Wednesday, September 24, 2014
Friday, September 5, 2014
People Just Don't Get It
Note: This is an angry rant, so there will be some swearing. If you're offended by that sort of thing, just read my other blog posts.
This post is an angry rant, because I am pretty fucking angry. It's hard enough to keep a happy, optimistic face for this blog. I want this blog to come across happy and optimistic because I want to give parents hope that everything is going to be okay. But I have to be honest. There is a lot in my life that isn't okay. Sometimes I get so frustrated and angry that I break down crying, thinking, "Where do I even begin to fix this?" And by "this" I mean being financially independent like my peers. I am turning 34 in October, and I still don't have a career or even a decent-sized apartment, let alone one that I can afford on my own. Everybody else my age I know-- and many ten years younger-- has a career, has a decent-sized apartment (or a house, if they're in the suburbs), and doesn't need help from their parents to make ends meet.
"Oh, but at least you're not starving in Africa. You don't know how lucky you are." You know what? You're right. I'm not starving in Africa. So fucking what? That doesn't make my frustration and anger any less real (It's a logical fallacy; I forget what it's called). I grew up relatively privileged, in a white, middle-class household with educated parents. I lived in a relatively affluent suburb in Pennsylvania. I went to college and grad school. Given my background, I should have a career now and be financially independent. But if you have Asperger's Syndrome, growing up privileged doesn't mean shit unless you are born into wealth. I still have to get a career. I have a Master's Degree and am making $12.75 an hour at a temporary work-at-home job. What is my job? Transcribing. Mind-numbing transcribing that any idiot with a GED can do. And because I lost my last two jobs, each after a paltry four months (in both cases they said I was too awkward and made our clientele uncomfortable), to stay in Boston I had to give up my spacious, one-bedroom apartment and downgrade to a studio. It's $1200 a month, and the only way to get any lower in Boston is to live in a basement apartment not much bigger than a walk-in closet with no windows. Even then, the lowest the rent goes for something like that is $1000. The other option is to get roommates, which can bring each person's rent as low as $700-$800 per month. But all my roommate situations in the past have been disasters. My parents even said they would rather help me pay for my own little corner of the universe than take the chance that I would get into some ridiculous conflict with roommates and then have to move out (moving, of course, isn't free).
I know that I'm more intelligent than my employment history and living circumstances reflect but that makes no fucking difference unless you have pristine social skills. And research has shown that the decision to hire someone an any job is almost entirely based on how well they think she'll "fit in" with her coworkers, much more than if she has the talent to do the job. I'm not the kind of person who fits in. It's not that I haven't tried, it's that I can't. Making friends is not an issue for me because I live in a diverse city and can easily find social misfits/intellectual nerds who'd rather talk about psychologically intense topics than how someone's third cousin once removed is doing. But most people would rather talk about the latter, and that's what they expect you to do on the job, even if it is not related to the job description. People know when I'm faking it. I can only feign interest in somebody's third cousin once removed before the holes in my mask start to form. I then have to retreat to my little corner of the universe and do my work. But no. Most high paying jobs expect you to work as a team. I work in groups with about the same ease and naturalness as an asexual person behaves like John F. Kennedy.
"Oh, well have you tried this? Or that? Or the other thing?" Yes, of course I have. I've finished my undergrad 11 years ago. You think I haven't fucking tried? Of course I have, and I've run into one brick wall after another.
Oh, and people have told me over and over that I come off as harsh, angry, argumentative, and even cold.
"You know, the way you're talking to me when you're upset, you're real intense and argumentative and harsh. Maybe that's what's gotten you in trouble at work." No! That's not what has happened! I'm letting my guard down with you. At work I try to hide these emotions. People have told me I'm too "intense" or "harsh" or "argumentative" even when I'm happy or joking around. It's like all I have to do to fucking offend someone is open my fucking mouth, even if I just ask how they are! So you know what the other option is, to make sure I don't offend anyone or make anyone uncomfortable? Not talk. And then I become a fucking stiff and they still feel uncomfortable, but for different reasons.
"Well, you know, you do tell inappropriate and sometimes shocking jokes. Do you do that at work?"
Yes, I have a raunchy, macabre, and downright absurd sense of humor. I also love saying things for shock value just to see how people react. But you know, I'm not Rainman. I tell the "shock value" jokes you're talking about to friends or on online social networks under an anonymous name, not in a professional setting. My friends laugh, and people online click "like" or write "Hahaha!" I learned years and years ago that there's a time and a place for these things, and work sure as hell isn't it. People at work have called me "inappropriate" for reasons that I'm not sure of but that have nothing to do with the jokes I tell outside of work.
"Well you're very interested in the work of Richard Dawkins and Dr. Kevorkian. You bring those guys up all the time. Are you talking about them at work? You can't do that, you know. They're too controversial."
Yes, I fucking know that I can't bring up these guys or their work in a job setting-- especially not Dr. Kevorkian-- because people at work represent a diverse range of sociopolitical and religious beliefs and I don't know these people well enough to have such discussions with them. I don't feel deprived if I can't bring up Richard Dawkins or Dr. Kevorkian, either. I am at work to do work. Of course, the funny thing is I've heard radically conservative people at work bring up their shocking views without getting in trouble.
"Maybe you are talking about Richard Dawkins and Dr. Kevorkian and you don't realize it?"
I think I'm fucking aware of what topics I'm bringing up. Don't patronize me.
When people-- friends, relatives, and even my shrink-- say these things to me, they clearly don't get it. I know they're trying to help me, reaching for the lowest hanging fruit, so to speak. But after a while it's like I'm hearing a mantra, a list of phrases from a pull-string doll. And yes, when I get frustrated enough, I do explode and curse a blue streak (it upsets them, but they know not to take it personally and I do apologize later). But they don't get it. They really don't. Why? They're coming from a neurotypical perspective, that the only way that I as a white, privileged middle-class American could be in this situation is if there was something I haven't tried. The fact that even my shrink gives these obvious suggestions is very telling. Hell, even my parents only started to "get it" in the past five years or so!
This is my life as an adult with Asperger's. Don't get me wrong: I am happy most of the time. But then sometimes (like last night when I was talking to my shrink) old wounds get reopened. No, they get reopened, have salt poured in them, and are pissed in. And I get angry and explosive and cry. Sometimes I just can't take it. Working out usually helps a little, but recently I injured myself while running and I can't do much of anything in the way of vigorous exercise until I heal.
I'm angry. I'm hurting. I'm cynical. I'm frustrated. I have Asperger's Syndrome.
This post is an angry rant, because I am pretty fucking angry. It's hard enough to keep a happy, optimistic face for this blog. I want this blog to come across happy and optimistic because I want to give parents hope that everything is going to be okay. But I have to be honest. There is a lot in my life that isn't okay. Sometimes I get so frustrated and angry that I break down crying, thinking, "Where do I even begin to fix this?" And by "this" I mean being financially independent like my peers. I am turning 34 in October, and I still don't have a career or even a decent-sized apartment, let alone one that I can afford on my own. Everybody else my age I know-- and many ten years younger-- has a career, has a decent-sized apartment (or a house, if they're in the suburbs), and doesn't need help from their parents to make ends meet.
"Oh, but at least you're not starving in Africa. You don't know how lucky you are." You know what? You're right. I'm not starving in Africa. So fucking what? That doesn't make my frustration and anger any less real (It's a logical fallacy; I forget what it's called). I grew up relatively privileged, in a white, middle-class household with educated parents. I lived in a relatively affluent suburb in Pennsylvania. I went to college and grad school. Given my background, I should have a career now and be financially independent. But if you have Asperger's Syndrome, growing up privileged doesn't mean shit unless you are born into wealth. I still have to get a career. I have a Master's Degree and am making $12.75 an hour at a temporary work-at-home job. What is my job? Transcribing. Mind-numbing transcribing that any idiot with a GED can do. And because I lost my last two jobs, each after a paltry four months (in both cases they said I was too awkward and made our clientele uncomfortable), to stay in Boston I had to give up my spacious, one-bedroom apartment and downgrade to a studio. It's $1200 a month, and the only way to get any lower in Boston is to live in a basement apartment not much bigger than a walk-in closet with no windows. Even then, the lowest the rent goes for something like that is $1000. The other option is to get roommates, which can bring each person's rent as low as $700-$800 per month. But all my roommate situations in the past have been disasters. My parents even said they would rather help me pay for my own little corner of the universe than take the chance that I would get into some ridiculous conflict with roommates and then have to move out (moving, of course, isn't free).
I know that I'm more intelligent than my employment history and living circumstances reflect but that makes no fucking difference unless you have pristine social skills. And research has shown that the decision to hire someone an any job is almost entirely based on how well they think she'll "fit in" with her coworkers, much more than if she has the talent to do the job. I'm not the kind of person who fits in. It's not that I haven't tried, it's that I can't. Making friends is not an issue for me because I live in a diverse city and can easily find social misfits/intellectual nerds who'd rather talk about psychologically intense topics than how someone's third cousin once removed is doing. But most people would rather talk about the latter, and that's what they expect you to do on the job, even if it is not related to the job description. People know when I'm faking it. I can only feign interest in somebody's third cousin once removed before the holes in my mask start to form. I then have to retreat to my little corner of the universe and do my work. But no. Most high paying jobs expect you to work as a team. I work in groups with about the same ease and naturalness as an asexual person behaves like John F. Kennedy.
"Oh, well have you tried this? Or that? Or the other thing?" Yes, of course I have. I've finished my undergrad 11 years ago. You think I haven't fucking tried? Of course I have, and I've run into one brick wall after another.
Oh, and people have told me over and over that I come off as harsh, angry, argumentative, and even cold.
"You know, the way you're talking to me when you're upset, you're real intense and argumentative and harsh. Maybe that's what's gotten you in trouble at work." No! That's not what has happened! I'm letting my guard down with you. At work I try to hide these emotions. People have told me I'm too "intense" or "harsh" or "argumentative" even when I'm happy or joking around. It's like all I have to do to fucking offend someone is open my fucking mouth, even if I just ask how they are! So you know what the other option is, to make sure I don't offend anyone or make anyone uncomfortable? Not talk. And then I become a fucking stiff and they still feel uncomfortable, but for different reasons.
"Well, you know, you do tell inappropriate and sometimes shocking jokes. Do you do that at work?"
Yes, I have a raunchy, macabre, and downright absurd sense of humor. I also love saying things for shock value just to see how people react. But you know, I'm not Rainman. I tell the "shock value" jokes you're talking about to friends or on online social networks under an anonymous name, not in a professional setting. My friends laugh, and people online click "like" or write "Hahaha!" I learned years and years ago that there's a time and a place for these things, and work sure as hell isn't it. People at work have called me "inappropriate" for reasons that I'm not sure of but that have nothing to do with the jokes I tell outside of work.
"Well you're very interested in the work of Richard Dawkins and Dr. Kevorkian. You bring those guys up all the time. Are you talking about them at work? You can't do that, you know. They're too controversial."
Yes, I fucking know that I can't bring up these guys or their work in a job setting-- especially not Dr. Kevorkian-- because people at work represent a diverse range of sociopolitical and religious beliefs and I don't know these people well enough to have such discussions with them. I don't feel deprived if I can't bring up Richard Dawkins or Dr. Kevorkian, either. I am at work to do work. Of course, the funny thing is I've heard radically conservative people at work bring up their shocking views without getting in trouble.
"Maybe you are talking about Richard Dawkins and Dr. Kevorkian and you don't realize it?"
I think I'm fucking aware of what topics I'm bringing up. Don't patronize me.
When people-- friends, relatives, and even my shrink-- say these things to me, they clearly don't get it. I know they're trying to help me, reaching for the lowest hanging fruit, so to speak. But after a while it's like I'm hearing a mantra, a list of phrases from a pull-string doll. And yes, when I get frustrated enough, I do explode and curse a blue streak (it upsets them, but they know not to take it personally and I do apologize later). But they don't get it. They really don't. Why? They're coming from a neurotypical perspective, that the only way that I as a white, privileged middle-class American could be in this situation is if there was something I haven't tried. The fact that even my shrink gives these obvious suggestions is very telling. Hell, even my parents only started to "get it" in the past five years or so!
This is my life as an adult with Asperger's. Don't get me wrong: I am happy most of the time. But then sometimes (like last night when I was talking to my shrink) old wounds get reopened. No, they get reopened, have salt poured in them, and are pissed in. And I get angry and explosive and cry. Sometimes I just can't take it. Working out usually helps a little, but recently I injured myself while running and I can't do much of anything in the way of vigorous exercise until I heal.
I'm angry. I'm hurting. I'm cynical. I'm frustrated. I have Asperger's Syndrome.
Friday, August 22, 2014
SEX! Now That I Have Your Attention, Read this Blog Post!
Thanks for coming! I'm gradually moving my blog to Substack! You can check out this post here!
Independent-Living Prospects
I am fed up with people asking me what I do for a living.
It's one of those questions that begs the question. That is, people assume that because I am thirty-three I must have a career. But I don't have a career. It's just one of those aspects of life that is taken for granted. When people ask me what I do for a living, they are making a lot of unconscious assumptions: They see that I am a white, middle-class American. Most likely my life was uneventful. I finished high school, went to college, got a job that I have been working at for ten years or so and, possibly married with kids, am living happily ever after (fortunately I am living in an era when, and a city where, marriage and children isn't one of these assumptions). When they make these assumptions, they assume, too, that I am neurotypical, even if they have never heard of the word. These are some of the many assumptions that people make about every other human being on earth, and only recently have they been brought into question.
People who know me and know my situation tell me to "think positive". It's easy for them to say, of course, since they are neurotypical people who are not stuck with the sometimes-torture chamber that is my brain. They haven't gone to school, constantly been between jobs-- dead-end jobs, that is-- realized that their degree was useless, gone back to school, gotten a Master's Degree, taken two jobs related to that degree and been fired from both of them because of issues related to interpersonal skills, and then realized that that they have yet another useless degree. They do not understand the turmoil I have had to live with practically from the dawn of my consciousness. And their suggestions to alleviate some of the problems related to living independently actually do not work for me. They take it for granted that these suggestions would work because they would work for most people. It doesn't even occur to them that there are some people for whom these suggestions would be harmful.
What suggestions are we talking about exactly? For example:
1. Until you can get a permanent job (yes, like WHEN?), why not take a job in retail? At least it's some money!
No. I can't take a job in retail. I was just fired from two jobs that involved working with the public. I can only put a fake smile on my face and pretend to be interested in everybody's personal lives before the holes in my facade start to form. People can see right through that. Besides, it's too emotionally exhausting for me. This isn't a matter of "won't", but a matter of "can't", in the same way a person with an IQ of 75 can't do calculus. This is just not who I am, and I have tried it.
Just for the record, I do have a temporary work at home job. It does not pay well, however.
2. Get a roommate so that you can save money. It will also be less of a burden on your parents.
Yes, it's true. My parents are helping me to live in Boston, just as they helped me to live in New York City. My mother is retiring next year, so unless I find something within the coming year, I have to move back to Pennsylvania to live with my parents. In the meantime, I am downgrading from a one-bedroom to a studio apartment (fortunately in the same building) on August 31st. I sucked it up and got rid of a lot of books and some furniture so I can comfortably fit in this smaller unit. My one-bedroom is $1425 a month and is set to go up to $1500 this fall. The studio is $1200 a month. I actually did try getting a roommate. I met a fellow Aspie over the Internet. We hit it off immediately and started making arrangements to get a place together. But he and I got into an argument over something really stupid and realized it wouldn't work out. Before meeting him I met a few other potential roommates. None of them picked me. I am sure I would be difficult to live with. I have my own habits, my own way of doing things. This is very typical of people with Asperger's. Plus, when I was in college, nearly all my roommate situations ended in disaster. Even my parents agreed that they would rather sacrifice some extra money to help me rent a studio than hope that a roommate situation to which they wouldn't have to contribute financially would work out.
3. Move to a suburb. It's so much cheaper!
Yes, it is not only cheaper but also a lot less diverse and accepting. In places like New York and Boston, I feel comfortable and make friends with ease. It is hard to meet people as accepting and open-minded in a suburb, even in comparatively liberal suburbs such as the one in Pennsylvania where my parents live. Plus, think about this: If some employers in a city are uncomfortable with my personality, it would probably be much worse in a suburb. My job prospects would likely not be any better, despite the lack of competition.
4. Why don't you try [insert job prospect here]?
I already have. I have been down so many paths that it is almost laughable when others make suggestions, thinking I actually haven't tried them. That's another assumption: People assuming that I don't have a career because there are avenues that I haven't thought to explore.
In short, I am beyond frustrated. I live in Massachusetts, a state that famously has the most resources in the U.S. for adults with Asperger's Syndrome, so that is making me hopeful that they can assist me with finding a job. I am, however, not optimistic. I like to think that my blog posts give people hope, but sometimes I have to be honest: Life with Asperger's often does not turn out the way it did for Temple Grandin, for example. Most people with Asperger's-- women especially-- struggle to make ends meet in adulthood. I've heard of brilliant people working as janitors or doing some work that doesn't reflect their intelligence because they can't get through a job interview. Or they get through the interview and can't hold the job because of conflicts with coworkers and their bosses. Right now I feel that my only hope is to get my writing published (I have already finished a book that I am shopping around and am currently working on another). But even most best-selling authors have to have day jobs to make ends meet.
To those of you who brandish big smiles while telling me to "think positive", please walk around in my shoes for a day.
It's one of those questions that begs the question. That is, people assume that because I am thirty-three I must have a career. But I don't have a career. It's just one of those aspects of life that is taken for granted. When people ask me what I do for a living, they are making a lot of unconscious assumptions: They see that I am a white, middle-class American. Most likely my life was uneventful. I finished high school, went to college, got a job that I have been working at for ten years or so and, possibly married with kids, am living happily ever after (fortunately I am living in an era when, and a city where, marriage and children isn't one of these assumptions). When they make these assumptions, they assume, too, that I am neurotypical, even if they have never heard of the word. These are some of the many assumptions that people make about every other human being on earth, and only recently have they been brought into question.
People who know me and know my situation tell me to "think positive". It's easy for them to say, of course, since they are neurotypical people who are not stuck with the sometimes-torture chamber that is my brain. They haven't gone to school, constantly been between jobs-- dead-end jobs, that is-- realized that their degree was useless, gone back to school, gotten a Master's Degree, taken two jobs related to that degree and been fired from both of them because of issues related to interpersonal skills, and then realized that that they have yet another useless degree. They do not understand the turmoil I have had to live with practically from the dawn of my consciousness. And their suggestions to alleviate some of the problems related to living independently actually do not work for me. They take it for granted that these suggestions would work because they would work for most people. It doesn't even occur to them that there are some people for whom these suggestions would be harmful.
What suggestions are we talking about exactly? For example:
1. Until you can get a permanent job (yes, like WHEN?), why not take a job in retail? At least it's some money!
No. I can't take a job in retail. I was just fired from two jobs that involved working with the public. I can only put a fake smile on my face and pretend to be interested in everybody's personal lives before the holes in my facade start to form. People can see right through that. Besides, it's too emotionally exhausting for me. This isn't a matter of "won't", but a matter of "can't", in the same way a person with an IQ of 75 can't do calculus. This is just not who I am, and I have tried it.
Just for the record, I do have a temporary work at home job. It does not pay well, however.
2. Get a roommate so that you can save money. It will also be less of a burden on your parents.
Yes, it's true. My parents are helping me to live in Boston, just as they helped me to live in New York City. My mother is retiring next year, so unless I find something within the coming year, I have to move back to Pennsylvania to live with my parents. In the meantime, I am downgrading from a one-bedroom to a studio apartment (fortunately in the same building) on August 31st. I sucked it up and got rid of a lot of books and some furniture so I can comfortably fit in this smaller unit. My one-bedroom is $1425 a month and is set to go up to $1500 this fall. The studio is $1200 a month. I actually did try getting a roommate. I met a fellow Aspie over the Internet. We hit it off immediately and started making arrangements to get a place together. But he and I got into an argument over something really stupid and realized it wouldn't work out. Before meeting him I met a few other potential roommates. None of them picked me. I am sure I would be difficult to live with. I have my own habits, my own way of doing things. This is very typical of people with Asperger's. Plus, when I was in college, nearly all my roommate situations ended in disaster. Even my parents agreed that they would rather sacrifice some extra money to help me rent a studio than hope that a roommate situation to which they wouldn't have to contribute financially would work out.
3. Move to a suburb. It's so much cheaper!
Yes, it is not only cheaper but also a lot less diverse and accepting. In places like New York and Boston, I feel comfortable and make friends with ease. It is hard to meet people as accepting and open-minded in a suburb, even in comparatively liberal suburbs such as the one in Pennsylvania where my parents live. Plus, think about this: If some employers in a city are uncomfortable with my personality, it would probably be much worse in a suburb. My job prospects would likely not be any better, despite the lack of competition.
4. Why don't you try [insert job prospect here]?
I already have. I have been down so many paths that it is almost laughable when others make suggestions, thinking I actually haven't tried them. That's another assumption: People assuming that I don't have a career because there are avenues that I haven't thought to explore.
In short, I am beyond frustrated. I live in Massachusetts, a state that famously has the most resources in the U.S. for adults with Asperger's Syndrome, so that is making me hopeful that they can assist me with finding a job. I am, however, not optimistic. I like to think that my blog posts give people hope, but sometimes I have to be honest: Life with Asperger's often does not turn out the way it did for Temple Grandin, for example. Most people with Asperger's-- women especially-- struggle to make ends meet in adulthood. I've heard of brilliant people working as janitors or doing some work that doesn't reflect their intelligence because they can't get through a job interview. Or they get through the interview and can't hold the job because of conflicts with coworkers and their bosses. Right now I feel that my only hope is to get my writing published (I have already finished a book that I am shopping around and am currently working on another). But even most best-selling authors have to have day jobs to make ends meet.
To those of you who brandish big smiles while telling me to "think positive", please walk around in my shoes for a day.
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
High School Reunion
Thanks for coming! I am gradually moving my blog to Substack, and you can check out this post there!
Monday, July 28, 2014
On Writing: Just One of Those Moments You Can't Put Into Words
This post has nothing to do with Asperger's Syndrome. It's just a little thing about writing.
Ever have a moment in your life that is too abstract to translate into words? There is a moment from January or February of 2013 that keeps coming back to me, one of those moments that I just remember so clearly. Not just the moment, but the sensory aspects of it. What I was feeling, mentally and physically. But even describing that does not do justice to the abstract interpretation that was going on in my head.
Background: I was in the process of losing weight, with the goal of reclaiming the long-lost thin, healthy body I had growing up, particularly the athletic, muscular, robust body that I had in high school when I was running track. I had battled a weight problem for eleven years, and in the fall of 2012 I hit upon a solution that worked for me. The biggest change that precipitated the weight loss was not figuring out the process itself, but rather getting in the right state of mind to fully implement that process. It was as if I suddenly flipped a switch in my head and was pursuing this goal with a single-minded focus. Don't ask me how it works; if I could bottle it and sell it I'd be rich (forgive the abuse of an old cliché here).
What was the moment itself? It happened three or four months into my weight loss journey. I was exiting the Dodge YMCA in Brooklyn, still in the throes of an intense high that I had induced from yet another extreme workout, and feeling refreshed from the shower and sauna that followed. I was acutely aware of every sense that was activated. I have no idea if this was physiological, a side effect of the endorphins that I generated from exercise, or if it was entirely psychological. I felt a little sore from the workout, a dull aching in my arm and leg muscles, but that was good because it meant I was making progress, slowly turning fat into muscle and strengthening my heart. I was warm from the shower and sauna, and the blast of cold air contrasted it in an interesting way. I hate the cold but for some reason I enjoyed the feeling of it on my face that day and welcomed the crisp smell. I was wearing a winter coat that I had bought when I was thirty pounds heavier, but at that moment I suddenly noticed how huge it was on me, hanging off of my now lean frame. I had a big, involuntary grin on my face. And on top of all this, I was plugged into my iPod, listening to the indie rock song "Hands of Hate" by transgender musician Ryan Cassata. Despite the title, the chorus sounds hopeful, not just in lyrics but in tune. It was when I was listening to the song's chorus that all the other senses I previously described where hitting me full force. It seems that the song was the factor that sealed the moment, if that makes sense.
I was extremely aware of these thoughts and sensations in the period of a few seconds, and yet they just took me several sentences to explain. I just told you what was going through my head and what I was feeling, but I am lost at how to show it to you. You would just have to get in my head, I suppose. But maybe I'll figure out a way to do it. That's one of the challenges of writing. And it's also a testament to how everyone has his or her own subjective experience and often cannot get anybody else to understand it in quite the same way.
Ever have a moment in your life that is too abstract to translate into words? There is a moment from January or February of 2013 that keeps coming back to me, one of those moments that I just remember so clearly. Not just the moment, but the sensory aspects of it. What I was feeling, mentally and physically. But even describing that does not do justice to the abstract interpretation that was going on in my head.
Background: I was in the process of losing weight, with the goal of reclaiming the long-lost thin, healthy body I had growing up, particularly the athletic, muscular, robust body that I had in high school when I was running track. I had battled a weight problem for eleven years, and in the fall of 2012 I hit upon a solution that worked for me. The biggest change that precipitated the weight loss was not figuring out the process itself, but rather getting in the right state of mind to fully implement that process. It was as if I suddenly flipped a switch in my head and was pursuing this goal with a single-minded focus. Don't ask me how it works; if I could bottle it and sell it I'd be rich (forgive the abuse of an old cliché here).
What was the moment itself? It happened three or four months into my weight loss journey. I was exiting the Dodge YMCA in Brooklyn, still in the throes of an intense high that I had induced from yet another extreme workout, and feeling refreshed from the shower and sauna that followed. I was acutely aware of every sense that was activated. I have no idea if this was physiological, a side effect of the endorphins that I generated from exercise, or if it was entirely psychological. I felt a little sore from the workout, a dull aching in my arm and leg muscles, but that was good because it meant I was making progress, slowly turning fat into muscle and strengthening my heart. I was warm from the shower and sauna, and the blast of cold air contrasted it in an interesting way. I hate the cold but for some reason I enjoyed the feeling of it on my face that day and welcomed the crisp smell. I was wearing a winter coat that I had bought when I was thirty pounds heavier, but at that moment I suddenly noticed how huge it was on me, hanging off of my now lean frame. I had a big, involuntary grin on my face. And on top of all this, I was plugged into my iPod, listening to the indie rock song "Hands of Hate" by transgender musician Ryan Cassata. Despite the title, the chorus sounds hopeful, not just in lyrics but in tune. It was when I was listening to the song's chorus that all the other senses I previously described where hitting me full force. It seems that the song was the factor that sealed the moment, if that makes sense.
I was extremely aware of these thoughts and sensations in the period of a few seconds, and yet they just took me several sentences to explain. I just told you what was going through my head and what I was feeling, but I am lost at how to show it to you. You would just have to get in my head, I suppose. But maybe I'll figure out a way to do it. That's one of the challenges of writing. And it's also a testament to how everyone has his or her own subjective experience and often cannot get anybody else to understand it in quite the same way.
Sunday, July 13, 2014
They are Hurting
I was thinking about some misunderstandings that I experienced while growing up. I think it's important that I share them. I hope this brief list will help clarify to parents what they are seeing in their children with Asperger's:
Children with Asperger's generally don't scream and throw things to get attention. Often they are frustrated because of how the world doesn't understand them.
They are hurting.
Children with Asperger's don't hit themselves or engage in any other kind of self-harm to get attention. They are frustrated at the world for not understanding them and angry at themselves because they feel they can't do anything right.
They are hurting.
Children with Asperger's Syndrome who cry at the drop of a hat are not necessarily "immature". They are phenomenally frustrated and there is only so much frustration they can take.
They are hurting.
Children with Asperger's Syndrome who retreat into themselves are not doing it because they are immature, rude, or "not brought up right". They have too many emotional scars, possibly from bullying, and are afraid of experiencing further problems with others.
They are hurting.
Children with Asperger's Syndrome who storm out of a room in anger to get away from people who are frustrating them are not spoiled, selfish, immature brats.
They are hurting.
Children with Asperger's Syndrome don't hit the kid who was calling them names because they're "psycho". There is only so much they can take before they fight back, even physically.
They are hurting.
Children with Asperger's Syndrome who cry because they were the last to get a lollipop are not upset because they're just immature and have to learn that they can't always go first. Rather, they are tired of being last at everything, left out of everything, even in a situation as trivial as this.
They are hurting.
Children with Asperger's Syndrome are not crazy.
They are hurting.
I can only imagine how many people with Asperger's Syndrome were institutionalized back in more ignorant times. Those poor, tortured souls. Sometimes I imagine I would have been institutionalized had I been born in 1950 instead of 1980.
Children with Asperger's generally don't scream and throw things to get attention. Often they are frustrated because of how the world doesn't understand them.
They are hurting.
Children with Asperger's don't hit themselves or engage in any other kind of self-harm to get attention. They are frustrated at the world for not understanding them and angry at themselves because they feel they can't do anything right.
They are hurting.
Children with Asperger's Syndrome who cry at the drop of a hat are not necessarily "immature". They are phenomenally frustrated and there is only so much frustration they can take.
They are hurting.
Children with Asperger's Syndrome who retreat into themselves are not doing it because they are immature, rude, or "not brought up right". They have too many emotional scars, possibly from bullying, and are afraid of experiencing further problems with others.
They are hurting.
Children with Asperger's Syndrome who storm out of a room in anger to get away from people who are frustrating them are not spoiled, selfish, immature brats.
They are hurting.
Children with Asperger's Syndrome don't hit the kid who was calling them names because they're "psycho". There is only so much they can take before they fight back, even physically.
They are hurting.
Children with Asperger's Syndrome who cry because they were the last to get a lollipop are not upset because they're just immature and have to learn that they can't always go first. Rather, they are tired of being last at everything, left out of everything, even in a situation as trivial as this.
They are hurting.
Children with Asperger's Syndrome are not crazy.
They are hurting.
I can only imagine how many people with Asperger's Syndrome were institutionalized back in more ignorant times. Those poor, tortured souls. Sometimes I imagine I would have been institutionalized had I been born in 1950 instead of 1980.
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