beautiful poison: part 4

When I begin making efforts to socialize in June of 2007, I make a conscious decision to stop talking about depression in therapy. My sense is that: if my situation improves, I'll improve, so I don't really give a shit about emotions. Talking about them seems pointless. I omit them from the discussion so that we can focus on social mechanics. And The Doctor...without ever commenting on it, she plays along. It goes unreferenced.

For the rest of the year, over and over, that's all we talk about: body language, cues, signs, symbols, people. De-coding the social.

January 2008.

After finally meeting some people, hanging out with them, I go in and describe it all to The Doctor. She listens, asks questions, probes around for details. She sits and thinks.

Doctor: So it was just a lot of sensory input, all at once. Cell phones, video games, television, computers, music, discussion.

M: Yup.

Doctor: Ugh. Did you play the video games?

M: I tried. It was good comedy for about five minutes. After that...after my character had gotten stuck in a pond for the 8th time...they took away the controller. I really couldn't participate in any of the stuff they were doing. I tried to sit there and look interested...but I don't like watching football with people. And I get confused when people are text messaging and conversing at the same time. I don't know. With the video games...I'm not averse to that. I've done that in the past, but the systems are so complicated now, I was clearly in over my head.

Doctor: I've had this image in my mind of what an average day is like for you. And I've always pictured a very low stimulus environment. You're alone most of the day. Low-lighting. Not a gadget person. Not having televisions and radios going all at once. Something like that, right?

M: Right.

Doctor: And the other day...it sounds kind of terrible.

M: It was absurdly high-stimulus. I can't even talk on the phone if someone else is in the room; I get too distracted to focus. And these guys were immersed in gadgets and noise. They were able to carry on four different conversations simultaneously...

Doctor: Which is rude.

M: To be honest, it didn't seem that way. They weren't doing these things and ignoring me. They were very successfully managing all of these various activities. It was just...

I pause, try to put the words to it.

M: The mentality. You could see that they were very comfortable with all this. It was their norm. For them, conversations in different formats are not mutually exclusive.

Doctor: People can be like that now.

M: That's what hit me. I was freaked out and I was asking myself, "What specifically is stressing me out here?" And when I thought about it...it was all things that are completely normal. People just...do this sort of thing now, surround themselves with constant sounds and sights and communication.

I pause, tugging the corners of my hair.

M: I know consciously that I haven't been around New People in a long time. But...yah, it really hit me. I am really out of touch.

Doctor: I saw a kid the other day, a client...he was telling me that his favorite game is bowling. And I asked where he goes to bowl, and he said, "Home. Duh." He has one of those motion-control systems...what's it called?

M: The Wii?

Doctor: That's it. To play, you have to move your arms like you're really bowling and that's what he likes. And I asked him: "Wouldn't you like to try out a real bowling alley?" And he looked confused. He thought about it and said, "But why would I do that? I have a Wii." It was like, "Hello?"

M: It's kind of disturbing.

Doctor: It is. I like that there's a physical activity component involved, but still. The way we place ourselves in this constant stream of distraction...it's like we're shutting out any sense of self, trying to stay away from that. This couple you met...sounds like they have that wall of distraction going.

M: They do, but it's not the way it is for most people. Like my parents, they have the television going all day long, full volume. They like to absorb in it the way you are describing. It's all about shutting down. This couple...they're surrounded by distraction, but they thrive on it. It seemed like they were actually engaging with the various activities. You know? Texting, talking, listening. It wasn't a blanked out kind of situation. Again, it's just...some people are like that now. Hi-tech. Immersed in all of that.

D: Huh.

M: I just wasn't prepared for it because of the way they're so verbal. Like...I'm verbal. For me, that means the conversation is important...that's what you focus on. They're verbal, but they can multi-task, do other things at the same time. They're a weird combination of introspective and extroverted. It makes no sense to me.

Doctor: Was there any...

She pauses and thinks for a bit. Then she holds her hands up, palms out. She does this from time to time, so I know the gesture. This is: "I'm about to be diplomatic". This is: "I come in peace".

D: Are you telling them anything about yourself?

M: I'm participating in the discussions. That involves sharing some things. I talk about...you know, my interests, thoughts.

D: Anything else?

M: We talk mostly about books...movies...theory.

D: I'm referring to personal information.

M: Tacos. We discussed tacos. Very much a "personal information" discussion. My thinking is that, really, the only benefit to a soft shell taco is that you can fold up the ends of it and keep the filling in. With a hard shell taco...the texture is way more perfect, but you have to contend with the filling-distribution issues. The shell cracks...you lose the filling. Bite it the wrong way...the filling falls from the other side. So that was a whole discussion where I opened up. Laid out my position on the "texture versus structural integrity" issue.

She goes into statue-mode. No response. It kills me that I can never get her to laugh.

She waits me out. I wait her out.

D: M.

M: Doctor.

D: You've tried keeping it all in before. Through most of your life, all through college, you kept all of that confusion and pain to yourself. You cannot do that again.

M: I think I've done pretty well with them. I haven't been lapsing into marionette stuff. I'm not mirroring their conversation.

D: Okay. That's good. But one of our goals is for you to begin verbalizing personal information. Not just thoughts and reactions, but some of these internal experiences.

M: I don't know that I want to do that.

D: Just tiny bits of it, here and there.

M: I'll keep that in mind.

She waits...I'm silent. She tries again.

D: To clarify: you're not telling them anything?

M: No.

D: I would just repeat: throwing yourself into a high-stress environment...you've tried that. We know that doesn't work. If you tell them some things...right? They can make a few adjustments. Maybe turn the music down. Maybe not drag you off to a different house.

I look around and start to fidget. I'm getting frustrated. She puts the hands back up.

D: A little disclosure.

M: I want to learn to manage my reactions to things. I feel like it's on me to deal with this stuff.

D: Yes, but it's okay to broaden your definition of "dealing". That's what we've been working on. Be more open. Disclose some things. And if people respond, help out a little, it will be much easier to manage your reactions.

M: I am being more open. When we talk about books and movies and stuff, I'm sharing my thoughts on things. So, that's me. That's sharing.

D: Which is great. I don't want to minimize that. What I hear is that you're moving away from the mirrored communication...you're not just responding with variations on what the other person is saying. That was a big part of the marionette, just staying walled off in these artificial personas. So...you're getting out, you're making changes. This has all been extraordinarily difficult. But...talking a little more about the sensory issues...you've got to include that.

M: I don't, actually.

D: Why not?

M: Because that is private. Period. It's for me to deal with.

D: But if these people are friends...

M: ...if they're "friends"...and let's just very clear on this point. Let's focus on that word. If they are "friends", Doctor, then they are not fucking babysitters. I want to be...and I will be...on an equal footing when I interact with people. I refuse to go out with a mindset of "Hey, let's attend to me. Let's turn the lights down. And the music. Oh, and cell phones off please."

D: It doesn't have to be that extreme. And you know that.

M: I think the issue here is the way we're defining "disclosure". You're wanting me to disclose my problems. I'd rather disclose my personality.

D: I don't think it's possible to separate those two. And I'm uncomfortable with the word "problems".

M: You want a smiley-face rhetoric? Have we met?

D: My point is that the sensory issues...those are part of who you are. You shouldn't have to hide that.

I'm upset for awhile, crying a bit, angry.

M: I hear what you're saying. I'm just struggling with finding that balance. A lot of this stuff...you know, the way I am, it just pisses me off. I don't know how to...ugh. I don't even know.

D: What I want is for you to have good experiences with people. Your goal is to make friends. Your pattern is that when you're around people, you get uncomfortable and shut down. You never discuss yourself...so that's what we're needing to change. And if you make small requests...or just disclose a little about yourself...they can make some tiny adjustments. They can make the environment just a little more comfortable. If you're more comfortable, you're less likely to shut down...withdraw. You're more likely to stay engaged...to feel less lonely. Is it that wrong to mention a few of the sensory issues?

M: I don't know. I'm not sure anymore. It feels wrong. It feels private, Doctor. Why would I want them to know about a part of myself that I hate?

D: Let me throw out a metaphor and then I'll move on, okay?

M: Okay.

D: Guy has diabetes. He makes a new friend, goes to their house. The friend gives him a plate...a fork...and a slice of cake. So...should he eat the cake? Make himself sick just because the cake was offered? Or should he just say, "Sorry, I have diabetes".

I don't say anything.

D: If he discloses the diabetes, the friend can offer him something else. The friend can adjust to the new information. If he refuses to disclose the diabetes, the interaction gets really uncomfortable really fast. He gets sick. Not disclosing...it doesn't help that guy.

M: But people know what diabetes is. If you say that word, "diabetes", people can adapt accordingly without a lot of discussion.

D: You don't want to talk about Asperger's.

M: No. Even if they're familiar with it, I would have to specify the way it effects me. I don't think the frame of reference is in place to make "a little disclosure" possible. And I don't want to go into very much detail.

D: And that is completely understandable. Your strongest impulse, M, is to hide these things away. For most of your life now, that has been survival skill #1. No diagnosis...no way of understanding your reactions to the world...all of that confusion...so quite understandably, you put that wall up. It's a powerful coping mechanism. Now, though, it's a barrier. The new skills that will help...they go against all of your instincts. You need to start opening up...but it's not necessarily going to feel good at first. It will seem odd. It's going to feel weird and make you angry. That is natural. Normal. You should be angry right now.

M: Thank you for saying that.

I pause...I think and think.

M: I'm not sure what I'll say, not say...I'm having trouble establishing where that line is. It's been confusing.

D: Well, do me a favor. Stay confused about that. Any time you say, "I'm uncertain", to me that just means your options are staying open. I like that. When you are absolutely certain about something? That's when I know the door is closed. So yeah. Stay confused.

M: I'll work on it.

D: Did you have any fun?

M: Umm...I'm conflicted. On a personal level, I like them. We seem to get along really well. But no, I did not have fun. It felt like a chore.

D: Where's the depression at?

M: The good thing is that they're into low-lighting as well. Even at their friends house, things were dark.

D: Are you depressed?

M: I don't know.

D: I would expect you to be. I know how hurt you can feel when you're around other people. And socializing more: that's going to mean...

She presses two fists together.

D: ...coming up against some of this.

She pauses. I don't say anything.

D: Isolating has allowed you to ignore some things...and so, I would expect that you are depressed right now. Not talking about it doesn't mean I'm unaware of it, okay?

M: It seems more...productive...to avoid the topic.

D: Fair enough. I interpret that as strength. You are throwing yourself into a lot of new things. I can't even imagine how hard this is for you. And yet...there you are, week after week, going after it. Trying so hard to meet people. It blows me away...

M: Got it. Gold star moment. Hooray.

D: What happens next? Are you going to see them again?

M: I don't know what to do.

The next week, I go to the pub, see the couple. We talk. They invite me over.

I go. It's not fun, it's stressful. The fact that a basic social interaction is stressful...it makes me angry. I go back the next week, and then on a regular basis after that. Slowly, I start mentioning some things. I never reference Asperger's, but I do describe some "sensory issues". Specifically, I tell them "my brain is a little screwed up. I integrate sensory data in a disorganized way. It sucks." Not exactly what The Doctor had in mind...but certainly more than I had in mind.

They make some adjustments. Things improve. As they improve, I'm able to just relax, have more fun. And that's basically how the unthinkable happened: somehow I make and sustain a friendship after a decade of isolating. It's weird to me. And it's nice.

beautiful poison: part 3

(part 2: bulk information)

I.

October, 2007

I'm wedged in the corner booth at a pub. The place is all hard-wood, low-lighting, hushed conversation. Everything is muted, sedate. I have no desire to interact with people today, so my back is to the room. I'm just flipping through a book and watching events through the front window.

Outside: parents stroll by, chatting, herding their children. A hunched-over mailman zips past, lugging an absurdly large bag. Dead leaves cartwheel down the street, making ticking sounds as they go. Various flocks drift by: the businessmen, the teenagers, the non-descript. In trees across the street, birds and squirrels engage in epic battles...leaping, dive-bombing, screeching. I find that if I name the squirrels, it's easier to keep track of what's going on. "There's fatty. There's oldy." And so on. It provides a layer of narrative cohesion to events...turns the random into soap opera. "Watch out, oldy, behind you. Oh no. Fatty's in trouble." Way better than television.

I sip. Read. Watch.

I eavesdrop on two businessmen who are sitting at the bar. From the tone in their voices, it's apparent: these are morons. One guy's bragging to the other:

"I called him and got his new secretary. And she didn't get who I was; thought I was just some random customer. I told her, 'Hey, put him on. It's Jack'. And she told me to call later."

The other guy starts to say, "Damn. You should've..." but the first guy cuts him off.

"No, no, this is the good part. I asked for his cell number. And she was like, 'Oh, I can't give that out', so she tried giving me a different number to call. She was acting all innocent, helpful."

He holds a finger up, pauses for dramatic effect...

"The number she gave me? The switchboard number. Un-fucking-believable. I told her, 'Sweetie, I don't do switchboards.'"

Loathsome! I crack up. It's too classic. I wanna put the guy in a jar, poke holes in the lid and label it, "Self-important Businessman Americanus".

I flip the book pages, barely seeing the words. The beer is dark and pleasant.

A waitress goes on break, sits down in the booth behind me. She starts talking on her cell phone, apparently to her boyfriend. She tells him, "By the way, I watched the movie. I couldn't believe how perfect it was. I ended up reading an interview with the director." She describes it. She lists the director's influences, asks the boyfriend if he's familiar with any of them. She says, "There's some whole genre that he's into. I'd never heard of it." For ten minutes, that's all she talks about (it's all obscure, Italian movies). She tells him, "We gotta see more of that stuff. I'm just not sure which ones to start with. I read some articles and it's like a ton of stuff I've never heard of".

I start writing on a napkin. I break down the genre she's referencing...listing the core films in chronological order, making note of the directors involved. On the other side of the napkin, I list the various trends that the genre grew out of, basically providing the historical context leading up to it.

When she walks by, I get her attention, apologize for having overheard. I hand her the napkin, explain the way it's ordered. I tell her, "With that genre, those are the directors to see. Everything else grew out of those films. The style is rooted in pulp literary trends of the time, but what's interesting is that the literary trends...even though they're Italian...they actually grew out of 19th Century French theater. So it's this bizarre, interconnected sequence of political expression. Anyway, those films are a good starting point; they kind of organize everything else."

She reads one side of the napkin...flips it over, reads the other side. Says "Holy shit."

She sits and we talk for a bit. It turns out the boyfriend also works there...and it sounds like the three of us have similar interests...so she encourages me to stop by on a day when they're both working so that I can meet him.

II.

The next week I go in. They take a lunch break, sit, the three of us talk for awhile, mostly about movies. It turns out they both have multiple degrees, are taking time off before beginning graduate school. She speaks three languages, has a background in anthropology. His background is Russian literature. We like one another, get along...the conversation is fun.

It becomes a pattern: I drop in regularly, the three of us chat. At first, I'm basically a "favorite customer", but as the information-sharing drifts into broader territory (including family background, future plans, that sort of thing), the discussions take on a more personal tone. I relate basic things...thoughts, interests...but withhold the particulars of my situation. Me having socially isolated for 9 years, up to the present moment...tough to work that into conversation.

About two months go by like this.

One day, in January of this year: they get off early. We're sitting at a booth, drinking, talking...and he says, "Hey, the books I was telling you about, they came in yesterday. You should come over, see them."

Weird. I slowly sip my beer, trying to buy some time to think. The individual words he just uttered...I heard them, I'm just having trouble connecting them, piecing them together. I haven't had a social invitation in so long that my mind is struggling with the notion. "Come over?" I ask. "Like...to where you live?"

He says, "If you're free, I mean...we don't have any plans. You can hang out, look at the books; stick around for dinner".

Me hanging out with New People. I say, "Sure." I quietly, surreptitiously, panic.

But I'm also excited. I'm thinking, "Please, please don't screw this up".

III.

I go over...to their house, but it feels more like a different dimension. I haven't socialized in so long that basic concepts re-assert themselves like odd, unfamiliar truths. For example: people? Their houses are filled with things that are not your things! I look around and see that all of the objects are similar to ones I own...but none of them are identical. I'm thinking, "That's a yellow couch. Mine is blue. That's a green lamp. Mine is red." To a mind used to sameness, day in and day out, slight differences can be very disconcerting. "What?! Oh. That's just a shoe. Never mind."

The socializing kicks in and goes fast: we spend a few minutes looking at his book collection...rare, interesting stuff. We drink coffee. He plays music and talks about discordant-jazz theory. She holds up French architecture magazines and talks about paradigm shifts in definitions of "public space". I'm nodding, going on about Foucault, Baudrillard, the way "efficiency" nullifies representation.

I'm stressed, but I am a conversation-based creature...I can subsist on words...so this is nice.

And when I think that phrase, "This is nice"... that's about when it all goes awry.

The downturn begins when he sits at his computer and turns up the music...he turns it way up. I have trouble with loudness in general. With one hand, he picks up a cell phone and begins text messaging people. With the other hand, he types on the keyboard, instant messaging people.

And at no time does he pause in his conversation. He's still talking about jazz-theory. I'm supposed to be keeping up. This, however, becomes even more difficult when she breaks out her laptop. It's on her knees, she's looking at that...then, with one hand, she picks up a cell phone and starts talking to people. With the other hand, she plays a video game (on their big screen television). She is using some kind of wireless, magic-wand type deal to play the game, waving it around, jabbing like a maniac.

And at no time does she pause in her conversation. She's still talking about architecture. I'm supposed to be keeping up.

I'm nodding my head, hoping that I appear to be listening...even though I'm not sure which direction to nod my head in. I'm trying to figure out: what are the eye-contact rules when people are texting on cell phones, yet continuing to converse with the people around them? I use peripheral vision, watch them for clues. But sadly: in their insane techno-coma I can discern no patterns. I am lost.

Eventually, he puts everything down, hops up and says, "Hey, someone just got Halo 3! Let's go!"

I don't know what happens. We're in a car possibly. I'm asking, "Whuh?" and hear something like, "We're meshing you with our people. You'll like them".

Time- normally a succession of individual moments- dissolves into a blur of rapid emptiness.

I'm in yet another unfamiliar house, surrounded by newer New People...a group of them. Green couch. Blue lamp. The People are all watching football on a big screen television. Someone asks, "Who are you for?" I glance at the screen for clues and say, "The, uh...red-pants guys. Them."

Silence. I'm not meshing.

Football-watching happens for awhile. Then they go into the video game, Halo 3. He says, "M, get over here. I want to run you through a practice stage so you can get used to this." I'm handed a controller.

The game is one of those typical shooting games...you're just running around, shooting at...I don't know, aliens or something. It doesn't matter. It's just guns and noise. I've never played any of the newer systems so the button configuration is completely foreign to me. As I play, the guy sits next to me and tries to talk me through the controller. This is essentially what I hear: "Okay. Y button. X. Y. Radar. Dude, radar. Use the control stick...no, no, the secondary control stick. Okay...trigger. Trigger. Primary control stick."

Gibberish, in other words. Within roughly three seconds my character is stuck on a tree. I'm staring at the tree and I can't seem to move away from it. Every time I move, the tree bumps into my face, over and over. This is humiliating.

I hear: "Okay. You need to back up. You're moving forward. Back up. You can see that branch there...you're stuck on the branch. The controls are airplane style, reversed."

"Can I just shoot the branch? Is there a knife button?"

"You just have to move away from it. There you go. Wait...now you're in a pond. Back up."

And so on.

Then the evening goes to a level that I am totally unaccustomed to. Because, so far, no one thing is absolutely unheard of. People use cell phones, video games, computers. I'm not used to being immersed in so much of it all at once, but still...I've seen all of this. Nothing new.

Most of us are sitting around while a few of them take turns playing the game. Without warning, people clip on ear things. I don't know what they are. Things. No one tells me. Out of the blue I start hearing "Fuck yeah!" and "Are you girls ready for this?" and "Straight up kill it, dude!"

I might be witnessing some sort of communal Tourrettes. It's setting in rapidly. Must...get...help. But then I start hearing commands: "Go left. Someone get the sniper. Find the detonator. Move to the basement." Apparently they switched into online gaming, playing against other humans in real-time.

I should add: these are grown ups. I didn't know grown ups did this, but apparently they do.

To make matters worse, they are still...still...carrying on conversation with the rest of us. "Drop down. Get the sniper. M, did you see the Simpsons last night? Go left."

Online gaming is weird. People are weird. It's much too much. Eventually, I glance at my watch..pretend that I forgot about something...and flee the scene.

I go home.

I unplug the phones and computer. I nail boards over the doors and windows.

I sleep and dream that my hands are little television screens. On each of them, I'm receiving text messages and images from Halo 3. The characters speak in discordant jazz notes and hack at one another with magic-wand controllers.

The End

[part 4]

beautiful poison: part 2

The topic: M making friends. The first part: backstory. This ends up being a continuation of that, as I am texty by nature.

I.

There's this post I've had up for awhile: Asperger's Syndrome Meets Alpha Male Syndrome.

I mention it because...personally, I think it's funny...but it's an example of how my mind navigates a social situation. That's unfortunately exactly how it goes. I mimic body language and statements. I do this because every single conversation, to me, feels like an obstacle course. I'm around people and the thinking is: given what I'm hearing, what is the appropriate response? I listen...calculate...express what I assume to be the correct data. I suppress my own thoughts and reactions and rely entirely on what the other person is saying, because...internal data just gets in the way. It feels like static or background noise. I need to be focused on the external data (what the other person is saying), since those are the clues that lead to a "correct" social exchange.

Prior to starting therapy, I have no idea why I am doing this. As a result, I am also unable to comprehend why it's not working. As far as I'm concerned, I am doing well by every observable measure. During adolescence, through college: I'm around people, interacting...seemingly saying and doing all of the right things...yet making very few friends. Feeling distant around the friends I make. Making zero romantic connections.

It kinda sucks. I feel terribly alone, and anything I do to remedy this...any effort to connect with people...ends up fueling the isolation. I calculate, mimic. That doesn't work, so I calculate and mimic more intensely.

It's the wonderfully ironic dilemma of trying to dig your way out of a hole. And that hole...it just keeps getting deeper. I find this to be confusing.

The sense that I know social mechanics: it ends up being one of the big barriers in therapy. I'm depressed, people-deprived...but I'm reluctant to try socializing again. I know exactly what the result will be. I'll interact...say all of the right things...and get absolutely nowhere. The usual approach with Asperger's...teaching social skills...seems pointless.

The Doctor patiently listens to all of this...to my weekly dissertation on human nature. My complete and thorough grasp of all things social. I explicate, detail, diagram. She smiles, calm and patient. She waits.

I don't know that I'm not ready to hear the truth. She knows. She holds back...allows me to wear myself out with all of my certainty. Then she starts talking.

II.

In essence: you can calculate your way through a social interaction...but you cannot calculate your way into a personal connection. Trying to do this: it's a maladaptive response. It's an over-compensation resulting from an undiagnosed neurological condition.

Mind-blindness. I see and hear people when I communicate with them...I see their body, hear their words...but my mind is not integrating the social cues.

Put differently: I'm perceiving all of the specific social data (words and movements). But...I'm not forming them into contextually relevant social-gestalts (meanings, intentions).

Which means that I am actually great at navigating small-talk. The obstacle course mentality...that's useful when it comes to brief, superficial encounters. But when a situation calls for more than that...when a friendship or romantic situation is possible...it falls far short of what is needed to do well. The obstacle-course mentality is inherently rooted in the calculation of data...and a personal connection? It's not data. It's more than the sum of it's parts.

The fact that I am adept at small-talk: that confused me for most of my life. Because of the mind-blindness, I did not have a way of knowing there was more to conversation. And because there was no diagnosis when I was growing up, I did not have a way of understanding the mind-blindness. For people my age, or for anyone currently undiagnosed, Asperger's can create a perfect storm for anxiety, depression, social avoidance.

I did all three, in that order...the latter for nearly a decade.

III.

For most of 2006, The Doctor is teaching me to organize my experiences...she is questioning, listening, and then educating me about my thought and behavior patterns. She wants me to reinforce strengths and skills I currently posses...label inherent deficits (which I should attempt to counter-balance with the strengths)...and identify maladaptive responses (which I should replace with newer, more helpful ones).

In short: therapy. Constructive torture. Moving on.

After a long period of talking, we both feel like I should begin trying to meet people. And it's a big question: specifically, how do I do that? When you're a dedicated introvert and you have absolutely nowhere to be...where do you go?

She recommends the shotgun approach: try everything. If a location works: go back. If it doesn't go completely wrong: go back. If it does go completely wrong: don't go back. It's a perfect example of The Doctor's imminently practical style.

So, this is what begins to happen in June of 2007. After nearly a decade of social isolation, I hit the town. I go to coffee shops. Book stores. Pubs. Book clubs. Art shows. Public lectures. And so on.

The goal is to meet people, but mostly it's to practice. Just get used to people again, acclimate to others...the stress of it, the strangeness.

I roam, drift...try to get out at least once a week, if not twice. Mishaps ensue. A lot of nothing happens. I throw myself out there over and over again. Have I used the word torture yet? I think I have. It's fucking exhausting.

Only after six months does a conversation...finally...go beyond the small-talk phase.

[part 3]

Fitting in...fitting out: Halloween discussions

Whee. With Halloween this week, I have a pretext for linking to some old interviews with B-film regulars. Good ones...smart ones. Guys who get the goofy genre thing. There's really no other way to connect these into the blog. Except 1. I did the interviews and 2. their films represent some serious expressions of misfit living.

The first one: funny. The second one: poignant...he's openly depressed about the state of the film industry. And so:

Bruce Campbell interview (guy from Evil Dead films)

Jeffrey Combs interview (guy from Re-animator films; this is a two-part discussion)

This will be of interest to virtually no one...but come on! A movie about Elvis beating up a mummy? It doesn't get more fun than that. Thanks.

(Actually, if you want a laugh, here is the trailer for Campbell's Elvis/mummy film. Woo.)

beautiful poison: part 1 of 4

This is me making friends. How it happened, the long way around.

I.


As mentioned: it's around the age of fifteen that I begin to teach myself the mechanics of body language. The mimicry is basically serving two purposes: it's allowing me to mask both the social confusion and the sensory discomfort I'm struggling with.

On the one hand, I do begin to navigate social situations a little easier. My internal reactions are masked...hidden away...and I begin to (externally) seem like a normal teenager.

On the other hand, I begin to feel powerfully disconnected from others. I am compartmentalizing my identity, meaning that social interactions at that time...even when they go well...feel hollow, meaningless.

And it is interesting to me: when I begin to mimic body language, in tenth grade? I make friends for the first time in my life. Funny how that worked. The world's attitude: "Be normal. But hey, if that's too much, we totally understand. Just seem normal. Either way. We're not picky".

Fake normalcy: it works. I develop a suspicion that people suck.

Then college happens. I develop no new friends. This is depressing to me. Also: I develop no girlfriends. This is very depressing to me.

During my last semester of college, it finally hits very hard: the social delays are not improving. The deficits are serious. And come on...not one girlfriend after five years of college?!

Pitch black, end-of-the-world, apocalyptic depression ensues.

I graduate and go into hiding. I'm thinking, "I need a year away from people". It's the worst decision of my life. The lack of social stress becomes addictive. It's this beautiful poison that I am incapable of giving up. Aloneness: it loves...it protects. The two of us- this absence and I- we get along. I cut ties with family and the few friends I've made. That "year off" becomes two years. Then three. Then more. The few social skills I've taught myself...they erode. Not completely, but to some extent.

Only after seven years of being alone do I seek psychological help. I go in feeling flat, blank, suicidal.

At the age of 30, I'm diagnosed: Asperger's. It's a shock. I change to feeling bitter, angry, robbed.

Anyway. In summary: that happened.

I'm starting therapy, talking to The Doctor, in December of 2005. Her intelligence and compassion function as a counter-balance to my pessimism. We argue endlessly about what I do next, how I go about changing my life. For a year and half, it's just point, counter-point. Back and forth. My negativity. Her sense of hope. Some days I listen and make a bit of progress. Other days I push back and tear it all down.

Sisyphus...in a different version of the story...had a twin sister. A lot of people don't know this. Their task: not pushing a rock up a hill...but standing on two-sides of the rock and pushing in opposite directions. Back and forth, endlessly. One wins for a bit...then gets tired and loses ground, allowing the other to win for a bit, until they get tired. And so on.

M in therapy. You get the idea.

The serious change in my behavior and thinking takes place last year...in June of 2007. After all that time...almost a decade...I start to leave the house. Inexplicably, with much reluctance and gnashing of teeth, I go public. I socialize.

[part 2]

happy links

Little ones thriving: making friends...and marriage plans.

Little ones pondering.

A little one liking the letters.

Some are hoping for happy food.

And some just hope for buffalo.

(tomorrow: i tell my own friend story).

words

On Autism Vox: a post about receiving the diagnosis in adulthood.

I particularly enjoyed the statement by Phil Schwarz in the comment section. He phrased that perfectly.

viewing

"To be or not to be. That's not really a question." - Jean Luc Godard

I watched one of his films tonight, Pierrot Le Fou...funny, whimsical, despairing...though not my favorite film of his. Masculin/Feminine is my favorite (it's what most people imagine when they think "French film"...sad people sit around with sad faces...they smoke, drink wine and say poetic shit about the senses eroding into commodity, art no longer having a unifying power; I love it, but it's a tough one to push on friends; all of my favorite movies are). 'In Praise of Love' by Godard...newer, made a few years ago: also beautiful, touching, despairing. In it, Godard continues his cinematic internal monologue and examines memory, it's erosion into commodity. Some directors, when they enter old age, their work becomes repetitive, too self-aware. Godard reversed that...he began too self-aware, and became more contemplative over the years. Which is in large part what makes him unique: his irony had consquences. It hurt. It was never something he used to express superiority (a mistake a lot of people make). It was something he used to examine a condition, sound it out.

It used to be that, when I heard his name, I thought of black and white films from the 60's. But he's continued making them, regular as clock work, until the present day. The new wave broke into a steady tide. To our collective betterment.

Also, I went to the theater this week, saw that new western. Can't remember the name of it. Ed Harris directs it, stars in it. It wasn't very good...dull, uninteresting. But I love seeing westerns in the theater whenever I can. They make them so rarely, which is kind of sad. I love to just go and absorb in the distinctive sounds, ones you never really hear in other movies: the jingly sounds when people step, the metal clicks of guns...that "tock" sound of boots hitting wood, and all of those clomping horses. In a theater, the sounds are amplified, driven into your mind...it's a nice way to get lost in it.

With action films, you get the gun clicks, but the rest of the time it's just rock music...revving car engines...and explosions. Extremely boring...if not painful. Not due to the volume, it's just that the rock music they play is generally so bland that it hurts. For me, watching a Michael Bay film is like being punched in the ear. Bam!

Westerns-in-a-theater...that's the way to go, if you're on a sound hunt.

At home, one of my bad habits is playing Deadwood...with my head right up to the television, ear against the speakers, eyes closed.

Clicks, tocks, horses.

And I won't give anything away about the new western, plot-wise, I'll just say: not a feminist film. Shocking, I know. But the ladies aren't exactly given a thumbs up from Ed Harris.

My favorite film...well, I've gone into that. Don't get me started on Tati. I've driven people out of the room discussing that one.

Actually, I should mention: The Doctor? I encouraged her to watch Playtime recently. Gave her a copy, wrote out viewing instructions, as it relates to sensory and social issues. She's not a movie person, so I think it was a bit of a chore for her.

She told me that as she was watching it, her kid walked into the room (her kid is five). The little one watched for a bit...and finally asked, "Mommy, why is nothing happening?"

Playtime...despite the name, not exactly a big seller with the kids. Zzzz. Won't be showing up on Nickelodeon any time soon.

Five More Facts From The Encyclopedia of M

- Books

Books are what the internet was before computers. They used ink to make sense, not wires. They reminded people that their words, one day, would be less dusty and pointless.

- Utensils

A spoon is for the careful holding. It can bring, to your lips, a soup. Invented in 1377 by dainty vikings, it is now common.

A fork is for the wanton piercing. It can bring, to your lips, a ham (the soup goes right through it). This pronged utensil can be thrown at the rim of wayward socks.

A knife is for the rumpled spreading. If the peanut butter is chunky, it may press through the bread. Knives were popularized during the Norwegian Stab Riot of 1687.

- Knees

Knee caps hold in your leg fuel. If you unscrew them, the liquid that powers your legs will spill out and you'll drop to the ground like a wet noodle. Someone can run out and buy new fuel, but oy, with prices today, you're better off crawling.

- Magma

Magma is the bones for planets. It holds together what's inside, but we don't know what that is yet. It might be lava. Lava is what happens when the magma cries. You can touch magma and it's okay, but you can't touch lava.

- Aspergers Syndrome

Aspergers is apples to the oranges of others. Some like that it's different. Others hate that it didn't ask permission.

overview

These are previous posts grouped by category...texty, digressive, but there they are. Explaining, in round-about fashion, a confusion of moments. The basics: diagnosed with Asperger's in 2005, at the age of 30, after a period of social isolation.

Sessions With a Good Psychologist

- a session on Asperger's

- on it's signs and symptoms (black eyes and bruises)

- on sensory awareness

- on Pinnochio

- on knowing what to say

- on depression and the first guy

Approaching AS/Bitter Trust

- part one, two, three, four, five.

Six Social Interactions (or: "People confuse me")

- M at the bus station

- M at the art show

- lost at a party

- Asperger's Syndrome meets Alpha Male Syndrome

- roaming around with Jen Ling: college

- roaming around with Jen Ling: grocery store

Six Sessions with a Moron Psychologist

- session the first

- the second

- the third

- number four (or: "going off the rails")

- five of six

- and the sixth

Miscellaneous

- M versus Counselor: fifth grade

- writing about AS

- Sensory Crayons

- I play. Mom watches.

- family disconnected

- constructing the marionette

Making friends

- Part: One, Two, Three, Four

Awkward Love

- Part: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine