I DID IT.

So, I may have mentioned that I have a friend who went overseas for a year and a half.  She and I had gotten pretty close before she left, but I didn't write her much while she was gone, so I didn't tell her about any "mental health issues", although I wanted to.  You see, the reason I discovered I was autistic, was because I wanted to serve a mission for my church (which is what my friend was doing).  A very long story short, in the process of applying for a mission, it came out that I suffered from anxiety and depression, which the Man Upstairs thought I might want to learn how to deal with a little better before I left everything I'd ever known and surrounded myself by complete strangers, while possibly speaking a foreign language.

Wow, after all my secrecy, this actually wasn't as hard to say as I thought it would be.  I guess it's because I see His wisdom in all of this.  At first I felt rejected, though I tried not to, and it was hard for me to deal with.  But the incredible thing is, I never would have asked for help, if I wasn't "forced" to (I'm allowed to reapply in a year, after I've had some counseling) and because of it, I've learned so much about myself, and how to deal with my issues (and with stress in general), that I am extremely grateful for the whole experience.

I've been making little changes, like making sure I always have snacks nearby (so I won't panic about nutrition like I always do), and sleeping with a lot of pillows (I don't like people touching me--but cuddling with pillows feels amazing.  I can't believe it's taken me this many years to try it), and wearing sunglasses when I'm driving (it used to be that by the time I got home, I was exhausted and irritable, every day, sometimes even with headaches, because it's too darn bright outside for me to be driving after a long day of school and work.).  When I got worried about my students cancelling on me all the time, (and taking that paycheck with them) I sat down and did the math, finding out that I still have money for gas, (with a little extra on the side) so I can just enjoy the opportunity to get my homework done a little early.  These little changes are HUGE for me, and I've been dealing with stress so differently, so much BETTER, it's like I'm a completely different person.

But I'm still uncomfortable about telling people why I won't be going on a mission (in the foreseeable future), so whenever people ask me about it (and everyone and their cousin has), I tell people that I have "health issues" to deal with.  I feel like I'm lying, but it's true.  It's just as dangerous to put yourself in an extremely stressful and exotic situation with a broken body as it is a broken mind.  It's just that I don't want anyone to look at me in a negative light because of who I am.  I think that's something everybody wants.  There's still a lot of mystery and negative connotations when it comes to mental illness (I'm not necessarily saying that autism is an illness, but chronic anxiety and major depressive disorder most certainly are, and they came as a direct result of not giving my autistic brain what it needs), and so I'm always a little worried about what I should and shouldn't say.

So, when my friend returned from her mission, and asked me "so, how's the mission prep going?"  I told her the same thing I told everyone else, about my unforeseen "health issues", but I wanted to tell her what a blessing it was for me even to apply.  Before I put in my papers, I had to confront a lot of things about myself, mentally and spiritually, that I couldn't have--wouldn't have faced, if it weren't for my mission.  That being turned down was the biggest blessing of all--because I got to find out who I really am.  But I was too afraid to tell her.  She's been back for almost two months now, and I've been trying to get up the nerve to tell her about my autism, but I haven't seen her much, and it was never an opportune moment.

My moment came yesterday.  Last night, she and I were driving to a religion class (we call it "institute"), and our conversation kept plopping more and more opportunities in my lap.  For example, she mentioned a mutual friend of ours, who was the first person I'd ever met with Asperger's, and we talked about them for several minutes.  But I kept letting the moments pass by, too scared to say anything.  Then the subject came back to my mission, and she said, "May I ask about the health issues you were talking about before?"  I decided it was time, that if I didn't have the guts to tell her when she flat out asked me, then I never would.  I stuttered a lot at first, but I finally said "I actually found out that I was autistic," which was a surprise to her, naturally, because I always seemed so "normal" to her.  I explained how, because of it, I had a lot of anxiety and depression, which is why I couldn't go on a mission presently, and she understood that.

She had so many questions, and I'm so glad she did, because she's the first person outside my family I'd ever told (aside from that class where they asked us to tell them something "weird" about ourselves), and I've been so terrified of being rejected, or "brushed off."  Even in my family, I've had someone try to subtly explain to me how I'm "not really autistic," and they're obligated to love me for who I am.

Now, this girl has known me since we were teenagers, (although we didn't really get to know each other until college, where we both worked at that Mexican restaurant together) so I had some examples to show her about how I was different, like how I barely spoke in high school, things like that.  I told her about how hard it is for me to communicate with people, and a little bit about how I obsess over things.  I made sure to tell her that knowing I'm autistic has made a HUGE difference, and how my anxiety and depression are all but gone.

At one point, she mentioned that when we worked at the restaurant, I had lots of friends, and I seemed pretty at ease.  I wish I had told her that every single day before work, I would lock myself in the bathroom and pray until I stopped shaking.  Working there was one of the most terrifying (and taxing) experiences of my life.  I have explained it before as an "autistic nightmare," which was no exaggeration.  The only thing to help me was that I had good people to mimic, and memorized scripts to get me through speaking to a hundred strangers every day.  I also had the wonderful excuse of a language barrier: everyone that worked there spoke Spanish, and a few of them didn't speak any English at all.  So I had a million excuses as to why I didn't understand what was going on, and a perfectly acceptable reason to ask for someone to repeat what they said, or explain what was going on.  Actually, being immersed in a foreign language is exactly like being autistic, only when you're autistic, speaking in your native tongue, you feel like you're not allowed to ask questions, because everyone else your age has already got it.

However, I did tell her that the person she knows now is the result of years of work and study.  I told her that I have literally watched people and taken notes, to figure out how to behave, and what's going on.  I told her that I've taken a lot of acting and performance classes, which I apply in my life every day.  I told her that getting to work with my special interest (music) has also helped me greatly, because I have something that excites me, and that I excel in, that keeps me going.  Also, because I spend so much time around music and theater people, who stereotypically, are all very strange people, I realized it was okay to be weird, and I grew more comfortable in my own skin.

I also her that it's very difficult for me to read people.  For instance, I cannot sense deception, therefore, I either have to trust everyone, or no one.  Luckily, for the people that I know, I have enough experience to guess that they wouldn't want to harm me, so I choose believe they're telling me the truth.  I was tempted to tell her that her face is very often inscrutable for me.  Nearly every conversation I've had with her since she returned has ended with me trailing off, because I couldn't tell if she was bored or annoyed, or just listening to what I was telling her.  I didn't say any of that, though.

I told her that the reason I seem so normal is because autism tends to show up a little differently in women, and that women tend to be very good at mimicking.  I told her that I do very well in one-on-one conversations, because I mimic the people I'm with.  She seemed a little taken aback, and said "I'm a terrible person to mimic!" and I told her that she was actually a lot more fun to mimic that a lot of people.  Which, I admit, is pretty weird, but I was being completely honest, so I had to say it.  I could have listed off of the idiosyncrasies I notice she does, which I copy to a small degree, but I didn't.  I didn't want to be creepy.  But that's just how I've always been.  I don't copy accents, because I don't want them to think I'm mocking them, but type of word choice, posture, level and frequency of sarcasm and teasing, it's all there, and I use them to get people to feel comfortable around me.  Actually, up until very recently, I had no idea who I was, because I didn't know who to be when no one was around me.  Now, though, I dial back the "monkey see, monkey do", and let some of my own style leak through.

I occurs to me that I didn't make that clear in our conversation, but neurotypicals don't like to know ALL the details, and I felt that I had been rambling beyond the acceptable limit, so when the subject started to change, I let it, and I didn't bring up autism or mental illness for the rest of the evening (all y'all would be proud of me).

But I did it.  I DID IT.  I told someone about my autism, had an actual CONVERSATION about it with them, and they didn't reject me.  I feel like there were a couple of times where she tried to convince me (or herself) that I wasn't very weird, or I wasn't exactly autistic.  But I suspect that that wasn't her telling me I was wrong or lying (which is what my autist brain wanted to tell me), but that we are not so alien from each other that we shouldn't or can't be friends.

Which is absolutely true.  We were already friends to begin with.  The only difference between then and now (beyond the fact that I am more comfortable with myself, and that I'm better at dealing with stress than I used to be) is that now we both know I'm autistic.  We're still both the same people we were before, just a little older, a little wiser.

I won't bring up autism with her again--I know that I want to know every single thing about autism that I could possibly know, but I don't know that she does.  If she asks me anything about it, I'll happily answer.  But if it makes her uncomfortable to think of me as anything other than "my friend, Penny" (for example "that weird, autistic chick"), then that's fine by me.

Penny

Ps, today, I saw someone reading "Look Me In the Eye" by John Elder Robison.  I flipped out.  I told this random stranger that I LOVED that book, and she told me her son's on the spectrum, and I said I'm on it, too, and this book was the reason I found out.  I was super excited, but our conversation was short, and my friend was waiting for us to go (this was a different friend than the Missionary).  I wondered what she must be thinking: she probably didn't even know what book we were talking about, and "spectrum" could mean just about anything.  Heck, she might not have even been listening to our conversation.  But I still think it's cool that in less than 24 hours, I told two (and a half) people that I was autistic.  It's a good day.

The Positive Punchline Function

So, there's another reason I haven't been writing much over the past little while (beyond the near-constant overwhelming of homework and work duties) is that I'm not sure what to write anymore.  It's not that I don't have anything to say, I've just been really worried that I've been writing too much negativity in my posts.

Most people that know me (in the non-virtual world) consider me to be a cheerful, optimistic person.  This is because I believe that people shouldn't complain unless they are directly asking for help--and I don't ask for help.  I've always felt that, short of catastrophic circumstances, any problem I have is manageable, and I should figure out how to deal with it myself.

As I've gotten older, I've realized that even if the world isn't ending, it's still okay for me to ask for help.  And even though I'm not really sure how or when, I've started to rely on my friends and family.  But my former mentality seriously affects the way I behave, and I've noticed that if I say anything negative, whatsoever, the people who know me get very worried.  They think I've never been negative before, so there must be something wrong.  But in reality, I'm just expressing a side of myself that I don't normally.

Now, when I get on here, since I want to accurately express my thoughts and feelings, I want to tell you everything, the good, the bad, and the ugly.  But when good things happen in my life, I want to tell someone.  When someone compliments my artwork, when I get an A on a test, when I get asked out on a date, I want to tell someone.  And since it's not negative, nor a problem needing to be solved, I feel completely free to tell my loved ones.  And I do.  When it's really good, I tell all of my family, and many of my friends.  When it's just something a little good, I might tell one or two people.  But that's enough for me.  So when I start writing, my brain goes "welp, I've already said all the good stuff, so I'll unload everything else onto these unsuspecting people."

But I don't want to do that.  I don't want to be that person: nobody wants to read only the negative thoughts of a relatively balanced person.  The world has enough negativity.

So, from now on, I'm going to give a more accurate, balanced sampling of the World According to Penny.  If that means leaving stuff out, or not writing as often, then so be it.

And that brings me to another point.  I ramble.  A lot.  I always feel like I need to tell every detail of the story, to get people to understand what I'm trying to say.  But I've noticed for several of my posts, even I get bored, while I'm writing it.  And if I, the subject of the story, who is fully invested in it, isn't interested in writing it, why in the world would you be interested in reading it?  I want to learn what parts I can cut out, to get straight to the "juicy bits".  I think that focusing on how to write like that will help me in my social life, as well.  I'm already learning how to "skip to the punchline" in my conversations with other people, and I've noticed that more people have grown interested in what I have to say.  (although, for an art project at school, one which I created in 11 hours, over two days, when we discussed it in class, I turned off the "punchline function" and answered their questions with full ideas.  I haven't talked that much, nor that enthusiastically, for quite some time, it was fantastic)

Anyway, so that's my version of a "short" post.  My life is good (and bad, too, but mostly good).

Ta ta, for now,
Penny