So, I’m back home again.
Back from my marathon trip to a major metropolitan area to see my niece graduate.
Back from the constant onslaught of noise-noise-noise, busy hustle-bustle, and sensory overwhelm.
Back from the social overload… combined with an utter dearth of abstract, complex thought.
Back from an exclusively neurotypical world, populated by self-congratulatory buffoons who think their scent-filled, climate-controlled, germ-ridden, sexist world is the pinnacle of Western syphilisation. Woo fucking hoo. Like that massive, upscale outdoor mall crawling with cologne-soaked mainstream “fashion” afficionados is the crown jewel of their glorious empire. Good GOD, spare me.
Back from the brink of feeling like I was going to lose my mind, nearly every waking moment of the time.
I have a whole day off work to recover. I’ll need it. In fact, methinks I’ll need the whole month of June. That’s fine. I’ll just lay low, keep my activities to a bare minimum, and focus on getting enough sleep.
Hahahahaha! Who am I kidding? The whole point of being back home, is getting to “uncork” yet again, letting my mind and physical vehicle roam wild and free, without the mindless devotion to acquiring stuff and showing it off to everyone around me, like a rooster among mynah birds. Writing wildly, with more than a few minutes of uninterrupted thought at my disposal. Getting back to my daily routine of waking early, exercising, having my breakfast, writing for a few hours, going to work, just barely tolerating everything there, then coming home, having a nice dinner, watching a short t.v. show, and going to bed at a decent hour, so I can get up and do it all over again.
I didn’t get hardly any of that, since last Thursday, and it took its toll. Left me in a weeping zombie meltdown in Terminal D of the Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport… walking behind my partner with tears rolling down my face, as those oh-so-familiar internal voices kept prodding me to “Buck up“, “Get it together“, “Hold your shit!” All to no avail, because once the meltdown starts, the only way to get to the other side, is let it all just melt — withdraw to a protected corner (a bathroom stall), fall to pieces (weep uncontrollably), then wash off my face and get myself back into the swing of things by listening to some music and reading something moderately challenging.
Seriously, the most draining part of the whole four days was that there was so little intellectual challenge. So little flow. So little opportunity to get off the domesticated leash. And there was precious little outlet for my energy. Getting out and really moving wasn’t part of the scheduled activities. Sitting in one loud, chaotic restaurant after another… that was on the docket.
It was like sitting through a72-hour demonstration of a trendy, high-priced, extremely LOUD blender, while being forced to do “quiet hands” and keep absolutely still. Anguish. Pure anguish. And it doesn’t help that my partner just doesn’t get why I need to actually get up and move (at a pace that’s very quick for her, but just moderately steady for me) on a regular basis. She says I make her “swirly”.
If I don’t move — fast and vigorously — for at least an hour a day, everything falls apart. My bad, that I didn’t work that into my schedule, as there was a fitness center at the hotel where I could have worked out… as well as a pool where I could have swum. My bad. Then again, by the time we left, I was so overwhelmed with stupid work shit, it was all I could do, to meet the bare minimum of required activities.
Well, anyway, I’m done with that little descent into hell. I made the round trip, and my worst fears were realized, then absorbed, and now they’re turning into something useful. As in — a whole raft of lessons about being an autistic woman in a world which cares absolutely nothing about me, and wishes I would just go away.
Not gonna happen, that going away stuff.
Then again, maybe it is. Maybe I will just go away… From its interests, its agendas, its ways of doing things. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll remove myself from that parallel track I’ve been trying to negotiate with my life, lo these many years, quit even worrying about accommodating anyone, extending myself to anyone, making an effort for anyone who’s not going to return the favor.
I swear to God, I have wasted so much time and energy in trying to meet other people half-way, and what has it gotten me? Not a whole lot. Not a whole fucking hell of a lot. Except over-extension. Except one-sided interactions that leave others thinking that they have so much in common with me, when the truth is that I’ve suppressed my own ways and interests sufficiently to convince then that they don’t even exist. That I don’t even exist.
So, screw it.
I need to just keep busy living my life and doing a fantastic job of everything I decide to do. Never mind what the rest of the world is doing. Why should I be unhappy, just because others have no imagination, no insight, no empathy, no insight, no compassion, and no apparent interest in developing any of the above? Why should I be any less autistic, just because everyone else has chosen to be NT-centric, exclusive of any- and everything different from them?
I’m busy doing my own thing, in my own way. Now, more than ever. If others want to join me, then great. But if not, they’re seriously not worth my time. It’s not like I’m going to live forever. It’s not like I have a lot of time to waste.
So, never mind all those narrow, unimaginative people. Never mind their ridiculousness. The past four days have illustrated, loud and clear, what happens when I’m trapped in an exclusively neurotypical world that’s congratulating itself for destroying everything in sight and building a replacement that’s pathetically poorly made and, frankly, a piece of crap.
Never mind any of it. We all make our choices. I’ve got better things to do, and very different choices to make.
And so, I shall.