an Enneagram type Four. One of the descriptors for type Fours is “The Individualist”. Another, less kind one, is “Specials”. As these denominators say, we don’t want to be boring, like everyone else, ordinary.

When I had just been admitted to the psychiatric hospital in 2007, my parents came to talk to my doctor. They said that, in order to avoid accepting the fact that I am blind, I sought out to be different in every other way possible. For example, as a teen I thought I was a lesbian. I had just gotten acquainted with my now husband at the time that my parents used this against me, but we were by no means dating yet. Besides, in my mental state at the time, my sexual orientation was about the last thing on my mind. That being said, at the core, my parents were probably right: I saw myself as a complicated, unique, special person. Extraordinary.

Now we’re nearly fifteen years on. In a way, I still see myself as different from “ordinary” people in many ways. For instance, I am multiply-disabled, including blind and autistic. I am a trauma survivor and identify as a plural system (dissociative identity disorder). I, however, also now see that I am loved by God and by others as I am. And that is what matters most: my ordinary identity in Christ.

I still sometimes focus on the aspects of my identity that make me different from most other human beings. That’s okay though, as long as my “otherness” doesn’t become all-encompassing. Ultimately, my main identity is as a person loved by God.

Flash Fiction: Can I Go?

“I just want to go to a friend for two nights,” Patricia yelled, asserting her words with some colorful language, as she grabbed the nearest chair she could reach. “You are NOT going to treat me this way,” nurse Nancy replied with more anger in her voice than she probably intended. More calmly, she added: “If you want to go on leave for longer than originally agreed upon, you need to discuss it with Marjorie, and she’s not available right now.” At that point, a blonde nurse in her mid-thirties entered the ward. As Patricia saw her, her anger rose and, heaving the chair off the floor, she threw it at Marjorie, barely missing her. Turning to the nurse’s station, Nancy told Patricia, not even looking at her: “Here are your meds and the address for the homeless shelter; for your severe aggressive behavior, you’ve been suspended until Monday.”


This piece of flash fiction is based on a true story from a fellow patient at the locked psychiatric unit back in 2008. I always felt rather conflicted about patients, especially those without a home, being suspended for severe challenging behavior. In this case though, the patient got exactly what she wanted.

I am joining the Six Sentence Story Link-Up, for which the prompt this week is “Shelter”. I am also linking up with Friday Writings, even though it’s Saturday. The optional prompt is conversations you’ve overheard. Though I didn’t exactly overhear this conversation, as it was told to me by the fellow patient later on, I thought it’d be fitting enough.

How I Cope With Loneliness

Today in her Sunday Poser, Sadje asks us about loneliness. She describes the experience as the feeling she gets when her family or friends can’t celebrate something important (such as the seasonal holidays) with her. This is one aspect of loneliness indeed. I feel lonely, left out even, knowing that my sister will be celebrating St. Nicholas with my parents next week and I haven’t been invited. Okay, she has a child for whom this holiday is more meaningful than it should be for me as an adult. Still, I am reminded of the last year we celebrated St. Nicholas with my family, or rather, the first year we didn’t. That was because of me: I had been admitted to the mental hospital shortly before and my parents didn’t want the hassle of having to watch me while I was on leave, so at first they suggested they celebrate the occasion without me. That year, my sister refused and the celebration didn’t go forward at all. Now that my sister has a child, there’s no way she’s going to care about whether I’ll be included or not. In fact, I’m pretty sure she’d rather have me excluded.

Loneliness, however, can take other forms too. Like I mentioned last month, loneliness comes from within a lot of the time. That’s why you can feel lonely when you’re surrounded by people. I often felt this way in the high school cafeteria.

I find that what helps me cope with loneliness is to surround myself with positive influences, both in the form of people and activities. I mean, I could dwell on my family’s rejection of me, but I do have a loving husband and loving in-laws. I also have caring staff and nice fellow clients, some of whom I consider friends.

It also helps me to engage in fulfilling hobbies, such as writing, reading and crafts. Through my blog and Facebook groups, I feel a genuine sense of connection to the outside world. Reading helps me escape my problems, including my sense of isolation. Crafts distract me and help me feel that I can be productive in a way. All of these help me overcome my sense of loneliness.

How do you deal with loneliness?