Twitter Ye Not

I fear I may have inadvertently become an internet stalker. 

I’ll try to keep this short and tweet. 

What began as a bit of loitering, has gradually progressed into lurking, only to finally evolve  into stalking.  I am talking here about having discovered the world of social networking – Twitter, in particular.

 As I may have mentioned before, I have this ‘thing’ with the internet.  ‘Thing’ being a mild way to describe the driving desire I experience when I come on here without strict guidelines and a specific goal in mind.  Otherwise it’s akin to sending a lone child off into a sweet shop, with a credit card – don’t expect me back any time soon, or without having bought or eaten everything in sight.   

Apart from my insatiable desire for seeking out information on any topic which randomly distracts my mind, I have a particular ‘interest’ in reading ebooks – an extension of my love of reading the real thing.  This unfortunate turn of events came about as the result of acquiring an iPod Touch a while ago, when I was suddenly catapulted into the world of apps. And, being of limited imagination when it comes to using technology, my attention was drawn to the familiar and comforting world of books – available instantaneously on my iPod.  Oh joy!  I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.    

Then, oh double joy, I found that they were also accessible to me on my computer.  All this time and I hadn’t known I’d got an instant library at my fingertips.  Out of my mind went the tiny detail about why I had given up going to the real library (because it’s full of books, and I would bring as many of them home as possible, and promptly get lost in reading them all, whilst neglecting other areas of my life – like sleeping, eating properly, getting dressed, and suchlike.  You know, the trivial details). 

So I failed to make the obvious connection between an internet library and the real thing, but instead made up for what I’d been missing out on, promptly going berserk, reading round the clock, and probably doing untold damage to my eyesight, and my brain, in the process.  All attempts at controlling it didn’t work, due in part to the fact that I couldn’t think of anything else to use the iPod for, other than to listen to music (which was the original purpose for buying it).

In the end I did the only sensible thing – I got rid of it.  However, a monster had been unleashed, and now demanded to be kept fed - the love of on-line reading.  I’ve always been a voracious reader, and here I’d found another way of doing it, with access to a whole world of literature I’d never have otherwise encountered, or wanted to pay for.  Or wanted to be seen in the company of.  This way I could have access to books which I would not consider checking out of a library, or buying from a bookshop, because of the embarrassment.  I have my image to maintain, don’t you know.

In the process I discovered a particular author whose books I found I liked.  That would not have been so bad had I not also discovered that she has a blog, which I proceeded to follow.  And then I found ‘THE LINKS’ – yes, there they were, sitting innocently on the page, under the heading ‘Want to get social?’  And, of course, the social butterfly in me (yeah, right – she sits alongside the maths genius, the computer geek, and the musical maestro), she piped up and insisted that yes, she did, that she’d like to stretch her wings a little, and that it would be okay just to have a little look.  Really, it would only be a peek.

And the rest, as is so often the case, is history: meaning a repetition of the same old thing, with the inevitable conclusion - I am now a Twitter obsessive.

However, this does not mean that I have joined the ranks of the Twitterers, and am now gaily interacting with the inhabitants of that strange on-line world.  On the contrary, I merely sit on the sidelines, reading tweets, feeling a familiar sense of detachment, whilst being fascinated with the conversations taking place.  It actually feels like I’m reading a book, or watching television (another medium which I had to rid myself of, ‘cos it was sucking the life out of me).  I begin to live vicariously, whilst my own life gradually fades into the background, eventually almost ceasing to exist. 

I have gone so far as to calculate the time difference between the countries of said author and myself, in order to be able to work out when I can next expect new tweets to appear.  This is on account of the fact that I initially spent a great deal of time checking and re-checking every few minutes, only to be frustrated to find there was nothing new to read: until I realised that it was the middle of the night in America when I was doing most of my twalking (a new word for tweet stalking).  Yes, it’s got that bad.  If I carry on like this, I’ll be plotting out her day!

I feel a bit like a voyeur, which is faintly disturbing, even though there’s nothing sexual in what I’m doing.  But then our world has become quite voyeuristic, the way we are able to read about or watch what’s happening in other peoples’ lives, via the news or reality television, newspapers and magazines, and the internet.  Me, I find myself strangely fascinated and enthralled by the way people discourse with each other.  I imagine this is how an alien would feel, peering through a microscope at an entirely different species, studying how it works.  

Or perhaps it’s ‘cos it’s a bloody effective way of avoiding my daily routine!

Whatever the reason, the fact is that Tweeting is bad for my health, and I think I should leave it to the people who can do it without abandoning the rest of their lives.  And to the birds.  Tweet tweet.

Missing Inaction

 Oh, hello?  Gosh, it’s been a while since I last posted anything here.  If I don’t do something soon people might get the impression that I’m inconsistent.  Though why they should think that about me, I have no idea.  It’s not like it’s a part of being autistic, or having ADHD... is it?  It is?  Did I miss something there?  Oh.  Is that why, despite all of my best intentions, I have not been able to stick to my initial goal of writing at least one blog post every month?  Seriously??  And here I was thinking it had something to do with me being lazy, self-willed, and just plain contrary.  After all, what else would it be, when I say I really love writing, am given the opportunity to do it, but then don’t, choosing instead to sit and trawl through the virtual world of the internet.  And, laughably, seeking out, amongst other things, blogs about writing, in the vague hope that they might fire up my brain and imbue me with some motivation. 

Amazing how time flies when you’re busy doing ... well, nothing in particular, other than being distracted.  But despite the fact that I have been obsessed with looking on the web (not a good thing in itself), and have trawled through a lot of not-very-helpful stuff (like writer’s blogs, and sites devoted to the art of decluttering and minimalism – which are not designed with autistics in mind, but I can’t tell the difference when I’m locked into one of my obsessions), I did search out something of value and relevance to myself, and found in the process some interesting stuff about ADHD, which has helped shift my perspective somewhat. 

In fact, that’s probably a bit of an understatement – it’s more than somewhat.  I think it may have radically altered my whole perspective on it.  Though let’s not get too over-excited here, counting my chickens – after all, it’s highly likely that I’ll completely forget this earth-shattering revelation in about a week, in the midst of some other world-redefining epiphany.  My brain’s like that, you know; something to do with being autistic, and having ADHD...

But, in light of the last article I wrote where I lamented the fact that I couldn’t seem to figure out how to accept my Asperger’s (and the rest), or apply the AA programme, or find a place in life where I fit, I do feel like I’ve had a major paradigm shift, rather than simply one of my all-too-frequent light bulb moments – you know those things, where the light goes on for a moment, and then it goes off.  On, off, on, off, on, off, on...  Kinda leaves you feeling a bit dizzy, not to mention fuzzy-visioned ‘cos you don’t get the chance for your eyeballs to adjust and focus for very long.  Sounds familiar...  Oh yeah, I think that’s how my brain works. 

So, (extended metaphor moment continuing) in the light of this new information, I can see how pointless and futile it is for me to keep trying to fit myself into a neurotypical mould, and to continue to view myself from this perspective, in a misguided attempt to ‘fix’ what I see as being ‘wrong’ in me.  Of course, true to my nature (read brain-wiring), having the realisation and then using it to change what I’ve been doing, in order to bring it into line with the new perspective, is a slow process.  But here’s one of the really important things I’ve learned over the last month from what I’ve been reading – people with ADHD (and autism) don’t do transitions very easily. 

What?  You don’t say?  That’s it?! 

Yes, I know: it’s hardly earth-shattering news, is it.  At least, not unless you’re completely new to this whole thing, in which case it could be wildly exciting.  But consider this: if, like me, you have a very literal mind, and words are very important to you, then that statement is news.  What I’ve read, heard, and said myself, hundreds of times, is that autistics don’t LIKE change.  What I haven’t heard is that we don’t DO change very well, or why.  

‘Like’ and ‘do’ are two completely different words, in my world – ‘like’ is an emotional/psychological word, and ‘do’ is an action one.  The context of the sentence changes dependent on which one is used – at least, for me it does.  But to other people who don’t think like me there is often no real difference, and the words are frequently used interchangeably.  This can often cause confusion.  It can also lead to being classed as someone who is just being picky about semantics.  Well, I’m not being – not intentionally, though it may look like that to a non-autistic.  And it has done – caused confusion, that is.   

You see, the fact is that my experience does not concur with the statement that, as an autistic, I don’t like change.  But, because everyone seems to say that this is the case, I have taken it on board and made it my own – like the good, absorbent Asperger that I am (I really would make a great toilet roll, you know.  I could give Andrex a run for their money).  If I don’t like change, then why is it that I cannot stick to the plan I have, but seek instead to tweak it at every opportunity?  Why is it that I have on there a list of activities so long that I almost don’t have enough time in the week to do them all?  Why is it that I have to have a variety of different things to engage my attention, otherwise I just lose interest?

Because I like change.  Sometimes I even lonnnnnng for it.  I cannot bear things staying the same.  If I didn’t like or want change then I never would have set off on the journey of recovery that I embarked upon nearly twenty-five years ago.

No, the problem isn’t that I don’t like it – though, over the years, I have come to feel anxiety and fear about it, and to not enjoy the disruption that it brings because of not being aware of what it was, or would entail.  There was no-one to guide me, to reassure me that it was okay, that the world wasn’t about to come to an end.  Instead it felt more like I was constantly plunging into the depths of the Amazon rainforest - before anyone even named it the Amazon rainforest.  

The problem is that I have been looking in the wrong place to find an answer –approaching it from the traditionally psychoanalytical point of view, and looking in my mind.  But the ‘problem’ is actually in my brain – it’s in the very fabric of my biological make-up, just like the colour of my eyes, or my gender.  You can’t counsel or analyse it away, though you could, perhaps, convince me that it isn’t real and I’m just making it up, or that it’s actually something else entirely (which is the delusion I’ve been living with for the last twenty-five years, the idea that it’s all to do with being an alcoholic).  No, the truth is my brain really is different.  And it’s my brain that cannot cope with change very well: it’s not wired up to be able to deal with it easily, or quickly.  But I insist that it should be able to, ‘cos where’s the big deal?  After all, I’ve analysed it, and come to the conclusion that there’s nothing to fear about change. 

Yet here I am, still seemingly displaying resistance to it.  Except that resistance is in the mind, and for most of the time I cannot find any when I look in there.  So I offer up the age-old explanation I’ve learnt in recovery – I’m in denial!  In fact, I’m so far in denial that it’s buried deep, deep, DEEEEEEP within my subconscious (or unconscious), and requires more thorough investigation and analysis. 

Well, I have to tell you, I’m a world-class analyser, and I have analysed everything to death ‘til there’s nothing left to analyse.  But still I’ve analysed the nothing, just in case I missed a bit.  Sometimes it really isn't "all in the mind".

So, now I’m tired of doing it that way, and not getting very far.  Therefore I’m going to try this way, and see what comes as a result.  This way?  Yes, it’s the one that involves embracing (rather than disgracing) that which makes me different, and trying instead to adjust the way I live my life to make it ADHD/autistic-friendly, rather than attempting to squeeze the life out of them in order to make myself fit into a long-held vision I’ve had of what it means to be a well-recovered, well-balanced, happy individual.

From inaction to action, hopefully with a bit more speed now that I’m heading in the right direction.  Perhaps tortoise-pace, rather than slug’s?  We can but hope.

  

Dis-Integrating Into Society

“To be nobody but myself, in a world which is doing its best night and day to make me everybody else, means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight, and never stop fighting.”

EE Cummings

Do you ever feel like you don’t belong?  Do you ever feel like tearing your hair out in complete frustration ‘cos, no matter what you do, you never seem to get anything right?  Do you sometimes feel as if being autistic in a predominantly non-autistic world is God’s idea of a joke, one S/He came up with whilst tripping on some particularly potent mind-altering substance?  Or, perhaps, some kind of punishment for sins committed in a previous incarnation?  

Do you ever wonder what the fucking point is of being autistic?  After all, it seems to attract nothing but criticism for the fact that it makes me incapable of behaving like a “normal” human being, and constant attempts to get me to behave in order to fit in.  Not to mention all that research people do in order to determine what’s “wrong” with my brain, and how to fix it: or, at least, wipe out the gene or whatever it is that caused it in order to make sure that no-one else has to “suffer” from it in the future.  Is it any wonder I view my autism as a curse, when I’m surrounded by such stuff?

And cursed I feel myself to be, at the moment.  Happy, joyous, and free I ain’t.  If God has some purpose for me, other than to experience the misery and frustration of being constantly on the outside looking in, then it’s lost on me.  I’ve even come to the conclusion that, despite what I read and hear about God being all-powerful, everything, and everywhere, the one thing S/He is not is autistic.  So S/He doesn’t understand me, and I don’t understand Her (which explains why I can’t interpret the signs that I’m being sent half the time ‘cos He’s communicating in neurotypical language).  

And, once again, it’s down to me to have to try to bend my brain into a fucking pretzel to attempt to understand what it is that S/He’s trying to tell me, ‘cos He’s not about to kowtow to one measly autistic who’s refusing to try to understand and change the way she thinks (at least, that’s how I see myself).  Trying to understand God is like trying to translate Sanskrit – and I should know, ‘cos I’ve been trying to learn the fucking thing for the last three years, and I’ve hardly got anywhere.  (Don’t ask me why I’m trying to learn another language when I can barely understand the one I was born to!)

I’m angry right now (can you tell?)  It’s been nearly three years since I was diagnosed as having Asperger’s, and I still haven’t accepted it.  And, what’s worse, I don’t know how to accept it, despite having a Twelve Step programme which is all about acceptance and change.  This just makes it even more fucking frustrating, ‘cos I don’t know how to apply the bloody thing to my autism.  How do you accept the unacceptable?

I desperately want to be a spiritual person (it’s one of the main reasons I do yoga), but I just can’t seem to get that right either.  The problem is that I think there’s only one way to be spiritual (of course I do, I’m fucking autistic and everything is black or white, right or wrong), and it’s the non-autistic way – which means embracing and understanding concepts like the idea that there is no right or wrong, there just is; and that God is in the all and the nothing.  

I’m re-reading the book 'Conversations with God' at the moment, which talks about all this stuff, and I’m trying desperately to understand it.  And sometimes I think that I do, intellectually, but I fear that I probably don’t, but that I’m just trying hard to do so ‘cos I think that’s the only version of spirituality there is: and if I don’t get it then I’m fucked.  After all, I’ve never yet read anything spiritual that embraces the idea of rigid thinking (which is what I’m “blessed”, or “cursed”, with) – other than religion.  And I do so hate religion.

Sometimes I think that God doesn’t want to talk to me, and that’s why He makes it necessary for me to have to have an interpreter.  As my best friend frequently says about other things (like the internet, and books), it’s not meant/written for autistics – and I fear sometimes that neither is God.  Perhaps I should seek help from an inanimate object instead?  A teapot, perhaps?  Or a toy rabbit?  Mind you, I’m sure I could find a way to misinterpret that too.  It’s something I’m highly skilled at doing.  Like missing the point.  And complicating everything.  And falling into deep, dark, dank, dungeons of doom on a regular basis.  And never, ever, wanting to be where I am – like now.

So I’m off now to find somewhere else to be.  Or perhaps that should read, I’m off to find someONE else to be?