Fixation on another person is an ego attachment that represents no true or stable emotions of affection. It is my attempt to connect to source through hyper-focusing all of my energy like a laser beam onto one entity. All thoughts of the reality of the person and my own personhood are lost. I long to own the individual, per chance I might feel the love of God and fill the emptiness and void of being here on earth. For me the object of my attention can be anyone—marvelous or messed up. I am blind to the reality of the situation until the fixation passes. My brain needs a puzzle, something to solve, something to fixate on. This temporary ‘one’ becomes a portal that sucks up self and pulls my mind into a different realm or fantasy. The process is both a form of escapism and the relief that comes through the act of rearranging aspects of a puzzle; the intensity is insurmountable in moments, akin to an underwater tunnel pulling me under into a vortex. When I resurface, I am amazed at the way in which I have imprisoned my being.
~ Sam, Everyday Aspergers
Sometimes my fixation is an attempt to be seen. For most of the time I walk in this world, I feel utterly invisible.
Here is how I currently view communication:
I see two lines, two vibrations, almost like sound waves. (The two lines are parallel and horizontal.) And the top line, the top wave, is what is coming out of a person’s mouth, and the bottom wave is what I am feeling, what is underneath what he is saying: his insecurity, his fear, the reasons why he is forming the words he is forming, the sentences he is forming based on his own insecurities and needing me to fulfill a part of him. Since he is always focused on his fear and the outcome, he is not focused on connection, he is not focused on me. I don’t need him to be focused on me for ego-needs, I need him to be focused on me so I can feel him. As long as there is a discrepancy I can see in the two vibrations, there is no connection.
In being that there is no connection, I am constantly looking at two conversations at once. I am looking into what is coming out of his mouth, but I am also simultaneously listening to what is at his heart-center, what is at his core, all of the things he is not saying and that he wants to say. Often I can pick those up, and I can tell the person exactly what I am thinking and feeling, and this frustrates him, because I am more than likely correct. This creates this constant communication barrier in which I am listening and knowing what is being said is not ‘true.’
When I talk to someone with Aspergers that discrepancy between the two wave lines is not there. It is also such an intense communication that if one of the other participants fluctuates and he/she tries to hide something, the other person will point out the discrepancy in communication, no matter the distance. Whether the two be in different states or countries. From a distance, she might say, “That doesn’t match what you are feeling. What happened? How did your energy shift?”
When I am with a person with Aspergers, I am no longer alone. I am seen. I am not invisible. To most of the world I am invisible, and it’s terrifying. It’s terrifying being a person who can look at people and see entirely inside of them, and see their fears, and see their blockages, and listen to them talk and know most of what they are saying is just an imaginary game. And to realize I am not really connected at all, but rather some free-formed ghost waiting to be seen.