Depression Mirror

I tossed away the soap but stood on the box to look in the mirror. Too many spots on the glass face but the image was not there. In some sort of serene gaze all I could do was stare at empty air. The mirror began to drip with liquid glass that reflected yesterday’s movement.
This is what it is to feel depressed. Not always the sinister drought of levity but a profound emotional emptiness with the emphasis on nothingness. If this mirror could talk, it would walk away to a place of grace where smiles grow naturally like yellow lilies on a moving blue canvas.
If this mirror could walk it would speak of powder blue roses with yellow stems and a sign made of thorns that says “do not pick.”
The amount of money to purchase honey shows that many have ignored the sign to adorn their pots for moments of decaying life. Life that drips away like water down a mirror after a hot shower on a cold night.
The mirror was so accurately accustomed to conversing with the wall that my image was completely ignored, as per chance I wanted to explore the reference window of reflection. Maybe I am not in the mirror after all. Maybe I am standing before the wall as is the custom.
This is what depression feels like today. The wall paper appears to have been worn by the very light reflecting from the mirror. How peculiar. So busy staring at the wall in the mirror that I missed me. So in like mind the mirror only shows the walls eroding errors and not the beautiful being it once was, or perhaps is. So depression is the reflection of a mirror looking for the light that has long gone. Still I see the wall because of the light in the mirror. I see the mirror. I needed the soap to wash the spots. I will use the soap box instead. One day I hope to see me.

Focus Frame Drains Dry

Small walk ahead. Small talk avoided. Shift in schedule takes a shift in consciousness to progress. But I digress to the topic of focus. Focus takes an inordinate amount of energy. To refocus takes some hocus pocus and not fewer than a few days to reclaim the train. Therapy session today is why I am always drained. Drained due to trying to maintain focus on topics that disappear without effort. Like cooking to maintain good health. Like those investment ideas to generate wealth. Like that shower seems so far away so not today. Here in lies the conflict. If the brain wants to stick to a topic, not even I can remove it. Not without effort that was for the next several days. So then I sit in the state of deficit for thoughts to return from break. Thinking drains like wine from rusty lanes. Trains of topics without tickets ride by. I scarcely have time to wave bye. When the thoughts of how to energize actively drain. When the thinking itself is the strain. This is where I find it difficult to maintain. This is where I am today. So I walk away from the rusty mind. Hoping for a sip of the sublime at some time up the road.

Tough to focus

Adult with Autism Perspective

To drink or not to drink, often I don’t think of water. Another multi-doctor session via air ways to protect our air passages from passing infections. Lesson learned that once again adults on the spectrum often are undiagnosed due to lack of testing. The grapevine shakes with juicy news of new tests in the field that are being grown. Here’s my acceptance letter to assist from afar, offering the proper inquiry necessary to prevent accidental misses of adults who articulate early.
First, I don’t feel thirst. This anomaly indicates perhaps pituitary dysfunction which shakes hands with this thyroid who needs a steroid to balance. Not actually a steroid but to keep the integrity of the scheme that places words in one act plays. Syndromic Autism or as it is on my file, ASD with a specific specifier having a genetic cause.
Next stage is to zone in on this torrential waterfall a take a sip. It’s all about the perspective. The daunting dance of the psyche has finally concluded. Now we can begin again with a direction that the entire team is satisfied with. Now for the neurologist or genetic specialist to assist in naming the physical claim that has caused damage to this brain. However, not for some time as the wear of this strain is still draining like a snow cap in the summer. So, adults with Autism I salute you. Especially those who didn’t know until you were adults. All sides of the spectrum I wish you the best. I guess this is where I drink from the sink with a tank to think of all those struggling with something unnamed. As with mental disorders this genetic malfunction has been named, claimed, and then rejected all the same. To wit, out of 5 doctors (none specialists) 3 proclaimed Marfans syndrome while 2 others nodded in another way. So strange that genetics can spring forth with so much ambiguity. The good news is, that knowing this perfect label for the genetic syndrome pales in comparison to just knowing why I don’t fit. Sure, I wish to know. Soon I will obsess to find out. However, the ultimate question has been quenched. The water of the unknown psychological issue has been agreed upon and formally written in the file. Self advocacy was definitely necessary. So I feel for those with perhaps less energy or ability to shine lights where darkness looms. For those who wish to speak up but not know what to say. Not to mention, the other co-morbid issues have not gone away. Especially this OCD which is 17 times more likely in the likes of me. 75% of the spectrum moves with a mood disorder which may trump all other diagnosis in terms of order. Hence the reason so many can mask so long without detection. Anxiety…well…sure. IBD most likely due to the conflict of constant tension in the living situation called this body. Fortunately, I don’t still have the temper tantrums that I used to display when play didn’t go my way.
Next phase is the sensory processing issues. That deserves an entire post as the senseless senses played immature games with my consciousness constantly. Just a touch of sugar in my drink and I sink. Just a single degree change of temp and I fall limp from the heat. Now he is sweating but I need a cover. Now the shower is too hot so why bother. The sounds, the sounds just keep sounding the alarm harming the already radiating headache. That was just this morning. The good news is, I know why and that really makes a big difference. Due to the years of research and doctors visits, I may have been the first person ever to hear… “congratulations, you have Autism” and fight back tears of joy. I realize now what I wish I knew then, it’s all about perspective. Time now for me to take a drink from the falls, not because I feel thirsty, but because I can.

Perspective

Vacation in the Storm

Testing 1-2-3 Experts Beware!

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!

Yesterday Is Tomorrow

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.
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.

The Changes of Change

like a deer waiting for the fall

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.

So Far So Fine

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?

Neuro-University of Diverse Minds.

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!

ASD Burnout of Me!

Thinking in terms of trains. Not quite the obsession just hear the lesson in each neighborhood since childhood. Sets on the floor. Days to set up and more minutes to explore. The thought to add a few more cars to the track. Research the connection to each tunnel through which each wheel passes for a brief moment beyond the realization of the observer.
Power source seems so innocent. Quick decision to spend more money on more parts to start a new ride. Inside the tunnel each connecting car runs without the need for an engine. The energy of itself carries it with the proverbial caboose. The train keeps running. It just keeps running. The cars no longer strictly connected. They run alone without power, with a power all of their own. The whole set is unplugged and full of tunnels. Still they run. No longer fun. The job of the track to keep all intact has failed miserably. Now they run scattered across basement floors to search and discover for more stops. Crowds make connections but I assume they will all be late. I am sure that I will be as well. I can’t tell where the enigmatic engine is. The tracks are just a puzzle to muzzle the vibration. The energy within is stimming like a steam engine as I approach red. Just lay on the tracks, on the back, on the basement floor. There’s the door but first must muster the many cars to realign into a track design. Must connect the train of thought to the real reason it was bought for such a price. Too tired to engineer anything meaningful. The train runs away again. Hopefully it hits the breaks before it breaks apart of me. Too tired to chase. The steam has morphed into dew. Whew! Now there is time but no steam to do anything but stare at the wet basement floor that I thought about cleaning up all day.

Social/ Emotional Reciprocity Error

Undiagnosed for years due to linguistic semantics that professionals still debate about. We wait around in waiting rooms for eyes to watch for ours. Play this game. Seems insane. Seriously? The symptoms I wrestle with are not found in simple table games and eye contact. I have contacted the pain of strain trying to maintain a straight face. Like fried ice cream, masks cover the mental melt down. The frown is not me, as much as the smile is contrived to fit the scene. Just ask me, just ask how I feel when I leave. Why depression leads the way home from social scenes. Really it’s another semantic due the pedantic gathering of experts with expectations that we are all different. Yet, judged by everyone who is not the same. Drained! Drained from the rain of sounds and lights. Drained from driving down a new street with out stop signs. They Beep! The horn honks a new meaning that green lights means Hurry Up and wait again. Red means rest from the rare radiance of roaring traffic. Yellow! Hmmm. So yellow. They told me, “you speak so well”. I thought of this at the yellow. I waited for the yellow again. It’s not a sin. Unless you ask the men behind me who are in a perpetual hurry to get to the next light. I was also in a hurry, a flurry to get home to sit in the freezer and reframe my face. Turn on the melting pot for stew. Everything is different there. Everyone stops to stare at my MPAs. Too much to hide. Energy seems to be a distant diet that I can no longer afford to consume. A diet that is beyond the capacity of the expert chefs. Much like the criteria for social emotional reciprocal relational fictional responses that I gave. It worked. I am OK. The only question now is why is the ice cream melted in the pot of stew?