If I was to turn back the pages of my life, to the first calm months at my stepfather’s house, my days would appear wonderfully simple and sweet, and in truth they were. It was a time when a gentle thread of calm and security weaved through my days. A brief moment I fondly remember and continually reflect back upon, perhaps in an attempt to regain some semblance of normalcy or to remind myself there was some good.
There weren’t any worries about money. My stepfather Drake was an attorney and helped the city officials acquire land for approved projects, which sometimes meant property owners had to give up their homes. It was rumored much later, when I was an adult, that Drake’s firm was actually responsible for my great-grandmother having to abandon her house in Monterey, California for demolition, to make way for a multi-level parking garage for tourists…
The rest of this story is in the book Everyday Aspergers
1) When a young man says, “I’ll call you,” the statement is often equivalent to “See Ya.” It’s another form of goodbye, where you never see the person again.
2) Just because a man goes to couples counseling with you doesn’t mean he’s not married and also going to couples counseling with his wife.
3) People will most definitely look away and cringe, if you share up close photos of giving birth or breastfeeding. Then they won’t want anything you offer them to eat.
4) When you are a restaurant hostess at a popular night spot, even if your boss says to be honest with the customers about the wait time for a table, do not smile and say: “That will be about 137 minutes.”
5) If one hairdresser tells you that you should always wear bangs, that doesn’t mean you have to wear bangs for the next five years.
6) If a dentist says, “In order to blend in your dead front tooth with your other teeth, the best method would be dyeing all of your other teeth darker,” run and don’t look back.
7) When the orthodontist tells you, as a teenager, to wear the headgear and neckgear for your braces to middle school, don’t!
8) If a boy calls you cow eyes, don’t go home and cry, punch him.
9) When you are little, don’t wear the same hippy dress you love two years in a row for school photos.
10) Don’t play tunnel tag in the short, Italian wool dress your grandma gave you , unless you wear shorts underneath.
11) Tell your mom when you get your period. Don’t wait three months, and don’t use the free, plus-size, super absorbent, expandable tampons that the gym teacher passed out!
12) Don’t buy life insurance and agree to automatic payments from your bank account, and then wait three years to research if the company exists. It doesn’t.
13) If you have just given birth, and you are sharing a hospital room with a new mother who talks nonstop on the phone into the late hours of the night, complain.
14) If you are an elementary school teacher, and spend three hours on a letter of recommendation for one of your fifth grade students, make sure you spell the student’s name correctly, especially if you don’t want to irritate the parents.
15) While a student in middle school, don’t draw pictures of different boys’ body parts, label them with names, descriptions, and insults, and then leave the illustrations behind at your desk on accident.
16) Even if you have dyslexia, don’t put the spelling words for the test inside the pleats of your cheerleading skirt. You will greatly disappoint your teacher.
17) If you have big ears that stick out, and people laugh at them, wear your hair down until you have high self-esteem.
18) If Italian in America, pluck thick Italian eyebrows, and remember Italian only has one letter l.
19) Don’t save a drowning honeybee in a swimming pool; sensing danger, he will buzz super loud warning his friends. His friends will land on your arm and sting you!
20) When a fake blonde, with a fake tan, and fake nails tells you, “You would look pretty with highlights in your hair.” Don’t say, “I prefer the natural look. I don’t like fake things.”
21) If your boyfriend’s mother invites you to a private lunch, with just you and her, and then says in confidence, “Don’t date my son. You are too good for him,” listen.
22) If you have the flu, and are ghastly sick, don’t beg your boyfriend to take you out-of-town to meet his parents for the first time.
23) Don’t date your weight-lifting trainers. Just don’t.
24) If you are getting a haircut as a teenager, and the hairdresser ignores you long enough for your wet hair to dry, before she returns, leave.
25) The movie Fargo is not a good first date movie.
26) Ask Dad before rearranging his entire dining room and living area.
27) Ask Dad before bringing the puppy home.
28) If you are going to miss one day of college for a funeral, you don’t need to write a letter and then cry to the professor in the hallway, in order to be excused.
29) French classes in high school and college are useless as a second language when you live in California.
30) When you have a long-term boyfriend, and you meet someone at the public swimming pool, you don’t give another boy your phone number and say: “I have a boyfriend, but let’s be friends.”
31) When a young teenager says he’s going to travel from his town 100 miles on his bike to come see you, he might just do that. Better to tell him ahead of time, you have a boyfriend and you aren’t interested.
32) If a young teenager says he’s going to drive his car across country to see you as soon as he gets a job, his license, and a car, probably not true, regardless of what he promises.
33) If you write enough letters to a school district office about the hard water from the sprinkler system damaging the paint on your new red Mustang car, when you park in the parking lot at the school where you work, the district will pay for all the employees to have their cars detailed; however, the superintendent of the district will not smile at you ever again.
34) If you consume too much Excedrin, iced tea, and soda at the same time, you will have a caffeine overdose; and to avoid a thousand dollar hospital bill, you will have to convince the health insurance company the trip to the emergency room wasn’t due to a panic attack.
35) If you’re a teacher and the principal says to you, “You should choose between raising a family or being a teacher, you can’t do both well,” sue him.
36) If an acupuncturist tells you about his failed marriages, his mortgage, his childhood, his parenting woes, and then spanks his wife on the butt in front of you, all while you are under treatment atop the table, don’t go back to that acupuncturist. And don’t feel guilty about not going back.
37) Doctors are practicing medicine.
38) You will offend a LDS person by calling them LSD, even if you have dyslexia.
39) Not a good idea to say, “That pisses me off,” in front of an entire fifth grade class, when you are a teacher.
40) No amount of protesting and letter writing or phone calls will keep a principal from assigning you to teach seventh grade, instead of elementary school, if she thinks you are a good teacher, even if you cry and tell her you hated middle school as a child.
41) If you kiss a mean ugly man enough times, he remains a mean ugly man.
42) When you ask a boyfriend, “Should I get a shorter haircut,” and he says, “That depends.” And you answer, “That depends on what,” and he responds, “That depends on if you are planning to lose weight, or not,” run away from the relationship.
43) The joke: When you’re dancing with your honey and your feeling kind of funny, and your nose is kind of runny, but it’s not, isn’t funny after the age of ten.
44) Don’t read your personal diary to fickle teenage girls.
45) When you are a kid, don’t announce to your seventh grade class you are wearing your first training bra.
Except for the light from the slivered moon the road was black. My foot hit the pedal and I sped up faster and faster towards the tracks. Mangled is what I wanted. But I wouldn’t have the nerve to stop, to wait for a train. There would have to be another way. Perhaps a motel off the interstate, perhaps some pills and a forever sleep. I shook away the thought and breathed a prayer. “Please, help me.”
The ache of the past had become my own Siamese twin. So much so, I didn’t know where my pain stopped and my true self began. I was pain. I was the past. We shared the same blood. Everything and anyone could conjure up bitter memories, especially certain sounds and smells. Everyday was yet another rerun of all the misery I’d viewed before. The scenery and characters might change, but the plot and outcome never altered. I knew all the psychological jargon, the self-talk, the imaging, meditation, and so on; and they served as my air so to speak, the invisible space which kept me temporarily afloat as I waved back and forth in a stormy sea clinging to an inflatable raft filled with holes…
The rest of this story is in the book Everyday Aspergers
by Samantha Craft, April 6, 2012 (Based on True Events)
I was an only child. But I wasn’t a lonely child. I always had some type of friend; whether a cousin, a daughter of mother’s friend, a neighborhood kid, or an imaginary spirit friend, I always found company. Making friends was never an issue, before I hit puberty. I had a natural cheeriness and good nature, and downright quirky humor that kept people about. I was clever, too, creating skits and recitals on a whim, and performing for whomever would listen. I still appreciate the young couple, our landlords, we had for one year, when I was about nine, who painstakingly listened to me sing You Light Up My Life, whenever I saw them. I couldn’t hit the high notes of the lyrics without a terrible screech—still can’t for that matter.
Though I had friends, I was often alone in the afternoons after my three-mile hike home from middle school. I remember there was a pointy-teethed German Shepard that lived at the top of First Street. He growled at me whenever I walked by, and then darted out clanging his lengthy metal rope with him. It took a lot of courage for me to walk home. Not because of the ferocious barking dog but because of home itself.
Things had a way of following me from house-to-house, and I do me things, as I never did figure out what else to call them. These things kept happening to me.
The things came to the upstairs duplex I occupied in Palo Alto. There was an afternoon when my babysitter and I were sitting on the living room couch and heard a circular sawing sound directly above our heads. Only when we ran outside onto the balcony to see what the noise was, nothing was there. Confused, we walked back inside, but as soon as we sat back down the sawing sound began again. We spent the next several minutes playing a game of running outside to find the noise and then running back inside to hear the noise. No explanation was ever found. Soon, we lost interest, and as children do, turned our attention to afterschool television specials.
That same house is where I discovered my imaginary spirit friend whom I named Buddy One. To this day, I’m not sure if he existed or not. I do recall one time reaching up for a bottle of wine vinegar and losing my grip. The bottle came rushing toward my head, and then, somehow, the bottle moved in the shape of an L and landed gently on the kitchen counter. I remember televisions and phones going wacky and all fuzzy on occasion; and I remember how the faucet in my bathroom would turn on when no one was about. There were knocks at the front door at night with no one behind the door. After a couple of years of living on the property, between the occurrences and my continual nightmares and premonitions of our pets dying, Mother was spooked enough to have a priest visit with holy water in hand.
Later, in my teenage years, when I belonged to a local Catholic youth group, I’d attend meetings in an old yellow Victorian building that used to be a nunnery. That house always spooked me. I couldn’t use the bathroom there. And twice, when I entered the empty kitchen, the faucets turned on.
One of the creepiest happenings took place at my father’s in the Central Valley in California, when I was in college. Dad worked nights, so I was typically home alone. One late night, after I’d watched the Silence of The Lambs at a local movie theater, I entered the house spooked by the whole movie. I flicked on the television for comfort, and right after I turned the television on the stations started flicking from channel to channel, one after the other, nonstop. I couldn’t get the television to stop, even when I used the remote.
But of all the places I lived, the duplex at the bottom of First Street on the Monterey Peninsula was the scariest. The house had a way of calling things to it. It was during this time, during my middle school years, I had horrible nightmares of being speared with a stick and roasted over an open flame by demons. This was the time I’d wake in the middle of the night feeling as if something was pulling me down the bed. A time when I didn’t change my clothes at night because I was afraid of the darkness that came when I lifted my shirt over my head. A time I slept with the light on, the television on, and my nana’s rosary around my neck.
One day at the duplex, I remember a tall stranger came whom had claimed to be a painter. My friend Renny and I were sitting on the back deck, when he sauntered through the yard with a wide and even gait. I can still hear the gate squeaking, the iceplant crunching beneath his boots and his deep voice clearing.
Stopping at the bottom step of the deck, the stranger had glanced across at us two girls with a cool smile and said, “Hello.” It was a simple calling, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. As if the backyard belonged to him. It was Renny who moved first, sitting upright and giggling, blushing like the word Hello had been a compliment.
Inside of me, I felt a need to run, to escape.
“I was asked by the owner to paint the house,” he said.
Wanting to leave and go inside, I had tried to catch Renny’s eye, but she was too busy looking at the blonde stranger.
The man tapped his boot on the step and shifted his weight. He was silent for the brief time he took to scratch his head and sink his hands into his overall pockets. Then he looked out with a rather empty stare. “You two ladies go to church?”
“No,” Renny answered.
I was inches away from the doorknob. “Sometimes,” I said.
The stranger leveled his eyes on Renny. “That’s interesting.”
“Not really.” Renny retorted.
“Don’t you think it’s time you made a decision to commit yourself to something other than yourself? Now you two, let me guess. It’s probably all about boys for you. Am I right? No time for God. But plenty of time to do things you ought not to be doing.”
Renny’s red ears were poking through her hair. She shrugged her shoulders at the man. I remained frozen.
The stranger continued: “God isn’t something to take lightly. Do you want to burn in hell?”
My toes felt numb. There was something terribly wrong with his tone, like he was trying to inch his way inside me with his words. Watching Renny begin to tremble, I remembered back to my friend Jane, when we’d been beaten with the board.
I shouted, “We’re leaving!” and grabbed Renny’s hand. Renny didn’t hesitate to follow. We were through the backdoor quicker than the man could utter one more word. And we left him there, good and lonely, not wanting a single thing to do with him. About an hour later, after Renny and I had escaped inside my bedroom, I gathered enough nerve to look out the kitchen window. The backyard was deserted.
Most days at the duplex, I got the sense I was being watched. It was a terrible frightening feeling. I can’t think of anything worse than the fear I had of entering that duplex. Nothing worse than fearing home: the one place that was supposed to be safe.
I spent most of my afternoons when school let out outside on the back deck, on our flat roof with the ocean view, or on the small front patio. There was easy access to the roof. I only had to climb through our upstairs bathroom window. Out on the patio, a space no larger than two pizza boxes set side-to-side, I’d watch television through the open front door or pull out our extra-long orange cord and talk on the phone.
One cloudy day I ventured inside the duplex to grab a snack. I immediately did what I always did—I opened all the draperies, the front and back door, and clicked on the television.
While I was in the kitchen, rushing about to find something in a hurry, I heard a strange and unfamiliar sound. At first I thought the sound was coming from the television. Some haunted house event on Sesame Street. But the sound didn’t stop. It was a loud throaty breathing, a very scary sound, I will never forget, and can still imitate with a chill-rising tone. The sound was comparable to Darth Vader’s breathing, only more pressing. I’ve only heard the breathing replicated once accurately, and that was when I was watching a ghost hunting show.
On hearing the breathing, I ran to the living room to turn of the television off. I couldn’t stand the noise. I wanted to jet out of the house. However, when the television was off, the noise remained.
I recall turning around frantically to find the source. Not believing the sound could still exist with the television off. It was then, as I began to panic, I heard the sound again. This time right before me. Suddenly, in front of my eyes, a gigantic wall of static formed from ceiling to floor. The static hissed something terrible.
Trapped and cornered, I clamped my eyes shut. When I opened them, the static was surrounding me. The deep throaty breath pulsating through my entire being
As I trembled, I heard words, words that sounded as if they were filtered through a thick mask and felt tube-fed into me: “Get out! Get out! Get OUT!”
As if on cue, at the same time as the words Get Out were voiced, outside the thunder rumbled and the rain poured down. Fearing for my life, I burst forward through the static and dodged around the corner, sprinting out the backdoor at full speed.
Terrified, I screamed at the top of my lungs, and ran and ran up the hill. Finding myself a block up from the house, on the top of an unfamiliar flight of stairs, I leaned against an apartment door and wept. Then without thought, I pounded on the door, still screaming. A young man opened the door and brought me inside.
Ten minutes later, Mother arrived. Taking me by the hand, she led me through the rain down the street and back inside the duplex. Mother listened to my story but blamed the event on my over-active imagination. As twilight approached, she wouldn’t give into my screaming demands.
“Just go to bed and stop letting your imagination get the best of you. If I let you sleep with me, what’s that going to teach you? I’m doing this for your own good.”
My black-beaded rosary, a gift from Nana, was swinging around my neck. I held firmly to Mother’s doorknob. “Please let me in. I’ll be quiet. I promise.”
“Let go of this door and go to bed!” she insisted.
“But the ghost, the ghost is in the house. Please!” I begged.
Mother pulled harder.
“Mother you don’t understand. It was real. I don’t want to be out here alone. Please let me in. Please help me!”
Mother shook her head and glared at me.
My hand slipped from the knob and Mother’s door slammed shut.
I ran downstairs, grabbed the phone, pulled on the cord, and ran outside to the small front patio.
I dialed my father. Before I had spoken more than a few sentences, Dad suggested I stay at Nana’s house.
“Did Nana teach you the Lord’s Prayer?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Use it,” Father said.
“Okay.”
Father cleared his throat. “You have to know something. Today I was staring at a photograph of you for over an hour. I don’t know how, and this has never happened before, but I had this sense some evil force was attacking you. Your nana’s mother used to have dreams and sometimes she saw spirits. Last week a psychic told me to destroy a painting I’d made. One with a gray house set up on a high hill. She said to paint candles all around it because she believed it was a portal to another world. Anyhow, I painted the candles, and threw the painting away. Right before you called. I can’t believe this. It’s very strange.”
Dad went on, for several minutes, explaining about how a spiritual group had recently tried to recruit him claiming they believed he had spiritual gifts. Dad, never one to talk on the phone for more than a few minutes, quickly ended the conversation with some more nervous laughter and some pleasantries. Then, after wishing me luck, he hung up.
I sat on the patio listening to the dial tone for a long while, still wiping my tears, and twisting the rosary in my hands. I thought back to all the times before—the nightmares, the stranger, the unexplainable happenings.
I ran into the house, quickly grabbed the old afghan off the couch, and ran out to the backyard wooden deck. I could sleep there, I thought, at least until the rain came.
I just have to say, if you read the title for this post, and are still interested enough to read, I think You are Totally Awesome! But just remember the source of the compliment. Always remember the source!
Premenopausal-Aspie-Freak-Prophet—that’s how I felt yesterday. Not sure if you picked up on that energy, or not.
No one told me there’d be days like these.
Click to see where image was found
Yes, I figured out a lot by watching my own parents and people on television, but didn’t know the heart of mood swings, until my early forties. I feel like I’m back in the pubescent period of discovering aspects of myself that would be better off buried one hundred feet underground, beneath a thousand-pound golden statue of a fierce, scary creature that everyone believes is possessed, but in actuality is a Greek God that turns into a handsome mortal warrior and visits me with passionate kisses at night…I digress.
Today is a dip-cubes-of-dark-chocolate-into-a-mug-of-hot-chocolate day. Yum! Gone are the past few days of dieting. Dieting at certain times of the month is just plain stupidity.
Yesterday, I detoxed something terrible—emotionally and physically. The rings of sweat under the pits of my shirt were simply frightening. (That’s that whole over-sharing Asperger’s part of me that you will either find endearing or offensive.) One time, a couple years ago, I shared on Twitter that I stunk so badly my dog was licking my armpits. It was true.
No animal licked my armpits yesterday, but if given the right circumstances, who knows.
Yesterday, tears came out of me from nowhere, and I was immobilized with dread and fear. I thought for certain my time had come—that time we all as mortals must face. I thought the Gods were escorting me out of here. Yet, here I am! Still blogging. Aren’t you relieved?
Yesterday was not a good writing day. Maybe it had something to do with my literal stinky mood. My first post didn’t resonate with me, and left me all antsy and misunderstood. I do this weird thing, where if my home page of my blog doesn’t vibrate with beneficial energy, I can’t stand it, and I obsess. Dirty D’s, Don’t You Weep, didn’t do anything for me. Think of a creep of a boyfriend/girlfriend latched to your arm that you want to shake off.
Thus, I took away the title of Day 58 from the post. Then, OF COURSE, I felt guilty, like I was hurting the post’s feelings. Got that whole personification thing going on big time. I fretted about the letter D’s feelings. Felt like I’d honored him, put him in the spotlight, and then yanked away his stardom. Bad, me! And then I worried about what my blog readers would interpret by my rash behavior. Worries which led me to write another post; only Melancholic Little Me was back, and coming off of a much-needed chocolate high, and Little Me shared about a God experience, ‘cause that’s what she does when she is sad.
But sharing about God experiences in the past has always, without fail, scared people out of my life. Unless God is used in the context of OMG! Which is a highly, socially acceptable saying that has no actual connection to a higher power source: kind of like a nightlight with a broken bulb plugged into a socket. It’s there—that OMG!—but doesn’t light up or call attention to itself.
It’s so fun being ME! (Gagging myself with my finger.)
I got all wigged-out last night, about taking the title of Day 58 off of one post and applying it to another, that I delved into Escape-Ville. That’s a far away land I plunge into feet first to escape myself.
In Escape-Ville, I did what all citizens of Escape-Ville do: I researched.
Click to see source of image
No one can figure me out, professionals and spouse included, so I rely on Google-God for the answers. He is the King of Escape-Ville. His Queen is a collaboration of non-fiction books, in all forms. And I imagine the court and prince and princesses are documentaries, newspapers, blogs, websites, videos, and the like.
While in the faraway village, ruled by Google, I discovered incarnated angels, indigochildren, and other life forms. I’m officially no longer from this earth—Sir Brain has decided. LV wants to remain an earthling. Crazy Frog—he doesn’t care as long as there are hot toads on the planet where he lands. Hot as in frog legs that sizzle. Wink, wink!
Little Me is convinced Sir Brain is borrowed from someone else. I figure there is some brainless creature on a distant planet wanting to curse me, but lacking the mind to do so. Either that or I’ve been possessed by some demi-god whose sole purpose is to blog and get to know you. It’s a toss up.
Yesterday’s funk—got me thinking…
I was contemplating why I felt drained of all my beneficial energy and spunk. Essentially why spunk had transformed to funk. Hormones and lack of sunlight came up first. Then my iron and vitamin deficiency came up second. There are always my disabilities to consider.
But primarily, what came to mind, were all these school events I’ve had to attend of late. There’s been a bundle: violin concerts, choir, plays, etc. Events with crowds are hard on me. Which is sort of funny, because and event without a crowd would likely be a big flop or burnout, a no-show.
But a room full of people is not my cup of tea (said with a British accent/or should I say UK accent?).
I am overly affected by others’ energy—in person, online, or across the states. Who knows, I’m probably affected by energy across the nations, planets, and quantum physic’s multiple dimensions. That would be just like me, to be affected by another dimension’s being, like some balding barber in Transylvania fretting over an infestation of cockroaches.
A wise friend of mine said it is best to try to raise the energy of another person who is vibrating at a low level. I have tried this by using positive words, support, asking about positive events in someone’s life. But certain types—I’m not pointing any fingers—but certain types of folk, they will continually try to pull me down.
With those types, I find it is best to bolt away at high speed!
I’m pulling this list out of my head as I type. It’s how I’m feeling at the moment. Please don’t hold me accountable. Blame the list on some brainless alien on a distant planet or the whole possession thing. I do hope, if I have to be possessed, it’s a beneficial source of light, and gorgeous, too. Here is my list, straight out of another life form’s mind-source.
People-Types (Sometimes referred to as Energy Vampires)
Lonely Lillys: These are people who lack proper nourishment of the soul. They haven’t acquired all the love needed in life to flourish. They are seekers of others’ light because they are lacking their own light. They have yet to realize that what they seek is already inside of them. Lonely Lillys will cause a person to feel weak and helpless. A person will feel a need to want to help but want to run away at the same time.
Willow Droppers: These are enormous energy takers. They are so filled with others’ energy that they can’t distinguish their energy from others. They take and take without realizing they are doing so. They droop like the willow tree and partially block others’ paths. Much of the energy they collect is not beneficial, and is a combination of rage, anger, disrespect, eagerness, and injustice. They are protesting against something or someone all the time, unable to love themselves, and equally unable to love others. They have stopped realizing they have something beneficial to offer the world beyond their feelings of anger. There is a disproportionate amount of non-beneficial power that causes another person who comes in contact with a Willow Dropper to feel overwhelmed, frightened, and nervous.
Angel Bears: These are people who act like angels but have raging bears inside. They pretend by saying what the other person probably wants to hear, but have a hidden motive at all times. They are not self-conscious and worried; they are not over-compensating; they are not in contact with their inner essence enough to know that they can be themselves and not a model or idea of what others want them to be. The energy of an angel bear is not threatening but odd. There is something amiss and not quite right that one cannot put their finger on. Angel Bears need love and take love, but they do not mean to take. They see themselves as givers.
Juggling Jacks: The energy of a juggler is always changing because the juggler is involved in too much. He or she has too much on their plate and is constantly trying to empty some of their load onto another. The juggler is an energy stealer because the juggler takes the beneficial energy from one and leaves instead a heavy residue of what another does not want or need energy-wise.
Dramatic Diva: Dramatic Divas did not get enough love. They are still seeking love through every action and word. They are very defensive and subjective. They analyze what others say, and wonder if it is directed at them. They are in the spotlight, and if someone else steps in, they drain the person so they cannot shine. Dramatic Divas offer unsolicited advice to make themselves feel better, create drama, and believe their problems are everyone else’s problems. Dramatic Divas are the hardest energy to deal with because they are so busy focusing on themselves and zapping others’ energy they cannot hear what you are saying.
Rapid Rovers: Rapid Rovers steamroll over people, and they enjoy doing it. They know exactly what they are doing and they set out to hurt others and steal their light. Rapid Rovers have been hurt repeatedly in their lives and believe they have no other recourse but to hurt others. They think because they are different that they have a right to be themselves no matter the consequence to others’ feelings. They hide behind titles and names, believing they have a right to do what they please. They do not understand rules and context because they choose not to understand. They are the first to blame others for their wrong doings and the first to lash out. Their energy causes others to want to run, hide, or charge forward and fight. You will know you have been caught in a Rapid Rover’s energy if you find yourself saying or doing things that go against your character and belief system.
People Peezer: These people piss on you. They come across at first as someone who wants to be your best friend, comrade, or buddy. They appear trustworthy, sound-minded, honest, and sincere. But they have a history of backstabbing and serving their own best interest. They will surprise you with their charm, and equally surprise you with their ability to turn against you and throw you to the wolves. Their energy feels comfortable with a strange tinge of discomfort. They have an energy that makes one say: There is just something about them I’m unsure about.
Moody Mac: This person’s energy makes one feel like that ate one too many hamburgers (or veggie burgers). They are heavy in energy, over-compensate, over-eat, over-worry, over-obsess, over-state, over-step, and do pretty much anything you can add over to. They are out of balance and typically without direction or goals. They are seeking help and direction. They are energy takers. They suck up the beneficial moods of others through their actions, words, and presence. They are confused, baffled, and sometimes boring. A Moody Mac needs a hobby or something that enables him/her to shine. If they aren’t shining, they are doom and gloom, coming down on another’s parade. They may appear crazy or out of their mind.
Cinderella Cindy/Charlie: Cinderella Cindy/Charlie is happy all the time. Nothing gets him/her down. She doesn’t understand when others are sad or disheartened, and is the first to say so. He says things like: Cheer up; Things will get better; Don’t worry about it; Focus on the positive. Cinderellas will refer back to a time when they had a rough patch, and explain how they got out of it just fine. Their energy feels heartless and self-centered. They take without meaning to do so. They have beneficial intention, but forget how to empathize. They find it easier to smooth things over than to deal with emotions.
Reactive Reapers: They pull everything apart, analyze, dissect, and worry that what they have discovered somehow affects them as a person. They are convinced someone or something is always out to get them, to find their flaws, to embarrass them, or to point them out of a crowd. They are hyper-defensive and hyperactive. Their energy wears a person down and makes one feel like they are gasping for air. Reactive Reapers can clear out a room. They don’t understand how they are not the center of the universe. They are closely related to Dramatic Divas, but don’t long for the spotlight. They are very much trapped in a cycle of looking for oppression and feeling oppressed as a result.
That’s all alien-brain wrote, folks. Tune into tomorrow for more adventures in Sam’s-Head!
Everyday Asperger's 