This post has taken several days to develop, so hopefully it's not too disjointed or aimless or anything. Wednesday night, a guy I know vaguely and have had all of two conversations with asked me out on a date. This caught me off guard, but I said yes, because I've been wanting to see how I do in that type of situation, now that I know myself a little bit better. I even felt completely calm and confidant, strangely enough, as I accepted. Normally I would be going out of my mind terrified about it, as I tried to act casual. He actually asked me probably the perfect number of days before the date, too: I got a couple of days to prepare and get my mind ready, but not enough for me to really start panicking. The night before, and the day of The Date, I was starting to feel like I do before a big performance, stomach churning, muscles tense, paranoia sinking in. Actually, I'm surprised I didn't do worse: my performances, I'm usually preparing for for weeks or months in advance, and even though I'm nervous, I know my part well, and I know from experience that I'll do very well (and that once I get going, I sometimes even forget the audience is there anyway). You get none of that, for a date. You have to perform without any preparation. You've got to be ready for them to ask you any number of things, and actually have answers for those questions (like, "what's your favorite band?" What? People have favorite bands? How the heck am I supposed to respond to something like that? There are too many to choose from! Why are you doing this to me?!), and you have to be able to ask them questions, and actually listen to their answers (okay, so, I've got a list of stock questions, like "what's your favorite color" or "where'd you go to school?" but, who cares? No offence. If it was actually something interesting, then it's probably too forward to ask them about, on a First Date. Stupid small talk. Why did Neurotypicals invent it, anyway? Do theyreally like it? Really?) I have to be able to know what to do if he's actually a horrible person and tries to roofie me, and what shirt I ought to wear (I mean, you don't get a costumer for dates, not like for a show). The whole thing is just a big mess. He wanted me to drive to his house, and we would drive together to the theater (we were going to a place an hour away. I later found out it was because his friend was in the show, but I thought it was just such a random thing), and I was tense about having to walk up to his door, alone, and knock (of all things) (for some reason, I am absolutely terrified of going to someone's house alone. Doesn't matter if I know them or not. I don't know why.) I was absolutely certain someone else at his house would answer, and I would have to awkwardly let them know who I was there for, and then awkwardly wait for him to come out, and probably have to awkwardly engage in small talk with whoever had answered the door. But I left my house anyway, and felt it was a good sign that my favorite song currently playing on the radio was the first thing I heard, and I sang happily to it while following directions from my GPS. I had dilly-dallied quite a bit before I left, so I wouldn't be to early. He said to be at his house "at 6:30", and I'll be darned before he finds out how terrified I am about being late for things, so I made myself wait. I got there at 6:33, so I was pretty pleased with myself, and, even better, he was actually outside, in his car when I drove up, so I didn't have to knock on the front door! He didn't do this on purpose, I am sure, but man, was I grateful. We took off, having cheerful conversations. I had wondered before if I should tell him I'm an Aspie, right off the bat, but (like my sister said, back here) I figured it was better for people to develop their own opinions of me, before I start throwing out stuff like mental disorders and what have you. But I did know that it was perfectly okay with me if I seemed weird or quirky to him, and if he felt like asking me, I felt perfectly comfortable telling him about my "big secret." At one point, we randomly started having a conversation about turn signals (can you guess who started, and maintained, that topic? Yep. That would be the autistic chick.), and I mentioned that sometimes I try to figure out what kind of music I could write to the rhythm the clicking noise makes, and he was kind of flabbergasted about this, and said "I can honestly say, I've never thought about that," which is weird, because he's a musician, and he actually plays drums, unlike just about every other one of my musician friends, myself included, so rhythm should be his thing, but whatever. I told him it was okay, that I think a little differently/I'm kind of weird like that (first of any kind of hint that I'm autistic) I mentioned this movie, which he'd never heard of (can't believe it...) and how ever since I saw that, I've tried to see what kind of music I could make up from what I heard, and he could dig it. He said he does that a little, but I wonder if he was just trying to "fit in" (ha ha ha). Although, later on I realized the real reason I was so interested in how to make music from car sounds is because of this video.
Seriously. Isn't that the coolest thing? I just love it. Anyway, moving on. We had some good conversation material, almost the whole ride out (and it was about a forty minute drive, so that's pretty good for me), and right before we got there, he shouted "music store!" and then looked like he just had a near-death experience, because he didn't realize there was one so close to the theater, and he was just happy it was there. I was pretty grateful that I'm not the only one who does weird stuff like that (I don't actually shout it out, but if we drive past a comic book store, I forget what I'm talking about, and stare wistfully out the window until it's out of sight), and I was glad that maybe he's a bit weird, too. The show we went to go see is Tommy (by the Who). The only song I knew from it was Pinball Wizard, so it was all new to me (but exactly as strange as I expected. This is what I saw, years and years ago:
And you can just imagine how alarming and confusing that could be to a neurotypical little girl, not to mention an autist, so of course, I remembered it. In fact, I remembered it being a lot more chaotic, with brighter colors and everything. I'm really proud of myself for remembering Elton John was randomly on stilts. I just remembered when we were watching it, I asked my mom why he was on stilts, and she honestly admitted she had no idea, that it was just a "thing they were doing.") I was stimming like crazy throughout the entire show, and just glad that he wasn't one of those annoying people that try to have a conversation during a performance, partially because I was trying to figure out how to react if he noticed me doing it. But for the first act, I was surprised by the image that they painted, of Tommy, who, for most of the show, is deaf, dumb, and blind. He stands there, in the middle of the stage, his face blank, his body stock still, while people and things and colors all flurry around him. It was a powerful image, for me, and it really stuck with me. I know, I don't have anything on people who are really deaf and blind, and I certainly don't on people who are extremely autistic, but I still just kept saying "that was me as a kid: right there, that was me!" I did interact with people, a little, but most of my childhood was spent with an intangible barrier between me and everyone else. They probably thought I was strange, the quiet girl with nothing to say, the girl that didn't run and jump and play, content to sit in a corner with her book, or strangest of all, just stare off into space. Everyone was always so bright and loud and crazy, and I just wanted to be calm and peaceful. I think anyone with autism can relate to that. Anyway, after the show, we were both pretty tired, so we skipped dinner and headed back home. Unfortunately, I had used up all of my "peppy Penny" juice on the ride up, plus watching a show as trippy as Tommy can be mentally exhausting anyway, so I ran out of stuff to say after the first five minutes of the ride back. Every once in a while, one of us would say something to get the conversation going again, but we eventually settled into silence as we listened to his Led Zeppelin CD. I actually felt really guilty, because every once in a while, I realized that I was still in the car, still sitting next to this guy, who I was still supposed to be entertaining with witty conversation, but I couldn't think of anything to say, so I settled comfortably back into my head, forgetting, once again, where I was, who I was with, and what I was supposed to be doing. I could do this, because for the first time, I realized that I'm allowed to do that. Being oblivious to my surroundings is just something I do, and it's not a bad thing. I mean, sure, if I was in a dangerous situation, then yeah, I should probably pay attention, but otherwise, what I'm doing is actually NORMAL. Normal for me. And it's okay. It's the way I process things. I like to sit there silently, completely absorbed in my thoughts. I don't have to feel guilty about it anymore, and THAT is a glorious feeling, to not have to feel guilty for being who you are. I've talked about this before, but growing up is hard, having to train yourself to go against every instinct you have, to have this constant pressure to pay attention to everyone and everything all the time, and remember every little thing they do, and remember every mistake you've ever made so you don't do that again, until you don't even know who you are, simply that whatever that is, it's wrong, and you need to change it. Not every autistic person goes through this. Some of them are just confused and "quirky". But I am one of the few that can pass of as a neurotypical much of the time, because I made two (wrong) assumptions, straight from the beginning: A, everyone's brains are the same as mine, and B, therefore every thought, feeling or action I have or make which is not in line with the way other people behave, is wrong, and should be corrected. At the end of the date, we pulled up to his house, I thanked him for inviting me to the show, and we chatted cheerfully for a few minutes, making vague plans for the future (he, my sister, and I like to jam together--or in other words, we covered a few songs in his basement one time, and have kept missing each other ever since) and then hugged and said goodnight. It wasn't the best date I've ever had. Not the worst, either. The part that stuck out to me most was that this is the first time I've ever told myself just to be myself, as cheesy as that sounds. And, I honestly don't care if this turns into anything. I just care that I get to be autistic, and now if anyone has a problem with me, with my stimming or my thought processes or my ideas, then that's too bad for them. I have made (and still will make) a lot of allowances for other people, because I understand that they are different than me. I have done a lot of things that make me uncomfortable, because they are "normal" to everyone else, and therefore help them feel more at ease. So I think it's high time that I start making a few allowances for myself. Almost everyone I know knows that I'm in to some kind of art or another, whether it be music, writing, or drawing, and as an artist, I'm allowed to be "quirky". If they want to write me off as an artist, or and autist, I'm okay with that. It's a heck of a lot better than being wrong all the time. Penny
I randomly feel like telling you about my day, mainly to show you some of my "quirkiness". You see, every morning, I am approached with a dilemma: do I shower first, or do I eat first? I used to shower first, and then eat breakfast in the car on the way to school, but now that school's out for the summer, I've started eating first. This is because, a long time ago I realized that whenever I was hungry, I got pretty mean. I didn't usually act out my meanness, because I'm pretty good at bottling it up, but it's all in my head, and I don't like being mean and nasty in or out of my head. Plus, particularly in the morning, some of that nastiness can shake loose before I quietly take it to the back yard in my brain, and shoot it. After I've eaten, I feel pretty sheepish, and if you go through enough mornings like this, you'll shove the first thing you see into your mouth, before you so much as say "good morning" to anyone who may be nearby. But I hate being in pajamas. It's fine when you're in bed, asleep, but soon after I've woken up, I feel sweaty and dirty and out of place. I'm not wearing a bra (and it feels like I'm walking around naked, which, granted, some people actually like doing that, but I'm extremely uncomfortable if anyone sees me doing this), and my hair is putting on a spectacular display. I don't care so much that other people see me like this (everybody knows you look terrible first thing in the morning), just that I feel like this. It makes me actually feel sick. I can't understand the girls that can go a day or more without showering--I feel disgusting. More than that, I feel off, like I woke up in the wrong body. The longer I go like this, the crankier I feel, until it doesn't matter I had breakfast, I still want to punch somebody, and maybe that somebody isme. So, to put it short, I can't deal with the world, until I've had breakfast and a shower. I know, you're probably saying "big deal, just get it done quick, and you'll be all set to go." But for some reason, nothing is ever simple in my brain. This morning for example. I overslept, yet again, but I had a really cool dream I wanted to write down, so I spent a half an hour typing it out. When I was done, since I had my computer up, I wandered on to facebook (I really should delete my account. I could have cured cancer by now.). Then I realized it was noon, and I was still in my pajamas, and I still hadn't eaten yet. I actually wasn't even feeling all that hungry, but I'm not going to risk it, so I figured I should eat first, even though I was already starting to feel yucky. I fixed up my breakfast, laid out my book, and was lost to the world for another half an hour (yesterday I started reading The Help, and it has sucked me in. I haven't been getting any work done at all.). When I finished my breakfast, I knew I should take a shower, but I was right in the middle of a chapter, so I settled on the couch to read some more. Every once in a while, I would remember where I was, and noticed how disgusting I felt, and how it was now nearly one in the afternoon, and I still hadn't showered, but I just wanted to read just a little bit more, and then I would shower, I promise. Then I heard the shower turn on. My big sister had gotten the same idea as me, only she actually acted on it. Quick tangent. I've decided to save myself a little typing, to rename my siblings as such: my eldest sibling is Unit A, my second eldest sibling is Unit B, there's me (but I don't need to refer to myself as Unit C), and then comes Unit D. I think that'll help make things a little clearer. Anyway, though we've stopped talking about it years ago, Unit A takes the longest showers in the house. She's shortened them quite a lot over the years (she does not take hour long showers anymore), but she still takes a while, so I groaned. I wanted to go get mad at her, since I was "just about to get in" (only, not really), so I just waited. And waited. Suddenly I couldn't concentrate on my reading, because it's getting later in the day, and I need to be productive, and I'm still in my pajamas, and there's no point in changing my clothes because I need to shower first anyway, and I'll get in right after her. I decided maybe I should take a break from reading, and do something "productive", like doing my freelance writing, or cleaning my room, but I can't concentrate on doing anything good when I feel so yucky, and Unit A is still in the shower. I decided to load the dishwasher, but I couldn't run it with Unit A in there, so I just put the soap in and waited. I wandered around on the internet, feeling more and more like a failure at life, because useful members of society don't stay in their pajamas until one thirty in the afternoon, and there is sweat in my arm pits for HEAVEN's sake, and Unit A is STILL IN THE SHOWER. That's when I put some deodorant on to make me feel more like a person, and started writing this, even though there's not really any point to it, just that maybe this is an example of cognitive dissonance? I mean, every morning, I'm faced with this dilemma. I usually do the same thing over and over again, because trying to sit down and weigh out the pros and cons of each possible course of action is just too exhausting. I know that a lot of people hate mornings, but here's the thing: I don't. I don't mind waking up (although I do like to sleep). I don't mind making breakfast (I actually like cooking). I certainly don't mind showering (seriously, it's like my morning meditation). And after all that, the earlier I've finished, the more productive I am, and the better I feel. I remember back when I was staying up until five in the morning, and waking up at two. I felt so sick, every single day. I hate being a night owl. But for some reason, it's a struggle every morning. To add to this, once Unit A got out of the shower, I was so caught up in writing this, I didn't want to stop, which extended the struggle. I kept writing for a while, even, until my mom started trying to talk to me about something, and I realized that nasty was about to surface again, so I put down the computer and got in. I just wish I had a good way to deal with my mornings (and to actually do it in the morning, not just finishing up at two in the afternoon like I did today), away from people, and in an order that works best. If I eat breakfast first, I feel gross and yucky for an extended period of time. If I shower first, I feel nasty and cranky for an extended period of time. Maybe it's time to have breakfast in bath. Penny
I want to give another mini post for you guys, about this video:
Marc Elliot suffers from Tourette's syndrome. I know, I've talked about it before, but I can relate to having your body or your brain forcing you to do things that you don't want to do, which may make you and other people uncomfortable. I'm lucky that most of my stims are quiet, and very low-key, so you don't notice them unless you're watching me carefully. But they're there. It's not fun to feel like you can't even control your own body. The reason I'm posting this video, is about tolerance. Growing up, I always assumed that people saw the world the same way I did. And when they behaved in ways that didn't make sense to me, I would try to figure out why in the world they acted that way. For example, I can't understand why someone would put nuts in banana bread. This completely escapes me. When I try to eat banana bread with nuts in it, a lot of times I end up gagging (as I've grown up, I've grown out of that, but I still avoid that stuff like the plague). I finally concluded that there must be something going on that I don't know anything about. I am so lucky to have that insight, that we are all the same, essentially, but we all have different perspectives, preferences, and trials that we go through, which makes us behave differently from each other. Another really great thing about being autistic, and not knowing it, is that for a while I assumed that everyone must be just as afraid of other people as I am, they just cover it up better than me. I know, if anything, that sound weird or depressing, not "great". But when I met other people, and they would have a hard time talking to me, I would just go "Oh, they're nervous about talking to me, just like I'm nervous about talking to them," and I would act accordingly. I've probably mentioned this in an earlier post, too, but I think it's worth talking about. This perspective has helped me make friends so much easier than I used to, because I project my fear and awkwardness onto them, suddenly making me the calm, easy-going one. When you project confidence and tranquility, it helps other people feel at ease as well. I'm not boasting about how great I am at making friends--not at all. Most times, when I have a conversation with someone, it doesn't go anywhere. I don't have many people that I regularly interact with. But when people reflect the image I put on, it helps me calm down, too. Now, I think mirroring is a common, subconscious technique that most people use, which is why a lot of autists struggle over connecting with people: they can't pick up on a lot of the non-verbal cues, and they certainly can't copy what they don't see. From my reading, female autists are actually really good at mimicry (which is exactly how I learned how to communicate with people in the first place: careful, conscious mimicry), as apposed to male autists. I'm not sure why, but I sure would like to learn more about it. But when somebody else is putting off the vibe that everything is "safe", that there is no danger, even if you don't know why, a lot of times you feel better. You can put your guard down a little bit, because someone else in the herd can see there's no lions or cheetahs nearby. I just choose to be the first one to tell everybody that the coast is clear. And when everybody relaxes, that primal part of my brain goes: "Oh, everybody's chill now, so there must be no danger," and calms down a little bit, too. I don't think I'll ever be completely at ease in a social situation, but metaphorically dumping tranquilizers in the watering hole certainly helps. Before I go, I'd like to take a moment to repeat that I am so glad I'm on the spectrum. It's not that I think other people's lives are horrible, or something like that, but I just can't imagine being any other way. Having my brain work the way it does means that I've learned and felt and done some amazing things. The trials I have had, no matter how hard or embarrassing, have helped me to be more tolerant and understanding of other people. It is difficult being autistic sometimes, but the truth is, nobody's life is easy or simple. I'm just happy to be here, in this mind, in this body, flaws and all. Penny
Random thought before I start: you know who else I think is an Aspie? Harrietthe Spy. Obsessive. Smart. Eats the same thing for lunch everyday. Manages to alienate herself from the entire school. Yeah, definitely an Aspie. It's been a while since I've seen/read it, so I can't say for sure, but she's a good candidate, if you ask me. Anyway, I want to talk a little bit about my day. I had to run a few errands with my mom, so we were driving together for over an hour. Now, in the car is just about the only place that I'm even moderately comfortable sharing anything about myself with my family. I never could explain why, but now I realize it's probably because I don't have to make eye contact. I don't have to look at her face while I try to formulate my thoughts into words. I never realized that about myself. But when I have something really difficult to talk to either of my parents about, nine times out of ten, I'll bring it up in the car. That wasn't even what I was going to talk about, but it's a wonderful revelation! Anyway, I started telling her about this blog, which I've mentioned in passing before, but I never told her what I was blogging about. I explained to her about yesterday's post, and asked her if it was a good idea to let my dad read it. She echoed the thought I had, that what would bug my dad most about this, was that it was on the internet for anyone to see. So, I explained to her that it's completely anonymous: no one I have ever met knows I'm writing this, and anyone who is reading this, most likely has never met me. I explained how much it's been helping me to write, since it's the best way I know to understand myself, and to figure out my situation, my plans. I told her that having it be public has put a little more pressure on me to write regularly, whereas if I had just written in my diary, like a "normal" person, I wouldn't have done so as often. And most of all, I told her how reading other people's blogs and articles has helped me immensely to better understand myself, and what I'm going through, and most importantly, to accept myself, and learn to deal with the problems that I have. Finding out that I had autism has quite literally changed my life, and how I see myself. I've made so much improvement over the last week, that I feel like an entirely different person, and I can imagine it's only going to get better from here. If just one person found themself from reading my words, if just one person realized that they are not alone, then I'll be happy. If I can give this new light to someone else, then heck yeah, I'm gonna do this. I'll spill the deepest, darkest parts of myself for everyone to see, even though I'm terrified that someone I know will stumble across this. I mean, if someone read this, and learned exactly who I am, and exactly what I'm going through, and decided to walk away? I can't even... I can't imagine what that would feel like. I can't let that happen. On the other hand, if it does, and I find out that it doesn't destroy me, well, maybe I should have put my real name on this thing, anyway. But when I got across to her all the good things about my blog, she told me to copy and paste the entry into an email, for her to read, that way she won't "stumble across" anything I didn't want her to know, and she could read the entry, and let me know how we should move forward with my dad. I'll wait for her to read it, and we'll see how it goes. I hope I don't have to change anything, that he'll just read it and understand that I'm not angry or ignoring his advice, or anything like that. We'll see! Quick plug: my mom is amazing. I cannot believe how understanding she's been through all of this, and not just because she has tics to deal with, either. Normally, you can't get her to stop talking. But when I really need to talk, she'll just listen. I keep being surprised. I guess I shouldn't be. But I am so lucky to have her. You don't have to tell everyone and their cousin that you have autism or Asperger's or Tourette's or whatever. But having at least one person, willing to listen to you, and not judge or even try to give you solutions all the time, is a big, big deal. Everybody needs someone to talk to. I just never had anyone before. The other thing I want to talk about today is this article. As you may imagine, the idea of love has been on my mind for about... my whole life. Give or take. And as I've been getting older, and spending more time with people, I've begun to realize that relationships are hard. And they're even harder when both sides have differently wired brains, only they don't know it. I'm gonna be up front here: the longest "official" relationship I had lasted two weeks. That was where we said "We are boyfriend and girlfriend now. We will only date each other now." I had no idea what I was doing, and we ended up splitting apart very quickly. The other, more real relationship is a little harder to define. In true Aspergian fashion, I need things to be laid out, in plain, specific language, and so I have no idea how "serious" our relationship was, or if we were ever "officially" a couple. True, it was never made "facebook official," but we dated exclusively for several months, so perhaps we were an "item". I'll never know if I don't ask him, and I'm pretty sure that's taboo. I have no idea. My point is, over the past couple months, I've been getting this image of me, twenty years down the road, living in my parent's basement, surrounded by a million cats. Which is ridiculous. My parents would never let me get that many cats. As I've begun to understand how my brain works, and how I can better explain to other people who I am, this picture has faded a little bit. But even the most understanding significant other may have trouble getting close to someone who is uncomfortable with physical contact on a good day. I have a lot of doubts, but a lot of hope, too. Reading about John Elder Robison's life, in Look Me In the Eye, has opened up the possibilities a little, because he mentions his relationships, particularly that of his second wife, and how much of a success that is. But the article I read today, featuring JE Robison's son, Jack, has helped a little more. It's a little long, but a great read. It talks about how they met, how they started dating, the issues that they confronted with (both are diagnosed with Asperger's, and, naturally, it manifests differently for each), and how they are dealing with them. It definitely gives me hope, that I'll find someone else as weird as me, willing to put up with my quirks (to put them lightly), who I'll be able to put up with, too. Romantic, no? Definitely read it, though. It's given me some good insights. Penny
Yesterday, I was going to write about my plans to "reroute" one of my more annoying stims (I tap my teeth. Not a big deal, you say? It is when I wake up in the middle of the night, grinding my teeth so hard I'm afraid that they'll shatter, not to mention the fact that when I'm really tense/nervous, say, before a performance, my jaw gets really sore and tired, therefore making me even more nervous, because it's hard to sing with a sore jaw). But I'm just going to keep trying what I'm trying, and let you know how it goes. What I want to get into today is a conversation I had with my dad, which resulted in a lot of cognitive dissonance on my part, and probably a lot of confusion on his. He's been recommending to me that this semester, I should take a class outside of my field. His suggestions? Mainly cyber security. He thinks it would be very helpful for me to develop skills in that area: I could get a great, secure, job with the government, and be set for life. He mentioned that a lot of times doing things we love isn't practical, and they should remain as hobbies, while we work on more viable careers. His example? He wanted to be a pilot. He flew quite a few planes, back in the day, but he couldn't make a living on it, so he went on to the career he has now, which is not entirely boring, at least, not all the time. I do not blame him. He makes complete sense. I've been giving myself the same speech since I was ten. I'm actually really surprised this is the first time he's said anything like that to me. The arts are risky. There are a few people that do well--mostly because of talent, but also, because they have friends in the right places. Everyone else ends up living in their parents' basement, working part-time at McDonalds for scraps. I get it. This is the exact reason why, up to about a year and a half ago, I resisted with all my might against even beginning to consider putting all my eggs in that particular basket. It was stupid, reckless, to think that I could support myself as a singer, a writer, an actor, an artist. I could do that stuff on the side, but there was no point in signing up for classes or taking any kind of steps in that direction. I just had to figure out what I could do instead. What was the smart path? I took a lot of classes and did pretty well at it. I tried imagining myself in a desk job, in the government or some office building, doing what, I have no idea. Being an accountant, or secretary, or whatever kind of office drone, who knows, because I honestly could not imagine it. I shied away from any "boring" classes in school, but I stayed even farther away from anything that was truly interesting. So, I was safe, but not moving forward in either direction. I was stuck. I know what you must be thinking: why not work on being an artist or performer at the same time as moving forward in a "boring" career path? That way you can get the best of both worlds: job security, and fun. On the outside, that makes sense. But not in my head. I guess it's just another example of what it's like in an autist's brain. We deal in absolutes. It's all, or freakin' nothing. The only way that I can absorb information and develop skills in an area, is if it's the onlything I'm doing. Last semester I made huge strides in music, because all of my classes (except for one) was in music. I was taking voice, piano, an opera workshop, music theory and ear training, and then an introduction to interpreting (for fun). I have been in the music zone. I couldn't write or draw, even when I tried, because my brain was entirely in Music Land. I'm amazed that I got the grade I did in my interpreting class, because I BSed my way through the homework, stopped taking notes about halfway through, and I didn't even make flashcards for the final exam. Heck, I barely studied for it at all. I could not focus on anything but music, because that's where I was. That's just how it is, for me. This summer, I've been writing. Period. Mostly in this blog, but I've been working on my novel, too, and trying to get work as a freelance writer/editor, so I can get some "real" experience. My dad keeps asking me why I don't practice piano anymore. My Aspie brain is at first baffled that he would ask that, but I realize he doesn't see the world the way I do. First of all, it's really intimidating, trying to practice the piano in a house full of people, even if I do plug my headphones into it, because you can hear the THUNK THUNK THUNKITY THUNK of the keys anywhere in the house. I can feel them around me, all the people in the house, and it is distracting, having to worry about how much I'm bothering all of them as I try to hash out my thoughts on the keyboard. The practice rooms at school were perfect: you couldn't see or hear anyone, and they usually couldn't see or hear you. I could feel free to try new things, and make mistakes, and fool around, or buckle down and play the same four measures over and over again, because I didn't have to worry about anyone hearing me and getting annoyed. But the other, probably more precedent reason is because right now, I'm a writer. My brain can only write. It can't even process the idea of making music. That, and, I've been looking for a job all summer, too. And every time I let up, my dad would come and say "how's the job search comin' along?" and I realize that I haven't done any "searching" for the past 72 hours, because I got so sucked into my writing. So I buckle down and stop writing for another couple of days, as I send in applications to another dozen businesses, and my dad comes home and says "I want you to practice piano tomorrow. You really shouldn't let that skill go to waste." and I'm thinking "but you want me to find a job, and my brain wants me to write a novel. Where is there any space for music? This does not compute." At times, I have envied the people who can multitask. I don't know how they do it, or if it's even efficient, but it seems like a good skill to have. I certainly could have used that back when I worked at the restaurant. But whenever I try to split my focus, either on a micro or a macro level, I get flustered and scattered, not growing or accomplishing in any of the areas. Instead of getting a little done over a lot of areas, I end up getting none of it done. Sometimes I use a "to do" list, to cross stuff off, but it only works for the first day or two, then I lose the list and go back to writing or music, whatever my brain feels like that day. And on the macro level? Man. I want to be able to do all the things I like to do, at a professional level. I do. This is the reason I have such a hard time choosing classes at the beginning of every semester, because I want to do everything. I really do. I have taken a variety of classes before, and I did okay, so maybe I could do it. But I think that I can't, and that's where the problem is. If you tell yourself you can't do something, you'll prove yourself right. I know that. But it's really hard to make plans, when you're brain is screaming IT'S IMPOSSIBLE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME??? the whole time. Back in "school," before college, I liked to study one subject at a time. It wasn't always that way, mind you, but as I got older, and had more control over my life, that's what I liked to do. I would spend a whole day working on my science class alone, and the next day, it was English, and the next day, it was math (Okay, okay. I would give up after a bit on that one, and go play Neopets), and then I'd take of a day or a week just to read my novel, and I'd start over again. I would get the whole thing done just as fast as a regular kid, but I didn't spend all day getting yanked around from one subject to the next like other kids do. I did it my way, and I liked it. I excelled, more or less. (Learning algebra online is really hard. Don't do it. That was the first time in memory that I ever failed at something. I think I got a C or a D or something. It was horrible.) And that's the way I liked it. When I started college, I started out with one class at a time, because that was easy. And I had perfect grades, until I started taking four or five classes at a time. So, basically, I thrive in doing one, maybe two things at a time. That's it. Now, I don't know how long I can do that one thing at a time. Six months to a year is pretty much my max so far, which is a problem, since I can't "change careers" every year. Although I would enjoy it, it would make me look less reliable on paper, for starters. And I wouldn't have Job Security. This is another reason why I want to follow all of my "chosen careers" at the same time, because when I get tired of writing, I'll go back to music, and when I get tired of music, I'll go back to drawing, and when I get tired of drawing, I might tutor math for a little bit, and so on and so on. Plus, in (most of) those careers, I am able to jump around. I don't have to go to the office nine to five, pumping out songs and drawings and novels, if I don't want to. I can work out of my home, and when I finish a book, I can start playing piano again, and when I've released an album, I can move on to something else. It could actually work. Or, I could fail miserably. I could be one of those bums who don't have a "real job" because they're an "artist", so they live out of their parents house while they wait for opportunity to fall into their laps, which never, ever happens. Which brings me back to why I've resisted this "path" my entire life. I could do well in cyber security, or computer programming, or whatever. I could. I'm good at learning things like that. I have experience with languages, which could help me with HTML, or C++, or Java, plus I thrive on memorizing rules and patterns. I remember having a great time designing my own pages on Neopets, using the "tips and tricks" page on their site. I learned the basics of HTML pretty quick like that. It was fun. I could get back into it. And even if it doesn't sound entirely interesting, let me point out that I once had a fascinating time watching water boil. If I put my mind to it, I can learn anything, and I can make anything interesting. Examples: I was getting bored trying to memorize dates of historical events, so my dad made flash cards, and timed me to see how fast I could move through them. I learned how to make things into a game. I was having a hard time picking up Spanish, so I started listening to Spanish music, and my skills improved. And I opened myself up to a whole new genre of music. I was spacing out in my science class a couple semesters ago, so I started creating superheroes with powers based on the principles we were learning. Aced the class. And, I got a few more characters for my novel. Some things are harder than others, I'll admit it. But if I want to succeed, I will. I'll figure it out. So even though I don't know anything about cyber security, I know I can learn it, and I know that I can probably do a dang good job at it, too. In fact, it'll probably be a lot easier than any of my chosen fields. In cyber security, you don't bare your soul for everyone to see and judge and dismiss. Computers don't ask you to bring out the worst parts of yourself, only the best. I'll probably never cry because of a computer. In computers, there is no gray area. You're either doing it right, or you're not. It would make a lot more sense for me to work on computers. It's so strange, that I, Aspie and all, could want so badly to work in the arts. A lot of Aspies work in machines and computers, and for good reason. Machines don't try to trick you. They don't hurt you or lie to you or pretend to be something they're not. They don't ask you to be something you're not. They just are. They sit and wait to be picked apart and learned and fixed. Why, oh, why didn't I just take apart the microwave like a normal Aspie kid? Why did I have to get my meat hooks in music? Why couldn't I have stuck with computer manuals instead of science fiction? Why did I have to hold back tears every single time I went to the theater, because I wanted to be on that stage more than anything in the world? Why?! The arts go against everything I've trained myself over the years. My brain tells me it's wrong to ever, ever, show any weakness. Never, ever let them see you sad or mad or scared or frustrated, because that will show weakness. But in music, on stage, on paper, that's exactly what people want to see. That's exactly what I have to show them, walking around with my soul naked to the world. The arts are hard. PEOPLE ARE HARD. I have to be able to hold conversations with them, to show thoughts and emotions (in the right way) and read theirs (in the right way). I have to keep stepping up and doing things that frankly terrify me, because that's the only way to get anywhere in the arts. Why in the world would I put myself through the pain and suffering that is in store for me? I have no idea. Maybe I should go for cyber security. But here's the other thing. I remember a year or two ago, when I was fed up with trying to deal with people. It was, and is, exhausting, confusing and scary to try and socialize, doesn't matter what situation. School, work, church, all of it. It was just too hard. Why bother? I can go read my books in the comfort of my own home. I can listen to music and never, ever go to another party again. I could just say "no, thank you, not today," when someone asks "how are you?" I could do that. It would be a lot easier, a lot more comfortable and secure. I could spend my energy doing something more useful, like curing cancer, or at least writing the next great American novel. But the thing is, I'm very religious. That's part of my problem, the reason why I didn't just do the smart, safe thing, years ago. I was sitting there, thinking "what's the point with any of this? Why bother?" when I got a mini revelation, of sorts. You see, in my church, we're all about family. We do genealogy, we have "family home evening" every week. We treat other people like family, too. We actually have assignments, so nobody in the congregation is forgotten. I've got a few women that I'm supposed to check up on every month, see how they're doing, see if they need anything. (For example one time, I got a call from one of the women I "visit teach" in the middle of the night. She had to go to the hospital, and she needed someone to watch over her daughter while she went. And, oddly enough, I was happy to.) Likewise, there are men and women that come check up on me, as well, who are willing to help me out in a pinch. We all take care of each other. We take care of people outside of our church, too. I hear we're one of the top donating churches in the US, or something like that. We lend humanitarian aide to people who need it, victims of disasters, impoverished people, and the like. I tell you this, not to show you how "great" we are, or to say that we're better than other people, not at all. There are plenty of "bad Mormons" who don't care about anyone outside themselves. They don't help their family, their fellow church members, or people in general. Not everyone in our church really knows or cares what our religion actually teaches. Likewise, there are plenty of people outside our church, who are generous and loving, who make sacrifices and help people, with or without anyone standing over their shoulder, telling them what they "should" be doing. I'm telling you this because in that "lightbulb moment", I realized, it's all about people. Everything is. It doesn't matter if I'm a writer or a computer programmer or an animal trainer, it doesn't matter! The point of this life is people. To make friends, to be in a family, to help each other and grow with each other. THAT is what's important. And even back then, before I knew about autism, before I understood why it was so hard for me, I realized, it's still worth it. That I need to make the effort. So I did. I redoubled my efforts in People. Most of the progress I made, I owe to all of my training in performance and stories, but whatever works, works. I still don't go to parties much, but I start up random conversations with people sometimes, and ask people how they're doing, and I've even gone on a few dates (shudder). I'm trying. Like I said, people are hard. But they are the most important thing, and I guess most things worth doing are really, really hard, anyway. Now, here's where we finally get to the point, which I tried to explain to my dad, when he suggested that I figure out how to get some job with computers. I doubt he understood half of what I was getting at, because it takes a long time to formulate my thoughts and turn them into words (I've been writing this post in my head since last night), and maybe I should just have him read this. But here's what I'm getting at: if the most important thing that I learn in this life, is People, and it doesn't really matter what else I do, as long as I do well enough to support myself, then I should figure out what has helped me the best in People. Well, what do you suppose is it? Is it cyber security, or computer programming, where most of my work will be alone, working outside the realm of speech, language, and communication? No, probably not. It's in the arts. Ever since I let myself study the arts, I have blossomed (although I kind of hate that term). I show emotions, and not just "happy," either. I have a network of "friends" (I still don't know how to tell the difference between friends and acquaintances, but I will, one day, I will!), colleagues, teachers, fellow church members, you name it. I actually express an opinion on occasion, which is huge for me. I even went and visited another lady from my church, (even though I don't know her very well, and her neighborhood scares me) by myself, without anyone forcing me to do it. Now, I know what you must be thinking now (I'm psychic like that). Now that I've learned these things, I have those skills, and I should go get a "real" job, while continuing to use those skills. You haven't been paying attention, have you? I can only do one thing at a time. It's been months since I was in school, months since I've had a voice lesson or been on stage. I'm already sucking back into my hermit's shell. I haven't been to a party, or singles' activity since school let out (I did go to one dance though, but hey, costumes). I haven't spent a single moment with my friends (outside of that dance) since graduation. I haven't even texted or emailed anyone. I've just been at home. Writing. I've enjoyed myself, too. It's been a wonderful vacation. But unlike Neurotypical extroverts, for me (and other Aspies, I assume) socialization is a skill that quickly goes away. It's like my dad is always saying about languages: use it or lose it. There are some languages he used to be fluent in, and now he can't speak them at all. It just happens. Socializing and People are so hard for me, that as soon as I'm not using those skills, my brain forgets about them, and I have to start, practically from scratch. If I'm going to continue to be an Aspie Butterfly, I have to be constantly training myself, never letting up. I have to force myself to go and be with people, every single day. I have to have CONSTANT VIGILANCE. If I go into computers (which is extremely tempting, let me tell you. Consistency, rigid rules, and security, are things that most Aspies thrive in), I would have to figure out how to split my focus. Which I very likely would fail at. I can't constantly be studying people, and constantly be studying computers at the same time. I can't split my brain like that. I can only do one thing at the same time. It has to be one or the other. There was one last thought, that I was too scared to express last night, because I don't want to sound arrogant or over-confident, or anything like that. But I'm an Aspie. Now that I know that, now that I know that it's okay, even normal, for me to obsess over things, and do whatever it takes to become the best I can possibly be at those things, means that I have one less wall to climb over. I've always tryed to vary my interests, split my focus, multitask, because that's what everybody else was doing, and it's just not normal to love things as fiercely as I do. You know what? Forget normal. I want to enjoy myself. I want to be happy. I'm smart. I'm allowed to say that, because this is the internet, and I can't see your looks of doubt and dismissal. I can be and am really good at things. I never let myself try the arts before, even though I loved them, because it wasn't smart, and it wasn't safe. Because I had to A, be really, really good at it, and B, I had to be at least moderately good at People. Well you know what? I can do A. I don't know how long it will take, but you'll never meet a Neurotypical person who can match an Aspie like me in focus and determination. You just won't. And, as for B, I'm figuring it out. It's not as hard or as scary as I used to think it was (although it's still pretty hard and scary). I just need to work on it, and never, ever stop. I don't know if my dad thinks that I can do it. That makes me sad, but it's okay. He's a neurotypical person, thinking logically. Thinking smart. The odds are against me. But I'm one of the lucky few autists who can survive in the "real world", to some extent. Some of us cannot communicate at all with anyone outside. They can, and do, end up as lost and lonely children. But I am not one of them. People like me go on to be writers, inventors, musicians, you name it. Look at John Elder Robison. Look at Albert Einstein, Mozart, Isaac Asimov, Isaac Newton, or Vincent Van Gogh (We obviously can't prove that these people were Aspies, but they fit the bill). They followed their special interests wherever it took them, and they rocked the world. Few, if any of them, made a lot of money, so I can't say for sure that I'll have job security (sorry Dad). But they did what they loved. They made a difference. And in this small world, blessed with the internet, I can't see how someone with my wide skill set and varied special interests can't make a living doing what she loves. It'll be hard. Nobody said life would be easy. But I'll be doing what feels right, for the first time in my life. And I'll be happy. Penny
First of all, let me say, the new month came around and I didn't even realize it. I've been writing this blog a whole month now! Wow. Time sure flies. Twenty five posts is a lot. For me. My last blog had four, if I remember correctly. Scratch that, I just checked, and it has 42 entries. Well then. So I guess 25 isn't all that much, after all. On the other hand, they were shorter entries (seriously. One of them was 26 words, I kid you not. And you thought I was always this long-winded, didn't you?), and it lasted over a couple of years, so I'm still pretty impressed with myself. And, in all of those years, I only had somewhere around thirty views. Ha! Thirty. That's so cute. Anyway, writing a blog about writing a blog is redundant and boring, plus I'm starting to feel like that creepy girlfriend that wants to celebrate our "monthaversary," so... moving on. I've been getting the feeling that I really need to send the link for this blog to my therapist. Since verbal communication about anything I actually care about is not really my strong suit, maybe just having him read my thoughts may help him, if he wants to put in the extra time. I know yesterday I didn't end up saying even half of what I wanted to, and having someone look at me when I talk is really, really distracting. I couldn't filter out the voice in my head saying "he thinks I'm making this up to get attention, I know it, he doesn't believe a word I'm saying, and now I have to figure out how to prove it to him, but I don't know how!" It's like when I was twelve or thirteen, and my family was playing an improv game at a party. I had been suffering with severe back pain for months, and had only recently started getting over it. Coincidentally, for the game, I needed to "pretend to be someone who had a hurting back," for one reason or another. But I didn't know how to do it. I only knew how to pretend not to be in pain. I was frustrated and confused, and when nobody could guess what I was acting out, I ended up sulking alone for at least five minutes. My point is, I knew what it felt like to be in that situation, and I knew exactly what I had done for the entire duration: pretend there wasn't a problem. Sure, I hurt like heck, constantly. It kept me up at night because there was no position I could lay in to make it go away. I couldn't do a lot of things, because everything was excruciating. But I do not complain. It's one of the rules. You don't show people you need help, just like you don't show people you're different. (In case you were wondering how I got rid of my back pain, I think it was a combination of a few things. For one, I improved my posture. I've always been notorious for slouching. But mostly, it was that I lost a lot of weight. Fifty or sixty pounds, if I remember correctly. Man, that sounds off... Was I really that overweight? But anyway, I was unhealthy and overweight before, and now I'm not, so I feel better.) So, sitting there in my therapist's office, I felt the pressure that I needed to "pretend" to be autistic, so that he would know I was telling the truth. But I don't know how to pretend to be autistic. I only even gained more than just a cursory knowledge of the subject in the past couple weeks. I couldn't tell you with any sort of conviction what an autistic person looked like. I knew what it felt like. And I knew that I had it. But I didn't know how to show it. I only knew how to cover it up. Now, I know what you're thinking: Penny, just do the opposite! When you feel the urge to zig, just zag! Well, it's not that simple. When I need to stim, I do it without thinking. In fact, a lot of times I don't realize I'm doing it. Like when I'm tapping my teeth. I barely notice it, most of the time. When I do notice it, it's like waking up. I realize not only that I'm doing it, but that I have been doing it for several seconds or minutes, whatever it is. It feels really awkward when I stim on purpose, and so I don't try to. I only try not to when I get the urge, especially when people are looking at me. People have asked me why I smell my hands, and it's been pretty uncomfortable having people put me under the microscope like that. I've gotten weird looks from people when they realize I'm rubbing the sharp edges of my pen my lips, so I try not to do it if I think someone's watching. I've had my professors repeatedly tell me to stop fiddling with my clothes while I'm on stage, and so when I'm on stage, I can resist it. Usually. By extension, when I'm putting on a performance off-stage as well, I'm pretty good and holding my urges at bay. Over the years, because of training, focus, and a lot of practice, I now have a switch in my head, saying "this is how you act when people are looking at you, and this is how you act when people are not." You don't pick your nose when people are looking at you, you just don't. I literally can't do it, I've trained myself too well. I have no qualms with nose-picking when I'm alone, though. It's the same with stimming. I felt like I was sitting there, telling him that I'm a nose-picker, and him responding "no, you're not a nose-picker, because you're not picking your nose right now." I'm still baffled by his response, even though I know how hard I've worked to appear normal. I really can't blame him. But even though I'm older and know better now, I still get surprised sometimes when people don't know what goes on in my head. Right now, in the comfort of my own home, as I express my thoughts in a medium that I'm most fluent in, taking all the time I need to do so, I'm stimming just fine. I keep scratching and picking and sniffing and tapping, completely unhindered. It's kind of annoying, actually, to have to stop in the middle of a sentence to satisfy these urges. A month ago, I would have been begging for someone, anyone to teach me how to stop it altogether. But I don't mind it as much, now. It's just how I think. I'm giving myself time to process and percolate on what I want to say next, while my hands and arms act of their own will, momentarily disconnected from my brain. When I think about it that way, I really don't mind it anymore. My only worry is, how can I get people to accept me for who I am, if I literally cannot show them who that is? If I can't stim in front of people, will they believe that I do it at all? If I have to soften each blunt thought before I allow myself to express it to the NTs around me, and filter out anything I think will be misunderstood, can I make them believe or even understand the way I truly think and feel? Since I have made a habit to never complain when something pains or irks me, can I ever tell them when something is wrong? I'm terrified that if I tell someone that human contact drives me crazy (and not in a good way), they might not believe me. They'll probably just think that I'm insulting them. I don't want people to think that I'm boring, even though spontaneity is not programmed into my brain. I want people to know that I am diverse, that I like to try new foods, new things, but when I'm at home, I eat the same things, every day, and I wear the same clothes every week. I'm not boring. But will anyone understand that? Thankfully, I'm starting to let myself stim and talk openly about myself to my family. I'm pretty sure I have insulted/upset most of them, multiple times, but I'm trying to figure it out. I haven't learned how to express pure Aspie thoughts in the NT language. A lot of them don't translate. So far, I've only expressed other NT thoughts, or over-simplified concepts from my Aspie brain. But my family is being patient with me, for which I am extremely grateful. It'll probably be months, maybe even years, before I've said all that I needed to say to them to make them understand exactly how things work on back on my home planet. But we're on our way. And it gives me hope, that I'll be able to show my true colors to people outside of my immediate family. Maybe I'll even have a real relationship with somebody. That'll be so cool.
Penny Ps, apparently I read big books, so I don't blame anyone for having issue with my blog. When my therapist came out of his office to get me, and he saw me reading this, he said "wow, that's a big book! You read a lot, don't you?" Since it did not seem like that big of a book, I'd say the answer is "yes". Gone and the later Harry Potter books were bigger, but I had no trouble with them, either. Well, happy reading, either way!
So, round two with a therapist has just occurred. Actually, it happened a couple of hours ago, and when I came home, I started talking my mother's ear off about it, which (wisely stated by my mother) may be even more helpful than going to a therapist. But, let's back up. I wasn't as terrified as the first time I went, especially because as I entered the building, I was exactly on time, and because I thought I knew more of what to expect. I was also eager to explain the breakthroughs I've had over the last couple weeks, about autism, of course. But I found I had a very hard time talking to him. He kept asking me questions, which, to me, sounded like he doubted me, which meant he either thought I was stupid, or a liar, neither of which being an accurate description of me. As the session went on, I got more and more tense, feeling like I had to convince him that I was autistic, like I was in court or something. I started adding qualifiers to make my statements sound less... I don't know, convicted... so that he would stop giving me that look, stop telling me that I probably don't have autism. I got so upset that I gave up showing him the evidence that I had so carefully cultivated over the past couple weeks, because it's really hard to focus and organize your thoughts when someone is (unintentionally) calling you a liar. I admitted to him that I was getting paranoid, and that it seemed like he didn't believe a word I said, and he said that of course he believed me, he was just asking questions. I explained that I cannot lie. I'm not sure if I told him that that was a common characteristic for people on the spectrum, but it is. We want to give true and accurate statements. I told him that I couldn't lie even if it were to protect me, or help me feel more at ease, or give me a break. For instance, I know someone over the "age of consent", who will lie to creepy guys and say that she "just turned sixteen!" because she looks young, and then they can't make a move on her. I've wanted to do that. Just lie, to get myself out of a sticky situation. But I can't. In my experiences with sign language and Deaf culture, some of my friends who speak ASL have pretended they were deaf, either to see what it was like and how people would react, or just because they didn't feel like dealing with people. I can't do that. If I'm going to "turn my voice off" to "be Deaf" for a day, I can't not tell people. I've actually had to do that for an assignment, in my sign language class, and I felt so horrible about it, I couldn't stand it. So he's nodding throughout all of this, taking it in, and then I just had to tell him the truth (how can I not?) that being honest doesn't always make other people around me, because they don't want to hear the truth. They want it snuck in. But when people ask me "do I look good in this outfit?" when they don't, I can't just say "yes." I find something, anything good about the outfit, and tell them that thing. If they truly did want to know if their outfit looks bad, then I have to figure out a way to tell them, without hurting their feelings, which usually includes saying something good (which is true) along with the bad (which is, of course, also true). But when I said this, he said "oh, so you do lie," and I was astounded. He wasn't listening at all, was he? I don't want to hurt people. I want them to be happy, and I want them to accept me. I also cannot lie. So, I have figured out that you don't always tell people the whole truth. You have to keep some of it to yourself. But I would never, ever tell a flat out lie. Granted, some people say that deceiving includes omission of truth, which is why sometimes I have a problem with that anyway, but I'm super good at keeping my mouth shut. He told me that I most likely don't have autism, because autism involves repetitive behavior, such as tapping your face (as he demonstrated). Either he was oblivious, or choosing to ignore my rapidly tapping foot, and the fact that I had my arms clenched around my torso, which I do to keep me from touching and tapping and picking. It's my natural defense pose, whenever I'm in public, to keep from doing things out of the ordinary. I explained to him that I keep it pretty well contained in public, that when other people are looking at me, I can keep the "repetitive behavior" in places where they won't see, like tapping my teeth or wiggling my toes in my shoes. He didn't look like he believed me. So, I'm paranoid. Okay. It could be because I have a hard time reading people's faces, so I can't tell how genuine they are being with me. But I don't like being interrogated. I know, he was only trying to better understand what's going on with me, and how I think, so that he could help me. But my Aspie brain (and I don't care WHAT anybody else says, I am an Aspie) couldn't understand why he wouldn't just accept the research I've done on my own, and move on. This isn't the first time this has happened. I remember when I was starting to obsess about hair for real (I've been learning stuff about it since I was six, but it didn't really become a special interest until I was about fourteen). I was constantly drinking in any information I could get on hair. In a very short period, I knew how it worked, the general idea of how to keep it healthy (and some things you should never, EVER do). I knew the difference between curly and straight hair, and how to take care of them. And, I knew all about styling. (this was before I started cutting and dyeing hair) Well, my friend got into an argument with her mother about how often you should shampoo. I was taken aback that her mother wouldn't know something so simple as the fact that shampooing damages your hair, and you should only do it when you absolutely had to. I chimed in (something I don't normally do) and explained that the daughter was right, and I told her why. She just kind of walked away. I have no idea if she listened to me, which was weird, because I knew I was right. Anyway, that wasn't where I was going with this. The incident that I'm going for was a little while afterwards, when one of my friends was talking about getting her hair done for the prom. I offered to do it: I'd been wanting some new hair to play with, and I was certain that whatever she wanted done, I could do, or figure out in a matter of days. (it only took a day or two to learn how to do a beehive for one of my friend's costume party) But she said as nicely as she could, that she'd rather go to a professional for that kind of thing. I was so confused. I may not have had many years with hair, but it was obvious that I could do whatever she wanted, because I knew so much, and could easily learn more in plenty of time for the dance. I didn't say anything, because I thought it was a given how much I knew about the subject. Looking back, I realize this wasn't the case. Since I barely spoke two words to any of my friends, how could they know that I was interested in hair? Since I had never done their hair, how could they know what I was capable of? But I didn't understand that. I always thought that whatever I knew was common knowledge, and that I was either on par with, or a little behind, everyone else in the world. So I let it go. But that's what it felt like. Obviously, I hadn't even begun to show him who I was, because when I try to express myself, especially about myself, it's extremely difficult to do so. Especially out loud. Extra especially when it's all spur of the moment question/answer responses. I can prepare you a speech. I can. It might not all come out very well, but I can do it. But if you ask me to tell you things that I've never put in words before, and you want to hear it now, well, I get flustered. Confused. I mix things up. I have a hard time remember what I've said out loud and what I haven't, and I can never be sure what all a person knows about me, because I can't remember who I told and who I didn't. The fact that he kept saying "I don't even know why you need therapy" didn't help one iota. The fact that I can't answer simple questions about myself, in a safe, and controlled environment, should be a clear indicator that I need help. But I couldn't say that, oh, no, because it is one of the biggest, most ingrained rules of engagement that I know, that you can't say "I'm having a hard time," or "I don't understand," or most of all, "can somebody please help me?" I ended up being more flustered, depressed, and confused walking out of his office than I did walking in. I did, however, have a great conversation with my mother, afterwards. I think it was because I was so "warmed up" after struggling with my therapist, and stewing over it the whole ride home. I said a lot of things to her, about myself, that I haven't ever said out loud, which was fantastic. My mom is so great. Since she has Tourette's she can understand where I'm coming from. She said that she's struggled with the same thing, with her doctors, about her condition. She would sit there, with the doctor looking right at her, telling them she had Tourette's, and they'd say, "No, you don't." This was absurd, to me, because I know my mother. I've seen her, my whole life, when she's just relaxing on the couch, or trying to concentrate. She's constantly ticking and tapping (and stimming, if you can apply that to Tourette's, which I think you should). It's only in public that she keeps it contained. When she's in public, she sits with her arms and legs crossed, clenched together, to keep from stimming. It's not a natural position. She is not at ease. She is contained. She trained herself to do this, because she was constantly mocked as a kid, for the "weird things" she always did. And now, when she tries to tell people about it, they won't believe her, because she's trained herself so well. I don't know how much my therapist knows about autism. I don't want to second-guess him, or put him down, because, to be honest, I don't know what I don't know about psycology. How could I? So how can I know if he's good at what he does, or not? But I felt like he didn't know at all, or thought I didn't know myself at all, and that's just disheartening. What I wanted to say, which I couldn't get into words fast enough was this: Autism isn't its symptoms. It's a way of thinking. If you took two North Americans, from the same area, who had the same language and cultural background, and dropped them off in a foreign country, their reactions would be different. I'm a military brat: I've been all over the world. I speak three languages, and I've studied quite a lot about cultures and people. I adapt to my surroundings. There's a lot of people like that: when they go to a new country, they study the language and the culture, they pick up on mannerisms, try the food, make native friends. They don't think like a native, but they know how to act like one, with some work. If they've got the talent, and they work at it enough, if they care enough about it, they will blend in. They will become invisible. But what about the other North American? I've seen this too: put them in a strange country, and they'll say "I don't know what you're saying, speak English." They'll say "no" to the sushi and ask for a hamburger. They'll look for other American's to be friends with, or they won't deal with anyone at all. That's exactly what it is. Some autistic people either can't or won't figure out how to deal with the NT world. I don't blame them. A lot of things they do don't make sense, and usually they won't try to work with you and the difficulties you have. They just write you off as "weird" and move on, not bothering to see what you have to offer. But some of us, us "high functioning" autistic people, have gone native. Some of us blend in better than others, some of us have an easier time with the language or cultural oddities. We don't always get why you do the things you do, but we copy you anyway, because we want to blend in. We want friends. We're willing to meet you halfway, or in some cases, more than halfway. To some, I seem completely normal. I eat whatever food they give me, I hug random people, I laugh at their jokes, and talk about things they like to talk about. But all of these things aren't easy or natural for me. I had to develop them, through years of study and practice. I made a lot of sacrifices, put myself in extremely uncomfortable situations, and never feeling truly close to anyone, because I did what I had to to look and act like "one of them". It's all fake. It's all acting. It's why I did so well in my acting and performance classes: it's because I've been working on it my whole life. It's why, after I started taking acting and performance classes, that I seemed even more open and outgoing than ever before, because, not only was I doing things that made me happy, I was also learning how to better perform. Now, I'm stuck halfway. I can't tell people I'm normal, because it's not really true, and I can't tell people I'm weird, because they won't believe me anymore. Even a trained professional won't believe me. Maybe he can't help me at all, because I don't know how to let him. But, writing this blog has been a HUGE blessing. I'm starting to be able to be more open about myself, not just to me, but to other people. I've started talking to my family about the "weird" things, even though I know that a lot of times, they will laugh at me. I've been hanging out at WrongPlanet, and AspiesCentral, talking to other people who think like me, and who are going through similar issues, and I've been more and more comfortable telling them about myself. It's been pretty amazing. I hope I'm autistic. My therapist did an evaluation, and he's going to tell me about it when he gets the results, so I'll know for sure. I don't know what it'll do, to have that "stamp of approval", but it would be really nice if one person could believe me. My little sister expressed doubts about my autism, and I felt like other people wanted to disprove it as well. They don't see what it's done for me, to be a part of this community. This is the first label someone's stuck on me that I actually feel good about. And I want it to stay. Part of me wants to say I'm autistic, even if the test comes back negative. But I know that isn't practical. I just feel like someone just walked up to me and said "Santa Claus may or may not be coming by this Christmas. I'll let you know in a couple of weeks." Here's hoping for Christmas presents this year. Penny
