504: Had I but a voice…whisperings of Aspergers

“This is your Aspergers. It is your brain searching for something to fixate on. It is our hyper-intelligence. Our brains are puzzle solvers. We are here to help the planet. When we focus on light we make dynamic shifts. But the yang of the yin is when we focus on the dark; it is hell. The trap, we Aspies fall into, is trying to solve our emotions, instead of sitting with them.” ~ Sam


We believe we are never going to be good enough, right enough, or enough. No matter how much we read, decipher and figure out. No matter the conclusions pondered and information transmitted, the puzzles seemingly solved, or ideas seemingly mastered. We remain somewhat in awe of ourselves and the world. Our bodies and brains, and everything, unwinded and dissected, and nonetheless remaining singularly tangled and unmanageable. Our brains were made to conquer and conquest, and yet, we are the ones conquered in the endless ways in which to surmise our reality and exponential experience in life. Through our ability to mesh objectivity with subjectivity, we are made into a conundrum of possibilities; ourselves delivered to the world through a large scope of outward introspection, as if the audience is the All of everyone, and we the victim of circumstantial evidence. We are hunted, say hounded, by our innate ability to view ourselves from a distance, whilst climbing inside of others, many others, and imagining a collected viewpoint and conclusion of us. And this transaction isn’t something purposeful or invented for cause or reason. The exact act of becoming this observer of the observers is ingrained into our essential state of being. We are in essence and in truth, a mini-version of everything we take in. In this sense, we can never be that which is good, right, or enough, as everything is projected and taken back, endless mirrors upon mirrors of becoming the every changing of that which is around us.

We are made to be puzzle solvers, and the dynamic labyrinth of us, and that of the singular ‘me,’ eludes the perceived self. We become so twisted in thought that the truth hides between and beneath complex layers of potentiality, a state of existence at battle with forethought of failure. A concept considered is quickly sliced and diced and made into the sectioned out pieces of avenues of demise. We can see with hindsight, foresight, and insight into the depths of each solution we consider. Thinking therefor becomes exhaustive itself, and at times, many times, uncontrollable. As if we were made to conquer the exact thought perceived, only our tools of conquest are both our weapon and our curse. Had we the opportunity to rest our minds, the remainder flows naturally; however, the resting itself is continually challenged and masked by further thought of the concept of ‘rest’ itself. Making relaxation still another puzzle to be solved and pieced back together. For everywhere is this appearance of a ‘challenge.’ Everywhere our brains want to pick and perch, peck and devour, until the end point is found. Even as we know there is no end in sight. This is the deviation sector of our searching, a place in space in which we can step back and observe ourselves hunting for something we know does not exist, while simultaneous lacking the ability to halt said action. Had we known how to stop ourselves, our minds would be different, lacking the cohesiveness to piece back together that which is before us. We are made this way for reason unknown to us, even as we feel there must be a reason: for how could such a ‘thing’ as I exist, if not for some purpose other than the regions of hell in which our thinking leads.

We long for order in a world that dictates discord, even as nature professes the circularity of wholeness. We see behind the curtains of societal games and rules. The prophecies of past make sense to us, wherein the theories, the solutions, the ways in which modern leaders point, do not. Everything we create is created at multiple levels. Sometimes our own thinking manifests further outcomes. Sometimes the coincidences are incomprehensible and impossible to explain. We are descriptive creatures. Everywhere and all about is description. We take in information like manmade thesauruses and dictionaries. Had we known we’d be mistaken as ancient ones marked as ‘know-it-alls’ and beseeched with unceasing ways of interpretation, perhaps we would have failed to live without taking first breath. But regardless, we remain. Our quest is unreachable to those that think not as we. We are, in many ways, separate in how we perceive the world. Our sensory input on high-speed, our ability to reach a temporary finishing point, beyond measure. We endure a silent suffering all day and all night, the intensity of the world bearing down on us as a tangible concrete weight. A heaviness indescribable and ever moving into each crevice that is ‘self.’ To wake is to take in another day of battle, as to sleep is to meander through that which was taken in the whole of the day. The subconscious combined with another powerful force abstracting the decayed ravaged thoughts and replacing them with an unspeakable knowledge beyond us. Our scope of intelligence so vastly far-reaching that our own minds become lost in an ocean, torrential.


Had I but a moment to replace my being with another, less common than I, and make this person enter me, then he would know the hell I speak of, the way in which the mind made mad taunts and slithers as snake to fowl captured.

In every way I am me and I am not me; and so it goes I am divided into multiple selves not knowing who to expect. Calm on the exterior or upset. Weeping or cursing. Lying to self or submerged in the illusion of truth. I know not what will happen next. I am subjected to the layering of others: a natural empath taking on both the hurts and wants of those around me. I soak in greed. I breath out anger. I force myself to stand, even as I know not where, as vultures around me circle, taking in what they think is me, and spitting out their awful truths. I am invisible. I know this. I see this. I write this on the edge of my soul. The outline of me marked in words “I am,” and yet sucked out into that voice which is the masses.

I am slipping as I speak. Lost in the places of public where people proclaim this sense of righteous being. I drift in a world where I long to be seen and where everywhere I am branded with harsh judgment. It does not matter how many people love me, need me, or attempt to protect me. Even as my guardian circle expands, the vultures come closer. It is not the ability to build my force field of love that guides me; more so it is my built-in longing to move beyond the vultures of society, which propels me forward in action. Had I not the torrential rain spurted down by the falsehoods of this world, I would be not urged to continue onward. Even in the darkest moments, I know the voice that tricks me is merely a reminder of the voice that tricks all.

Had I but a voice that could penetrate the walls of me, I would pierce me a thousand times through and be within and without, transmitted into a time without time, and cast out as minion to the masses of humble-seekers. Had I but a heart a thousand times pierced, I would ask another blade to enter, if only to free that which is imprisoned: myself upon self.


“We think we are ungrateful, but that’s not it. Our brains are just always solving, so we conclude we are never satisfied. Thinking we are not thankful, we then self-punish, believing ourselves less than and not enough—incapable of finding this so-called “satisfaction,” a mythical word that is a leeched byproduct spawned from societal whimsy.” ~ Sam

13 thoughts on “504: Had I but a voice…whisperings of Aspergers

  1. This is absolutely beautiful, and a word painting masterpiece. It is stunning and sad. Thank you so much for posting this. I’ve shared it with several family because its so important and meaningful to me.

  2. Oh to ever be “satisfied”…”contented.”
    I can so relate to the layering and convolution of self into self, through self, around self. But I love your insight, one I’ve never let occur to me in my endless drive to happiness and problem solving in my life…that “leeched byproduct of society’s whimsy” is a crusher of my spirit so often. Like a deep depression, I can be left so fouled up trying…trying…trying to find satisfaction with my life, what I’m doing, what I could be doing. I long to be a champion…but I am lost in that mind muddle you so often referred to. We are actually grateful for so many things, but the grass has no time to grow greener anywhere because in our minds what we are grateful for is a stepping stone to the next focus, the next solution, it is so damn exhausting!
    Sam, do Aspies really get each other or are we a continent of islands, related as islands but with such different terrain.
    Love you sister…one day I’d love to put on some old dress up crinolines together and twirl in the sun, on that ever sought greener grass! Xoxo

  3. Hi Sam
    Thank you so much for sharing – helping to give expression to that which makes me feel so lonely. I so resonate with what you have written.
    I do wonder whether we are the prophets, the seers? My mother, an undiagnosed, highly intelligent aspie, used my father, an influential university principal, as a vehicle for her insight. She helped him to develop strategy and wrote many of his speeches. My father was an excellent communicator and intelligent in his own right, but it was my mothers insight and intelligence that I believe made them into the power house that my dad was respected for. Most people never knew how significant my mother was to my fathers leadership.

    The world is a complex place. Our minds can’t help processing the complexity – which is increasingly at odds with the way in which the world is being reflected within our world systems. I find myself reading all the time, constantly stunned when I stumble across others in the forefront of their fields, articulating truths that resonate in accord with my growing insight that takes in the interconnected complexity of all things. But who else thinks constantly? Even those immersed in their specialty subjects aren’t interested in the non-stop of my mind. They reach saturation long before my own exhaustion sets in. It’s very lonely being me. I hear your own expression of loneliness – even when surrounded by those who love us.

  4. I, like my mother, need others to communicate through. I am reasonably effective at communicating through on-line written communication. But I lose most people when I talk. I spend an inordinate amount of time discussing issues with colleagues so that they “get it”. That sounds so arrogant, but when I feel passionately about something with large enough consequences, I can’t just let go. I keep patiently trying to help others to see the bigger perspective that will let them see why they are being too limited.

  5. I can’t help yet another response. Please redirect me if there is a more appropriate space for such comments. . . .
    Some months back I realized that I “think with my feelings”. This means that I can’t respond quickly to things. Instead I just hang back, sort of shrink out of sight because I’m like a deer in the headlights – I have no idea how to respond. But then as I continue to observe, little details start to poke out. I start to recognize my emotions responding to minute details. But then it takes sometime before I can make logical sense of my emotional response, and then more time still to be able to express my thoughts to others – using a logical, rational argument.

    What is essential though is truth. My emotions are real, never fake. I can trust my emotions to reveal truth. Thus when I am searching for solutions to issues, I rely on discernment. I use all my knowledge in association with my emotions to discern the way forward. It never fails. My self confidence is growing. Because I have struggled so much with communication, I typically diminished my belief in myself, not recognizing myself as someone who had something significant to contribute.

    But as aspies, if we are so extremely sensitive, aren’t we like the “canaries in the mine”? Is that why we “see” so much, – because we feel first, and our sensitivities reveal some essential truth?

    1. you sound so much like me and the way I process. Feel free to press the like button on the Facebook icon to left of this page; we can talk more there. Yes, definitely an essential truth.

Thank you for your comments :)

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s