The World Within

Time to engage in inside trading, sharing some of the intricate, rarely mentioned small tales of what my inner world is like.

There are many barriers, invisible electrified fences between me and any other...it's just a varying degree of layers and thickness.

Picture someone standing at a closed window unable to break the glass...seeing, silently watching...unable to figure out how the window opens.

The outside world is alien....and sometimes I am an alien onto myself.

Feelings, emotions are these estranged, sticky, foreign thingies...that are either too far away or consuming me.

Because I am unable to easily ascertain how I am feeling, emotionally speaking, I get visual clues of pictures and scenes. If I look at the scene and analyze, I can tell how I am feeling. The post Where the Walls Live, goodness, I love that title plus it is extremely apt.

I see a version of me skipping through a meadow, which indicates that overall, I am feeling pretty good. In the vision I am not trudging nor do I carry any baggage or worries. The sky is clear, blue with a spattering of bright white, distant clouds. Then that damn wall appears, out of nowhere, unexpectedly, telling me what I already knew, I have reached a block, a place I cannot go or get through with any sense of ease.

I could stand there, stuck and stymied, for days if I so desired...the wall isn't moving, so I do.

I've learned that I can muddle through paths awash in heavy rains, over small boulder strewn roads, out of pits, wells and crevices deep...one of my specialties is going over, around and through barricades...many, many barricades have there been, but I've not mastered the walls. They be too thick and fortified. There are some, albeit few, places I cannot travel. Mostly, I respect that. Sometimes I grab hammer and chisel...often I just have to wait for the wall to melt on its own accord. Timing can be everything.

Sometimes I don't know where I'm going...but the direction feels right. I started a brand new art project...and I'm not sure what it will be when I'm done.

She was a tornado, churning and twisting upon herself....safe alone in the fields, dangerous to those caught too near...knowing not her own strength or impact. Few dared draw near...fewer still, could withstand the wind....

It is very weird, at times...to suddenly find my self autistic. Hmmmm, very weird indeed.

Inside My World

Sometimes people say the same thing over and over and fail to ever really explain what they mean.
Frequently, I have been know to say "that I live in my own little world". I think that deserves an explanation. Lets' go there....
I live largely within a world of thought, memories, possibilities and emotations. Its like living in a very large room that is filled with loops, streams, fragments and spheres. At times, it seems very crowded and different shapes vie for my attention. Frequently one of these small floating arenas engulf me and I become engrossed, almost trapped and have a hard time escaping whatever thought or memory has captured my attention. Each shape contains either large or small bits of information. Mostly, I sit back, within myself and am analyzing.
Frequently, I am sure it appears, that my eyes have glazed over and it appears that "no one is home". At those times I am all inside...sometimes pondering, sometimes escaping whatever reality is outside of me and taking place.
Various things, such as "what was that conversation about yesterday" "can I remember it word for word?" "what was meant by thus and such" "did I convey what I needed to?" "when I said thus was I heard?" pertain to previous, mostly recent, conversations. Often, hours or days later, I find things that I missed in the conversation..sometimes very important things.

I have very little interest and awareness of the world outside of myself. I have a very narrow lens and rarely notice things, people, situations, words or ideas, that do not pertain directly to me. I have no interest in false gods, celebrities, current tv programming, popular culture, the latest novel, gossip of any kind, predicting the future or where I want to be five years from now, who is dating who, what the most popular song was in 1952, the latest diet or exercise craze, fads of any kind, and hypothetical what ifs.
The majority of my waking life is consumed with how to get through it, my home, my castle, my friends and my family and keeping myself functional. That takes up about 98% of my every day. Seriously, I wish it were only some bad joke but the vast majority of my day is actively engaged in basic functionality.

Words are mutable things of varying caliber, degrees and with a plethora of meaning depending on context, stress, the particular speaker and the spirit in which they are said....very complex. I can easily spend days analyzing a five-minute conversation....easily. For I do want to understand and comprehend..it just doesn't come easy.
Having to spend so much effort figuring out the words, leaves little time for glances and observations regarding facial expressions and body language. I am simply too focused on the words.
And, yes, most people speak at a normal rate of speed that is far too fast for this and other aspies. Either my word processing program is running too slow or I am actively engaged in trying to remember everything that I need to say and searching for pauses in the chat.
I can spend hours planning a five minute conversation for, say, the next day. I have to figure out my points, what is important and put it in a presentable cohesive, easy-to-understand manner.
Lost in thought...yeah, I am frequently there but it has purpose.

So say that I live in this very large room with floaters. I stand in the middle. There must be a door here somewhere for a connection to the outside. Sure, there is one over there on the right. One small doorway that opens to a very narrow, steep, twisty-turny hallway that is about a mile long. (Yeah, I am usually pretty hard to reach.) Every now and then someone ventures down the hall and knocks at my door...Most of the time, I simple do not hear the knock.The depths, focus can prevent that. Sometimes I do and ignore it. I think, most often, people arrive at the door, sense the...depth and treacherousness of the hallway and fear actually knocking. Can't say that I blame them...it is a most unusual stride to the door.

When I venture out...my view of the world outside of myself, outside of my physical home...
To be honest, its a war zone...a chaotic, ever-changing, daunting and somewhat dangerous place full of unpredictability, unspoken expectations, unwritten rules and a constantly changing landscape of mountains and pitfalls.
I constantly seek safe zones and safe people. When that doesn't work, I resort to using pre-approved patterns and manners of walking, behaviors and mental games to get me from point a to point b.
Stepping outside is sensory overload, pure and simple. Its an assault of the senses, a mental maze and all systems up and running, a time of high alert.
The highest variable is people."Who will I run into?" "What will I say?" "What will they ask?" subject matter, mood, will I be able to read them?
Some days I avoid most people..other days I seek them out.It just depends.
Mostly, life is a wicked game of survival..figuring out the bare minimum of what needs doing outside and staying mostly in. Venturing out requires a great deal of pre-planning and effort.
Little things are big things for the aspie. As an example, one of my current dilemmas is something so small,so simple, so not-an-issue for the nt that I hesitate to mention as I am sure it will induce ridicule and absurdity on some level. I can't find a pair of socks to buy that doesn't feel like sandpaper on my feet. I had a dozen pair of the most perfect of socks, all cotton, black, medium weight and they fit and felt just right. Well, I went and wore them all out, getting holes in the heels and had to start pitching them in the garbage. When I was down to one or two pair, I went to the local store where I had purchased them to stock up. Lo and behold, they no longer exist. While they carry the same brand, they have introduced lycra and form-fitting alterations that pinch and do not feel right. I spent that day going to every store in town in the simple and futile attempt to locate a damn pair of socks that i could wear with ease. They no longer exist. My search continues....Yeah, I want so much from life...a damn pair of socks..and no where to be found.
The everyday task of cooking a meal is a complex endeavour. First off, I have to figure out what everyone wants and is willing to eat. Then the grocery list and actual shopping. Being in the kitchen, cooking a meal is a multi-step event that needs careful planning. I frequently talk to myself to help keep me on task and remembering what the next thing is to do. There are also three separate timers that help guide me and keep me from burning and overcooking things. More than once, our smoke alarm has signaled "dinner ready". The average meal probably takes me twice as long to cook and is just another stressful event to try and muddle through.

I like my world inside, mostly due to its low-stress and somewhat predictable nature. I don't have to perform and pretend to be normal. The sometimes overwhelming stress of outside reality will literally throw me into my space so deeply and with great fervor, that its like being locked into a closet. It gets dark and I can't find the door handle to get out even if I wanted to.
The predictability, the patterns I create are so that i can actually have moments, yeah maybe a moment or two where I don't have to actively think. Because the majority of my life, my everyday life, is spent in the thinking process, just trying to get through the day. This is so not a normal, neuro-typical existence....it is so much more work. Some day, I hope to convey that in a depth, meaning and way that doesn't sound so self-pitying and depressing because it is an important point.
You have no idea the sheer amount of work, effort and stress that is required for this aspie to get through an average day. It truly is impossible to fathom. I have great admiration for those aspies who can actually hold down and maintain a job, even a part-time one.
As for parenthood, knowing what I know now,I probably wouldn't have done it. It has not turned out very well. I think my kids suffer needlessly do to my inability to be outside my head and much more aware of who they are and what their needs may be. My focus is so extremely narrow, my introvertedness and hermitage like existence has not allowed me to see their weaknesses and areas needing assistance. My central focus of survival has not helped them in any way, shape or form and having kids was not a really good decision.
But here is where i am....this is what needs doing.

And people ask, I kid you not and this is rather novel...People ask how they can help an aspie. (And I would like to take these requests, mold them into solid form, like a small statuette and set them upon the mantel because they are priceless) So I am going to answer...You keep knocking. And if the door doesn't open, you try again. You don't give up. You make your voice and your physical presence known and available. You listen. You hear. You do not embarrass or make fun of. You do not put the spotlight on. You allow the aspie to be themselves with subtle guidance through the murky waters. You understand or are willing to try and understand that the world is a very scary, overwhelming place and that even simple, mundane tasks require great effort and thought. You realize that your own speech (that which you say when talking to an aspie), is frequently, like trying to decipher a foreign language. You talk slower and listen harder. You are aware that the aspie speaks in a language all their own and try and learn it. You can somewhat grasp the reality that an aspie needs lots of downtime and opportunities to process information. Please don't always expect an immediate answer. You get the idea that emotions and stress can sometimes have a more noticeable, dramatic effect on the aspie. And that Tics Happen, no big deal, just part of being Aspie. Be patient. Be kind. Its really that simple.

Sometimes....Mostly.....Often..the Aspergers Poem

Sometimes I think the truth is just a lie we tell ourselves over and over and over again
Mostly I feel that I am 2% human and 98% alien...I really tried working with this number to bump it up to 5% but it just refused to take
Often I think that NT's flow with the world whereas an Aspie has to learn to navigate and maneuver

Sometimes I think each individual NT is an extremely complex entity that is near impossible to figure out with their unique styles of language, gestures and meanings
Mostly I feel its the Aspie who is
Often I wonder

Sometimes within each moment, I feel like i have lived an eternity
Mostly hours, days and weeks simply pass me by
Often I live within the world of thought, thinking, dwelling over what has been, the infinite possibilities of the future and what the hell am i doing in the present :)

Sometimes I have the most brilliant, crazed, productive ideas
Mostly it amounts to fluff, you know the marshmallow kind that melts in your mouth in an instant never to be seen again
Often I have wondered whether there is more to a good day then figuring out how to get through it

Sometimes it is the little things that truly matter, the small things that have pulled me through
Mostly I try not to let people in on how profoundly caring and how deeply felt their kind gestures have been
Often I wish it were different and i could readily admit it without fear of retribution...people need to know how very much I appreciate them

Sometimes I wish it would stop raining
Mostly I put on my overcoat and waddle through
Often times I wish i had an umbrella

Sometimes I cannot see the horizon
Mostly I stand and watch the mist
Often I pray for the sun

Sometimes I pray for a sign from God
Mostly all I have to do is open my eyes to see it
Often I am asleep

Sometimes the door is open
Mostly it is nailed shut
Often I peek out, when no one is looking

Sometimes the curvature of the earth falsely leads one to believe that the end is near
Mostly I simply don't know
Often I wonder how long I must live in this pit of despair

Sometimes I wish I were you
Mostly I wish you were me
Often times the reverse is true

Sometimes I think that happiness is a myth made up by the evildoers
Mostly I laugh and believe that not true
Often times, I wish I could lighten up and smile more

Sometimes I amuse myself
Mostly, I think, I do it for the tourists
Often times I'm good at it, very good

Sometimes I think, Mostly I am lost (in thought), Often times it is my home and I am comfortable there

Have a good day

Back On Line...Love,Paint, Me

[Word of caution...what started out on a playful, upbeat note, quickly turned...more tales of an adult nature.....Proceed at your own risk...really]

I came across my old Suzanne Vega Cd, picked up my paint brush, drug out all my paint supplies, and came back to the world. Sometimes I just get a bit overstressed and everything turns off...for awhile..then the lights come back on and there is this rapidly flowing stream of thoughts, words and ideas. Listening to Suzanne Vega and "Marlene on the Wall", "Small Blue Thing" (truly a marvel!! If you have never heard it, you simply MUST) and "The Queen and the Soldier" often has a profound, life affirming effect. She talksings in pictures...a very deep, visual artist who embraces her pain and can portray it in a non-threatening way, like its ordinary and just the way life is.
My first thoughts,as I listen to Suzanne, is of when my sister, Joy, was still alive (funny, its been so long since i have ever actually spoke her name) and we shared an apartment and her friend Leebos (oh gosh, that wasn't even her name...okay, Lisa, we just called her Leebos) were sitting up one night,listening to music and analyzing songs...and i ...hmmm...hesitated...Do I really want to go there? But I took the chance..and yes, the music is very moving with verbage and memory...profoundly bittersweet.
Onto another topic...Love and the twisting of the word. Whenever I think of the word "love", the visual memory of having to give my mother a kiss goodnight and tell her I love her...oh, I am quite repulsed at the thought, immediately springs to mind. The word, to me, is twisted, perverted, sickly, wanton, flagrant, bullying, a tool and a weapon, a gun at my head that threatens, a doormat, laying on the floor, please walk on me...an order...fuck...Ummm, how could such a simple little word that, hmmm, typically, denotes some sort of happiness reflect, gotten to the point that it means the exact opposite. I say "love" and I see hands wringing tightly trying to squeeze something out of nothing. And I remember thinking, in regards to my mother and her endless request for my saying the words...how vulgar and perverted This Is....a woman, a person who so desperately wanted my love yet was unable to show the same to me? I mean, I never felt love from her...shouldn't the saying of the word actually mean one feels it? How empty....It was then that I consciously became aware that words are often said that are empty and have no real meaning or feeling behind them.
She was an empty shell of a woman...damn, I don't mean anything against her...she did the best she could and I bear her no ill will whatsoever...Yeah, she failed to "protect me"...what a joke..it was a cultural thing, incest and abuse was so rampant in my family line, she was simply following suit...whatever...I have moved on from that...Ya Think?
Anyway, back when I was 17 and I had to perform this nightly ritual...I vowed...OH Big Lightbulb...that I would never, ever be so shallow as to say things without feeling and meaning them. Damn, my words come back to haunt me, yet again. Thus, since I said it, it was written in stone and i have adhered to that principal. My word is my bond.
Getting back, I think I need to find a way to untwist this word...as I hear it is really rather pleasant. Somehow find a way to disengage from this particle of the past that continues to haunt and mislead.
So when I think of her....I feel ill...its like she was so consumed with, oh gosh, there must be some fun psychological terminology out there that would best describe her other than, "The woman had some problems...some deep-seated issues..." She was so full of anxiety, I can sense the palpitations coming on from here...So chock full of fear and warning...fear that someone would find out what was happening in the house (and it was dreadful and sick and twisted and perverted, let me tell ya)...and that her beloved (Phff..I spat, please excuse) children would be taken away because they were being beaten and raped and they hadn't eaten in days and there was no heat in the house...blah, blah, blah...shit...(one of these days I sooo want to let go of this shit)....and afraid of doctors, medicine, prying teachers, microwaves, drinking the water(Ahh, for a glass of Kool aid right now), foreigners, strangers, demons, dementors, police, you name it.....Seriously, she was afraid of everything and everyone and she felt it her motherly, smootherly, and paranoid duty to espouse and share those lovely fragments of her imagination with her eldest daughter.
And I, the dutiful Sponge, absorbed and took it upon myself to Believe her and her rants because....Because I wanted her to love me and to allow that to happen...hmmm, I validated her "claims" and absorbed all of her fear lest she feel alone on that island where the palm tress were evil spirits trying to steal her soul and the conch shells were really ticking time bombs..shhh,only she can hear them and the antichrist lived in the about to erupt volcano.....This is sooo not amusing, not fucking funny at all. Shit, this is her...and it became me...little children are little sponges and being so faithful and being so Aspie and having no clear definition of boundaries, OMg, yeah, its a butt-ugly truth.
She made me promise things....promise to always take care of her...promise
I don't know...whilst I may have been tainted by her...I didn't become her...now, to roll back the hands of time and try and untangle her from me. hmmm, love,foul, empty, meaningless, there is sooo much wrong with that picture. I'll have to work on that...
Its kindof like, hmmm, having on a lifevest that is two sizes too tight and it is slowly filling with sand...hmm, funny, in one of her many wise moments, she talked, asked about which manner of death I thought would be the least painful...I know..What the Fuck kindof question is that to ask your 13 year old daughter?....yeah, she thought drowning would be least painful...well, it is far from painful...
but...if I remove this vest...fuck, her fear is the only thing tangible that she ever gave me
but...maybe its time to let it go...to take it off..damn, that thing is fastened on pretty darn tight...
for letting go of that...this painful, suffocating feeling of constantly drowning, this fear that the world is sooo extremely unsafe, dangerous, strangers will fucking snatch me and do unspeakable things...fuck..yeah, the irony....but I sidetrack..try the ol' avoidance trick...yeah, if I will...willingly remove this vest...it is all I have of her...and...and..it will be a surrender..a giving up...of the hope (ouch, theres That word) the hope, that she ever, ever will love me...oopps there slips away my fairy tale dreams...hmmm, the fucking quandry...drown in the hope, holding on to the only thing she ever gave me...I clasp my hands around the thorns on the thin sickly stem....blood pours from the wounds....and I have an extreme fight with myself...give me a minute............
I think its a common fallacy, that when someone is born that they will have parents that will love them.....thats logic talking.....I don't hate her...really, she is a good person..just incapable of ever loving me..maybe I should let that go...cause, honey, it ain't ever going to happen...
okay, so I look at the bleeding of my now empty hands...so what...they'll heal...everything heals..at some point....whatever....
how could I have ever actually reached out for anyone, if I had kept hold of that?, the stem of the rose?
And I start untying the knots....see, I had put a couple lengths of this really heavy duty rope around this life vest, lest it fall of in my sleep...or when I wasn't looking....and those knots,man, have they kindof eroded and corroded after being there so long and being dragged thru all the mud and shit of these years....so, nimble fingers, do thy work....
and the first one, the first knot, is the biggest and tightest...take a breath, .......okay, one down...I rub my hands together..they hurt from the effort...then its time for the next one, smaller than the first, but just as tight...i feel so dirty..hmm, like betrayal...like i promised to drown so you wouldn't have to go it alone..she hated being alone, doing anything alone, i think she was helpless, never even learning to drive because...because then someone would always have to help her, the only way people would be willing to be around her...she delighted(perverted) being helpless...the only way people would pay attention to her..if she were helpless...see what lessons she taught her kids
the second knot, on a different level then the first, a bit more visceral, less emotional, more of a plaything and a way she viewed things...an outer rim, on the outside, the external world.....the games she played and taught...hmmm...bullshit...its just another level of garbage....
anyway, this second knot, okay, bit more complex....because it encompassed more years, more tactics, everyday existence...all the ways she adapted to meet her needs..and, hmmm, ways I also learned....its time to change my ways...i can let this go...
and the ropes fall to the floor....and I take a deep breath...and yeah, it hurts...don't think that I have ever .and I can picture her sitting across the table from me (yeah, many reasons my sanity has been previously questioned...whatever)...
And she sits there smiling...she always smiled for everyone, the greatest clown face, exterior mask that she always wore for everyone, outside of the house....(its a ploy...don't believe it...means nothing)...
And, still wearing my vest, my present, She says "Are you sure you want to do that?" in reference to me getting ready to remove it...and i say "Yes"...I look her in the eye...yup, it is empty in there and I feel no guilt, remorse, not even pity....and I ask her to leave...now...I've got work to do.
....with only a few seconds of thought...I remove the heavy, calloused, weeping, poky vest, and I give it back to her..."this is yours...you can have it back now...."
She leaves...and I let her