All sounds seem well. Synchronization with society in the melody with just a hint of ambiguity. But the deep sound so profound is the stepping of prehistoric fears approaching. Perhaps just a neighbor returning a letter from the carrier but the theme seems so much scarier. This uninvited terror stares up from the frozen shadow. So strange to say hello to a face. A face dripping with thoughts of small talk which present as fierce as a titanosaur. The shoulder of safer shores ignores my heartfelt plea to draw near. This danger of inclement neighbor makes its way with wings of a windstorm. The carrier delivered the letter to the wrong box. Such a horrendous error of traumatic proportions. This face with wrinkles sprinkles a sly smile in order to return the undisclosed contents to its rightful addressee. That’s me. How could he? In such a time as this when unseen phobias fly through the breeze to infect the gut with irritations and misery. This maskless man carries contaminated contents and appropriately approaches with serene steps not fearing what I am thinking. Nor I he, but I me. It’s not the tall task but the small talk that lasts for endless seconds. Why? Because that’s what neighbors do. Just not me. This time he will see. I am confident that this is the last meaningless meeting for me. It’s not me but anxiety that spoke. I heard something that resembled a joke. The icon on his shoulder made a noise like a hyena. I used the smile as a cover to get away. It’s safe now. Maybe next time. Maybe next year. For now, the meteorological reports that the entire earth is calling for more anxious patterns. I hear the footsteps like my heartbeat. It’s near.
Zoom style micro difficult team meeting due to invisible air intruders that can not think but can kill those that do. After over an hour of testing, I was told to prepare for part 2. This for the ethic within to be sure that what was certain is secure according to statistics in a manual of the 5th kind. Spoiler alert at the end of the second test, first day… “do not stop going to ASD group online.” Ahhh! Ok. That is to say that though the testing needs yet another day, that I am already eligible for the label that I already had. To wit, I am Autistic again. Well, not really but due to the DSM 5 spectrum theory which practically eliminated…uh um, integrated the Aspie category into the same spectrum with Autism and PDD which definitely fit me. Both the Aspie and PDD. A long story that is due to my blue genes. Well, maybe not blue but I am genetically modified to think how I look. Different.
Day 2 will be to see what specifiers will be issued and for follow up to redesign the treatment plan for future face to face fun. That is to say counseling on how to be abnormally acceptable to society. Supposedly I am anti-social though not asocial which means not much for society. The “anti” social in my case is that I see society but disagree that it’s norms are for me. So, maybe I am slightly, somewhat, a little bit different. Be that as it may, I still say that laws are like lines that encourage people to color within. I just wonder who designed the lines in the first place. Perhaps the crayons were better designed to color outside the circles and shapes. Perhaps lines were drawn as lazy guides, given by some invisible system, controlled by alien life forms to force everyone to be just like them, whoever they may be. Who says that run on sentences are wrong? Just because of commas, or perhaps just tooo long to keep a thought collected. Why should there be three words for two, too, and to? Why do two of the three have three letters. I like 4 in three as written above. Yes, I am off my meds! Yes, just slightly different. Thanks for asking. The task is to manage without management. This is not advice. I am convinced that I must reconvene the medication management experience expeditiously. I am convinced that each pill has a string. Each string is a line. The lines are what I am supposed to stay in. I am wondering, who drew the lines in the first place? Definitely not the first to ask. However, I won’t know. I must go. I wanted to be clear minded for the test. Then I received a kiss from a manic mindset. Second test part 2 by the professionals is less than a week. I must retreat until then. Until then I have ASD without any lines or specific specifiers. Until then I won’t go outside, not until the inside lines up with the lines on the street. The lines that someone unknown drew who passed the test of day 2 with out any specifiers.
No need to medicate as all things seem great! Shhh! I know, just one night. Tonight my soul takes flight in the bliss of a manic kiss. From room to ruminate to the ability to reminisce. This is what the typical day will play for the norm who do not live under storm clouds. Where crowds gather to scatter the thoughts of playful delights. Coherent words like heart rhythms take wings and wade out of sight. Wow!
I wish to keep this like air with a fist. Like yesterday after the wounded wrist. Wow!
Sorrow makes way in just far enough to say “this is how everyone feels everyday.” For me tonight. Where did you put sleep? I asked with sincere opportunity. Sorrow was gone before an answer and without a final greeting. Wow!
My sweet sorrow, why do you tease me and leave me. I wish I knew how to miss you but I bow my head and bid you adieu. At least for one night. The night where I find peace in a state of mind. I hardly recognized the calm winds of the moons dance. I can gaze at the suns shadow without the inner trance. One more glance of this cold night sky before I lie down in serene habit. Wow!
Such beautiful quietness. Dogs are so joyful to bark deep in the night with sounds of protection. The courageous car shines headlights as it crawls on all four legs to the stop sign for a soft sigh. Wow!
How wonderful the smell fall leaves that fell from a breeze a week ago. Look at all of this! Is this what I miss? Is this where I live?
No, but yeah! I live here but only for a night. The night that depression took a day off. Wow! I just might fully engage and even write. With no idea what to say, I decline the pen and pad and decided just to feel glad. No writing for me tonight! Just another Wow and call it a night of unique delight.
I must go for now. History just texted experience and offered me a group chat. Strong recommendations to open the Sunday square and swallow the contents. Somehow I know they are right. I know I have been here. Still, something else just feels right. Sunday pills, I ask and say please, just one more night.
Scheduled for yet another test. I guess this is the best way to find the divergence. Common sense says that this is getting out of hand. Common hints portrays this is in the plan. One more test just for assurance. Perhaps the test givers are seeking to see if they have OCD. Perhaps this has nothing to do with me. Perhaps this is just to test the test itself. Needless to say that I conveniently agreed to such rigorous rhetoric out of sheer curiosity. Personally I have already taken the aspire to be an aspie tests nearly ten times. Fortunately the sight saved me time by averaging the scores in each time. How very clever. I endeavor to take it again when the mood swings in that direction. So I am not complaining about yet another screening about this ever looming label that haunts me.
This I will say in defense of the play of testing, I am more than a little frustrated with the style of questions. “You do not like to eat in crowded restaurants alone” type of double negative traps. Wait, no I do not, so I agree…wait I disagree…No, I don’t but what do I agree to!?!
In lieu of this recent debacle I propose this:
Dear Test Creators,
Just ask me what you want to know! Thanks!
Honestly the asking double negative questions acts like a sedative on my mind. Spending more time on the question than the answer. Seems silly to have a college degree but get confused on what a simple test is asking me. Also, why such specific questions? Seriously! Sure, I love to watch slow running water. But what if I didn’t!? I also like to watch this candle flame shape shift in the wind. Why is that not on there? What if I did not like slow water but fast!? Am I not an aspie because of this ultra special, very specific question? You only have 50 or so questions to determine my label, so please make the questions more general. Yes, I did love train sets as a kid but that is beside the point. I also loved race tracks! What if my dad didn’t work for a rail company? What if I didn’t live on a street where I cloud run outside after every rain storm to watch the water run down the street!? Then I guess I would not be nuero-diverse. I would be a very untypical type of character that buys rib cord blankets just for the feel. Hey! Put that on the next test! Why not? Then I would not have been missed. I would not have been misdiagnosed. I would have been found so much sooner and realized that this abnormality is actually normal.
Ok, sure, I will try to create a test myself. No need to complain without offering to obtain some sort of solution. Sure, I will create a prototype of…let’s say…10 questions. Then you experts can intuitively go from there. Of course this is not to be expected anytime soon. This missive has consumed an incalculable amount of energy already. In conclusion, make a new test. Ask only what is necessary for general consensus. Keep the questions simple and positive, no need to try and trick the tester. If you need to spot a fake, then take time to get to know them. It’s better to counsel 1 malingerer due to a simple test than miss 1 Nuevo-diverse because of tricky, extraordinarily specific, ultra long, not negative, test questions!
Change is the cause of effect. Effective swings dance upon the rhythms of heart beats. The beats breath is the breeze the moves the leaves in the spring. Spring is the season for newness of green ideas. Ideas are the road that travels without end. The end is where white winters turns into sandy lands. Landing on an idea which caused a change.
Change is a must when not to change is the enemy of better days. Yesterday stares at the future wondering what could be. What should be. Trust that the process out of this mess is, as far as I can guess, truly necessary. It’s scary how many are growing stagnant. Older but not wiser but any means. The seasons seem to predict that constant effects are needed to promote new causes. Just because I feel safe in misery does not mean the risk outweighs the means. The committee speaks in community forums about scores of individuals on disability doing nothing.
Truly the process to help process this mess is better than this. Seriously! No, I am just being facetious but with a word full of tongue in cheek. Let’s speak as those who are in the know. We know that yesterday is not gone. We know tomorrow is already here. We know that if anyone is reluctant to change that it is all the same. I can predict the future. It looks just like yesterday without any change.
Off to a mountain type rocky start to the finish of a play. Playing with vibrations that transport swifter than an all terrain vehicle. Getting back to normal is a fallacy for the insecurities of fall leaves that ride the winds. They never see the tree again from the same view, only a few may stay awake long enough to notice anyways.
Why are such unmoving, but living to give by the sea type trees so bountiful? They seem to play every time a breeze visits. So stable. So able to just be. Alive and unmotivated to move beyond what the roots authorize. No surprise that they last past the blast of the winds. This tree that my little i does see has been around to see more than me. Perchance, just a glance and he has seen those who made me and escorted me into the scene to breathe. Same chance that once only this type survives, a time when this very tree will see those who read from me. Those from eternity that earth is yet to see. The deer pants and does a dance for the fall of minds. Hunted like a prey. Sought after like for play. Life and death in the tip of the arrow. Buckets of bullets pierced the winds, vibrating the leaves as the tree shook with pain, while the watcher took aim. Cheers! Another death. Someone earned a trophy for the wall case. More leaves fell. The water grew silent in view of the violent vibration of blood on the ground seeping towards the roots of the trees. Tonight we eat. Tonight we sleep. We sleep with the leaves that fell last fall. We eat with the deer that fell last night. We dream of the trees that witnessed the blood. Let me be like a tree. Let me be like a deer. Let my mind rest from the vibrant run of the vehicle that crosses all terrains.
Met with psychologist recently and everything went decently as far as I can find. Went over treatment plan to ban together on how to deal with the masking tape issues that my facial features seem to stick with. To deal with leaving the agora without any phobia of returning home drained from the strain of acting very typical.
To uncover the buried headline from recent times, my friend is doing fine. At least so far. Quite the leap from treatment plans to suicide prevention but this is how the world spins. This is how the nation winds around from experiencing exhausting shopping days to counseling former friends on the dangers of depression while alone and unstable. Now he is able to go to work again. Now he attempts to be normal most likely with the same hope that historic dark days were just a passing fad. He is glad to be alive for now. So am I.
Follow up is so underrated. He and I even debated on the entire system of mental health that was created to assist the imbalance. Much more to explore but the discussion of personal performance perfection is tough to ignore. It is not a perfect system by any means. Yet, why allow such imperfections be the reason for rejection.
I have received wrong orders from fast food establishments and still go out to eat. I have received bad advice from friends and still call those few almost weekly. I am on my 6th or 7th psychiatrist but I still keep going. They are who they are. If imperfections were the reason for rejection why do anything? Yet, the depressed mind has reasons that are very personal. Reasons from the place of pain and not quite fully functional. At least for my friend.
Today however, he is better. Today he is at work. Today I sit at home and write. This is my job. This is my imperfection written with light and letters.
My assignment is to work on masking. My treatment plan is to uncover. This is the first layer. I almost went to get something to eat today. Once my family came home I decided to just stay in my room and avoid them. The hour is later than I realize. I will eat snacks tonight and try again tomorrow when everyone is at work. Small talk is so trying. So useless. So dangerous. I will wait for the moment. I may stay in this corner all night as all day. With a mask that burns to peel away. I feel hungry. Where did this day go?
Recently received a call from a friend who has Aspergers with a strong dose of Bipolar 2. This night I sat on the other side of the desk. He was drunk and seeking methods of suicide to hide from the pride of failure. An ex felon with a job that he hates. Working hard to no end but a paycheck that doesn’t pay respect. He felt lost and abandoned and was definitely 14 cans of beer drunk when the call was made. He said that the suicide hotline often calls the police when chatting and as an ex con, that brought back traumatic memories. When calling for help causes more problems. So he decided to call me instead.
Have not spoke with him in months so it was hearing from a ghost for me. No time to catch up on anything casual as life and death was upon the phone lines. To die or not to die. Not quite the poetic version but this was not a fictional story from history but a reality facing me. I am not used to sitting on this side of the desk. No training on suicide prevention. No idea what to say. So I just listened.
I listened to the problems pouring out like a cold drink on a summer day. I listened to hopeless words stammering forth like sentences from a broken type writer. I realized he was sitting in a room that I had visited myself more than once.
After quite a spell, he retained enough common sense to confess that Bipolar Depression is winning over his will power. That going to the local bar for counsel was not quite working to overcome such negative thoughts and feelings.
I am in a mixed state as I contemplate his fate. So happy to hear he was alive. So sad to hear he is thinking about death. The previous prison record prevented him from purchasing a gun. So he went to research in the light of the dark web. It did offer a plethora of hidden advice on suicide methodologies. He shared his thoughts. I listened.
Tomorrow he officially loses the job that he hates. Tomorrow he wakes up to not having a friend that he had known for years. The obituary spoke so clearly.
“If it wasn’t for my mom”
“I just don’t want to put her through this”
The thoughts that kept him around when all else was failing. Chemicals in the mind like chemtrails decline from the sky. I kept listening. Bipolar depression lesson continued for almost an hour. He almost talked himself sane and sober. Not to suicide. Sure, horrendous English but the best news. I was finally able to offer some free advice. Get help! I know that the last psychiatrist really let him down. He called and texted but she was too busy to return any message. He gave up. I hope now that he knows what so many have to learn. Bipolar depression is real. It is a big deal. Most can’t cope on their own and without help, there can be a loss of hope. He did call. He did reach out. I passed the baton onto the professionals. Hopefully, after losing the job, he finds his way to the office to find his life.
Today I officially started my new job. Suicide prevention hotline. I officially quit. My number is not listed. I filled out no application. My only experience is…experience. I felt the voice of depression. Suicide has called me before on unlisted numbers. I almost answered the call. I didn’t. So far, he hasn’t. I hope that he calls me back. If he does, I will work again. He is my friend. I don’t want to lose anyone else to depression. To die or not, should no longer be the question.
The new science of Neuroscience detected from the university a pleasant plethora of diversity in my genetic code. Just some. “When is some better than full?” they asked with a keen grin of a friend. “When it follows Awe!” It took so much restraint not to be exceedingly angry that I was dizzy and felt faint. I presume from experience that most would have cordially gave an audible smile for such clever clerics from the worlds most elite minds. I was definitely devastated that such men in white armor would assume my sense of humor to be only slightly better than a preschooler. All I could reason is how “full” is not even the proper spelling of the horrendous attempt at wit. Be that as it may, I still found time to play around on the playground of my own awe inspiring thoughts.
Today I am a neurodiverse man of a thousand thought experiments between a rocky psychiatrist and a hardened by life psychologist. They are wonderful. Wouldn’t trade either for the other. Great to have a team of trained sane neurotypical agents of change on the dream team. So much to say that always gets forgotten at the time of thought exchange. Time to rearrange the thinking to keep from sinking into comorbid mixed emotions and I keep forgetting something. What is it? How will I know if I remember it?
OCD is a memento to the memory of mental metal rituals that flooded the syndrome of synapses. Only to find out that not one single computer like compulsion would ever emerge. Just a simple splurge for a blanket that I had to get every generation.
From couch cover as a kid to college bed spread, it was the new version of the same feel. Still almost 40 years later, I still twist the ends of similar but newer versions of the same security quilt that I have felt for decades. No! Not a compulsion, but a relaxation of fixed energy programmed to enter into new dimensions of time and space through my blanket. I mean I like how it feels. It is a real calming effect, like coffee that I can’t drink. It’s a real calming cause, like hot steam that I hate feeling. It’s a real calming trap, like a run in the park after dark with shadows dancing near the perimeter outside of my peripheral. It just feels good to me. No reason. No comparison completely. It’s my blanky and I am almost 50, nuerodiversity maybe, Shhh!