Control is perhaps the biggest reason I wish to remain anonymous. For as much as I was the most passive, easy-going child, happy to go along with anything, preferring to be a follower being led, I’m realizing how much control I need to have over everything. This is something no one would expect of me, something that took finding out I had Aspergers and re-examining myself to discover. Continue reading
I need to write, but I don’t know what. There’s so much in me, I wish it would just come out. When I was first looking up Aspergers, I read how most people’s brain can be compared to a chalkboard that is written on and then erased to make space for new writing. But the Aspergers’ brain isn’t able to be erased in the same way, rather there are words upon words written and every space on the board is filled. I just wish I could clear it.
I wish things didn’t upset me in the way they do. And most importantly, I wish they didn’t stick with me to the very core of my being. I want to just shake them out of me, clear that chalkboard, feel my muscles relax, and feel my chugging brain slow down to a normal rate. Continue reading
Sitting in class, at a meeting, with a church group, or at work, I’ve been amazed at how Sia’s performance on Ellen with Maddie Ziegler so encapsulates how I can sometimes feel having Aspergers in an organized group of people. It hits on so many levels. Continue reading
My world is right. The wheels spin, the rhythm continues, the world around me propels forward. Life progresses and I with it. No longer a helpless passenger struggling in vain against the tightly buckled strap as the vehicle of life hurdles ever forward, I release myself to the current. The steering wheel somehow becomes mine and I now drive myself onward. I yield, I navigate through tight spaces, I weave in and out. I become a player, a participator, in this choreographed dance. So seamless, so natural, it’s unknown to me that the transition has even taken place. I just know somehow it has. But not in whole. All but this faint, dark corner pushed to the back of my mind, hanging cautiously above me, has bought into this momentum, this way of life. But if I just ignore it… if I continue in this quickly flowing stream, life is fine.
Life doesn’t hurt. Stimuli doesn’t hurt. Memories are far from my mind. I am able to be in the now. I am able to participate in the now. This present world of life may not be my happiest or favorite, but it is bearable. And bearable is a tremendous gift. All but for the slight walking on glass from that dark corner, life is fine.
But then, everything comes to a sudden halt. Continue reading
Shakespeare was right to create new words for the English language. Lacking adequate description, our words are hopelessly vague. One of our laziest representations is the word “can’t.” In the French language, there are two words to our one. Pouvoir is the direct translation you would receive from a dictionary for our word “can.” Conjugated, I can becomes je peux. I can’t becomes je ne peux pas.
However, live in France and you would find that this verb is rarely used. The direct translation of “I can’t” is reserved for things that are physically impossible, instances that truly cannot be. It is not watered down or weak, it is for direct situations where there is a physical impossibility. Continue reading
Sometimes I want nothing more than to escape this body I am trapped in. Like Superman ripping open his shirt revealing his costume underneath, I too want to rip my body open by the chest, step out, kick this exterior aside, and feel free and unencumbered. When the triggers are there and the meltdown is happening, I feel the emotional pain all over. My muscles tense and seize up within me. I feel like uncontained water and want nothing more than to feel held, compressed. My heart doesn’t just hurt, my entire chest hurts. My skin feels like it is crawling and there is this unbearable cry for relief. Continue reading
I am lost in a world that is not my own. I drift and I grasp clawing to make sense of what lies before me in a world where there is no sense. I’ve lived 27 years ignorant that the inner-workings of my mind ticked from Aspergers. I knew I was more introspective, observant, analytic, and possessed a different sort of depth within me. But I never saw how much deeper this depth ran until I stumbled upon Aspergers traits unraveling and disrobing the mechanics of my very brain. Continue reading
My Aspie Eyes 