The Aspie Experience

The room is white with large doors on the left and right. Towards the back, there is a desk, a computer, a telephone and a chair. When you enter, you will sit at the desk and be given a series of tasks to complete.


The first is simple. Dial a phone number and carry on a ten minute conversation. What you discuss is not important. Talk about the weather, if you want to. Just pick up the phone and begin.

As soon as you begin your conversation, several people will enter the room from the left and right doors and they will begin to converse with one another around you. As many people do, they will move about and gesture within your line of sight as they talk amongst themselves. Because you are not an Aspie, you may be able to ignore them – to tune out their voices.

To ensure that you get the full Aspie experience, the people will make certain you can’t ignore them. They will ask you questions and poke you and invade your personal space as you attempt to complete your phone call. You may notice that is becoming progressively more difficult to listen to what the person on the other end of the line is saying. They may become impatient with you asking them to repeat what they’ve said several times.

Once the ten minute phone call is over, the exercise will be repeated. This time you will attempt to carry on a conversation with a person in front of you instead of on the phone. In addition to the multiple conversations around you, there will also be four televisions (one on each wall) turned up quite loud, each with a different program showing.

When this is over, you will be quizzed on the things discussed both in the phone and face to face conversation. It is likely that you will remember very little having been so distracted during both.

When this section is complete, we will move on to a different task. You will be given a series of basic puzzles to solve on the computer. Each has a time limit and will require intense focus to complete. Once the timer begins, you will experience the same distractions as before: loud conversations, questions, being touched, televisions, and so on.

The final test requires nothing from you but to remain calm and relaxed. The furniture will be removed from the room, but the other elements will remain. There will be additional people crowding the room and jostling you as they interact with one another. Music will be piped in over the voices and televisions and multi-colored strobe lights will go off intermittently. Other sounds, such as crying babies, cellphone ringers and barking dogs will add to the cacophony. Various smells will waft by – perfumes, cooking food, trash, etc. You will also be wearing an itchy sweater while the temperature in the room is increased. How long can you keep your cool?

I’ll be waiting for you on the other side. Maybe now you’ll have a little more empathy for me.

Attempting to Self-Advocate

I’ve contacted a disability rights group with the following message:


“I have Asperger's Sydrome and Rheumatoid Arthritis. I have worked the same job for 10 years and new management is taking away the things that allow me to be productive and not excessively stressed. For example, I have always had my own office with a door I can close. The combination of that and foam earplugs allow me to block out noise. The closed door also blocks distractions from my field of vision. My office is being taken away and the compromises offered have not been given. I was offered a headset that was to block out sound, but one that blocks out none was purchased. I have repeatedly expressed my need to stay where I am and am told that I have no choice in the matter. As part of the "transistion" my manager has insisted I start leaving my office door open, which led to a meltdown due to the endless noise. The only things they have followed through with is to get me a chair that is more supportive and to put in a handicap parking sign. Human Resources at my company is supporting the manager.


My manager has also made jokes about Asperger's Syndrome, including pretending to lunge at me because of my personal space issues and to laugh at my sensitivity to light. He has also told me more than once regarding the stress that the noise and chaos of being out of my office causes me that I will "get used to it." I attempted to explain that Autism isn't something you can get used to, but he does not listen. I have never had to worry about seeking advocacy or requesting accommodations before, as every previous manager has worked with me.”

The headset I was promised is not at all what I was told to expect. It only covers one ear and, even wearing a foam earplug in the uncovered ear, blocks out NO noise. I was told to keep my office door open starting this past Monday and it was excruciating. I had a massive meltdown by 1:00 PM the first day. What’s even worse is that the loudest of our employees is on vacation this week. I don’t know what I’ll do when he gets back. I absolutely cannot work like this. It’s not like I’m even asking for new accommodations. I’m simply asking them not to take away the ones I’ve had for ten years!

Was The Grinch An Aspie?

Sit down this Christmas season and watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas (the 1966 cartoon…not the live action travesty) and look at the Grinch versus the Whos as an Aspie versus a town of NTs. It might give you some insight about people like me.


What was it the Grinch hated so much about the way the Whos down in Whoville celebrated Christmas? “All the noise, noise, noise, noise!” I feel you, Grinch. I do. Like so many Aspies, the Grinch prefers to be alone, living atop Mount Crumpet with only his dog for company. His need for quiet is overwhelming and the endless disruption of it drives him to a state of bitterness and hatred.

The narrator doesn’t get it. He tells us that the Grinch’s heart is two sizes too small…or that his head isn’t screwed on right. Naturally it’s all Mr. Grinch’s fault that he can’t conform to what the rest of Whovillian society expects.

I’m not saying it’s okay to try to destroy a holiday enjoyed by many, or that I agree in any way with how the Grinch deals with the situation. I’m just saying it doesn’t seem fair that things had to get so bad that he felt he had no other recourse. Why didn’t anyone see that he needed help?

Unlike the Grinch, I don’t hate Christmas. I don’t have a problem with the size of my heart. A Christmas morning Who song will not magically make me able to tolerate “All the noise, noise, noise, noise!”. The Grinch is not a perfect analogy. If he were truly an Aspie, no amount of heart growth would make him want to be smack in the middle of the Whoville Christmas festivities.

My point is simply this, before you judge someone who wants to be left alone or try to tell them that their intolerance of noise is just an overreaction, remember that it goes both ways. You enjoy your flu-flubas and tartinkas and I’ll take my plate of Who Pudding and Roast Beast over to this quiet corner and we’ll each enjoy Christmas our own way.

Having the “Wrong” Reactions (And an Update on the Work Mess)

I once made someone very angry because I asked for their reasoning behind an opinion that I disagreed with. I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful or argumentative. I wasn’t trying to change their opinion to match mine. I was simply curious. I wanted to understand why their opinion was different from mine. It never occurred to me that I shouldn’t ask because it might be interpreted as rude or confrontational. I just wanted to know.


I also tend to joke around when I’m uncomfortable, but because I have that special brand of quirky Aspie humor, it often makes me seem insensitive or just plain weird. As I’ve become more aware of this, I’ve become more likely to clam up for fear of saying the wrong thing. The more I realize how different I am, the more withdrawn I become.

The desire not to make social mistakes weighs heavy on me, now that I know how many of them I make and how often. It adds to the social anxiety I already felt and makes me nervous about interacting with people I’ve known for years. I’m endlessly afraid of accidentally offending people. I wish I didn’t care, but I do.

On top of all of that, I’m constantly faced with people who have such a twisted understanding of people like me that I feel like I’m banging my head against the wall. The situation at work is the perfect example. This week, we’re starting the “transition” to the move out of my office. I’ve been told to keep my door open. This is so very difficult for me. People are constantly walking by and the noise is so distracting. A binaural phone headset was supposed to be the compromise on the noise levels, but when it arrived, it was not at all what we discussed.

http://www.hellodirect.com/hellodirect/Shop?DSP=30200&PCR=1:1:5:15:150:1040&IID=13478&imagesequence=

This is what arrived on Friday. You can see it only covers one ear, rather than the two I was expecting. Now I have my door open, a headset covering one ear and an earplug in the other and I am a wreck. I was having muscle spasms from the tension by 8:00 AM and a headache by 9:30 AM. All I want is to close my door and get some work done, but it is not happening. I can’t help but fear being fired when management is creating a situation that makes it impossible for me to be productive.

Things You Should Know

You should know I’m not stuck up. I have overwhelming social anxiety that makes it difficult for me to be around people and I don’t know how to make small talk. A simple, “Hi, how are you,” can cause me enormous stress if I’m not ready for it.


You should know that my mood swings don’t mean I’m crazy. I just have a lower melting point than most people. It takes very little to overwhelm me. My arthritis makes it worse. Being tired and in pain on top of all the other sensory attacks makes me even more vulnerable.

You should know that it isn’t personal when I turn down your invitations to socialize. It’s not that I don’t like you; I just don’t have the capacity to function in the typical “Hey, let’s catch up over drinks,” situation. Parties are even harder to deal with. Just know that you can always talk to me online. I’m more comfortable in cyberspace than I am in the “real world”.

You should know that simply trying harder won’t change anything. It doesn’t matter how much I want to be cool and friendly and popular, because those things aren’t me. I’m learning to like myself the way I am, quirks and all.

You should know that I care about whatever you may be going through. I don’t always have the words to express it and I may even seem to pull away from you when you’re suffering. Sometimes the empathy I feel for you becomes more than I can handle and I withdraw into myself. When you hurt, I hurt and sometimes it’s too much for me.

You should know that I’m just like you. I want to be loved and I want to be happy. I want to enjoy my life and to be accepted as I am. Most of all, I want to be understood.

An Aspie With Auto-Immune Disease

I have good sensory days and bad sensory days and in-between sensory days. Sometimes the slightest noise makes me want to scream and kick the walls of my office. Other times I can cope with whatever endless nonsense seeps in around the cracks in my door.


I have lived with Rheumatoid Arthritis since May of 2005. Through the diagnostic process, I had to face many of my fears. Talking to new people, as I was meeting new doctors and nurses and lab techs regularly, was not something I could avoid. I am single and at the time lived too far from my family to ask anyone to act as an advocate for me. My fear of needles was challenged, as I was having blood drawn a minimum of once a week and eventually had to learn to give myself injections. My fear of changes to my routine shook me more than any other. My routines keep me calm and suddenly I was helpless. There were days when I had to call in sick to work because I couldn’t get out of bed. I had to cut my long hair, because I could no longer lift my arms long enough to wash it properly and was unable to grip a hairbrush. I gained 50 pounds in 6 months because of the many medications I was taking and because I was suddenly forced into a sedentary lifestyle. There was a great deal of change in a very short time.

When the pain was at its worst, I was irritable and most people understood. Being unable to walk or hold a pencil without excruciating pain could upset anyone. When the medications began doing their job and the pain lessened, I still had trouble with sensory invasions, as I always had. It was just different now. Even on a relatively pain free day there were things that I had to cope with, like feeling sick from the drugs or being upset about my hair falling out.

For the past year, I have been in remission. Though my doctor never said the word “remission”, I was symptom free and off all medications, thanks to a careful regimen of vitamins. I had begun making an effort to be active again. In the middle of this wonderful year, I received my Asperger’s diagnosis. I began to feel “normal” for the first time in as long as I could remember.

A few weeks ago, I flare up hit me like a freight train. It all came back – the pain, the exhaustion, the depression, the helplessness – and I was PISSED. I hated having to agree to go back on the very medications which had made me miserable while saving me from further damage to my joints. But here’s something new…

Like every other part of my life, I have to look at this through my new “down the rabbit hole” perspective. I am in pain ALL the time. I take Prednisone, which makes me have bizarre food cravings, out of control hunger pangs and muscle spasms. I take Methotrexate, which makes me want to sleep for days and at times has made me violently ill. I take Mobic, which makes me sleepy and hyper at the same time. How can I deal with sensory overload when I can’t shut it out? How do I cope when the attacks on my senses are coming from within my own body?

This entire saga is playing out with frustrating familiarity, but I also find it fascinating. I can now look back on how I felt six years ago and understand why my mental response to the experience seemed so different from other people I spoke with who had also learned to live with RA.

The medication is beginning to help and I haven’t lost hope. I got my disease under control once and I’ll do it again. Fingers crossed (metaphorically, because…OUCH!) that it will happen sooner rather than later. Quite frankly, this sucks.

Pain and Unwinnable Battles

There are so many kinds of pain.  There’s physical pain, emotional pain, pain that comes from love and loss and dreams that were never meant to be.  There are broken bones, broken hearts, broken promises…there’s pain you think you’ll never forget and pain that never goes away and pain that you wonder where it came from in the first place.

The bully who tormented me in Junior high.  The busted knee from slipping on a wet bridge.  The stupid break-up that seemed like the world was ending.  The time I face-planted into a marble windowsill.  The day I realized the man I loved would never love me.  The pain of an auto-immune disease that may eventually cripple me and will almost definitely kill me by age 60.  The days I found out my friends had died.  The broken finger and broken toes I got being stupid.  The friendship destroyed over rumors.

And now there’s this new pain.  Not new, exactly.  It’s always been there.  That feeling, knowing I’ll never be the person I dreamed of becoming.  That I’ll never fit in.  That parties and crowds will always make me miserable.  That I’m still single because I don’t know how to act with people.  That I’m forgettable because I hide in the shadows.

It’s not really new.  It just has a name.  I thought being able to call it what it is would make things better.  In some ways it has.  Many people are more gentle with me and understanding about my social fears.  I can’t say enough how grateful I am for them.  Some just ignore it and continue giving me a hard time about not being social enough.  I can handle that.  What I can’t take is being called a liar.

Once upon a time, I told my father I thought I had an eating disorder.  He proceeded to tell me I was making it all up to add drama to my life.  Years later, diagnosis in hand, I still feel those words like a punch in the gut.  Here I am again, Asperger’s diagnosis in hand, and I’m still being called a liar.  Not by my father this time…we don’t talk anymore, thank God.  This time it’s a co-worker.  I shouldn't care, but I do.

I know I don’t fit in at work.  I don’t fit in anywhere.  I expect to be on the edge of things and it’s worse at work because I’m the only woman in an industry that seems to live by the “You don’t have a penis so you must be an idiot” philosophy.  I take a lot of disrespect.  I suck it up and deal with it.

So here I go again, pounding my head against the wall.  One of the only people I thought I could talk to made me feel so small.  It came out of left field and it hurt.  He made a crack about how I don’t come out of my office.  I laughed it off.  No, I don’t come out of my office.  I’ve explained to him before why I stay in there and I thought he understood.  I was wrong.

He wouldn‘t even let me defend myself.  Every time I opened my mouth to speak, he cut me off.  “Why are you always in there with your door closed?” turned into, “You’re stuck up,” and “You’re just making excuses,” and “You could be social if you really wanted to.”  I gave up and left.  I don’t have it in me to keep fighting battles I can’t win.

3...2...1...Meltdown...

Let's do a little math exercise:


Sinuses full of gunk.
+
Door with "Keep Door Closed" sign propped open.
+
Indoor humidity (thanks to open door) leaving everything damp and sticky.
+
Rude person on the other end of the phone.
+
Loud male coworker singing Katy Perry's "Firework" at the top of his lungs.
+
Filthy work gloves on the floor, indicating that a man has been using the LADIES room.
+
Fruit flies buzzing around...that open door again.
+
Heavy equipment being used outside that is making the walls shake.
+
Less than restful sleep last night.
=
Meltdown imminent. 

I advise everyone to take cover.

Sensory Deja Vu

I’ve spent a lot of time lately thinking about all the negative ways being hypersensitive to sounds, sights, textures, tastes and smells affect me. That really isn’t fair. There are so many good things I can associate with my senses that haven’t been getting enough attention lately.

Smells, especially, have such a powerful ability to awake emotions and memories in me. The smell of donuts and coffee reminds me of the Sunday morning drive to church. Roasted turkey legs (the big ass ones they sell at theme parks) remind me of my first Halloween Horror Nights when I worked at Universal. Cool Water cologne reminds me of my show choir days in high school. Sheep shit (yes, I said sheep shit – it smells like old cheese) reminds me of climbing all over castle ruins in Wales. There’s a certain brand of hairspray that reminds me of being in Rome. Orange blossoms make me feel relaxed. Jasmine makes me feel flirty. Amarige by Givenchy makes me feel more attractive. Vanilla makes me feel content.

It’s the same with all my senses. Hearing a certain song can instantly transport me to a particular place and time in my life, down to a specific moment. Live For Loving You by Gloria Estefan takes me back to standing in line for the ferry at the Magic Kingdom my Junior year of high school. Lean On Me takes me to a lipsync contest at church camp. Lady Marmalade reminds me of driving my first car, listening to a mix tape my best friend made me when I moved away.

I hate that there are things that can attack my senses and send me into a tailspin, but I refuse to see my sensitivity to them as a curse. If not for my amped up senses, I wouldn’t have the powerful connection I have with the good feelings and memories that they can provide. You have to take the bad with the good.

Now pardon me while I crank up some Oingo Boingo and duct tape this scented candle to my face.

Silence

I've started wearing earplugs in my office.  I tried a few different styles, but found that the inexpensive foam kind are the most comfortable and effective.  These are the kind that you smoosh down with your fingers and put into your ears and the foam expands to fill the space.  There is this perfect blissful moment for me in this process, this wonderful little moment of joy when the foam finishes expanding and the world around me is virtually silent.  I would equate it to slipping into a hot bath after a stressful day or kicking off a pair of shoes that pinch your toes.  It's become one of the best parts of my morning.  I can still hear the phone ring and the intercom paging me, but the sound doesn't cause me pain the way it did.

I am also learning to say, "I don't know what to say" instead of stressing myself out over trying to think of the correct empathetic response to another person's emotions.  I have wasted so much energy worrying that I was going to say the wrong thing to someone when I wasn't sure how to respond.  Now I know the right response is the truth.  If someone is hurting and I don't know how to make them feel better, there is nothing wrong with saying, "I wish I knew how to help you."  It's the truth and it tells them that I care about the fact that they are suffering.

Damn, I'm deep today. 

Sensory Overload

If the average person starts at zero and gradually works up to ten before getting overwhelmed, my base level is probably a seven. I think I need to develop some kind of warning system like the color-coded Homeland Security Advisory System to let everyone around me know what the risk level is for a meltdown. Green, "Low Risk of Meltdown" -- I'm mellow and well-rested and can probably tolerate a lot more than usual, so I'm up for going out and having some fun. Blue, "General Risk of Meltdown" -- I'm feeling somewhat anxious and uncomfortable but I can still run errands and enjoy the company of people. Yellow, "Significant Risk of Meltdown" -- (this is the most common for me) I can only function at work with my door closed and headphones on. Anything more will elevate the threat level. Orange, "High Risk of Meltdown" -- I am probably overtired and have already put up with multiple assaults on my senses. I need some quiet alone time to put myself back together. Red, "Severe Risk of Meltdown" -- I am done. Leave me alone in my dark, quiet room or I will flip the fuck out.

I'm still learning what I can and can't deal with. I work with some exceptionally loud people and that makes downing them out with my iPod (I'm shopping for a good pair of earplugs now) difficult at times. What's more, they've taken exception to my need for quiet and have begun to do things like pound on the wall when they pass my office or stand outside my door while yelling back and forth at each other. I have no proof that they're targeting me, but this has only begun since my diagnosis. I made no announcement to my co-workers, but I did have to tell my manager what was going on so he would understand why I'm working with headphones on and keeping my door closed. I suspect he asked them to keep the volume down for me. It's been my experience in almost ten years working here that, if you ask them to be quiet, they only get louder. Am I surprised by their behavior? Not really. I am the only female and I have asked repeatedly for them to stop using the ladies room because it makes me uncomfortable and because they piss on the floor and that's disgusting, but they persist. You'd never know I work with grown-ass men.

Today is a definite Threat Level Orange.

On Crowds, Unpleasant Noises and Trying To Do Good

On Saturday, I went to give blood. I have done it only once before (though I have made four attempts and been sent away because my iron was too low) and had decided that one of my resolutions for 2011 was to give as often as they would let me.  I'm a fucking saint, right?

I made an appointment for 11:30, because the last time I had gone in on a Saturday without an appointment, I waited an hour just for the initial finger prick...and who wants to wait that long for a little prick? When I arrived, there was some kind of alarm going off -- a loud beep every few seconds. I don't know how it wasn't driving everyone else crazy but, holy shitballs, for me it was like torture. Every beep made my whole body tense up. I couldn't put my earbuds in to block it out because I was waiting for my name to be called.

Since I was a little bit early, I figured I could tough it out the ten minutes before my appointment time. It was very crowded and I took a seat as far away from the rest of the people waiting as I could. The chatter on top of the beeping alarm was grating at best, so I tried to keep myself distracted with a game on my iPod. 11:30 came an went. Soon it was 11:45. Then noon. I was still waiting, still forcing myself to tolerate the crowd and the obnoxious beeping.

I let one more minute tick by. I saw the nurse stand up to call the next name and waited to hear mine. Surely such a large organization that allows you to make appointments so that you can help them would not be more than a half hour behind schedule. The next name was not mine. Then a man walked in with two small children. The only seats available were next to me. The children brought loud video games with them. I was done.

I approached the counter and explained that I couldn't wait any longer, but would look at my schedule and make an appointment for another day. I felt guilty. I wanted to donate. I wanted to help people. When I saw that there were still five people WITH APPOINTMENTS ahead of me, my guilt began to ebb slightly.  Then the nurse gave me some kind of self-righteous sneer and I walked out with my guilt fully assuaged.

I still want to give blood. I think that pre-diagnosis, I would have just decided never to go back. Now I think I'll try a different approach. I am going to contact the director and explain my situation. Being on the autism spectrum, I can't deal with crowds and noise the way others can. I have emailed the blood center and asked what a good time would be for me to go in where there will be less of a crowd. This means less noise, less chance of waiting a long time and the ability to use my earbuds and still know when they are calling me.

--Update: I explained in my e-mail to the organization that I am not comfortable with the phone and that I needed to converse via e-mail.  Their e-mailed response told me to call them.  Guh.

It's Gonna Be An Aspie New Year!

We are now a week into 2011, a new year and a new decade. I have had a feeling for a long time that important changes were coming for me and my new diagnosis certainly fits that description. It’s exciting and scary, learning to navigate the world in a new way.

I went to Sea World with one of my roommates (Chick Tender) on New Year’s Eve, knowing it would be somewhat crowded, but confident I could avoid the majority of the chaos. Aside from three incidents, I think the night was a success. The first thing that happened was that we got caught behind one of the stadiums as it emptied from a show. Too many people, too much noise and no way out. CT (unfazed by the mess herself) tried to say something to me and I had to tell her, “I can’t focus on anything you’re saying right now. Please tell me again when we’re out of this crowd.”

That was a big deal for me. A short time ago, I would have tried to listen to her and get through the crowd and it only would have made me more overwhelmed and likely to have a meltdown. Instead, I said what needed to be said, then pushed my way to a wall so that the crowd was only on one side of me. I worked my way along the wall until there was finally some heavenly open space around me. I survived and didn’t have a meltdown.  Score one for me.

The second incident involved some hyper children whose parents were ignoring them. We were standing in line for The Polar Express and these kids were climbing all over the queue’s railing and pushing each other and alternately singing and yelling. After they had pushed one another into my back for the fifth or sixth time, CT saw how stressed I was getting and switched places with me. I think that made the parents notice how their kids were behaving and start paying attention, because they were much better behaved after that. Again, I survived.

When it was time to get something for dinner, off we went to our "usual" spot on the other side of the lagoon. To get to where we thought the restaurant was, we had to pass through a crowd. Not only was it a large crowd, it was a very loud one, as it had gathered in front of a stage where a salsa band was playing. There were cleverly designed cocktail tables about, with glass tops and bongo drum bases – even a hole cut in the top of the glass so the top of the drum was exposed. Cute, right? Sure, except that every asshole near them felt is was their sworn duty to drum on the damn bongos. This might not have bothered me so much, but it seemed there was not a single person in the crowd with enough rhythm to at least play the same beat as the band.

On top of the noise and the crowd, CT and I were then separated by the “I Have A Stroller So I Have The Right Of Way” people. You know the ones. The people who act like they are the first humans to ever breed and think having children means that the rules don’t apply to them and that they are excused from showing common courtesy? Yeah. There were a lot of them there that night. Having a friend nearby was the thing that was really keeping me sane, so the forced separation just about drove me over the edge.

Then we reached the other side, where we realized that we had already passed the restaurant back on the other side of the lagoon and that we now had to go back through the same fucking obnoxious, off-tempo drumming, drunk-dancing, goddamn parental entitlement crowd. I have never been so grateful to sit down in front of a hamburger in my life as I was when we finally reached our destination.

All in all, I still consider the night a success. I never had a meltdown, CT was supportive of my need to stop and refocus periodically and I ended up having a really good time. I’m really looking forward to the coming year.  But I swear on all that is holy, the next person who physically runs into me with a stroller is going to feel my wrath.  And it's pretty wrathful wrath, too.  So watch out.

That's Claritin Clear!

You know the Claritin commercial where everything is all fuzzy and then that layer is peeled away and the colors are bright and the picture is clear and everything suddenly makes sense? That’s what my Asperger’s diagnosis feels like. I have learned that, while listening to another person talk, I must put on my interested face and nod at what I think are appropriate times and occasionally say things like “Yeah, I know” or “You’re right” or “What a jerk, I can’t believe he did that to you”. This is what “normal” people do. While I’m doing all this, my brain is screaming, “I don’t care about this. It has no affect on me. Please stop talking. Seriously. Stop now. Shut up. Shut up. I’m begging you, please stop talking! SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!!  JESUS H. CHRIST, WILL YOU JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP???”

I have never understood why other people don’t seem to have this inner voice begging to get away from small talk or boring conversations. Before, I would get overloaded and have a meltdown and not know why. I would feel the need to go straight to my bedroom when I got home from work so I could be alone for awhile and I wouldn’t know how to make my roommate understand that my need to be alone did not mean she had done something to make me angry. I would feel endlessly guilty about not missing my mother when she moved overseas or the fact that I don’t notice if I go long periods of time without talking to my sister. I would force myself into social situations that I knew would upset and exhaust me because I didn’t know why they upset and exhausted me.

It makes sense now. No more fuzzy picture.

Now I know the causes of what I have always considered my “weirdness” and I am learning to take care of myself. I was able to say to my roommate, “Look, my senses get overwhelmed and I need time to recover from the day. I need to go to be alone for a little while and I need you to know it’s not about you or anything you’ve done. When I feel better, I’ll come back downstairs.” I was able to tell my boss, “I can’t deal with all the crazy noise here. I’m going to close the door to my office and play a white noise track through my ear buds. I can still hear if I get a phone call, so it won’t have any negative affect on my work.”  So much better than flipping my shit and screaming when things got to be too much.

This new world of mine is an amazing place.

Looking Through a New Lens

When I look at things that I have always tried to shove down because they weren’t normal through this new Aspie lens, I realize more and more how much of myself I have suppressed in an effort to fit in. I’m a list maker. I’m terribly disorganized, so I make lists to try and organize my brain. Naturally, I’m making lists to sort through what I can do to make my life easier now that I know what it is that’s causing the endless freak outs. This first list I’ll call, “Shit I Thought Was Wrong With Me.”

• “Can you see where I’m coming from?” No, I can’t. If you are reacting to an issue in a way that makes no sense to me, I can’t force myself to see it your way. You can try and try to explain how you feel, but I just don’t get it. No amount of explaining is going to make me understand why you want to take the action you’ve chosen to take. I don't want to talk it out, either.  Say what you need to say, I'll say what I need to say and then let's move on.  I've never understood the need to talk a topic to death.  For most of my life I have thought this meant I was insensitive.

• “You don’t call, you don’t write…” Sorry, I just don’t notice if long stretches of time go by when I don’t talk to you. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I don’t need the constant contact that so many people need. I’m good on my own. I used to think this meant I was selfish and I forced myself to put on my neurotypical costume and endure so much face time when what I wanted was solitude.  I beat myself up for years because I thought I wasn't supposed to want to be left the hell alone.

• “You’ll change your mind about wanting kids when you meet the right man.” No, I will not. I have never wanted kids. I can be very maternal with my friends, but I am not meant to be a mother. Kids are messy and noisy and refuse to do things in an orderly, scheduled manner. I need a routine and lots of quiet time.  I do not need a house full of legos and unidentifiable odors.

• “It’s not THAT crowded.” To you, maybe. To me, being around too many people at once is sheer hell. At the same time, there are certain times when I can deal with crowds. At a theme park, when I’m alone or with one or two friends, I’m okay. Yes, there are a lot of people, but everyone is going in a different direction and I’m in a small group. I can cope with that a lot better than I can deal with a general admission concert. No assigned seats, everyone pushing to get closer to the stage, everyone with the same destination – too much. The last one of those I went to, I ended up at the back of the venue alone while my friends were in the middle of all the chaos.  Guess what?  Going out with your friends and ending up by yourself sucks balls.

• “But you’re a performer, so you can talk to anyone.” True, I was in show choir and drama in school and I was a tour guide at a local theme park when I graduated high school. I loved being on stage and it was easy for me. For a little while, I could interact with people without really interacting. I was just playing a part. When first I got my tour guide job, I delivered fifteen minute tours from the back of a tram – zero human interaction. Later, I was trained as a VIP guide, which meant that I had to take groups of up to fifteen people into the park and interact with them for four to eight hours. I hated it. I also spent some time working as a leasing agent at an apartment complex and as a concierge at a convention hotel. I despised both jobs. Where I am now, I can keep human interaction to a minimum and it’s the best job I’ve ever had. It would be even better if I could telecommute and cut down the interaction even more.

• “You’re overreacting.” You might think so, but I’m reacting the only way I can. I can’t help but get riled up over what you see as “little things”. I can become intensely aggravated by a shirt tag or the sound of dripping water. I can totally lose it when my routine is disrupted. I will freak out because I can become overwhelmed by things most people don’t even notice.

There are plenty of other things I can add to this list and will as I explore and examine my life so far. This is a whole new world for me. I never thought learning I was different would be the thing that finally made me feel normal.

A 34 Year Old Baby

That's how I feel these days. As if I have been someone else my whole life and I have finally been reborn as the person I really am. I was the weird kid. Smart, socially awkward, immature, obsessed with one thing or another for long periods of time -- I just always figured I was everything my peers called me. I was a nerd, a dork, a geek, a freak and any other thing they could think of to call me. Add to that the fact that I was hyper-religious and it was a recipe for lonliness. I had two friends throughout elementary school, one of whom confessed to me years later that she had told all the other kids that she was only pretending to be my friend.  I can hardly blame her.  I was weird as hell.

My social detachment, my difficulties with noise and crowds, my tendency to meltdown after trying to force myself for too long to be like everyone else -- these things have always made me feel abnormal. I'm supposed to want to be around people, but I crave time spent alone. I love music, but noise drives me up a wall. I don't miss friends with whom I've lost touch, but I feel like I should. I love my mother and I love spending time with her, but I didn't even shed a tear when she moved to another country after marrying my stepfather. I loathe talking on the phone. I'd much rather communicate via e-mail. Facebook is my main method of socialization.

So now I'm learning who I am. I am embracing my weirdness.  Anyone who has a problem with who I am can eat me.  I'm a FemmeBurger, people.  Go ahead.  Take a bite.  I'm delicious!