#one perspective

Well, it has to do with several things: sensory issues and being easily overwhelmed by the senses. Also, not being able to read social cues, such as body language and tone of voice. 

And for me, it has to do with talking at people.  I am obsessive, I am an escapist, and I have Aspergers.  I won't get into the technical part of it, because, hey, you're online right now, aren't you?  Look it up.  However, I will tell you this: I am not sick. I am not a freak. I am not in denial. And, no, I am not just trying to get attention.  Far from it, actually. My brain is just wired...differently. And you know what, I'm actually pretty proud of it.  My brain works in a way that no one else will quite understand, not even scientists.  At least, not yet.  And I think that that's pretty darn awesome.  I see things in a way that makes the world seem amazing and lets me live my life always wanting to learn something new, and I love that about myself! I have problems, though, and I won't deny that I can complain. I mean, really complain.  Just ask my mom.  Life can be really hard for me sometimes and other times it's great, so I've decided that talking about it and speaking up about it will help me cope with it.  So, if it sometimes sounds like I'm talking to a therapist, I probably am. You. Yep, you guys. Kneel down on the floor, because I'm giving you honorary knighthoods and handing you honorary doctorates in psychology.  (Not really, but you get the idea)  If you're reading this, that means you don't want to know the science behind it all, or even the psychology. If you did, you'd go read some medical journal or online article.  You're here because you want to hear it from the horse's mouth about what it's really like.  Maybe you have a daughter, or a sister, or a wife or girlfriend who has it, and you just want to understand her.  Not control her or tell her that she's just delusional, but you love her enough that you're trying to figure it out. Or, you're just like me! If so, then strap in and buckle up.  It'll be bumpy and consistently inconsistent.  I may not remember to update for a couple of months, and then spit out three articles in a week!  I'll try to stay consistent, but please understand if I don't. Feel free to message me, however, and I'll try to respond. Now... ...off we go! Into time and space, along with the Winchesters, and the boys from Baker Street!

11/13/18, 1:32am

It's usually described as a person drifting in darkness, surrounded by insurmountable walls and piles of responsibility just waiting to crumble.

I've found it's much less dramatic.

It's waking up and being covered already, thick layers piled up ten miles deep and no one but you can see them. It's going through the motions and getting work done, but not really processing any of it. It's being a monotonous machine, toiling day in and day out, needing to drag yourself forward.

Expectations drive me. They push on my spine and slip their fingers between my ribs. Their fingernails scratch the back of my heart and try to force it into motion. Sometimes I wonder if my blood pressure is low because I'm not living or if I'm not living because my blood pressure is low. I think they're also trying to figure that out.

My dad asks if I'm tired from petting kittens all day, and I am.

I wake up and there are layers of kittens buried in my bones. I scoop them out one by one, but they just keep sliping through my fingers. I lift myself out of bed and they cling to me by their tiny claws, piercing holes through my tendons and chipping away to get at my marrow. I pet kittens all day because they're always with me.

I want to ask if he sees the kittens, if he feels their purring as keenly as I do, the vibrations that leak through my chipped bones and splinter me down to pieces. I want to ask if the wind is as soothing to him as it is for me, if it quiets the intrusive thoughts that no one seems to talk about. I want to ask if he crawls into his bed and struggles to breathe, if he cries in relief each night that it's over, if he cries because it'll start again all over.

I want to ask if college is really what he wants for me. If college is the only way I'll ever be something he's proud of.

His academic expectations drive me.

I tried telling him once that going to school for me is like pushing my hands into meat grinders. I'll ignore the pain for as long as I can, but in the end I'm still without hands. I told him how I cried every night. And he said he never heard me. I told him that was on purpose. And he told me no one can cry that soundlessly.

It's a lot like drinking a glass of cold water, hearing the hollow ricochet in your chest and feeling that coldness branching out through your chest. It starts out small and centralized and then suddenly it's all that there is and you're wondering why you didn't stop it, but it never actually looked like it was possible to.

It's a lot like walking into a room and seeing everyone doing the same things you are, but seeing it in their eyes that it's not the same.

People tell me they don't want to see me sad and to me that sounds like they don't want to see me. They want the me who pretends that I don't feel anything, but in the good way. Not the me who doesn't feel anything and falls over from a strong breeze, the me who is so cored and pitiful that I cry at the slightest provocation. They tell me that they don't want to see me and then are astounded by how fast I recover, how easily my lip stretch and my teeth show and happiness blossoms across my dreary face.

I used to get told I looked sad and felt fear at the thought of being seen. Because that's all I hear. I don't want to see you. You don't seem like yourself.

Which me are you talking about? Could you let me know please?

Is it the me who excels in school? Is it the me who gives in to anger? Is it the me who pretends not to know anything to get a smile? Is it the me who cries in the bathroom with the sink running?

One Perspective

Contemptous calm;

ignores BS;

in all its forms;

misguided or not.

BS is on a quest;

to shape reality;

in its own view.

Whether it is lies;

false or true.

How you see it;

is up to you.

(C)BJG(Blair Gaulton)June 2020

The key is One