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I ask these questions when I begin to feel anything. Moreover, I think about what I am going to say before I say it. Will I hurt someone with my words? What about my tone? I’m a very guarded individual in person, though it may not come across that way over the Internet. That’s because over the Internet, I can filter myself slowly, instead of “in real time.” Over the years, the Internet has become my playground and a place I can be free. This isn’t to say I don’t have friends, because I do, but these people know me intimately. They know what I struggle with, and they know if I have an outburst I’m going to be near-instantly sorry. And they forgive me. I don’t know why they do, but they do, and I love them for that. They keep me sane. When one of them leaves me, it leaves scars in my soul so deep that I know I’ll never be completely whole again. Sometimes, I don’t even know how much I rely on them until they are gone. Like my grandmother. When my grandmother died, I drank myself senseless for almost two days straight. (For those of you playing along at home, I’m diabetic. Diabetics and alcohol got on as well as oil and water. I shouldn’t have gone there, but I did. I couldn’t handle it.) When I finally saw my mother silently crying in her room, I snapped out of it. I could deal with my grief later. My family needed me now. Over the weeks and months to come, I felt myself becoming more and more unbalanced. The chains restraining my inner Beast were unraveling, and I didn’t know why. I was angrier than I’d been in a long time. I isolated myself even more in fear of hurting others. I let myself contact only a few people and my L.A., she kept me sane all the while dealing with her own loss. She’s a hell of a woman. But C kept us both together really (and still does). I don’t know how I’d have made it out of the quagmire of my own wrath and pain without him. He hates it when I say I believe in him. That he’s always there for me, and he is. And I know why. Because like me he’s afraid of failing those, he cares for. But he’s never failed me yet. Not even once and I've known him for nearly twenty years.
I wage a battle on myself daily, and somehow win. But it’s a pyrrhic victory. I must segregate myself from the world. I can't be out there the way I currently am. It’s probably better that way, my anger is frightening. When in a rage, I cannot stop myself from breaking everything around me, and so far I’ve never physically hurt anyone – which is a miracle, in and of itself, and I wonder whether that will ever happen – and how I might come to terms with it. I hope I never have to find out. It’s one of my greatest fears. My life is an unending war against my worst enemy – myself. That Beast in me, I can’t seem to kill it or banish it forever. My pain is a battlefield and the weather my moods. Some days the field is sunny and the wind blows in my direction, other days storms rage above a muddy swamp of no-man’s land. Barbed-wire fences keep the world at bay, and only a few know how to reach me when I retreat. I distract myself with writing, reading, watching movies, and listening to music – hoping in doing so that the Beast will stay buried for just a little while longer. That maybe today I won’t have to fight it.
That's my typical day.
Recently, I found out that I may have Asperger's (though my case seems to be pretty mild or I've worked around a lot of the usual issues) after visiting a neurologist for my bi-polar issues. Which is probably why my bullshit detector is so finely tuned (apparently, it's called "Hyper-Empathy" - I admit I wasn't paying attention to the doctor when he spoke). They even confirmed two conditions that I've suspected I've had for a while. I have both panic attacks (yayyyy. T_T), and a form of synesthesia (aural stimuli/musical notes > haptic/tactile feedback). The panic attacks are pretty "normal," but the synesthesia is kind of weird. I literally feel music or sounds (or sometimes, the sound of someone's voice) as touches on my skin. Some people's voices are like being bathed in silk, others like nails on chalkboard. Music takes on a whole new frame of perspective for me. Some music feels wonderful, like the tones/notes are giving me a massage...some are horrible. Like being punched in the gut.
So there it is, my ugly little secret(s). If you’ve ever noticed I was in a bad mood or just out and out depressed one day and chipper the next, now you know why. Don’t judge me too harshly. And if you do, that's okay too, I don't mind. I may not be neurotypical, but I'm still a person.
On a side note, enjoy some
Jose Gonzalez - the man's voice is like a handshake from a good friend, to me at least.
