society

Day 92: The Nest of Strings

| Aspergers Girls
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I think part of my condition on this earth is my utter fear of human beings.

I don’t mean this to sound negative or like a joke. I seriously think my main issue in my life is PEOPLE. This is a problem. People are everywhere.

It’s not that I dislike people. I love people.

I fear something I love. This love/fear dynamic can be compared to my love of food and fear of expanding the spare tire around my waist and/or my chin line. Though people do not  inflate me, they deflate me.

I’m a sponge of sorts, soaking up people’s troubles and holding troubles, and then releasing the troubles; only in the process I get weighed down, troubled myself, and depleted in energy reserves. I suppose part of this current sponge experience is a result of my previous learnings.

 

 

What I’ve Learned

I learned through observation that if I acted kind and carefully, people wouldn’t hurt me, usually.

I learned that if I didn’t act a certain way, I would be teased or ostracized.

I learned that some people could find me and affect me no matter how I acted.

I learned that if I shared from my heart, I would be misunderstood.

I learned that if I was me, I could become invisible.

I learned to play games.

I learned to blend in.

I learned better to blend in than to stand out.

But then I longed to stand out.

I longed to be noticed and I longed not to be noticed.

I didn’t know what place was in between my longing.

Where to stand?

Sometimes I became beautiful through others’ eyes.

Through my physical beauty, I gained attention.

Attention that never felt real or pure.

Attention I longed for nonetheless.

My physical beauty aged and youthfulness faded.

I learned that people notice what they want to notice and take what they want to take.

They like a piece or part of me and then when the section no longer serves them, they leave.

They leave the part, and in leaving, they leave the whole of me.

I learned I desperately wanted love, but I wasn’t supposed to ask for love.

I wasn’t supposed to appear weak.

If I wanted love, I needed to appear strong, as if I didn’t want love.

As if I was completely satisfied in being in isolation.

I never understood this illusion of strength in aloneness.

Why people pretended they were not frightened.

Why people pretended they were an entirety, when in truth they were only an ingredient.

 

 

I don’t know if there is anything else that permeates the depths of my soul like the fear of people. Beyond the pretending and questions, perhaps my depletion occurs is the energy I pick up. The health symptoms of others I take on, the friends and relatives, and sometimes strangers who visit me in my dreams. Perhaps my fear stems from the humiliation of my youth or the loss of loved ones. Whatever the cause, from wherever this fear was rooted, it remains a tall plant intertwined within my very being. I see sucker plants sticking, prickly burs stuck. I see small specks of blood. I see rough, sword-like leaves stabbing and cotton ball seeds blocking. These are the people stuck in and about me.

I don’t know why. I don’t think I want to know why. But I do wish to change this reality. I do wish to know without question that people are not to fear. I don’t want to think about how to do this. Don’t want a plan of action or a list. I don’t want to try to change things anymore. Trying doesn’t work. I just want to believe. I want to shift. This is my reality. Shifting the fear to love.

I took out a box today from my closet marked: Spectrum Intuitive Teachings, a small box that I’d shoved in the back of my daylight basement closet months ago, without second thought. I was done with my business, my successful business. I had to quit, so I thought, because, I wasn’t doing the right thing according to someone in the world. Just like that I changed my life, believing I should not do what I’m doing.

I shoulded on my self. My fear has led me to should on my self a lot.

I’m still processing my actions. What was I thinking? Why did I change my life to please a stranger I’ve never even met? Why did I compromise? Why did I change?

I have these chameleon tendencies. I was not born a lizard. But I act like one. I change colors adapting to my environment, change appearance in hopes of blending in and not being spotted.

What is so bad about being spotted?

The fear.

And so at the heart of me is fear.

At the core penetrating my every action is fear.

Today, I release this fear.

I choose to transform this fear.

I have no one to fear.

Even though the voices shout loudly: Fear You. Fear Them. Fear. Fear. Fear. I know these are untruths.

I know much of what I learned are untruths.

Today, I untangle the untruths—a giant ball of intertwined string.

I let the untruths spiral out down a long staircase, to disperse, to lessen, to unravel, until all that remains is a long string of blue.

And then, seeing clearly and easily, I snip away at the string.

I create little pieces of untruths.

In my hands I gather the clippings.

The tiny, tiny remains.

I blow with my spirit breath.

Disperse them into the air.

The angels come now.

Take the strings away to their nests in the sky.

Where the strings are used to house the young ones.

The innocent.

The newborn.

The strings  transform and serve as comfort and shelter.

I transform my giant core of fear into sheltering love.

This I see.

This I am.

And thusly, so are you.

© Everyday Aspergers, 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. https://aspergersgirls.wordpress.com

The Wounded Healer

Day 78: I Sail On

| Aspergers Girls

I awoke with an awful anxiety. This I recognize as a pressure that cries to be released. Though there remains this fine line in what I truly want to pour out on these pages and what society expects, accepts, and wants.

In some ways I’ve turned this blog into another player in my game. This game I’ve played since I was old enough to know that if I was nice enough, funny enough, and interesting enough, people would pay attention to me. And in turn, if I exhibited too much honesty, was too revealing, or too straightforward, people would reject me, or worse, simply disappear.

A woman with Aspergers remains a constant actress. There is no escaping this. And to me this is the thorn of having Aspergers. I continually scope and evaluate. I look at others’ actions and responses, more so than many can phantom. Some of the observations breed questions, a continual whirlwind in my mind. I wonder the simplest of thoughts, such as what was the motivation behind that person’s comment to more complex thoughts of what is the motivation behind my writing.

My mind forms a tumble weed of sorts, spinning and rounding the field, pushing up dust and debris. The child in me watches in fascination, the driver, the one avoiding the tumbling of thoughts, tries best to steer away. Still in the distant, regardless of my view, the tumbleweed remains spinning.

Some might think: Write what you want. Who cares what people think.

If only I were so simple. If my mind worked in the aforementioned fashion, this blog wouldn’t be a blog about a woman with Aspergers. I guarantee that.

With Aspergers one of the biggest burdens is: Thinking about what you are thinking about me. It’s not narcissistic or selfish. It stems from wanting to be seen, be valued, be loved, and be recognized for who I am. It stems from not wanting to be misjudged, misinterpreted, misunderstood, ostracized, dejected, alienated, stabbed in the back and persecuted. It stems from a lifetime of recognizing I don’t quite fit in with the mainstream, and if I don’t learn the norms, the unspoken rules, and then pretend to a degree and assimilate, I never will fit in.

It comes down to the options of fake a little or break a little. And I’ve been broken. The little bit of faking leads to a little bit of guilt, and continued self-analysis and reasoning of how to be a better person.

In a lot of ways I am in a perpetual state of figuring out how to be a better person. I recognize I’m good enough. I recognize I’m beneficial. I love me. Those aren’t the issues. The issue at hand is trying to be seen by you in the same way I see myself. This barrier remains, this veil that divides us all, and how I long to merge with others and be entirely one.

http://news.bbc

At times, having Aspergers is a feeling liken to being an ugly duckling that transforms into the beauty of swan, only swan is wondering why ugly duckling was not good enough for the world. Why ugly duckling has to be swan to be loved.

I extrapolate there is much shame inside of me. This shame is a part of me. I don’t see shame as wrong or needing fixing. I don’t’ see any part of my life as wrong, wasted, or unnecessary, and certainly not bad.

The shame stems from wanting to be as authentic and real as humanly possible. Only in being human, I have a mind that wants to protect me.

I want to be a ship in the night that sails with all the other ships in a forging fleet across the ocean waters; I don’t want to be a lone ship. But if I am myself in total, I will likely be cast out to the rough waters, banished from the refuge of loving souls.

http://intheboatshed.net/

The fear arising today is a fear based on the future—a fear of not knowing which route to take, how to steer, where to go. I recognize this fear. I wave to it. I speak to it. And in so doing, I lessen fear. But the specks that remain speak volumes and still haunt me.

I have this spirit inside of me that both longs to share her soul and light but that also longs to retreat into a hovel where no one can penetrate my skin.

This fear rises in thought of where my writings are traveling. Who reads these words. And what is to become of these words.

My dream is to publish, whether through self-publishing or a literary agent. But this, I am certain is many writers’ dreams. I feel guilt in dreaming. A concept I don’t quite grasp.

Still I dream.

And in my dreaming I do find hope. In another reading these words, I find hope. And so I sail on; whether lone ship or in the company of masses, I sail on.

Day 76: The Blind Woman

| Aspergers Girls

I returned to the lab this morning to get my blood work done. Yesterday, I was turned away, because I’d not realized I needed to fast. Yesterday the lab’s waiting room had been crowded.

Today when I entered the room, there was no person in the waiting area but me.

Shortly after I sat down, a young lady escorted an elderly Chinese woman inside. I immediately noticed the elderly woman’s eyes. They were shut closed. The young woman led the blind woman to a chair, before she quickly exited to park the car.

For the time, it was only me and the blind woman. The woman was seated across from me about six-feet away. As I smiled out at her, I realized she did not know I was in the room.

I hesitated to speak. But I was compelled to make my presence known. Leaning forward in my chair, I offered the woman a gentle good morning. Then I wondered what had caused her blindness. Wondered why she had to have blood work done. And wondered, too, why her lids were so tightly sealed together.

There was only seconds between the time I said good morning and the time the woman took to respond. Upon hearing my words, she searched for me, her head slightly turning my direction. Again, I wondered.

“Good morning,” the old woman answered, with an inflection and spirit liken to a young person. And then, without pause, she continued. “I so, so, scared,” she said in broken English. “I so, so, scared,” she said again.

She placed her aged hand over her chest and flapped her hand repeatedly. “I no like when they put the point in me,” she confessed. She attempted a smile. Without the use of her eyes for expression, the rest of her—arms, mouth, head, wrinkles, shoulders—they all played their part.

She curled into herself and then used her hand to demonstrate a beating heart again. “I been here many times. No make difference. I still get so scared. I can’t help. I don’t like be here. So, so scared.”

I tried my best to offer her some comfort through my words. I don’t think she understood anything I said. But she smiled just the same. To be heard—she only needed to be heard.

Soon the young escort returned, and I was called in for my blood draw.

This blind woman was a wonderful gift.

In the few moments this woman had shared her truth, I had stood beside her in spirit. And as I stood by, I had recognized my own self in her. With my recognition, my own fears were temporarily lessened. In viewing our likeness, my own misgivings were decreased.

In being there, hearing her voice, and  recognizing our shared humanity, I understood this:

In an often obscured world we are each, in our own way, waiting for our voice to be heard.

Day 61: Another One Bites the Dust!

| Aspergers Girls

Would it be entirely inappropriate to modify the title of this post to: ‘Another One Bites the Dust!  Bite Me!’?

Probably.

Most people wouldn’t get the vampire pun.

This week I’ve lost a couple of blog followers. Pausing for sniffles.

Even though Little Me repeatedly reminds the Geek Posse that we’ve gained cool new followers, the Posse remains in perpetual mourning. Crazy Frog is convinced it is my husband who unfollowed us.

Along with all of the commotion—the dressing in black attire, the donning of veils, the depressing funeral music—the Geek Posse put anonymous slips of papers in an empty fish bowl. Papers that explain why we lost followers. If you are a regular reader, you might be able to tell which ones Crazy Frog wrote.

Reasons People Stop Following the Geek Posse

(Words found on slips of paper) 

1. They came to find out what a brain of a female with Asperger’s syndrome is like. They found out. They left.

2. It’s tax season in America—your posts are far too long.

3. You didn’t visit their blog enough.

4. People who knew you in high school when you were a homecoming princess and cheerleader (gag!) are entirely disillusioned.

5. That non-stealth creature that keeps stealing your articles, snuck out after seeing the dorky sign you wrote and posted about her.

6. You used far too much “churchiness” in that post about Angel and Mary.

7. They think you are a false prophet.

8. You published twice in one day!

9. Their name starts with the letter D.

10. Your music selection is way old school.

11. You post corny old songs.

12. You repeat yourself.

13. Some people’s IQ-levels are too low to catch your humor.

14. They think you are a real vampire, alien, or a frog.

15. Your mental health therapist unfollowed you.

16. Someone over identified with the Reactive Reaper people-type.

17. Someone realized you meant him when you listed number 10 in Why People Follow Blogs.

18. This picture of the dog in large size scared them:

19. You write too little about Aspergers.

20. You write too much about Aspergers.

21. Your blog is better than theirs!

22. Grandma is confused.

23. They left with the intention of rejoining your blog under a fake identity.

24. They finished their thesis research paper on frontal lobe syndromes.

25. They fear you will track them down and try to be their real friend.

26. A traumatized man fled in fear, after discovering you are premenopausal.

27. The word is out that you are Italian and can’t cook.

28. They were drunk when they pressed the follow icon.

29. They are tired of lists.

30. You removed the distinguished profile picture of Crazy Frog that was posted in the My Lingo section.

31. They pressed My Lingo Button.

32. They are pissed off that they might have Aspergers after reading your list of traits.

33. They don’t like the words boob, dumbass, or pissed off.

34. They think Aspergers sounds like a butt-burger; and they are a conservative vegetarian.

35. You deleted them from your Facebook group page.

36. You told your husband one too many times: “Fine! Stop following my blog, then!”

Geek Posse at Everyday Aspergers

  

Day 60: Why People Read Blogs

| Aspergers Girls
Why am I here? Everyday Aspergers.

The Geek Posse got together and established a list of probable reasons why humans read blogs.

Why People Read Blogs (55 Reasons Humans Stare at a Screen)

1. Some are attracted to braggadocio and aggrandizement, and are prone to puffery.

2. Some are freedom-of-speech fans empowered by rebel-rousing topics.

3. Some want to know what contemporaries are thinking.

4. Some are dumbfounded and jealous-ridden, working tediously to uncover the truth behind the author’s large blog-following.

5. Some enjoy the adrenaline rush that accompanies provocative, offensive, and/or highly debatable subject matter.

6. Some are clueless as to why they keep coming back.

7. Some are stalkers, the age of twelve, or recently retired.

8. Some are scared to stop.

9. Some read out of courtesy and guilt.

10. Some are trying to promote their own blogs through the utilization of like buttons and commentary boxes.

11. Some followed a link from a search engine or social network, and still aren’t sure where they are.

12. Some are wisdom-gatherers from the forest of over-achieving, obsession, or boredom.

13. Some are paid to read; it’s part of their job description.

14. Some hate their job.

15. Some believe the author could easily transition from an online friend to a real world friend.

16. Some believe the blogger will give them an autographed copy of a soon-to-be published book.

17. Some are attracted to affective exchange.

18. Some are members of government, educational, or psychology agencies partaking in information gathering.

19. Some are entertainment junkies.

20. Some are in the process of making purchasing decisions.

21. Some are tense-issue seekers.

22. Some have empathetic listening ears.

23. Some dare to know themselves through others.

24. Some are bloggers who want to know their audience.

25. Some are victims of the bandwagon effect.

26. Some find relevance.

27. Some were pulled in by the ‘about me’ page.

28. Some are waiting to find relevance.

29. Some make connections with interactive readers.

30. Some are delighted by the unordinary and unexpected.

31. Some know that crazy people make great bloggers.

32. Some read what they could never say.

33. Some are adding a good laugh to their day.

34. Some like photos.

35. Some are fascinated by all things foreign.

36. Some are stay-at-home moms (mums) avoiding dishes and diapers (nappies).

37. Some long for ‘real’ friends.

38. Some read solely for enjoyment.

39. Some are voyeuristic lurkers.

40. Some want to hear the little voice in their head squeal again: “Yes! I know exactly what you mean.”

41. Some consider blogs online diaries.

42. Some are huge fans of geeks.

43. Some applaud brutal honesty and the raw truth.

44. Some are glimpsing into the ordinary.

45. Some are nosey gossips.

46. Some think the author is a ‘lovely’ person.

47.  Some people are curious about how others handle life.

48. Some are seeking direction.

49. Some want to get to know the writer.

50. Some appreciate fresh perspectives on ordinary facts and events.

51. Some love people who over-share.

52. Some abhor rubbish and repetition.

53. Some recognize talent.

54. Some need proof that normal and sane are nonexistent.

55. Some to know they are not alone.

Do I dare ask why you are reading?

© Everyday Aspergers, 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. https://aspergersgirls.wordpress.com

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