Autistic Adult Content

Adults who are Autistic each are unique if I may keep this simplistic. Simplicity for the sake of brevity. I met a man with Autism who was nothing like me. We had so much in common. It was a joy to witness such individuality. So majestic was the voice like a song in the office of minds. Of course they heard a gut wrenching scream as he melted down like an over worm circuit board. One too many changes for him is my guess. He filled the room with his cry for assistance. Fortunately, I stayed to myself in this chaotic display of academia. My thoughts at best rested upon the fact that this was par for this course. Then I retreated into the seat that was allotted for such abnormalities. He is an Autistic adult. He is so unique. He is nothing like me. We have so much in common.
She is Autistic as well. Different day but same place. She was prime for the meltdown of a life time. She waltz in the office with such a willingness almost to offer the receptionist a kiss. Our eyes shook hands for a brief distant hello. She dashed to her chair as if her name was on it. Immediately she began to stare at the cracks in the floor as of to determine their original form. The circuits were getting worn. Then after a few squeals and a squeak she invited her chair to enter into the conversation she was having with herself. I felt her look my way. I looked back as we had our second conversation in absolute silence. I immediately investigated the cracks on the floor in front of her to ensure they were still ok. They were. Her and I are so radically different. We had so much in common. In a few moments her private life wanted to go public. She was whisked away by the voice down the hall calling her by name. That’s when her clothes no longer felt comfortable. She took them off. I didn’t notice due to the constant screaming. Those who have degrees after their name felt the temperature rising. They noticed me. Told me that many changes were going to happen immediately. Lights and sounds. Men in uniform are coming. I was invited to leave. I obliged.
Home now, as the TV was left on. There is a guy there who is definitely nothing like me. He is definitely an Aspie if you ask me. His thoughts are so sound and even profound. He left me a clue in the shirt. A few too many wrinkles. I see the signs like the stop sign at the end of my street that I often run. Not on purpose of course. It just disappears into my thinking. Most would stop for it anyways. Most would iron out the wrinkles to go on national television. He was not very keen on answering questions outside his expertise. I knew it. That man is so unique. He is definitely nothing like me. We have so much in common.

Dove of Depression

The day like a dove dipped into darkness.
The pen sits so silent again. Streaming consciousness kisses the melodic mood on the swing set. The flame at the waters edge enlightens the ripples of an alternate reality. They roll with anticipation of evaporation like a mood made of wood. Ready for the chisel and hammer? Some use a saw to recreate the perfect mode of expression. These wood beams glare over the seas. Names not their own have been carved into their skin like tattoos of lost love. Rings of age surround the fingers of the knife that digs near the shore. In order to explore the depths, the cuts must be made. Branches like bones are broken again to fix the brokenness. Men are like trees walking towards the dusk.
Women walk along the edge of dawn waiting for the perfect place to rest under the shade.
Too close and thorns.
Too far and the fruit is out of reach.
Two is better than one unless the one is broken.
Two broken is worse than one if the brokenness is bitter in the roots. Better not to be bitter unless the bitterness is bittersweet. Better not to be sweet if it always leads to brokenness.
The bitter broken token has been paid. The shade creates a shadowy threat that is ripe with fear of pain. Fear of pain is the root cause of long walks from the park to the waters tears.
Not even sure if today existed. Tonight is perfectly perpetual. Pain carves through like a rusty knife in a wood branch. A dove dives towards the bitter broken branch brooding over the names. I still see one. It’s not my name but it still feels like mine in the dark.

Diving into depression session

Anxiety Remedy Theory

Frustration is unmet expectation coming to fruition. Agitation which can clean clothes so dirties the mind with toxic moods. The process of the the proper place is the space between sentences. The moment after the period causes more respite than the common comma but not as much as the line break.
That’s the pause that causes alarm but truly does little harm. The area between ideas. The rest that wrestles with the next thought. In this between is where the theory of growth begins.
The man is addicted to his thoughts. She is accustomed to her thinking. The solution for the problem was perhaps when the seeking ceased for a moments rest. This wakefulness of sleep. The silent pause in the crowded room begs for the reality of realignment. The Religious spoke of it, calling it meditation. The businesses mandate it, calling it vacation. What’s the thread of each idea that weaves a tapestry through the aging era? What’s the effect that causes so many, from so varied, to all agree at least in theory?
Rest.
Pause.
Take time to take no thought. That is to say, let it all go for a season to play. Have no worry, if the problems of anxiety won’t go away. Leave them be and just be. I say this with addictive thoughts vying for attention to be dispensed into ink and vibration. Finding this path. Making every effort to enter into rest. The phone song is off. Texts flash forward to test the resolve. This is the moment of letting go. Starts by going slow. Moves by forgetting. Enhanced by the sitting still. A moment to be a human. So many human doings and not enough human beings. It’s when the being becomes that the rest follows.
Oh but the asking is so incredibly insurmountable.
Easier to say to me, “calm the ocean waves in the spring storm.”

Easier to say “take anxiety and just make it the norm.”

Still. Still we were born for being. And the being is better suited in coats of peace than shirts of agitation.
Just a theory. Rest more. Take a vacation from the sensation of needing to fill every moment with a thousand thoughts when a few will do. In time, the doing will morph into being and be able to do more without the agitation of so much anxiety.
I am now a certified doctor of rest. I prescribe to you, have a nice day and take two mental vacations today of at least 15 minutes. I know, I don’t have time either. Perhaps that’s why.

Rest in the Storm

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

Just Breathe (A short breath story)

The huge hallway was initially so wide. Then she entered in from the last office on the left. The bathroom at the end of the way is now guarded by this hulking she devil that’s so gorgeous and pleasantly petite. Eyes immediately dropped with the water weights of wear and shame. The hallways walls silently began to waltz inward towards the guardian of the room for powder. Tom could hear her serene steps grace the over worn carpet like drops of candy sunshine on a sandy beach in the fall. This hall now accents her entire small frame of mind as she spoke… “Hi Tom” as she barely missed the kiss of elbows. Unaware that he didn’t even speak back, Tom hurriedly stumbles into the restroom for a moment to lean upon the wall for support. The whoosh of the flush initiated another mountainous rush of adrenaline. Kip the first shift security guard appears suddenly with a huge smile! “Bet not go in that one for awhile” he says very proudly. Tom attempted to smile but the recent trauma was overtly detectable. “What’s wrong with you Tom? Did you see a ghost in the hallway or somethin?” Followed by another gush of joyful laughter. Tom replies in a minute monotone manner “No, I just felt a little ill is all.”
“Well Tom, just breathe!” said Kip ever so confidently.

“Ummm that’s what I do. That’s what we all do. I have been breathing since birth actually but thanks anyways.”

“No Tom not like you always do but breathe rightly. You see I used to have a whole kip of anxiety like you. I recognize the symptoms. My wife suggested that we see a breathing coach…”

“Ha!” Tom interrupted. “A breathing coach! What pray tell is that.”

“I know the feeling of skipticism as well.”

“Did you say skipticism?” with a smile to big to hide.

“Yes, there always a good way to use Kip, anyways, I was reeling initially but I kipt an open mind. Sure enough only after a few months, not only is my anxiety better, I am much more clever. I sleep better as well. Tom perhaps you should give it a try. What do you have to lose except maybe a few awkward moments from say that pretty lady in this here corner pocket office.”

“Is she coming!?” quipped Tom.

“No, not into the mens room. Relax Tom, just relax. LoL”

“Honestly, I just don’t know how…wait did you just say LoL? Kip no one says that, you can type it in a text or chat or you actually laugh” said Tom trying to fight back a smile.”

“Yeah but you almost did lol, anyways go on.”

“As I was saying, I just can’t relax anymore. The score seems to keep running up and I seem to keep losing out. Office pressure, dating pressure, oh sure, I graduated college only to fail in the office space. This race is out of hand and I can’t stand to keep losing.”

“Then breathe Tom, just breathe. Lesson 1 have you ever tried LSD?”

“Heavens No!”

“Relax Tom it just means light slow and deep. I heard it on a podcast on that metube channel.

“Exactly how I am breathing in this toilet room after your zoom conference on the porcelain porch.”

Kip bursts out in laughter… “ that definitely was a kippy but seriously try this…breathe only in the nostrils…and consciously breathe light, slower, and stomachy”

Tom smiling “I think you mean diaphragmatically”

Nope, I mean just with the belly. Just try it for two weeks and then after that I bet you feel a whole kip better. Pretend that you are always in the bathroom right after a kippy and breathe that way always. All will soon be skippy.

“Ok, sounds harmless, and nothing to lose right…so you say LSD huh?

“Yepper, and watch your anxiety fall away like your sweat leaving your forehead a few minutes ago!”

“Yet, another Kip joke but I can only hope that you are serious about this.”

“Oh I am, it really pays kipidends.”
“That was even close to dividends” says Tom with a chuckle, he continues “Well buckle up, we are going for a ride on the breath. I hope this works as it’s all I have left.”

“Kip up and giver an old school try. Dem Yogis peoples have done this for long time. Those navy diver seal teams also use this type of stuff. Best of all it only cost what you have plenty of…time. Speaking of I need to get back on the grind and secure these here premises. I will be in my office here again right after lunch tomorrow if need more Kipvice. Stall number 2 LoL!”

“Yes, indeed Kip, LOL back at you, and Kip, thank you.”

“For what? I just wanted to help is all.”

Well mostly for just being you. I am actually going to dive in. I have done some research historically but never gave it much thought. I guess now is the time.”

“Well you better start now cause look who is coming down the hall!”

Heartbeat of Anxiety

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.

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.

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.