ASD

I hate that Aspergers is described as a disorder.
In fact I hate that Aspergers doesn't exist,
Since it was dropped from the new DSM 5.
And what would those phsychologists know anyway?
Do they have the amazing sensory processing experience,
That can be described as Aspergers?
Well of course not.
Ah but we do,
And we know what it feels like on the inside:
The logical rationality.
The precision.
The super dooper focus.
Having the nose that knows.
Being so in tuned with others emotions,
That we are overwhelmed.
No empathy?
Bullshit!
Hyper-empathy!
Honest, loyal and way smart.
When my world is dishing me up a fair deal.
i.e:
Exhibiting honesty and integrity,
And speaking in precise English,
Not body language mega-babble,
Mixed with innuendo and emotional clap trap,
And exhibiting insecure tribalism.
Then there is no disorder about it.
And I can let my Aspergian super powers,
Soar...

Release

Of late,
The hurt and despair of disappointment,
Has been great,
I have been to the brink.
Shutdown.
Meltdown.
Those who know intimately,
The acronym ASD.
May empathise.

But having returned from the abyss.
I find that there is still one threshold to cross.
It is difficult to explain,
But to venture into a place of such mental anguish,
Requires a similar return journey.
The cocktail of cortisol,
Mixed, not stirred,
With dry disappointment.
Leaves the brain numb and on high alert.

It takes a physical release,
A letting go,
To come back.
A long loving embrace,
Or even orgasm,
Achieves this state.

But today I discovered another way.
The reaction was identical,
Long sobs racking my body
Turning to hyperventilation.
I crumpled with the weight of it.
And the cause.
I just sang.

Working with my hands

I escape into my head,
And into my hands.
The pictures in my head produce:
Poetry, paintings, song lyrics and...
Other projects.

(Some psychologically educated professionals have been known to describe them as 'special interests')

I can walk around these ideas in my head.
A tweak here, a major change there.
And all in 3D,
My own personal movies.

And then I may experience the sheer pleasure,
Of transforming ideas into reality,
With my hands.

...Besides bringing joy to others,
What greater happiness can there be?

 

Gratitude

Morris did not like the gift.
An expectation was not met.
His hopes were for something...
Different,
And better,
Than what he had received.
Disapointment was etched in the long lines of his face.
He could not look at his benefactor.
He was pressed.
He answered truthfully.
" It's just a stick."
So why is he chastised for not being thankful?
Gratitude cannot be demanded.
A gift ceases to be a gift,
If there is any expectation of gratitude.

The Conundrum of Social Bonding

How to socially bond, with people you truly like,

But have so little in common with? 

Forget the ASD.

I do 'talk the talk'.

I mean 'practise reciprocity',

And I mostly control my urge to talk incessantly about....

Well things I'm interested in.

But...

Then where is the sincerity?

I do not live as my friends do.

I don't even have a telly, 

I write poetry and songs, 

And love string.

I sense the discomfort they feel. 

They see someone before them who is friendly,

But who does not play the game of inclusivity. 

I don't know anything about 'fit bits' or 'Game of Thrones', or 'Candy Crush'.

I cook mainly organic food from scratch.

I can see that they feel judged by me. 

As if my nonconformity is taking a moral,

Or worse 'pseudo intellectual' high ground.

It is very perplexing.

Faux-pas

Despite all my best efforts,
The faux-pas, it seems,
Can not be avoided.
Born of nervousness,
It blossoms out of awkwardness,
Fertilized by context blindness,
And is watered,
By the accumulating, blundering, attempts to make amends.
It is inevitable,
When you have ASD.

How hard it is.

I feel them welling up,
Stinging my eyes.
The tears that will have to come.
Not now,
Not in this public place,
Nor in the car in front of the kids,
But in that private place
That sanctuary.

The cause?
Embarrassment and awkwardness,
Social blunder,
In front of colleagues who have no clue,
How hard it is,
And how hard I try,
To behave as they do.
I look like them,
But don't think like them.
ASD. 

The Frustrated 'Aspi' and the Meeting

I love and loathe meetings.

Love the protocol, the organisation,
And the language: minutes, chair, motions, second and agenda.
Love the soft 'g' in that word 'agenda.'

Loathe the fluff of:
Preening egos, ulterior agendas, (got it in there again) and jockeying for position.
The well organised, constructive and efficient meeting,
Gives me a strong feeling of solidarity and optimism.

The emotive, vacillating meeting stresses me to near tears.
Then frustration releases my most blunt, hard-edged persona.
The double edged sword of social embarrassment and helplessness overwhelms.
I can keep up the façade of vacuous conviviality......
Normally,
But at a meeting there is an even chance that it will end in tears......
Most likely mine.

Flavour FreeToothpaste

It took a while before we realised.
He wasn't using toothpaste.
Then came the various strategies of avoidance.
Different brands were purchased.
But to no avail.
So resorting to 'google'
we type in,
"flavour free toothpaste"
We do not suffer alone it seems.
So for those extra sensitive kids,
Who will do almost anything to avoid,
That fresh, minty taste.
Flavour Free Toothpaste.
Now the challenge?
To stop him voraciously chewing his toothbrush.

ASD and Feeling

How do you explain that you,

Feel too much.

All your waking day,
You put up walls to help insulate you.
So you can function,
As you are 'typically' supposed to.
But behind that wall,
The turbulent miasma,
Of emotional experience builds.
If there is not a slow release of pressure.
When you can,
Under control,
In solitude,
Slowly let them come in,
And gently wash over you,

You drown.

In the rushing waterfall,
Screaming and yelling and fighting till the end.

Or in self-imposed silence.