This is what I wrote when I got back home:
As the teacher started handing things out, I noticed I was feeling kind of funny. I wondered if it was because I was excited/nervous about getting back into music theory again, but I realized it was more than that, that it was an actual, physical feeling. I realized that I was high. Like, legitimately high. I also realized that whenever I described singing on stage to other people as giving me a “high” feeling, that I was absolutely, 100% CORRECT, and that I should never again feel guilty or weird about saying that again. I also realized that I like the high I get from singing a LOT better, mostly because it is under my control, and doesn’t show up for absolutely no reason. At first, I couldn’t believe that people would actually do drugs to get that feeling, because even though it feels good (and kind of weird…) it’s DISTRACTING. It was incredibly, and increasingly difficult to concentrate on what the teacher was saying, because I was slowly getting higher and higher. Then I realized that distraction is exactly what these people are going for. They want to forget the stress, forget where they are or who they are, or what they have to be doing. And I can understand that. That’s why I read: because when I read, everything else goes away. I completely forget all of my troubles, my responsibilities, everything, and I am someone else, somewhere else.
But as for me, I never want to be on drugs like that again. Don’t get me wrong, it felt good. But I don’t like getting something for nothing: I like to earn that high, from weeks or months of work, culminating in one, amazing performance. I don’t want it to show up, out of nowhere, distracting me from doing what I want to be doing at the moment (which, in this case, was trying to see if I remember ANYTHING from spring semester music theory).
Even high, I did great in my ear training/sight singing class. Thanks to my surgery, I couldn’t sing on pitch very well, but I had rhythmic dictation spot on, and I only missed one note in melodic dictation.
As for music theory, the next class? That was… interesting. The drugs had taken a better hold on me. In between classes, when I was hanging out with one of my friends in the hall, I realized I had to hold onto something, to keep from being too dizzy. When we got into class, and started discussing detailed music theory concepts that I haven’t thought about in months, I could barely understand a thing the teacher was saying. Sometimes I didn’t even notice he was talking at all. I just sat there going, “Shoot. This is high. I’m high right now. How many people come to school like this all the time? I can’t believe I am sitting here, in class, on drugs.”
Actually, it was really funny, because before class, I was talking to (a guy friend) again, and I told him I’d had my wisdom teeth removed on Saturday, and he was the first person to show the kind of enthusiasm I was looking for. He said, “Woah, did you feel anything?” and I said “No! I didn’t feel a thing, I was completely out of it!” And he asked if they put me on laughing gas, and I said no, they gave me anesthesia, and showed him the bruise from the IV. Girls don’t think that “gross” stuff like that is cool, but I do. And I’m glad I got to share that with a guy, to I could geek out and enjoy myself.
But back to class. I actually managed to bring my focus around a few times to answer some questions (I even got some of them right), so I’m really proud of myself for that. Even high, without having practiced my music theory technique since May, I’ve STILL got it. Sort of. I’ll do better over the next couple weeks, as I get back in the game.
So... lots of fun. When I wrote that a few hours ago, I was still a little high, but I haven't taken the stuff since, so I'm one hundred percent clear to start posting stuff on the internet again. I think.
Since I didn't have any homework to do, I decided to go ahead and watch that Temple Grandin movie (finally) since I'm alert enough to appreciate it. It was good! The only thing I didn't like about it, was that the end of the movie felt like a beginning. I guess that's often a good thing for people, but for me, it meant I was left unsatisfied. As in, "where's the rest of the story?" But it's okay, though, because this isn't fiction. There actually is more, and I can find it on the internet, in her speeches and books.
The movie also had me pondering. For one thing I want to show this movie to those closest to me, so they can see who I am and how I think. But I want them to know which parts are like me, and which aren't. For example: I don't think in pictures. In fact, it's pretty hard for me to conjure up images in my mind. Sometimes, I can't do it at all. I remember one time, I was waiting to meet with a student I had tutored several times before, and I realized I couldn't remember what she looked like. I tried to picture her, and I could remember only the most basic descriptions, not enough to pick her out of a crowd. It was disturbing and frightening: what if I couldn't find her? But here's the thing: when I see someone, I remember them. I'm actually very good at remembering that way. If I see them, I can remember how I know them, where I usually see them, many details they have told me about themselves, and the types of things that they say. I can't remember their names, though, unless I worked very, very hard to memorize it. When it comes to movies, I'm usually the first person to place an actor. I can't remember their real name, but I can remember what movie/series they were in, what type of character they played, and I might even be able to quote you a few of their lines (although no one has asked me to do that, so I don't know how thorough I am in that area).
I don't think in pictures. That's just how I am. But I don't know if I can describe how I do think. I mean, how do you think? Could you describe it to someone else, without knowing how they think, and therefore being able to say what's different, and what's the same? I think it's incredible, the way that Temple Grandin has been able to convey what it's like in her mind for the rest of us. That's not something most people can do, autistic or neurotypical.
I remember. I remember a lot of things. I don't know if I remember more or less than other people, all I know is I remember different. I don't easily remember names or dates or numbers, or things like that. But I remember music. I remember concepts. I'm good with science. And math, but not numbers. I get numbers mixed up all the time. That's why I love algebra so much: it's the logic of math, without the confusion of numbers. I'm fabulous with reading, but I don't see in my mind what's happening. I just... know it. I've tried to play things out in my mind as I read it, but it's exhausting and it slows me down. I like it better just to read.
I need balance. I need order. I need calm. I feel, hear, see, smell, everything. I'm better at blocking it out now, but when I was a kid, lots of things seriously bothered me. Like when people would SCREECH their knives and forks against the plate, it literally HURT.
When someone or something touches me, I feel it, like a physical thing, lingering on my skin, for a long period of time. When it's something abrupt, like something too cold, too hot, too sharp, too rough, or just plain painful, it stays longer. And I can't be out of balance. I can't wear this thing on one arm, and not the other, or one side of my face, and not the other. This is why I hate purses, but I can endure a backpack. Purses only stay on one side of you. It throws everything off. And I can't stand it.
Rough clothing, bright colors, weird food, you name it, I felt it. And it was all overpowering. I never liked people to touch me, and I never got the urge to touch other people. I'm just not wired that way. That's just who I am.
The other thing I was thinking about was stimming. You see, I've been trying to figure out how I even want people to react to my stimming. It's probably a weird question, but if I know how I want people to react to me doing things that are normal to me, then I can figure out who is behaving in a way that makes me comfortable to be myself around them. Now, people have had different reactions to my stimming. Sometimes it's negative (my mom gets migraines, so whenever I did an auditory stim, she would tell me to stop), sometimes it's positive (I used to bite my cheeks, constantly. My dad thought it was so cute, and he would chuckle and point it out when I did it). But the thing is, I don't like either one, and I couldn't figure out why. I should pick one, and stick with it, so I know who is my friend, and who is not. But I finally realized today, that there's a third choice. Stimming is normal to me. It's something I have to do in order to feel normal. Some other things I have to do in order to feel normal are: breathing, blinking, and eating. I feel very uncomfortable if I don't do those things, just like how I don't feel comfortable if I don't stim. Both are required, and normal (I will never get used to that word! I still can't believe that I can apply that word to any part of my existence. Normal. NORMAL. There's my normal, and your normal, and their normal, and none of them have to be the same. This is absolutely glorious!). What I want is for people to not react at all to my stimming. They see me breathe, and they don't even register that I'm doing it. Stimming is the same thing. I don't want them to point and laugh, no matter how adorable and quirky they think it is. And I certainly don't want them to tell me to stop because it's irritating. I just want them to let them be them, and me be me. That's all I want.
I find it interesting, though, watching the difference between Temple and me. She's smarter than me, for one thing. For another, she's "more autistic," or at least, she behaved more like a stereotypical autistic person than I do. I was kind of jealous, actually, that she was "allowed" to tell people that she didn't like people touching her, that she was "allowed" to tell people that she could only eat certain things, that she was "allowed" to run away and find something to calm her down.
Growing up, I didn't know I was autistic. I think that if I was more autistic, then it would have been more obvious (and more painful), but I wasn't. All I saw was that everybody else was exposed to the same horribly distracting (at best) stimuli, and they did nothing. They didn't run away screaming, or push it away from themselves. They just sat there. They sometimes even requested more of it. I got the idea that they were just as miserable as I, and that there was some unspoken rule that "you are not allowed to tell people this is bothering you." Obviously, nobody else was breaking that rule, so the consequences must be dire, right? So I suffered in silence, to put it dramatically.
I was also jealous that she was able to keep doing spectacular things, even though people mocked her and pushed her down from all angles. This was a HUGE part of why I hid any talents I had, right from the beginning. I was afraid of what people would do to me, if they found out I was special. I was afraid they would destroy what little I had. So, instead, I spent all my energy and focus on blending in. Which is truly sad. Temple Grandin is either brave, stubborn or both. I was neither one, growing up. I just did my best to follow everyone else, even though I now know that they barely know what to do with their own lives, let alone mine.
It's okay, though. I've learned a lot this way. I think I can connect with people better than she did, even though I'm not a brilliant musician or scientist or something. And knowing what I know now, will effect who I become in the future. Sure, I won't be Temple Grandin. But the world already has one of those. What they need now, is one of me.
Penny
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