Post 246: Inside of Me

Sometimes I set rules upon myself. Rules that have stuck to me from a time before.  Perhaps a word, a saying, a post, a telling, an insult, or advice. Perhaps the news, a reading, an article, or a thought. Rules that materialize and become real, and have a life of their own. They live. They breathe. And they wallow in me. They make me cry or weep or scream.

Sometimes the rules feel thick and deep: muck and mire and all things fire. Sometimes the rules feel light and airy, with a consistency of jello—something to bounce off of and expand into. I get trapped and confused and mingle in the ever-changing texture.

Sometimes the rules feel bleak and non-purposeful, not necessary, silly, or even stupid; as much as I despise the word stupid, the rules feel that way. All contorted, sorted, and placed out to trap and confuse. To leave downtrodden and in misery.

Sometimes the rules feel abstract and unreal. Like an invention to appease the masses or control, or mask what rests beneath.

There are rules to everything and everyone, as if we are part of some gigantic game. Move forward this way and in that direction, but not too fast or too slow, or too willingly, or too purposely. Step back and allow space, but not that much space or that much emptiness. Fill up this area. Not so high, though, and not so narrow. Go wider. Go denser. Go more to this side. Not there. There. Over there!

You see? You see the rules, how they sway and mix and mingle and disperse? How one builds atop the other and then just vanishes like the light of day; when all along the sun remains. The rules remain. They are like a haunting, a ghost with an endless appetite that eats away, dismembering thoughts and peace. Taking the peace of mind with the pieces.

I am not a woman of rules. I am a woman of being, of breathing, of living, of feeling, of experiencing, of accepting, of loving.

If you do not have rules then you cannot set me in a box, place me where you think I belong, where you think I dwell. If you do not have rules, you cannot see me with eyes of judgment and distaste, cannot build me up, only to knock me down and watch as I bleed.

If you do not have rules, you cannot make me bleed.

Rules. What are they? What do they be? And how do I stop the rules inside of me?

Day Thirty-Six: Sea Turtle Style


I’m once again on the verge of tears. Which, for me, isn’t that unusual. Though, in totality, I’ve likely cried 100 times more in these last two months than in the last few years. I’m upset and have gnawing-tummy pain.

The feeling stems from having had just left another message for the Dean of the College of Education at the university I am (I was?) attending. I’ve yet to be withdrawn from the class, even though I have decided to stop my course work. This leaves me in an unsettling position, without closure, and without finality. I’m an INFJ on the Myers Briggs test and an Idealist. What these personality traits boil down to is that I need !fricken! closure.

I’m so nervous inside. I’ve been waiting for the Dean’s phone call for over ten days. I was very social-rule-conscious about not calling her too much, after I received a slap in my self-esteem from one professor who told me my two (count them: two) emails stretched over the time of one week—seven days apart—we’re too frequent and urgent. ?? As loony as I think the professor’s judgment was, no matter, I’m hyper-sensitive about contacting anyone at the university.

I’m thinking it’s getting to the point that I ought to share what’s going on with you, only there’s a little part of me, probably Sir Brain, (as he is the push-over, and the token naïveté of my geek posse), who wants to not burn any bridges, not lay blame, and not rouse attention to the situation. LV is secretly hoping that we might attend a summer session at the university. Little Me, I’d like to magically transform into a sea turtle and swim off the coast of Maui.

No such luck.

I struggle with what I can share, what action constitutes grounds for taking care of myself and sharing MY story, and what is best kept in private. The dilemma in what to write in this blog all comes down to my tendency to over-share, and then eventually regret what came out. The hard part is not knowing if this Dean is going to be another authority-figure whose actions I interpret as inconsiderate, non-empathetic, and downright mean. I’m worried she won’t call, yet again, or that when she does call, I’ll be heartbroken. If you see two posts today, in your email inbox, consider me heartbroken.

I’m hoping for one post. I’m hoping the Dean’s call will be productive and positive. But in order to get my tuition back, I have to file a complaint. Or I could walk away silently (without expressing my concerns), withdraw, and be out the money.

Speaking my truth means putting other people in a bad light—which I dislike with a passion. I’ve always had a hard time disliking people, even people who might be considered as having done me wrong. I have trouble with understanding hate and retaliation. I understand extreme disappointment, agonizing humiliation, anger for circumstances, embarrassment, grief, and a host of other not-so-comfy emotions, but I don’t understand vengeance. If I had a little dab of vengeance in me, I figure I’d probably not have much trouble hanging out the truth of the situation.

Once, when I had to be a witness to a man standing trial, I couldn’t muster up any anger. Instead I felt sorry for him: the potential loss of his business, his embarrassment. And he was a man being accused by six women for misconduct, me being one of the victims. Still, I couldn’t feel anything but deep sadness for everyone involved.

I don’t consider this inability to have vengeful feelings a negative aspect of myself; I wish though, at times like these, I carried more of a warrior quality, and less of a wounded healer spirit.

Sometimes people say to let go, relax, give your worries to a higher power, take life day-by-day; sometimes I say those words to myself. The challenge is in having this brain. As I’ve shared, LV just doesn’t work like that. I choose not to medicate myself. I choose not to drink myself to oblivion. I choose not to partake in illegal substances. My body is too sensitive for most mainstream fixes. I can’t even have chocolate without zits or a full glass of wine without gastric pains.

I’ve tried (and still partake) in many alternative treatment plans—from acupuncture to supplements. Still, LV is always about. What works best for my mind (and body and spirit) is a good hot shower, keeping up with the house cleaning, exercise, yoga, sauna treatments, spiritual readings, solitude, uplifting music, healthy eating, getting out of the house and writing—those actions keep me running efficiently, without as much thought-clutter.

Only problem is, with university loose ends hanging over my head, I’ve had the motivation of a slug.

My husband is even worried. Which is stating a lot. He is that Spock-like type from Star Trek who deals with emotions about as often as I deal with revenge. For him to come out and tell me that he’s concerned about me, is saying something fairly vital.

So, as I’ve today, I’ve given myself a few ground rules. I know by putting the words in written form, smack in front of my face (and yours), I’ll hold myself accountable.

To Do:

  1. Start writing no sooner than 9:00 am.
  2. To do absolutely before I write: shower, morning chores, green-tea (shower and tea cuts down on physical pain)
  3. Check blog once in morning and once in evening, only.
  4. Partake in at least one of these each day: sauna, yoga, walk, or swimming.
  5. Take pool aerobics at least once a week. (Be a sea turtle!)
  6. Read spiritual books once a day.
  7. Call someone other than husband a few times a week.
  8. Partake in what I enjoyed before my diagnosis: coffee shop, second-hand stores, nature walks, educational classes, matinée, etc.
  9. Re-explore all the writings I scribed as a spiritual counselor.
  10. Be present and avoid sugar.

Right at the time I wrote number seven, one of my very best buddies called me from California, and she is booking a flight for a visit with me in April! I love how the universe works. Going to follow my rule number three right now. Look forward to touching base soon. Time to crawl out of my shell and face the world again—sea turtle style.

Sea Otter Taken on a Recent Boat Trip

Thirty: I am Elephant!

Days like today I want to find the highest mountain and shout in my loudest voice, “I am Elephant!”

I want to charge forward with my tusks at a massive pile of hay. Stab and stab with all my might, until no barrier is left, only scattered remnants that the animals can feed upon, digest, and carry away.

I hate, if I ever were to hate anything, the aspect of being misunderstood. I hate that my son is being misunderstood. I hate that I am misunderstood.  I feel as if we, as an Asperger’s “species,” have been set up for failure. As if we are supposed to make ourselves less genuine and honest, in order not to threaten others’ norms.

I understand we represent the unknown that exists outside the comfort box of many individuals. And when we surface, stand there face-to-face in conversation, the anomaly, if you will, is seen as a threat, an oddity, a discomfort; and we are made into this perceived entity that requires some degree of change or adaptation on our part.

I question what is it about the way I think and function that requires fixing and change. What if the way I think and function is ideal? Why is it that the majority believe their way is the right way, when all about them the world is falling apart from war, famine, lies, manipulation, blackmail, disease, hatred, bigotry, and poison? These named leaders play these games using their tricks. Wherein I, coming from a place of honesty and genuineness, am perceived as a threat.

Is the feeling of threat erupting from others’ insecurity or perhaps from the uncomfortable feelings that arise when one’s foundation of what is believed to be the right way is confronted?

Perhaps the way communication is currently played out is from a very limited and self-centered scope. Wherein there is this unspoken dance where I am expected to filter what I say, how I say it, when I say it, and how much I say, as to not risk causing discomfort to someone else.

Assuming I am reasonably self-aware, which I am, and I have no intention of ill will or harm, which holds true, and that I have generally mastered the basic social norms of avoiding insult or rudeness, then what other rules must I add?

It seems to me the other rules include this basket of techniques, sayings, buffering, limitations, and balancing that enable the recipient to feel better about him or herself, or at least not any worse. It seems to me a game where the first priority is to not make waves, to win the person over, to sound strong, and to sprinkle evidence of high intellect and likability, in order to allow the other person to feel comfortable enough to maybe begin to trust me.

Why is it that if I accurately and purposely reflect what the other person wishes to hear and see, that they embrace me and wrap the tentacles of interest around me; but other times, when I am entirely authentic, and I share without pretense, plan, or caution, I am questioned, perhaps even distrusted, judged, singled-out, ridiculed, or admonished? Why is it some human beings want to converse with clones of themselves and make me into their egocentric mirror, instead of knowing me?

Communicating is like driving down a dangerous road where there are warning signs at every turn. Beware!  Make sure your words are continually reinforcing the other person’s identity, perception, and worthiness. Avoid offending, weakening, or threatening a person’s idea of truth. Know that complete honesty triggers alarm in people. Understand that ultimately most people you approach already don’t trust you and you have to build and build trust before they will. Even then, know there will be people who will never trust you.

Why is it when I speak my truth some question my intention, my motive, my want, my need, my desire, my expected outcome, my reasoning, my life, my identity, my self-worth, my perception, my judgment, and/or my personhood? Are these seeds I need to plant seeds of dishonesty?

What if I am not the anomaly? What if my son is not the anomaly? What if the teenagers persecuting him with their bullying and snide remarks are the anomaly? What if my son is the teacher? What if Aspergers isn’t a syndrome or a disorder? What if Aspergers is a new mirror: a mirror that reflects back truth and honesty, and genuineness of spirit?

If communication is to based on a scale dependent on levels of trust, then a person sitting across from me in conversation is continually establishing how much they know me and trust me in order to decide what to share about him or herself, or his or her perception, facts, or experience. How do I decide which parts of me to hide?

Why isn’t communication the opposite of distrust? Why don’t people strip themselves of protective layers and speak their truth? Aren’t we all in search of love and attention? Companionship and sharing? Why don’t we all wear T-shirts that read: Love Me, Please. Isn’t that what we crave? Why is it so hard for someone to walk up to a stranger and say, “You look sad and lonely. I’m sad and lonely, too.”? Why is it people say so easily, “It’s a beautiful day” instead of “You’re a beautiful being”?

Strangers ask me, “Why are you being so nice? How did you become so kind?” or say “No one ever asked me that. Thank you so much for taking an interest?” And yet I am the one who knows not how to communicate naturally?

If withholding information is the norm, then I question the integrity of the establishment who dictates such norms. If one is to say to me, “Impossible; if we all spoke are truth the world would fall apart,” then I ask: “Is the world not already falling apart?”

The majorities’ opinion of what counts as the correct mode of communication style appears backwards and disproportionate. This fear-based approach contradicts the doctrines of many spiritual and religious foundations of unconditional love. I don’t understand this barometer I am supposed to carry into conversation—this inner dialogue, gut-feeling, or what have you, that informs me of what to withhold.

I understand to avoid crudeness, rudeness, defensiveness, argumentation, blame and downright meanness—as I see those derivatives of communication equally fear-based as the self-regulating barometer that predisposes the mind to beware of each and every encounter with another human being.

I do not understand the harm in sharing my authentic self and true feelings, if intention to harm and do ill will are abstracted, and what remains is the representation of the true being. Isn’t this what human race is striving for—the disrobing of falsehoods? Don’t people long for genuineness? If so, then why do I feel so oppressed? Why since my youth have my peers and authority continually been trying to snuff my light? Why do I feel as if I am to be locked in some prism of isolation, left alone with my thoughts, so the world outside doesn’t have to fear my reflection?

I am not bold, I am not brave. I am me! But so many people can’t see me.

I crave purity and truth. I abide by these elemental necessities. Yet, I am continually punished for not partaking in a ritual game, of following some unspoken norms of what is supposed to be. When everywhere I look around me the world is falling apart because of all the unspoken lies, manipulation, greed, and trickery.

This dictated “right” way to communicate, the fear-based approach where people say what is expected, and what the other person probably wants to hear, in order to get at some unspoken goal, appears manipulative, preplanned, and superficial.

Why in society is there a limit to what we are supposed to reveal? I understand donning clothing to conceal the taboo of the naked flesh. I can abide by this norm by simply cloaking my body. But to understand the taboo of sharing the naked spirit—I can find no such cloak. I do not know what to cover my truth in so that a person will listen without their ears first burning or their anger first churning. I do not know how to persuade someone to my side. I see no need, have no want of these things. And for this, again, I am lacking.

I watch as those that conform pass untouched in the night. While I remain oppressed because of my nonconformity. Why must I become an untouchable in order to walk freely? Why must I stay hidden in order to be accepted? As many times as I’ve been crushed and hurt, debased and stabbed in the back for sharing myself, I cannot learn another way to walk in this world. It as if the legs that carry me can walk no other way than the way in which my spirit intends. I am made to be silent or to remain in constant affliction. I am imprisoned by my own desire to be.

This is such a lonely and unspeakable place of pain and shame. And all about me professionals with man-invented degrees are claiming their “truths” of what I am, when they do not even know how to even see who I am. They are aliens dissecting me with their eyes, though they wear spectacles with blackened and tarnished glass. They can see nothing but their own imaginings and what has been told to them by others; others whom had things told to them; whom in turn had things told to them by others, with the origin residing in some theorist, who himself was likely twisted in his views and perception by his need to conform.

In my view, I am an elephant. Being an elephant, I know myself as an elephant. I know how an elephant eats, sleeps, dreams, and walks. And I know other elephants who walk in the same way. Who think in the same way. Yet, I have hyenas all about me telling me what an elephant is like. How an elephant should look and be. Who listens to a hyena to know what the elephant is, when an elephant is standing right beside?

Something must change. That is why I shout, “I am Elephant!”

Day Twenty-One: Blog Rules 101

Concerned I might not know the etiquette of blogging, I perused the Internet in search of answers.

Blog Rules 101

1. Don’t vent personal issues about someone else.

2. Take the time to comment without calling names.

3. Don’t drag people into your drama.

4. Mix in a video.

5. Make meaningful charts, articles, tables, and pictures.

6. Monopolizing, hijacking, or steamrolling prohibited.

7. Keep commentary on topic.

8. Don’t gang up on anyone.

9. Racial, ethnic slurs, stereotyping of any kind not tolerated.

10. You can’t copy and paste copyrighted stuff.

11. Be safe—do not share personal information about residence, phone, etc.

12.  Keep religion out of discussions.

13. Say what everyone else thinks. {Psychic!}

14. If someone asks for a critique, offer constructive criticism.

15. Remove constructive negative comments.

16. Have a thoughtful discussion with courtesy and discourse. {discourse means discussion}

17. If you have questions, don’t hesitate to ask.

18. If I overlook a question, ask me again. {Really?}

19. Start all statements with “People are Stupid and here’s why?” {Copied word-for-word.}

20. Include interesting links.

21. Be more creative than the rest.

22. Post at least one guiding question in the blog. {I don’t know why I find that funny.}

23. Have a bigger vision. {I’m going to rule the world!}

24. Let’s agree to be honest but still “sisterly.” {giggling}

25. Don’t be racist or morally offensive.

26. Threats, slander, and violence prohibited.

27. Make sense.

28.  No trolling.

29. No inappropriately long, rambling rants.  {Good thing rants was included.}

30. No threats of any kind.

31. No name calling, particularly if I’m the recipient. {Love the last part.}

32. No nasty, snide, snarcky tone. {It’s snarky.}

33. Be Ladies and Gentlemen.

34. Passion without wallowing in mire. {One of my favorites.}

35. Don’t cyberbully.

36. No real names.

37. Be careful who you talk to. {whom}

38. No inappropriate pictures.

39. Avoid legal entanglement. {laughing again}

40. Cite your sources, check your facts, respect copyright law. {Does this include the copying of super cute images?}

41. Don’t have any private “convosations.”

42. Consider the implications.

43. Purposely don’t follow blogging rules. {Say what?}

44. Add your own rules.  {Okay?}

45. Traditional blogging doesn’t exist. {Oh, no!}

46. Keep posts short. {Oops}

47. Keep posts as long as they have to be. {Deep sigh of relief}

48. Use correct grammar. {I’m dyslexic.}

49. Challenge yourself and others using your critical thinking skills.

50.  Provide value, something worthwhile.

51. Focus on a niche.

52. Insults are not tolerated and will be subject to edit or deletion.

53. Be opinionated. {What’s left to be opinionated about?}

54. Be more extreme than others. {I’m thinking sports.}

55. Get personal.

56. Be more personal than the others. {The mysterious others on the other side of blog island? Lost reference.}

57. Be transparent.

58. Remember kids might read the content.

59. You have to know what you are talking about.

60. You have to want to write it.

61. You have to care about your readers {This from a blog filled with half-naked photos of women.}

62.  Be the best teacher in your niche. {I want an easy niche!}

63. When competitors begin sending customers to your site to understand a topic, you’ll know you’ve won. {So not making sense.}

64.  Be funnier than the others. {Does dorky count?} {More mysterious others.}

65. Your blog should be easy to navigate.

66.  Don’t focus on widgets. {Crap, I seriously love widgets!}

67.  Be the source of timely news.

68. Develop your own strategies.

69. Posting the same thing over and over again is annoying.

70. Posting the same thing over and over again is annoying.

71.  No flaming. {Or hosing}

72. No soliciting. {Try some vita-juice!}

73. Do not engage in criminal behavior.

74. Don’t drag visitors off with comments.

75. Use good judgment.

76. Blog frequently and intelligently.

77. Be trustworthy.

78. Be respectful of other people, especially when you disagree.

79. People will disagree, and might be really mad at you. {Yikes!}

80. Be right.

Conclusion: Blog rules, like all rules in life (especially the social arena rules), sometimes involve basic common sense but can also be restrictive, contradicting, ambiguous, confusing, debatable, and sometimes just downright laughable.


My Blog Rules:

 1.   Be yourself

2.    If you are a dumb butt or poop head, prepare for deletion.

Just incase you’re wondering: 101 means introductory to something. The reference is to a college course with the course code 101, which in the American system indicates an introductory course, often with no prerequisites.

Feel free to continue onward

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