Hello friends. Sisters and brothers on the spectrum and those that are our strong supporters. . . be they lovers, friends, companions, guardians, counselors, neighbors, relatives . . .
I’ve been working on a companion book to Everyday Aspergers. It will be excerpts from my three blogs Everyday Aspergers, Everyday Aspie, and Belly of a Star. With each short excerpt, I will add words of comfort and encouragement. A friend talking to a friend. I have something like 1400+ pages to go through. It will be a journey. I will choose what feels right and rely on my faith and higher power guidance. They’ve gotten me this far!
Here are some of the segments I am considering. I am at the start of the project.
Thank you for your continued support and being.
These are not the edited or final selected versions.
People who are wired like me understand. They know the ebb and flow of being this self. They know that even we get tired of the non-stop jabber and thoughts and processing. And they, for the most part, accept me unconditionally, with so-called flaws and all. It’s the others that just don’t get it whom I have a difficult time repeatedly associating with.
It’s like this, supposing I am blind. I use a different form of communication format. It’s not typical. It’s not traditional. And it’s accepted. After all you can SEE I am blind.
And then it’s like this: I have autism. I use a different form of communication. It’s not typical. It’s not traditional. And it’s not accepted. After all you can’t SEE my disability and I should be able to change. I can adjust. I can conform. I can just communicate like you do. Follow the rules and protocol. And if I cannot, then I must be inconsiderate, impossible to train, or stubborn.
But it’s not that way. It’s just not. I cannot adapt without modifications and understanding anymore than the blind person . If I was an amputee, I wouldn’t be able to grow legs. If I was deaf, my speech might be affected. If I have autism, my brain is different. It doesn’t just change based on suggestion. It’s an impossibility.
Everything I am and everything I do, is adamantly dissected, without choice, including everything I watch, like some giant intertwined web spinning past my mind’s eye. It appears at times I am thinking three times over; that my mind is somehow capable of deciphering the immediate now, the effects of the immediate now, and the thought processes of the two previous aforementioned, and even the predictable outcome and by-product of the thinking process itself. I cannot help but become overtaken and mind-boggled, drowning in a perplexity of images and thoughts, some speaking over the other, some repeating, some making complete sense, and some the markings of a crazed woman.
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 am enough without anyone validating my experience. I know these truths, but remain trapped in a web of reconfirming my “enoughness” based on others’ perceptions. I try to remain balanced and aware, reminding myself that what someone says or doesn’t say makes no difference in who I am. Still, I am human, and as a human I fall victim to my own weaknesses and frailties of character. Recognizing I am perfect just the way I am, with or without weakness, with or without frailties, I focus on releasing ego, and embracing my inner light and abundance of love for many. I celebrate in each and every life I connect with, knowing if I am able to help only one person, that the one is more than enough. I go on my knees in humility and honesty, admitting my shortcomings, and in doing so expose ego and lessen ego. In my humaness I remain, but in my spirit I triumph through the obstacles of fear and doubt.
I am enough.
Having the spirit I do, I am constantly flooded with emotion. I do not know what to expect. Not that any humans do on this earth. But a part of me would like to think that I know what is ahead of me. When in truth, the only thing for certain is this very moment. This very moment that I am crying with such depth. All these feelings. All coming up from long ago; they feel so distant like they are from centuries ago—life times ago. So much grief and happiness, all mixed together.
I am crying so loudly, knowing I am born to be this being, but not always knowing how to comfort this spirit that I am. Knowing so much, so fast, and in such profound ways is overwhelming. Being who I am is overwhelming.
I have been called to leadership my entire life, when this gentle, fragile part of me, longs to only be sheltered and protected, to be swept up in a special one’s arms and told that I am safe, that I am found, that I am truth, that I am love. To be told that someone else is fighting for me, someone else not letting go. I am always the one holding on the tightest…..to everyone and everything. The passion in me is so intense at times that I do not know what to do with myself.
I feel the pain of those from thousands of miles away; I feel their joy, too. Energies attach to me, and I can’t distinguish mine from others. Thoughts of others reach me. And I have never been able to stop this, with all the teachers I have sought, I have found limited answers. And many times, longing to be student, I have in turn become teacher. I have looked for my teacher my entire life. Someone who sees more than me. Someone who knows more than I know innately. And I have yet to find him.
Before I turned fourteen, I was engorged with passion, full of life, energy, and the feeling I could conquer the world. At the end of eighth grade, Mother plucked me from the coast of California and moved me to the east coast to live with her longtime lover. All at once, I knew no one, was loved by no one, and knew not who I was.
This was a time of unmentionables. I transformed from wild stallion to fearful doe. I hid. I stayed in dark rooms. I pretended not to exist—this after being driven down a long country road by our twenty-something neighbor who was married to the flat-chested lady I babysat for the next door over. A scene, I blurred and blanched out of memory, that sucked out my passion, that transported the little girl I had been to a frightened woman, terrified of life, terrified to live.
I stopped living at the age of fourteen. I just stopped. My daily laughter turned to daily tears. I no longer danced. I no longer sang. I just existed. It was then I began to see my past, to compare what I’d been through to what my peers had been through. I recognized all at once how different I was, how damaged, how hopeless.
I know now, through much trial and error, that ultimately, if I am not true to me, and walking a path of authenticity that I am ultimately being accepted for someone I am not and be rejected by ME. I know my light. I know my beauty. I see this reflected in the mirrors of my friendships. And in this beauty I have extreme confidence that I am a worthy person, loving, and actually pretty darn cool to have around. Of course, I am highly aware of my quirks and intensity. My eyes are wide open as far as my personhood and spirithood is considered. I understand, too, that only some are able to be my friend, those with the capacity to cup in their hands my true, very bright light. I used to adjust my light to fit the person. I’d dim as to not be so bright—in essence self-implode and crawl into the darkness to appease. I don’t do that anymore. If anything, I turn my light up higher when I enjoy someone. I have learned that I would rather face a million rejections than to be loved for someone I am not. For ultimately, if someone loves me for a shadow of myself, they love only the air beyond the light. I want to be loved for me. Amazingly, I found out, this attribute of shining my true colors is a quality many people appreciate. Don’t get me wrong, I still get hurt. I still get rejected. But the beauty of being me makes up for the passing ache and pain of loss or misunderstanding. I long to be me. I am me. And I adore me.
I have a couple of books here.