diagnosis

Day Nineteen: Return to Planet Earth

| Aspergers Girls

 

I believe, without a doubt, I have Aspergers. And I believe Aspergers affects me on multiple levels. I believe I am handicapped in ways, because of this syndrome. I uphold that what my diagnosis means to anyone, beyond myself, is inconsequential. While I love and care about others unconditionally, I am aware that when I care how others’ perceive me, and let their opinions affect my esteem, then ego is stepping in. Thusly, I have been actively releasing ego-attachments associated with the title of Asperger’s Syndrome. And  I’ve been actively telling myself to not use the diagnosis as an excuse, such as a reason to not leave the house, to escape into isolation, to fixate more, etc. I forgive myself for partaking in this natural process of swinging to one extreme on the pendulum of attachment and emotional-response to the other, before finding a restful state of equilibrium.

Yes, the Aspergers title has enabled me to understand myself at a very profound level. And I support others who are seeking a diagnosis and/or self-understanding. But I no longer choose to let the diagnosis define my personhood. 

 Sam Craft’s Expedition Journal (February 2012) Semi-Fictional

Day One: Upon receiving my official diagnosis of Asperger’s Syndrome, I have subsequently clung onto the title. Beginning to understand the implications of diagnosis.

Day Two: My diagnosis now qualifies as a life preserver, as the term Aspergers appears to be keeping me afloat, as I relive aspects of my past and evaluate my perception of reality. Mental connections observed. Huge relief in finding semblance of answers, preponderance of flashbacks. Mild-degree of depression. Reality shifting.

Day Three: Uncertain if clinging is beneficial. Is this need to grasp onto a title indeed part of my Asperger’s brain or part of my soul’s journey? Many questions emerging.

Day Four: If Aspergers is a man-made diagnosis, does it exist? Still clinging to title.

Day Five: I’ve met others who recognize me and validate my experience. I have found my people. I am proud to have Aspergers! I no longer care if I am clinging. Neurotypicals of planet earth do not understand me.

Day Six: Preparing for trip to Planet Aspie. Confirmation received: I am of alien decent. Leaving behind all prior diagnosis, roles, and identities, in hopes of forging ahead to new frontier. I have reclaimed my spaceship. Excited. Final goodbyes to cruel earth.

Day Seven: Take Off! Less and less grounded, but filled with hope.

Day Eight: Assimilated successfully with my kin. Partying, connecting. Don’t miss earth one bit, or anything I left behind.

Day Nine: Trouble breathing. Don’t know how much longer I can survive here. I fear if I depart I will lose clarity of self and multiple connections in new community. Gasping for air. Disappointed and discouraged by predicament.

Day Ten: Breathing remains labored. Beginning to reconsider options. I miss earth. I miss who I was. Understanding my identity, views, and reasoning have become obstructed and marred by the mere act of defining myself as an alien from Planet Aspie. Forgotten who I was.

Day Eleven: I’ve been forced to make preparations to leave planet, after a radio signal I picked up from earth, on a social network frequency:

“Isn’t it strange how folks pigeon holed by their ‘labels’ want to be recognized for their ‘labels’, yet don’t want to be pigeon holed by labels?” ~ K

Day Thirteen: Ego wounded on planet. A fellow alien wrote the following message on the  side of my spacecraft:

“I’ve never considered it a disability. You take the good with the bad. Asperger’s gives one good analytical thinking and attention to detail, useful traits wouldn’t you say?

Social skills aren’t hard to learn if you work at it…How could you compare a social impediment with…? That’s being perhaps a little bit whiny and self-obsessed.

If- perchance- you’re offended, I don’t blame my asperger’s. I blame myself. If I’ve crossed the line here, I’m sorry and it’s my fault.” ~ J

Resulting consequence: I became self-absorbed and remained (momentarily) in a feeble-state of wounded-ego. I understand now, the message was not a direct attack upon my personhood, and that I only felt attacked because I’ve wrapped my identity in a spacesuit of Aspergers. Though I disagree with aspects of the message and tone, these words carry nothing but ego-bullets. To avoid further injury, I am returning to planet earth where I can better control ego, (and breathe).

Day Fourteen: Ego-attachment to Aspergers identity is still very strong, as I buckle in and prepare for departure.

Day Fifteen: Touched down on Planet Earth. Immediately reunited with vital parts of self. Ego in balance. Collecting parts of personhood that I left behind. Mourning loss of identity. Breathing still labored.

Day Sixteen: Planting a new garden of identity that hosts a multitude of vegetation. Seeds in place. Breathing normal. Earthlings are loving, indeed. Aliens no longer exist. All beings on same journey.

Day Seventeen: Successfully integrated all Aspergers’ traits back into the whole of my personhood. Ego at bay. Nolonger in need of a self-definition to exist. Breathing is divine.

Day Eighteen: Flowers are in full bloom in garden. Welcoming beauty. Anchored in awareness. Seeing others as a reflection of my perceptions. Continue to learn.

Day Nineteen: Accepting and loving all parts of self. Witnessed another earthling blast off to Planet Aspie. Will remain in garden waiting for her to return. Sending her love and light.

 

Day Nine: For All the Times You Wouldn’t Hold Me (Undiagnosed Father with Aspergers)

| Aspergers Girls

Day Nine: For All the Times You Didn’t Hold Me  (Undiagnosed Father with Aspergers)

I first wrote this excerpt several years ago, when I was not yet diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome, and had no reason to look for traits in my father. The short vignette shows remarkably well the earmarks of Aspergers: the lack of affection, emotional distance, need for order, obsessive hobbies, and self-interest. I am thankful I documented my personal experience with an innocent perception. In rereading and sharing this truth, I am further healed and graced with a deep understanding of my father navigating through life the best he knew how.

For all the times you couldn’t say it: I love you, Dad.

And for all the times you wouldn’t t hold me: I forgive you.

Father

Though I was deemed a full-fledged adult by all societal standards, the late summer day I strolled into my father’s house hauling a large plastic sack of weathered stuffed animals and my plastic piggybanks, I was still very much a child.  In the previous years, had I been afforded ample time with my father, I might very well have exuded a glowing aura of self-confidence and formidable strength, instead of the bubble of palpable vulnerability I steadily emanated…

(available in the book Everyday Aspergers)

 

Day Four: Identity Alien

| Aspergers Girls

Powerful dreams last night. According to Jungian theory, my shadow side was showing me what my true obstacles and fears are through the subconscious process of dreaming. Quite a fruition.

Basically, I am beginning to understand the workings of my mind somewhat to a greater degree. Nothing outstanding, but definitely enlightening. Much of my processing as of late has been focused around my recent diagnosis of Asperger’s Syndrome. While I knew I had all of the traits for several years, and had studied profusely on the subject matter, (as my son has Asperger’s), I’d yet to truly come to terms with the diagnosis for myself. I was actually quite surprised at the reaction I had after I’d heard of my diagnosis. My mental health counselor said something to the effect of: “You? Yes, you definitely have it.” That wasn’t the sole basis of the determination of my diagnosis of course, but that’s what sticks out like the proverbial thorn in my memories.

Beyond the major Aha that lit up every cavern of my brain, what surprised me, upon hearing the diagnosis, was my immediate reaction. I went into a precarious tailspin of depression accompanied by rapid thinking. I wrote and wrote, journalling out all of my feelings. And then I charged to the next step, something I always do, this charging. For instance, I’ll have anxiety about some sort of news, realization, event, or upcoming event, and I move quickly from anxiety to organizing and fixing.

With this Aspergers diagnosis, I went from an emotional state of depression to the act of barging straight into the logical: “What do I do with this information?” For me, whenever there is a “what”–a loose end so to speak, something that has yet to be solved or promptly closed–I cannot rest until the “what” is answered. On the Myers-Briggs Test I’m and INFJ — major piece of INFJ is needing closure. I could get into my zodiac sign, too, but I won’t go there.

Back up, girlfriend! So I have this irresistible urge to put things in order, whether in the physical sense (e.g., books, dvds, furniture) or in the mental sense. Being that I received this diagnosis of Aspergers, which resulted in this need to figure out what to do with the information, I started spinning possibilities. Perhaps I could run groups for females with invisible disabilities when I am a mental health practitioner; perhaps I could query a literary agent and write a book, (I’ve read the ones out there about females with ASD–it’s a start, though very limited): perhaps I could be a subject in a study by contacting Judith Gould in the UK; maybe I could write a letter to Tony Attwood; perhaps I could go onto get my doctorate and ultimately change the diagnosis for females with ASD; maybe… you see the point. And truth be told, the could’s that I listed in all of those statements, were loud should’s in my mind..

I’m trying to paint a picture here, however lacking in clarity. Trying to explain that beneath this lump of a diagnosis, that literally feels like a weight on my chest, I’m pushing up and out, searching for a way to make sense of it all. While at the same instant, I’m stepping back and watching my silly self, and recognizing that the reason I’m trying to make sense of it all at such high-speed and in direct measures is a result of me having this condition to begin with. I’m trapped in those mirrors, the type that face one another, so the viewer sees herself multiplied into infinity. Except, I’m the viewer, examining the viewer, examining the viewer, and psychoanalyzing myself. It’s a blizzard in my brain.

Through the processing in my dreams last night, I came to recognize this journey, as of late, is all about my identity. I’m trying to figure out how this new diagnosis defines me as an individual. It’s all about ego, a Tibetan Monk would inform. But in this society, where I currently live in Northwest America, for me, it’s all about settling my brain.

I’m currently compartmentalize my traits and attributes, in a similar way as I box up everything else in my life. The human brain instinctively categorizes and organizes in an attempt to classify and understand what it is taking in through the five senses. My brain, an aspie brain in overdrive, is likewise trying to categorize and organize by scaffolding off of past experience and knowledge bases. But then my brain gets stuck and doesn’t know where to store all of this new information. I’ve run out of boxes, or they’re misplaced, or mislabeled, something to that degree. What it comes down to is I’m not sure how to classify this condition, and therefor not sure how to classify my identity.  I’m not sure the effects, the consequences, the outcomes, not sure at all about where to place this on the shelves of my subconscious.

I’ve tried to figure this aspie diagnosis out repeatedly, tried to connect the diagnosis with something similar in another’s life. Is this like finding out you have diabetes? No. How about that your father was another ethnic race than you first thought? No, but closer. What about someone telling you that the whole entire way you understood and processed your life, which you believed to be typical, was in fact entirely different than much of the mainstream. That in truth your brain was wired differently? Oh, much closer, but not quite there. Okay, then what if the person said you are an alien dropped down from another planet, trying to figure out the ways of the world, with a brain that doesn’t work the same way as most people around you? Now that, the alien business, makes the most sense.

So, there it is: I’m an alien. And that’s what this feels like essentially.

I didn’t plan on that. The alien business. All I had the intention of sharing was how, throughout my whole life, I’ve latched on to identities to define my place in this society; I analyze and study the identity and then try my best to perfect said identity. Whether I am copying an actress , a best friend, or a teacher, I am doing what I know best: perfecting a role.

Now, with this diagnosis, this Aspergers gig, I wonder, if in truth, I’m not clinging on to the Asperger’s role, my new identity so to say, and then trying my best to play the part. To be the best Aspie Alien out there. And if so, am I driving my self to extremes of the condition in the process?

Back to the dream. Interestingly, my dream was about starting over at a new school with a new identity, and I had the freedom and choice to create myself anyway I wanted to.

Only I didn’t know what I wanted. And I didn’t know who I was.

I wonder, if in fact, we aren’t each wondering in our own way what we want and who we are.