This could get seriously tedious. I’ve already had to write an addendum to one of my posts, and now here’s another one, and for the same reason. I wrote something that I thought was the truth, but it isn’t.
I know a man with aspergers who describes neurotypicals as “speaking with forked tongue” because they never say what they mean. Basically, he says, they lie. I think it’s catching! I’ve spent so long around them, learning to be polite, having to answer such stupid questions as “How do you feel?” (with my hands!), or be accused of repressing them or, ironically, of lying if I say I don’t know, that I am now even more bewildered as to what my own truth is because of taking on board other peoples’ ideas – neurotypical peoples’ ideas.
I’m finding it hard to embrace all the things that make up my aspergers because they seem to clash so resoundingly with what I have learned makes up a well-balanced, healthy, mature, responsible, caring, selfless, human being. Basically my aspergers seems to make me the antithesis of all of those things which make a person more likely to be successful and accepted in society. And so I unconsciously lie to myself or sugar coat it (another neurotypical technique I’ve learned), because the truth sounds so unpalatable.
Who wants to say that, actually, they do see people as being interchangeable and replaceable like light bulbs or batteries; that people represent certain things, like security and safety; that the most that you can achieve is a feeling of attachment to them for what they can give you, rather than one of connection and mutual sharing? When I talk about it it sounds so cold and distant, but then I feel distanced and disconnected from my own self, so how on earth can I expect to be able to connect to any other self, in the form of another human being? For me it is a neurological impossibility, and not a choice that I am making, just like my inability to empathise. The highest compliment I have paid my best friend is to tell her that I love her as much as I love yoga and my yoga mat – and I REALLY love them! The amazing thing is that she isn’t offended by this – she understands that this is the way it is for me, and she accepts it without question. And in return she loves me the way that a neurotypical loves, which is completely baffling!
So in my last post where I wrote that I now realise that people are not interchangeable, and that you can’t just replace them, I’ve not told the truth. Yes they are, and yes I do. I don’t want it to be like this, but to say otherwise is a lie – and lying makes me uncomfortable. It’s why when someone asks me “How are you?” I feel the compulsion to tell them the literal truth, and often do, no matter that they might be a complete stranger to me. After all why bother asking me if they don’t really want to know?
This is an example of speaking with forked tongue, though I know that the answer in their world is that they are just being polite. But to me you can be polite just by simply saying hello. Anything else just seems to catapult me into a whole dimension of confusion and frustration as I attempt the impossible and try to focus on more than one thing at a time – trying to work out where the boundaries are and what is appropriate for me to share, at the same time as doing it! Plus I really don’t do chatting, I do information exchanging and then have to go away and process the data!
I have had to learn to lie (sorry, I mean be polite!), and exercise some discretion, so I now do sometimes just say I’m okay: but it goes against the grain.
And as to the people who ask “How are you?”, and then sometimes tell you how you should be if you happen to make the mistake of telling them, I often feel as if they are simply going around reassuring themselves that everyone is alright, and that they go away feeling a sense of satisfaction that they’ve done their duty in making sure the world is as it should be! And when I’m feeling really paranoid I think that they’re checking up on me, as if they are working for some covert government agency that’s keeping an eye on all of the oddballs of society, just in case we gather together and start a revolution!
DOWN WITH FEELINGS!
UP WITH FACTS!
LONG LIVE THE REVOLUTION!
16 May 2010
05 May 2010
Making Friends
How do you make friends? Okay, literal translation time: “Take a large lump of modelling clay, a few adornments for the face and body, mix them all together, and there you go! A large, squiggy mess! No, sorry, I mean – a person. You’ve made yourself a friend!” Er, I think not, though how I wish it could be that easy!
Wasn’t there a book called “How To Win Friends And Influence People”, or did I just make that up? I’m sure there is, or something like, and I know I’ve never read it. And even if I had it wouldn’t have helped me navigate the strange world of socialisation because I would only have taken it all very literally and misinterpreted most of it, starting with the title – does it mean you have to “win” people, like in a game of cards? So there’s a competition between you and another person to win the friendship of a third?
On second thoughts I think I might have inadvertently read some of that book when I was about five because this sounds awfully similar to my approach to friendship! As I’ve discovered recently, I can’t multi-task at all, and I can now see how this even extends to the “task” of engaging in relationships with people. I can’t seem to “do” more than one friend at a time. Back when I was a child I was always part of a group of about four or five, trying to balance being friends with each member, and seeming constantly to be in conflict to establish who my best friend was, and where all the others fitted in: or, more to the point, where and how I fitted in. It seems I couldn’t simply be one of a group of friends, just as it seems that I cannot simply be one of a group of anything!
So anyway, to return to the days when I had friends (plural) but didn’t quite know how I’d achieved this miraculous feat, I now see that I didn’t so much “make” friends as acquire them, a bit like the way I acquire carrier bags or boxes – I don’t quite know how I got them, I don’t quite know what to do with them once I’ve got them, but I keep them nonetheless, and because of that thing called “attachment” that I do – I just can’t seem to let anything, or anyone, go!
And because it’s what you do, isn’t it, have friends? And the more the better, as far as I’d worked out from what I’d picked up in the world, because if you lose one (or, God forbid, more!) then you’ve still got a few left to replace the ones who’ve gone! Plus they also appear to be a statement to the world about how popular you are, and generally what an interesting and busy person you must be, and what an exciting life you must lead.
Personally I can’t see how you can possibly have the time to do anything particularly interesting or exciting when you’ve got so many people demanding your attention, and you spend half your life gabbing on the phone or meeting in coffee bars etc to chat: but then that’s because I’ve got aspergers and I can’t multi-task! Oh, and I don’t do chatting, but long monologues because I don’t know when to stop talking once I’ve started! Basically chatting is hazardous to my health – not to mention to that of the person I am assailing!
I think that part of my problem is that I think there are actual “rules” to how to go about making friends, a kind of instruction manual that exists somewhere which everyone else appears to have read and understood, but which I seem not to have been party to. And, as with the way I approach everything in life, I seem to believe that if only I could learn these rules and apply them exactly as they are written (ie literally!) then I too would have lots of friends, the way other people do.
Having examined this subject in detail (and had a number of failed attempts at making and sustaining friendships) I have come to the conclusion that, as with everything in life, there actually aren’t any specific rules, only guidelines: and therein lies the problem. The requirement here is an understanding of social communication in order that you can read social signals, such as whether someone is genuinely showing an interest in being your friend or simply being polite. I cannot count the number of occasions on which I have mistaken simple politeness as being the prelude to a deep, meaningful friendship which, most of the time, I haven’t really wanted, but I’ve felt that it’s only polite to reciprocate! I have therefore deduced that being polite is a dangerous business, and often results in a confusing mess unless you know what you’re doing with it – so this rules me out! This basically goes for the whole friend-making business. You might just as well ask me to make an atom bomb. It would probably be easier, and less likely to blow up in my face!
Plus, to complicate the whole thing even more (as if it wasn’t complicated enough), there are different types or levels of friendship, which require subtle differences in behaviour. Unfortunately I don’t do subtle. I can’t seem to discern the difference between what’s appropriate conversation when talking to a complete stranger, and talking to my best friend, so I communicate the same way with everyone! Actually I have recently learned to show a little more discretion, but it is only a little, and it isn’t consistent. I am still apt to spout forth the details of my life to anyone who unwittingly engages in any kind of dialogue with me, no matter how trivial. Or, equally as bad, to offer my opinion and assistance (unsolicited!) whenever I feel that I have an answer to some problem they may have shared with me.
Witness my attempts to solve the sleeping problems of my next door neighbour, with whom I had barely exchanged more than two words of dialogue, other than to say “hello” whenever I had previously seen him. He foolishly told me one day, when we were standing at the bus stop, that he suffered from insomnia. In an attempt to be chatty, and seeing an opportunity to be helpful (I seem to have a desperate need to be helpful, which possibly stems from the delusion I have that I know a lot about everything!), I proceeded to bombard him with a series of questions about his habits, and whether he’d tried various remedies, including the one thing closest to my heart – yoga! Fortunately, before I had time to suggest a complete overhaul of his whole lifestyle, the bus arrived. He moved house not long after that!
You see I mean well, and because I can’t do spontaneous small talk, but I don’t want to appear rude by not at least trying to reciprocate, I grasp hold of anything that appears to be an opportunity for me to be able to keep the conversation going. Inevitably, though, I end up wishing I hadn’t bothered because the resultant headache and confusion created far outweighs any benefit. After all, what is it I’m trying to prove anyway? That I’m not a social leper just because I can’t do chatting?!
In conclusion, I have decided that having just one good friend is enough, especially as I have been blessed with her being such a good friend. I have given up chasing after this particular neurotypical dream, of being popular and inundated with friends, and of needing lots of back-up friends in case my best friend suddenly pops her clogs (that means dies, for those of a severely literal nature)! As I’ve recently realised, people are not interchangeable like batteries or light bulbs: you cannot replace them and not notice the difference. And now I wouldn’t want to anyway. My best friend is very special and unique, and I’d never have the exact same relationship with anyone else as I have with her.
Personally I think that making friends is an art form that requires special skills which, unfortunately, they don’t formally teach in school. Apparently you’re supposed to learn and pick it up instinctively just by being in school around other children – imagine that?! To me it’s as unfathomable as the inner workings (or otherwise!) of my computer and, as with my computer, I should perhaps simply give up trying to understand how it all works, and just blunder on as best I can. After all it has worked, in its way, so far, and you just can’t learn this stuff by rote. A pity, really: I’ve always been far better at theory than practise!
Wasn’t there a book called “How To Win Friends And Influence People”, or did I just make that up? I’m sure there is, or something like, and I know I’ve never read it. And even if I had it wouldn’t have helped me navigate the strange world of socialisation because I would only have taken it all very literally and misinterpreted most of it, starting with the title – does it mean you have to “win” people, like in a game of cards? So there’s a competition between you and another person to win the friendship of a third?
On second thoughts I think I might have inadvertently read some of that book when I was about five because this sounds awfully similar to my approach to friendship! As I’ve discovered recently, I can’t multi-task at all, and I can now see how this even extends to the “task” of engaging in relationships with people. I can’t seem to “do” more than one friend at a time. Back when I was a child I was always part of a group of about four or five, trying to balance being friends with each member, and seeming constantly to be in conflict to establish who my best friend was, and where all the others fitted in: or, more to the point, where and how I fitted in. It seems I couldn’t simply be one of a group of friends, just as it seems that I cannot simply be one of a group of anything!
So anyway, to return to the days when I had friends (plural) but didn’t quite know how I’d achieved this miraculous feat, I now see that I didn’t so much “make” friends as acquire them, a bit like the way I acquire carrier bags or boxes – I don’t quite know how I got them, I don’t quite know what to do with them once I’ve got them, but I keep them nonetheless, and because of that thing called “attachment” that I do – I just can’t seem to let anything, or anyone, go!
And because it’s what you do, isn’t it, have friends? And the more the better, as far as I’d worked out from what I’d picked up in the world, because if you lose one (or, God forbid, more!) then you’ve still got a few left to replace the ones who’ve gone! Plus they also appear to be a statement to the world about how popular you are, and generally what an interesting and busy person you must be, and what an exciting life you must lead.
Personally I can’t see how you can possibly have the time to do anything particularly interesting or exciting when you’ve got so many people demanding your attention, and you spend half your life gabbing on the phone or meeting in coffee bars etc to chat: but then that’s because I’ve got aspergers and I can’t multi-task! Oh, and I don’t do chatting, but long monologues because I don’t know when to stop talking once I’ve started! Basically chatting is hazardous to my health – not to mention to that of the person I am assailing!
I think that part of my problem is that I think there are actual “rules” to how to go about making friends, a kind of instruction manual that exists somewhere which everyone else appears to have read and understood, but which I seem not to have been party to. And, as with the way I approach everything in life, I seem to believe that if only I could learn these rules and apply them exactly as they are written (ie literally!) then I too would have lots of friends, the way other people do.
Having examined this subject in detail (and had a number of failed attempts at making and sustaining friendships) I have come to the conclusion that, as with everything in life, there actually aren’t any specific rules, only guidelines: and therein lies the problem. The requirement here is an understanding of social communication in order that you can read social signals, such as whether someone is genuinely showing an interest in being your friend or simply being polite. I cannot count the number of occasions on which I have mistaken simple politeness as being the prelude to a deep, meaningful friendship which, most of the time, I haven’t really wanted, but I’ve felt that it’s only polite to reciprocate! I have therefore deduced that being polite is a dangerous business, and often results in a confusing mess unless you know what you’re doing with it – so this rules me out! This basically goes for the whole friend-making business. You might just as well ask me to make an atom bomb. It would probably be easier, and less likely to blow up in my face!
Plus, to complicate the whole thing even more (as if it wasn’t complicated enough), there are different types or levels of friendship, which require subtle differences in behaviour. Unfortunately I don’t do subtle. I can’t seem to discern the difference between what’s appropriate conversation when talking to a complete stranger, and talking to my best friend, so I communicate the same way with everyone! Actually I have recently learned to show a little more discretion, but it is only a little, and it isn’t consistent. I am still apt to spout forth the details of my life to anyone who unwittingly engages in any kind of dialogue with me, no matter how trivial. Or, equally as bad, to offer my opinion and assistance (unsolicited!) whenever I feel that I have an answer to some problem they may have shared with me.
Witness my attempts to solve the sleeping problems of my next door neighbour, with whom I had barely exchanged more than two words of dialogue, other than to say “hello” whenever I had previously seen him. He foolishly told me one day, when we were standing at the bus stop, that he suffered from insomnia. In an attempt to be chatty, and seeing an opportunity to be helpful (I seem to have a desperate need to be helpful, which possibly stems from the delusion I have that I know a lot about everything!), I proceeded to bombard him with a series of questions about his habits, and whether he’d tried various remedies, including the one thing closest to my heart – yoga! Fortunately, before I had time to suggest a complete overhaul of his whole lifestyle, the bus arrived. He moved house not long after that!
You see I mean well, and because I can’t do spontaneous small talk, but I don’t want to appear rude by not at least trying to reciprocate, I grasp hold of anything that appears to be an opportunity for me to be able to keep the conversation going. Inevitably, though, I end up wishing I hadn’t bothered because the resultant headache and confusion created far outweighs any benefit. After all, what is it I’m trying to prove anyway? That I’m not a social leper just because I can’t do chatting?!
In conclusion, I have decided that having just one good friend is enough, especially as I have been blessed with her being such a good friend. I have given up chasing after this particular neurotypical dream, of being popular and inundated with friends, and of needing lots of back-up friends in case my best friend suddenly pops her clogs (that means dies, for those of a severely literal nature)! As I’ve recently realised, people are not interchangeable like batteries or light bulbs: you cannot replace them and not notice the difference. And now I wouldn’t want to anyway. My best friend is very special and unique, and I’d never have the exact same relationship with anyone else as I have with her.
Personally I think that making friends is an art form that requires special skills which, unfortunately, they don’t formally teach in school. Apparently you’re supposed to learn and pick it up instinctively just by being in school around other children – imagine that?! To me it’s as unfathomable as the inner workings (or otherwise!) of my computer and, as with my computer, I should perhaps simply give up trying to understand how it all works, and just blunder on as best I can. After all it has worked, in its way, so far, and you just can’t learn this stuff by rote. A pity, really: I’ve always been far better at theory than practise!
31 March 2010
Don't Mind Me Two
This is by way of an addendum to the last blog post, Sense and Sensibility.
I really find this business of not knowing my own mind a bit tedious at times, especially when I also have the annoying habit of making categorical statements, only to find that I have cemented myself in the wrong place yet again, and I’ve got to set about chiselling my way out!
In this instance I am referring to my statement about liking the change in the seasons. Now this is not strictly untrue: I do like things like seeing the flowers appear in spring and the arrival of the baby birds, not to mention all the wonderful fruit that makes its appearance during these warmer months (I have a ‘thing’ about food, especially fruit – I think it’s called an obsession!) However, my liking of the seasonal changes is mainly theoretical – I like the idea of it, but the reality appears to clash with my personality. I enjoy reading about them, and seeing pictures – the way they do it in magazines, directing your attention to whatever aspect of the change happens to be their particular interest (health magazines, food and lifestyle magazines, etc). I know it’s a bit of a bizarre thing to enjoy, but I have aspergers, don’t you know - bizarre is my middle name (er, not literally, you understand?!) And, anyway, I’ve given it up now because it was such an obsession and a distraction that I hardly got much else done but reading – anything!
I have a lot of these delusions about myself. Some of them are really quite funny. For instance I used to think that I was a gregarious social butterfly. I mistook not being able to stop talking once I started as a sign that I enjoyed social interaction, and was able to engage in light chit-chat! The fact that it would wear me out, that I would come away from such encounters with my mind racing and obsessing over what had been said (which could last up to a week until the next time!), and that I could only talk about one thing – namely me and my interests – failed to register. I had to have my neurotypical best friend tell me that this is what I did, and that this does not constitute small talk, and general polite conversation. I was aghast! Was my small talk not small enough, then? How small did it have to be? I mean, for heaven’s sake, I’m the woman who’s obsessed with the minutiae of life: you can’t get much smaller than that, surely?!! But no, apparently this doesn’t count. It’s not light enough, like a fairy cake – more in the way of a rock bun that’s been cooked too long!
So, to try to get back on track, this change business is not something I embrace wholeheartedly, or even half-heartedly at times – sometimes there’s no heart to be found in it whatsoever! I just have this idea that I do, even despite all the evidence to the contrary throughout my life. I keep thinking it’s just a matter of changing my attitude (ha ha ha, more change!) towards the idea of change, but as yet this has not worked, and I’ve been doing it a bloody long time now! Methinks it’s time I tried another method - accept that it’s intrinsically part of the aspergers and, for whatever inexplicable reason, change just isn’t something I’m ever going to find easy. Hell’s bells, I don’t even like changing my breakfast cereal, or the kind of knickers I buy! And I hate it when the Brussels sprout season comes to its end, and I have to figure out something else to buy in their place!
I hate the change in seasons, and not just because of the difficulties I have with deciding what to wear. I hate it when the clocks go forward here in the UK (which they have just done, and now I’ve lost an hour’s sleep, and I’d just got back into the rhythm of getting up earlier!), and the dreaded British summer time begins – in the middle of spring! It’s the time when all the people, who were safely locked up in their homes during the colder months while I was out taking my walks in blissful solitary peace, suddenly appear and the world feels overcrowded. Now I can hardly get from my door to where I walk without encountering someone, and even whilst indoors I can hear them going about their business outside.
What is it with people? Why does it seem they all have to come out at the same time? Couldn’t they do it in shifts? And why is it that they seem to have this propensity for gathering together in the same places, like sheep all following each other around? I mean, just look at what happens in the summer holidays when they all head for the traditional holiday spots and theme parks: can there be anything less conducive to a restful break from work or school? Is it any wonder half of them are glad when the holidays end and it’s time to go back?! (I do know that they are not all the same, and that they don’t all do these things: it just seems like it to me!) Me, I look forward to when the days grow shorter and the clocks go back, and I get my lost hour back (where does it go in the interim? On holiday, probably, away from all the people!). Not to mention, of course, all those surplus people suddenly disappear indoors.
And there, once again, I imply that I enjoy another change, but I am reminded of the fact that I apparently don’t respond well to the lack of light, the cold, and every other thing that goes with the autumn/winter season, and that it affects my mood and I become quite gloomy at times. I only ever seem able to see one piece of the jigsaw at a time, and never the whole picture, so I have to frequently be reminded of the truth about myself and my condition. It’s a bit of a bugger when you can’t quite remember who you really are!
So, having explored the issue, I have come to the conclusion that no, I don’t like change. In fact, I BLOODY WELL HATE IT!!! This will not come as a surprise to my friend, who is constantly telling me that it’s the case: but to me, I’m always amazed. It takes me a while for things to fully compute, and then I can never guarantee that it won’t go in and disappear into the black hole that appears to materialise in my mind to swallow up all the really useful information I could do with retaining, leaving me with a swirling mass of gaseous waste to ponder on obsessively – the minutiae of life!
I really find this business of not knowing my own mind a bit tedious at times, especially when I also have the annoying habit of making categorical statements, only to find that I have cemented myself in the wrong place yet again, and I’ve got to set about chiselling my way out!
In this instance I am referring to my statement about liking the change in the seasons. Now this is not strictly untrue: I do like things like seeing the flowers appear in spring and the arrival of the baby birds, not to mention all the wonderful fruit that makes its appearance during these warmer months (I have a ‘thing’ about food, especially fruit – I think it’s called an obsession!) However, my liking of the seasonal changes is mainly theoretical – I like the idea of it, but the reality appears to clash with my personality. I enjoy reading about them, and seeing pictures – the way they do it in magazines, directing your attention to whatever aspect of the change happens to be their particular interest (health magazines, food and lifestyle magazines, etc). I know it’s a bit of a bizarre thing to enjoy, but I have aspergers, don’t you know - bizarre is my middle name (er, not literally, you understand?!) And, anyway, I’ve given it up now because it was such an obsession and a distraction that I hardly got much else done but reading – anything!
I have a lot of these delusions about myself. Some of them are really quite funny. For instance I used to think that I was a gregarious social butterfly. I mistook not being able to stop talking once I started as a sign that I enjoyed social interaction, and was able to engage in light chit-chat! The fact that it would wear me out, that I would come away from such encounters with my mind racing and obsessing over what had been said (which could last up to a week until the next time!), and that I could only talk about one thing – namely me and my interests – failed to register. I had to have my neurotypical best friend tell me that this is what I did, and that this does not constitute small talk, and general polite conversation. I was aghast! Was my small talk not small enough, then? How small did it have to be? I mean, for heaven’s sake, I’m the woman who’s obsessed with the minutiae of life: you can’t get much smaller than that, surely?!! But no, apparently this doesn’t count. It’s not light enough, like a fairy cake – more in the way of a rock bun that’s been cooked too long!
So, to try to get back on track, this change business is not something I embrace wholeheartedly, or even half-heartedly at times – sometimes there’s no heart to be found in it whatsoever! I just have this idea that I do, even despite all the evidence to the contrary throughout my life. I keep thinking it’s just a matter of changing my attitude (ha ha ha, more change!) towards the idea of change, but as yet this has not worked, and I’ve been doing it a bloody long time now! Methinks it’s time I tried another method - accept that it’s intrinsically part of the aspergers and, for whatever inexplicable reason, change just isn’t something I’m ever going to find easy. Hell’s bells, I don’t even like changing my breakfast cereal, or the kind of knickers I buy! And I hate it when the Brussels sprout season comes to its end, and I have to figure out something else to buy in their place!
I hate the change in seasons, and not just because of the difficulties I have with deciding what to wear. I hate it when the clocks go forward here in the UK (which they have just done, and now I’ve lost an hour’s sleep, and I’d just got back into the rhythm of getting up earlier!), and the dreaded British summer time begins – in the middle of spring! It’s the time when all the people, who were safely locked up in their homes during the colder months while I was out taking my walks in blissful solitary peace, suddenly appear and the world feels overcrowded. Now I can hardly get from my door to where I walk without encountering someone, and even whilst indoors I can hear them going about their business outside.
What is it with people? Why does it seem they all have to come out at the same time? Couldn’t they do it in shifts? And why is it that they seem to have this propensity for gathering together in the same places, like sheep all following each other around? I mean, just look at what happens in the summer holidays when they all head for the traditional holiday spots and theme parks: can there be anything less conducive to a restful break from work or school? Is it any wonder half of them are glad when the holidays end and it’s time to go back?! (I do know that they are not all the same, and that they don’t all do these things: it just seems like it to me!) Me, I look forward to when the days grow shorter and the clocks go back, and I get my lost hour back (where does it go in the interim? On holiday, probably, away from all the people!). Not to mention, of course, all those surplus people suddenly disappear indoors.
And there, once again, I imply that I enjoy another change, but I am reminded of the fact that I apparently don’t respond well to the lack of light, the cold, and every other thing that goes with the autumn/winter season, and that it affects my mood and I become quite gloomy at times. I only ever seem able to see one piece of the jigsaw at a time, and never the whole picture, so I have to frequently be reminded of the truth about myself and my condition. It’s a bit of a bugger when you can’t quite remember who you really are!
So, having explored the issue, I have come to the conclusion that no, I don’t like change. In fact, I BLOODY WELL HATE IT!!! This will not come as a surprise to my friend, who is constantly telling me that it’s the case: but to me, I’m always amazed. It takes me a while for things to fully compute, and then I can never guarantee that it won’t go in and disappear into the black hole that appears to materialise in my mind to swallow up all the really useful information I could do with retaining, leaving me with a swirling mass of gaseous waste to ponder on obsessively – the minutiae of life!
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Snow Leopard
An experiment in watercolour and gouache
Love
Copied from photograph of the same name by Roberto Dutesco
On The Prowl
Watercolour tiger
