This is attempt no.5734 of me trying to understand what it’s like to be non-autistic. I probably got it way wrong but…meh. I’m trying, ok? I think I understand what people mean by ‘let it go’ now. And I’m trying that too.

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April is Autism Awareness Month so I thought I’d address an important issue that I have been thinking about for quite some time. Those outside of the autism community may not know this but for a large portion of those with autism it is not seen as such a negative thing, no, it is accepted.
As it should be. It’s one of the few disorders that give rise to intense focus and an exceptional long term memory. I’m not saying we shouldn’t embrace it but I have recently developed an adequate amount of social skills and deeper level of empathetic understanding that to be around other autistics feels rather uncomfortable.
I know, I must remind myself that it’s not their fault that they do comes off as so cold – I did once too. But it is so much easier to get along with the majority of people with ADHD (there are a few who are so blunt and emotionally void it’s rather surprising to see it amongst the cuddling circle our group usually finds itself in) than it is to get along with autistics. It’s even easier to get along with people with ADHD than it is to get along with the neurologically typical.

But I am trying to understand not just the NT but the autistic person I used to be. Note: I still have a plethora of impairing symptoms and it’s really my ADHD meds that help me out so much with my social skills, but the reason I’m prattling on as I am is because within the autism acceptance group is also the notion that they don’t need to change. I’ve been here too, rather recently as a matter of fact, but then I’m also second guessing myself, as I often do.

I think it’s important to not appear intentionally rude as many people think we are, so picking up the most rudimentary types of social skills is paramount in having the most open and understanding social relationships with friends, family…and I suppose if you want to date: romantic relationships too. Whatever. Hell, it can even help talking to shop keepers or a random stranger who could just become the next member in your friendship circle.

As I have stated previously there are those of us that don’t feel the need correct their behaviour, either they don’t realise the way they come off, realise but think it’s too difficult to change or simply think the other person should just accept it. I’ve been told the latter bluntly but I think it relates to no.1 more than they realise.
Choosing to not build on social skills can create barriers in your social relationships. People will take your silence as disinterest, you bluntness as arrogance and your need of routine as trying to control everyone. And they will respond in accordance with their own interpretation of this behaviour.
Most disagreements are from a failure to see from another’s point of view which is exacerbated with two very different thinking brains. Autistics may take sarcasm literally and respond to it in that way. The NT will see them as ‘touchy’ and may laugh which may further infuriate the autistic. And likewise when an autistic person tries their hand at sarcasm it can be taken literally and you’ve got a massive argument on your hands that could have been avoided if both parties were on the same wavelength.
Always running off to your room to focus on special interests can look like you don’t care about others. People will think something is ‘up with you’ i.e you’re upset about something, when you become quiet and retreat into solitary.

I will admit I’m still guilty of all these. What is worse is that I know it but when under sensory distress, a day of intense focus on my special interest, a disrupt to routine, or I’m dealing with a mood disorder it is still very hard to put all that knowledge I have acquired over the years into practice. Some days are better than others. My medication may also remind me there are people outside of my bedroom door that would like me to come down for a chat, and I will be able to not just say more, but crave socialization as much as they do.

I know what you’re saying: but Shadro, you are devishly handsome…I mean, Shadro, you have your meds – what about those of us that don’t?

Yes, I see. I do have my meds to help give me a more open mind…or concentration…or something. I can’t be really sure what part of the brain the dopamintastic and norepinetacular neurotransmitters are hitting to bring upon such results, but I do know I’m not the only person with autism or ADHD who this happens to.

OK so I’m a cheat. Perhaps I haven’t gone to any effort at all. It’s not all the meds though. It’s the meds and a whole lot of reading from those who understood human behaviour better than me. There’s been a lot of reading about psychology and watching highly emotive science fiction to bring me to this point.

But just saying it’s possible is not a whole lot of help to those who may be considering to adopt these skills too.

So here are the best tips I can give:

1) Read as much as you can about human behaviour. Go to the basics. Evolution. Not much has really changed in that respect. Behavioral psychology is where you will find the answers.

2) Find a highly empathetic person and latch onto them. Study them. Ask them questions. See if they are interested in becoming your mentor.

3) Keep up to date on the news. You just need to know a handful of topics to summarise. Everyday conversations are short, to the point and keep changing. This may well be why no one appears to be interested in hearing us talk at length about our special interests. They may also seem a bit odd and boring to those people who talk about things we may think seem odd and boring too.

4) People like to be asked about themselves and it’s a good way to start a conversation and keep it going.

5) Flatter in moderation. People like to be praised and expect it and to be honest it’s one of those areas I still struggle in. It doesn’t occur to us to do that thing. We don’t expect flattery or to give it.

6) Walk with a person to the door when they leave, and keep taking to them every time they take one step down the front steps, and make sure to keep prattling on as you lean into the open window in the passenger (driver’s seat for the Northen Hemsphere) seat. Oops, sarcasm overload. This is another area where I still haven’t got it right.

7) Ugh, eye contact. Yes, you will need to learn when to give it, for how long and when to break it and when to look back, and then when to look away etc. talk about exhausting! The choice is yours. I tend to stare at people for too long, and then when I keep stuffing my words up and get brain freeze I realise it’s better to look away. Umm, the rule is maybe 3 seconds of contact, break away for 2, then repeat. Just look at their funny nose but try not to analyze in depth. You may miss vital words or cues from the other person. What are cues? Umm, when the body tells the truth so the mouth can keep lying. Haha, oh, I’m going to get in trouble for that one. Just look up how to read body language. I’m half-way there.

8) Stim. Do it. It will help calm you. To hell with making the other person feel uncomfortable. What about that restlessness you feel? The antsy pantsy anxiety.

9) When you are comfortable enough with people that may have been told about your diagnosis, or they happen to be as big a nerd as you, prattle on about your interests. Go nuts! Spit out all that suppressed knowledge. In moderation. Allow your friends to talk as they do and take this opportunity to monitor how it’s done and if you’ve done this enough, try to join in. Then you can skew the discussion towards an interest, but don’t overdo it. Allow them a chance to reply. Conversations need to flow smoothly. Speaking too little or too much without giving the person a chance to respond ruins the equilibrium.

10) Apologise if you do slip up and people think you’re deliberately meaning to be rude, and I cannot reiterate this enough: allow yourself to be corrected. Yes, let them stamp over you pride for a bit. We can’t know everything. There are many shades of black and white etc. Always keep an open mind and consider the person’s point of view, even when they don’t do it to you. You can feel more NT than them for a change.

11) To explain this I need to go back to the part where I talk about the barriers not learning social skills can create. You should know by now how many unnessary and easily avoidable misunderstandings can come about when two people think differently, and not one just tries to see from the other person’s point of view. Not only must you keep this in mind but you need to clearly communicate those differences, and here’s the frustrating part…without referring to autism. People will think you’re making an excuse or will respond with those phrases that they think is helping but it’s really not, i.e ‘isn’t everyone like that?’
NTs think that you don’t want to be treated differently and like us can only relate to what they experience and it will always come back to trying to relate to your symptoms, despite the lack of impairment on their part. The best thing to do is go with it. If you show them how much the statements hurt they will say you’re overreacting.
In order to communicate our issues effectively we can take advantage of our ability to memorise facts and explain things in detail. You’ll never get to explain it in as much detail as you want but you’ll just have to get past get it.
Make sure you tell people about your most serious symptoms. Your diagnosis can be mentioned once but never as ‘I can’t do that, I have autism’ or ‘it’s my autism that makes me do that.’ I refer to autism in casual conversation and don’t explain my impairments just yet. When it comes time to talk about them I describe the symptoms. People who have been in denial about the disorders I have have actually kept more of an open mind, because I talk about them when I’m not having difficultly with my symptoms, which to them is not complaining.

Some examples:

“I wrote these articles for AutismHWY and the site creator gave me two wristbands for Valentines Day.”

“These Christmas cards were made by students with Autism.”

“It’s Autism Awareness Day today.”

Not much more than that needs to be said. NTs don’t always want to hear about it. It makes them feel uncomfortable and though I don’t think it should I can’t change people. A lot of people have their own preconceived notions of autism and for many years have been told by the media that autism is always something terrible. They like it when we are happy but they don’t see us as a label but as a person. Now, I understand that some autistic people cannot separate autism from their own personality, as it is how their brain developed and how they continue to interact with the environment. I am the same way. There may be NTs who have adopted that way of thinking but for the majority of them it will be something very impossible to grasp.

In summary: mention your diagnosis once, talk about symptoms only when they are impairing enough and causing barriers in a relationship. Learn social skills and remember NTs may not see autism the same way as you.

Now, this is just for socializing. You don’t have to constantly do it. Make it abundantly clear to people you are social but on our own terms, i.e as long as you want. They may not understand how exhausting it is for you, to keep all these silly rules in mind, and watch yourself so you don’t slip up. Some advice for you: if you do slip up ignore it or make a joke at your own expense. Don’t beat yourself up. Mistakes will happen. I even slip back into black and white thinking, and to be quite frank, I do like an argument.

And you can still be autistic. You can still go back to your interests. I’m just asking you to take a vacation once and awhile to the social world. It’s a game. It’s not a serious thing. Like a game you get points and if you tally up enough of these you unlock achievements. Don’t ask me what they are. I haven’t thought of them yet. But I bet they’re good ones. Maybe it’s a special treat for something you really like, like in my case a new Skylander toy or seeing a band live (though that is kind of my job).

I just know how limiting it can be to avoid any type of social situation. Recently I read an article about an autistic boy who wasn’t encouraged to socialise at school. I can understand how exhausting, frustrating and confusing it can be to fit in, but I also know in those situations you make the best friends. The most unexpected friends. Throughout school at any one time I only had one friend but they were a blessing. We had so much fun together and I got to play with their friends. It wasn’t just the satisfaction of joy that left with me after another session of Car Wars but I learned a lot of valuable social customs that molded me into the somewhat socially aware person I am today. I still find myself hitting, nay, slamming face first into social roadblocks and it’s very embarrassing and frustrating to realise yet again I got it so wrong, and everyone seems to just know it without any real effort at all. But I’ll pick myself up, shake those frustrations away and blame it on impulsivity.
My school friends may have passed but the unexpected friends I made after I left school are still there, even though we live quite far away from each other I know they are my true friends. Props to you, Erica and Christine and my current friends who I hope, when we do stop meeting up at gigs, that we will still stay in contact with each other. Distance need not break up our love for each other. It need not break up this good thing we got going. Without naming you you know who you are. Even all the online friends I have that I’ve never met but we’ve shared something deep and personal, that is more than I’ve ever been capable of sharing with a close friend or family member face to face.

So, this Autism Awareness Day and Month I want you to try and be more aware about how your words can affect others and really try to get into their heads and understand where they are coming from. If you need help with this there are plenty resources online or you can ask me. This goes for how non-autistic people treat autistic people or anyone who may think differently from them too. Or to anyone who makes a judgement on another person without considering who they are, how their own life experience and opinions differ and what is the real motivation (aka point) in treating that person in the way they do. Don’t let hate, anger and negativistic thinking occupy your mind.

Shadro

Now, I hope I don’t end up sounding harsh because I can do that when I’m trying to explain the way it makes me feel. I’m just confused that people would think this line of reasoning will help the person who goes through these struggles, particularly if they are a black and white thinking autistic. We like facts and to me this seems like denying the truth just to have a good night. I’ve tried it and I wasn’t prepared for the time when I did finally breakdown, or noticed something that was clearly a symptom that I needed to get control over.

For starters I don’t know why people react in this way. It must have something to do with emotional regulation which I’m impaired in. Secondly, they can’t understand the intensity of my symptoms. I’ve had people tell me they have sensitive hearing too but they get around just fine without the use of ear plugs or medication. They don’t have to wear sunglasses whenever they are exposed to natural light. And they don’t get migraines and seizures from strobe lights.

I could go on but what people need to keep in mind is that my issues are severe. Now some people might not like change but say if I was told some singer I liked was playing in a part of town I’d never been to I would just panic, while my friends would just make the trip. I would be better if somebody took me to that venue but I can’t go alone.

I’m fine with going into venues that I know because I have a photographic memory about the environment. I know the smells and can experience the memories I’ve had there with my eyes open.

One reason why I decided to write this blog was because my psychiatrist made a comment saying I had social anxiety best described as Asperger’s. That is inaccurate because Asperger’s is a neurodevelopmental disorder on the autistic spectrum encompassing mainly communication issues, give and take conversations, intense focus on interests, etc. Social anxiety is usually co-morbid and for the first time in my life I feel like I don’t have social anxiety. There is some, there is always some but it’s not as bad as I’ve had. I don’t actually pay enough attention to people to even care what they think about me. And you know what? I love this oversized child, this Doctor Who fanatic, this person with an eclectic taste in music. I like being an artist (there I some things I wish I could do better) and I love this crazy brain of mine, until it becomes too much to handle. But I have pills for times like that.

Now this brings me to those people who I know really care about me and see my struggles quite clearly who think I should just (for want of a better word) get over them. I suppose they just want me to enjoy myself like all the rest, and I suppose there are some things I probably shouldn’t dwell on so much that upset me. But if I had that type of control I wouldn’t have been diagnosed with autism or ADHD.

When I went on anti-depressants those problems went away. We with autism can be so self-analytical and analyse everything and on anti-d’s that mode of thinking disappeared, I even criticised other autists for still thinking in such a way because I felt liberated. I was also no longer afraid of change but I had no need for routine and special interests. That very last point is such a huge part of who I am.

I will try to not allow myself to become so bothered by certain things that I cannot enjoy myself when I go out, but I am a mental stimulation seeker (a many types of stimulation seeker actually) and even negative thoughts feed this hunger. All I really need is something distracting and equally as stimulating to get me away from these thoughts.

I am really trying to cope better when I go out. I don’t medicate, I medicate at a certain time, I eat to avoid a hypoglycaemic attack, I avoid flashing lights, etc. Plus, I’m now back hiding behind my lens. One issue I had because I didn’t medicate at all is I barely noticed the band. Sure, I noticed them visually but all my auditory senses were muted, or it seemed that way. So I’ll have to just medicate to really enjoy them…which may make me sensitive to strobe lights. Actually, it makes me focused on the anxiety that makes me stressed out enough to have a seizure. And this is one band whose road manager I don’t want to have treat me backstage and then accost me for interrupting the set, again. And I really don’t want to get banned from seeing this band. As silly as this line of thinking is it has passed through my mind.

I used to be hostile to the whole ‘just try to have a good night’ or ‘you’re doing fine’ line of thinking of others and was going to really aggressively call my psychiatrist out on it but then someone said it in such a non-confrontational way that it just made me think, they’re really not bad people who are denying my issues.

So, how am I supposed to tell psychiatrist that I don’t want him to make it seem like I’m so mild? He thinks my intelligence is enough to deal with my autistic issues, my ADHD and my anxiety. At the last appointment I even brought my mum in and before we went in I told her I wasn’t going to say anything, but she gently introduced the issue to my psychiatrist and I was able to speak. Before that I was postponing appointments because I was too afraid to travel a few hours south to see him.

And now my psychiatrist wants me to join an art group at a local neighbourhood centre in my town and I’m pretty sure I’ve ignored all the phone calls. I’m not very good at talking to people if I don’t know who they are. I don’t get along with everyone either. I had fun when I was studying at TAFE in various IT courses with some art modules. I actually cut classes and hung out with the art students and talked about local bands and I was more focused at becoming a band photographer. Well, I am one now and I just have to remember who to talk to for guest list spots at my local music venue. Once I sort this I should be fine. There are three international tours coming up that I really want to photograph too. I’ve photographed those bands before but I have so much love for them and they are just energetic musicians.

I want to see and photograph some local bands/musicians too. I’m probably more focused on getting back into activism than I am this reassurance issue. My ADHD just zero-ins on certain subjects, obsessively, so I sound like they are constantly on my mind, but nothing really ever is. So the subject of this blog post doesn’t bother me too much – I even didn’t feel like I had to write it because I was getting over it – but I would like to learn why people are reassuring in this way in the first place.

So, I’m asking you NT’s (I hate using that word but we interpret this subject so differently there must be some separation) to explain to me why do people try to water down a person’s issues or acknowledge them but make it still sound like there isn’t really a reason to overreact to them in the way that I do.

Keep in mind that severe stress can induce seizures and sensory overload can completely shut me down. How am I supposed to get over this and enjoy myself just like everyone else does?

It’s become clear to me that people go to gigs to enjoy themselves, to let go, yet I view it as another challenge. I have to brave the high sensory environment, not feel anxious or awkward, make sure I say some things, while taking high quality photographs that capture some sort of emotion or feel of the night. Then work out how do I get home and I’m kinda scared of the dark. Not like that. The monsters are my friends; it’s people that I fear.

And last time I did enjoy myself beside not being attentive to the band , but when I heard my friends got to hang out after I sped off home due to my fear of walking home alone, I was pretty jealous. But I don’t blame them anymore and I’ll just have to try again next time.

Don’t worry about me too much. I have to kick this cold that may be Whooping Cough, buy a new camera in time for Something With Numbers, somehow get a photopass for Motion City Soundtrack at Factory Theatre, a photopass for Fall Out Boy (which will turn into bloodshed in the photo pit to get a chance to photograph these guys – I’m definitely fighting for the perfect angle to get a nice shot of Pete Wentz) and the less stressful situation of acquiring a photopass for Funeral For a Friend.

Oh, and I want to see and photograph local Sydney anarchist punk bands and get nice and snuggly in the scene. I really need to get active again.

And then there’s that artwork project that depicts the members of You Am I as the various incarnations as the Doctor. No, Tim Rogers is not Tom Baker. He’s always been a Jon Pertwee to me.

Ohhh…and that sodding sci-fi novel I’m working on.

And get back into astronomy. Shit.

So, you know I’ll be busy yet again.

Oh right, something that was written in the Sun.

TELLY funnyman Stephen Merchant has come under fire for poking fun at autism sufferers.

Riight…I can’t really see what I’m supposed to be offend– oh wait, I’m getting something…Nup, it’s gone.

Sick joke and disgraceful, really? REALLY? To me it just sounds like a description. And I’ve been on and off my medication and usually when off my medication I will argue with you if you said it was a sunny day when the sun was out. So I’m not just being oppositional for the sake of it.

I know what’s going on though. Poor Stephen is another unwitting victim at the hands of another fierce helicopter parent of a child with autism who dared use the word without first consulting him/her on the correct inoffensive way to say it. Or some over-sensitive adult with autism thinks that any outsider using the word in a sentence is clearly bullying them.

Then according to The Thinking Person’s Guide to Autism: TV Steve in autism ‘jibe’ row: Uncool, but because “autistic” was used as a pejorative — not because autistic people “suffer.” -SR

Er, I just don’t, umm, I–what? Maybe it’s taking some time for these pills to kick in but I just can’t see how there’s anything offensive about that statement. I’ve come across people that are sure to loudly make their opinion known to certain journalists saying ‘autistic person’ over ‘person with autism’ is offensive, and if that wasn’t irritating enough you have people who have an opposite view. It’s either ‘my child is not a label’ or ‘autism is my identity.’ Great. Now if you excuse me I’m going to drown myself.

In this case it’s the former, at least I’m pretty sure about that.

You’re a parent with an autistic child. Getting that. But I don’t think it’s good for your emotional health to get offended at every little mention in the press about autism. Sometimes people can be slightly offensive but in this case it’s not offensive at all. I don’t know how many autistic people Stephen knows but he hasn’t yet caught on with the PC lingo that I detest so much. And no one is ever going to say something that is not going to offend one parent or uptight individual with autism so this is just a waste of time and energy.

For starters I don’t think this character is a severe low functioning autistic, they sound more high functioning and awkward. This has happened before when the Onion had a segment about an autistic man commentating at a funeral, which was hilarious. Because I related to that person, just like I relate to Sheldon Cooper, Max Braverman and I dunno…half the cast of Bones.

If anyone should be offended it’s us high functioning autistics but most of us like to laugh at ourselves, although some could be so beaten down they’ve not allowed themselves to make light of their symptoms. I dunno. I haven’t been that person for a long time.

I just checked the most popular autism community on the web Wrong Planet.net and I don’t see one thread about this news story. Yeah Stephen you really really really offended us…

It’s not fair to keep attacking ‘outsiders’ for incorrectly using autism in a sentence. You may have an autistic child, you may have that diagnosis but you don’t own the word. I don’t own it. I can’t correct every single person who has used it incorrectly in my mind. When I do feel a slight sting from it I ignore it and try to move on.

Don’t just apologise because a few individuals who may or may not have autism interpret the meaning in a completely different way than most people. The community doesn’t even agree about the correct meaning. Neurodevelopmental disorder or different operating system?

I don’t even hate Denis Leary who said some really harsh things about autism but I think that’s because he’s known the severe side of the spectrum. I understand that and I’ve come across many people who think I’ve hardly got anything wrong with me because I’m high functioning. It’s all down to what you experience, and I suppose having empathy which many autistic people and even their parents are impaired in. I’m learning it slowly. It’s like finding missing pieces of a map and connecting them all together. The map is the size of the Universe and not just the visible Universe.

Take it from this socially awkward autistic nerd who always says the wrong things: just let it go. Otherwise you will always be offended. Eat Lindt chocolate, watch the Office and watch movies where someone makes an offensive autistic joke. Even watch Russell Kane live.

I just don’t see how this is helping the autism advocacy movement. We sound like a bunch of whinging control freaks. Sorry but we do. How is anyone going to respect us if all we do is attack people who unknowingly offend us? Those of us with ADHD get it worse. We don’t even exist. We’re lazy, stupid and crazy. Something so much worse could have been said about autism. Put your focus on people who actually mean to offend.

Or you can be like me and ignore them all because I know that you can never change the way people see things.

I know what happens when I drink the regular amount of alcohol: the burning, the seizing, the constant feeling like I’m going to die. I can’t do it anymore and I don’t. The one last hope in hell that I could ever be social with those I rarely get the time to be social with – all gone.

I make the decision to take or not take my pills. The decision is never right. Getting through the night with hyperactivity and then being consumed by it, and being reminded why I need to take the pills in the first place. The medication brings both advantages and disadvantages. It’s not a perfect science.

I have so much to offer this world but can barely speak about those things. I’m too overwhelmed by the environment or maybe I just know people aren’t interested in it, as I find it hard to be interested in their favourite subjects. Though I do try so damn hard to mirror the appropriate behaviour I’m meant to have.

So, I fail to connect, I fail to share and I reject the society that I struggled so much to be a part of. I look at my autism and ADHD as partly positive things; an escape, a person reduced to a museum piece to be marvelled all over, or pitied; at least when I’m pitied they seem to care. It doesn’t matter that they are the sole cause of this isolation. I have gifts. I have so much more to give this world than just having a few minutes of conversation. The lie is so convincing I take it to heart, I live it until such a situation comes up when I’d rather not have them. Just one of them.

Would I really give up my cleverness and unique way of looking at this world for just one night to be happy? And then what? I’ve overcome the challenge. Bored now. Time to challenge myself again. Time to get depressed about not achieving that one thing I can’t do. Or maybe I’ve lived like this too long I’m always going to expect another challenge.

I’m overpraised for my skills. Every artistic piece I create that I could just throw away without a care is praised like it won first prize at an art show, every time. My photos always turn out the same yet this is somehow my God given gift, and I’ll spend over thousands of dollars on equipment to be underappreciated by the ones I actually seek praise from. I may have talent or whatever (timing more like) but so does every other photographer in the room and the one skill they possess higher than me is social skills.

As for my writing…I haven’t even been able to read a goddamn book – what makes you think I’ll ever be able to work on my novel again?

But this, this is probably just a part of a depressive episode and I’ll get over it only to fall into it again a few weeks later. But they’ll still have me wait until they prescribe anti-depressants, until I get together with a group of people I never get along with. I don’t get along with people. What is bonding? To give information and to receive it. That’s all.

And that’s not even the half of it. The severe anxiety I feel sporadically, especially in large crowds. How am I ever going to make anything of myself when I’m held back by this?

This is all just too much to deal with. I was better once. I may not have been able to understand what I read or what was causing my brain to be so different but I was physically and mentally fit. I never got ill from not eating once every couple of hours too.

And then there are the strobe lights. Ah, the strobe lights. What more proof do you need of the continuation of the blunting of the human senses? Oh, does that make me feel better? Because I’m so weak around them. I get migraines and seizures from them. But people don’t see that. They don’t know what they see.

To hell with sensitive senses. To hell with synaesthesia. The only thing it’s good for these days is weirding people out when I say I smell memories. It’s too overwhelming. You’ll never understand. You’ll never know what I mean when I say I have a shutdown. That I can go from high functioning to low functioning so damn quickly. That I can regress temporarily or long term from continued exposure to stressful situations.

I don’t want this. I don’t want anything. Cure me of everything. I know what’s going to happen. I’m going to retreat into my own world, reject the people I failed to communicate with and act like being a dependent overgrown child is somehow better.

I’ll embrace my O.D.D full time, not that anyone knows what that’s about. The impulse to argue with every point of view. The stimulation, the anger, the broken friendships. But hey it’s their fault if they don’t understand. This is the natural me. I’m not medicating my own personality away even if it does make me seem like less of an unempathetic bastard.

You see what I’m up against? Too much. And all I want is to get along with people, get along with those people I want to. To communicate face to face and not need to show off my smarts as compensation of my inability to have a regular conversation. And maybe I’ll no longer feel jealous of those people who can do it and we can chat and share memories together.

Sure, I can talk to those I know well but sometimes that’s not enough. It’s always my brain deciding what I can do and when I can do it and never letting me in on when that is. Or I can take the lucky dip pill. More social today? Nope, looks like I’m way too calm to talk.

But I’m a problem solver. I will be able to deal with this, with distractions, with immersing myself in special interests; books, science fiction shows and my writing. Until the next damn depressive episode or solar storm or after the next concert I go to.

The thing is I’m so good at acting, at suppressing my emotions and not losing control. My meltdowns have stage fright. The downside is no one ever knows what I’m feeling. The truth is I’m not ok and I want to be well.

For now I have Bayside (though I’ll never be able to connect with the band, like the many others). My sad old bastard music. My sanity.

Reblogged from landlockedseaotter:

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Save yourself some money and read my comprehensive review of Melanie's Marvelous Measles. Also, don't give your money to Stephanie Messenger because she is clearly nuts, and will probably just spend it on trying to infect her kids with some character building smallpox.

Firstly, the font. I give the font 0 stars out of 10 for being too close to Comic Sans for my liking.

Read more… 734 more words

Kidding. I feel so so different. Non-Death Cab For Cutie fans can just skip over the title and first line. I don’t want to explain it.

This blog post will be my attempt at writing a New Year’s Resolution list. I’m actually a very goal oriented person and write goals to reach daily, and sometimes I complete them and sometimes I don’t. I will eventually fulfil them and if I don’t I just erase them from my list so I don’t feel like I’m procrastinating too much.

I would never write a list that I never planned to fulfil and I probably wouldn’t even bother with it unless there were some very serious changes that needed to happen in my life.

So without any further ado, this is my list:

1) Continue to read and finish Ender in Exile and keep reading more sci-fi and fiction. Reading is important. I mimic the author’s style and integrate it with my own. Lately I’ve gone a month without reading character dialogue and have probably lost the ability to write it.

2) Pick up that thin book that reads ‘1968’ and actually read it and not just plan to. The student strikes of 1968 were really inspirational to me. I remember being 16 and 17 and looking for books to read in the library and I found one called Marching in the Streets and I read it in one go, which was rare for me back then. It was also early days for me becoming a socialist so I lapped up any reading material I could get my hands on.

Also, actually read ‘Mass Media in a Mass Society.’ Also, just read any of those 50 activist books I have in my bookshelf. Also, get some recent activist books. Also, stop calling them activist books. What ever happened to using the word ‘anarchist’?

3) Physics re-vision. It has finally happened; I have gone so long without reading about classical physics I have forgotten it. Well…I know it just not in as much detail as I want to. I have more than basic knowledge on quantum physics and I’ve always found it more interesting but when it comes to classical, not so much. Still, I only have to commit the theory to memory as I don’t study or work in that field.

4) Start working on my novel again. Read some past chapters, do more research and write another chapter for the 1^st book. The last chapter I wrote was for the middle of the 2^nd book. Start researching video game development again, and don’t just get addicted to the games. Let’s see if by the end of the year if I’ll be finished draft no.2074. It’s really draft 2. 3. I’m actually really not sure what it is at the moment.

5) Get back into astronomy for like 2 weeks.

6) Take some pills for anxiety and depression. CBT can only get you so far. Also, re-read CBT book.

7) Keep drawing and painting and stuff because people think you’re gifted and to be honest I am really good. Maybe I will join that artist workshop going on in the ‘Dale. But people need to realise that being a self-taught artist makes me um…resistant to people giving me pointers. They should probably learn some more social skills before offering constructive criticism.

8) Play one Nintendo Wii game in full. My friend Tania knows what I’m talking about. Strange that I seem to really procrastinate about playing a videogame but I do.

9) Buy a new camera and lens as I get back into band photography. Relax. I’m still taking photos of just You Am I, After the Fall, Funeral For a Friend (as my only photopass shoot) and local Sydney bands. May also take photos of landscapes and stuff. And also, Anti-Flag. Could have taken some really good photos of Anti-Flag last time I saw them but am a little reluctant to take photos down the front. Stage lights and camera flashes equate to simple and complex partial seizures.

10) I’m unsure if I want to move from Sydney to Wollongong. I’ll be closer to my best friend and my doctor but I live in a good neighbourhood now and rent is cheap and it’s a really great house. My sister and everyone are really supportive and can relate to my many symptoms. I really want to move to The Blue Mountains or Avoca Beach just for my sensory issues. When I go out in Sydney I have to medicate, wear dark sunglasses, a hat, cover my arms (skin sensitivity reasons – eczema), and listen to my iPod just so sensory overload doesn’t happen. It still will but not right away. But recently I’ve found something that makes me want to stay in Sydney.

So umm…may plan to move, or not.

11) Have an appointment with GP and dentist. I’ve been in Sydney a year now and haven’t had one physical by a GP and I can’t remember the last time I went for a dentist check-up. Also, I should probably get those orthotics I was meant to get before I was 13. My feet are just now in a really bad shape. I’m doing what I can for them but it’s not enough.

12) Read the latest issue of COSMOS Magazine.

13) Continue to build social skills yet don’t get too down if I fall back on autistic impulsive monologuing ways. It makes sense to me. I can either say too little or too much. There’s no middle ground. There’s no normal conversation. There’s saying nothing, saying hardly anything, and there’s saying everything on my mind very loudly.

I think that will do it. I’ll always keep exercising and staying healthy because of ADHD and food sensitivity issues, and hypoglycaemia. I’m starting my third year on ADHD medication and I feel good about it. I’m on just the right dose I require. I wouldn’t be as organised or motivated or even remember half as much without my medication. I’d be angry all the time and not want to talk to people and not even be able to because of something in my brain making it impossible to talk to people, or even speak coherently. Or even being capable of doing math. Or processing the senses in the way most people do. Or reading and writing to the best of my ability. Or even focus for longer than 5 minutes on something. Or buy impulsively and say stupid…this could go on some time. The many scratches, bruises, burns, and people yelling at me for a reason not clear to me yet, is enough to keep me on my medication.

Lately it has become clear to me that not all members of my family even care about my issues or do anything to help. They want me to leave my bedroom which I do sometimes do and I’ll medicate and try to fight through the bombardment of noise and people and visual information. I’ll try to not get down about being different from most people. I’ll ignore the panic I get out of nowhere.

Sometimes I can be under so much stress that the next itsy tiny bit of change will feel like my whole world is collapsing from underneath my feet. I don’t deal well with change because I’m autistic and need to know what’s going to happen so I can prepare for it. When it happens quickly and without my foreknowledge I will panic, get angry or just sort of shut down. I won’t know how to move on from there. I don’t want to be this way and I can eventually spend enough time modifying my plans to be able to deal with it.

The last time I freaked out over it I was already anxious to get contracts signed but with a lack of a printer I had to go searching for one, and I felt if I didn’t send the contracts off in time I would not just disappoint someone but that I would ruin the plans to sell our house. I was dealing with hormonal depression at the time which makes me think of suicide, which is dependent on how much negativity goes on at the moment. I wanted to lead a revolution against Office Works. Then I got obsessive about reading articles and joining in on the backlash against the media for falsely labelling people with autism as potential mass murderers. I became short one friend and then my family’s Christmas plans kept changing, and I felt I had no structure – it was the one area I thought was set in stone – and I just broke down.

I understand why certain members of my family that I actually grew up with think I may be overreacting and not just getting on with life: it’s because I didn’t have these issues growing up. I had some sensory issues and I’ve had a fear of change all my life. It was severe when I was a child. But the mental health problems and health issues are new and are exacerbating my existing symptoms. It’s funny; when I was doing ok these people said they were proud of me for overcoming so much and now I’m doing worse they think I should just get over it and tell me that I’m overreacting.

I try to explain my lesser issues like a citrus allergy and hypoglycaemia (which means I have to eat every time I feel hungry or I’ll pass out and the symptoms before that happens aren’t pleasant) but they still don’t listen. I have developed epilepsy in the last two years and still they don’t care. They don’t try to show any understanding.

I live with a very supportive sister now so it doesn’t matter much. She can relate to my symptoms and actually takes the time to explain her plans to me and checks if I’m ok. She tell me she loves how organised I am every day and she calls me a genius and really wants me to pursue photography and art again.

But it still hurts because I’ve worked on my social skills a lot just so I don’t bore other people when I talk just about my interests. I medicate on weekends which affects how the meds will work the next week when I want to read, write and be overly productive. I do everything to appear ‘normal’ to them but they don’t make any effort for me. I have my interests made fun of, I get given looks if I talk about science and politics, and I have to sit there and pretend like I give damn what they talk about.

But I don’t actually have to do that. I barely talked for 14 years and can do that again. I don’t have to medicate myself into social adequacy. If I didn’t have such severe sensory issues I wouldn’t. I prefer hanging out with my nephews and nieces and playing Skylanders or listening to my nephew Owen talk about Ice Age.

All adults seem to talk about to me is complain about other people. Maybe I’m still too socially immature to understand it and have anything to say about it, or maybe I just don’t see the point. I may have complained a bit above but that’s not some social drama; that’s discrimination. That’s neglect against a person with mental disorder, mental illness, and health issues. I can still see the beauty in these people though. I have memories of us actually getting along so I know they’re not all bad. No one is. It’s just personality clashes that get in the way, or in my case, a completely different brain structure and way to process the world. I can understand why they don’t seem to care; because they can’t experience it themselves. At some point they have helped me when I was at my worse. They have to see me completely shut down and for a long time I thought they had begun to care more. That’s probably why it hurts so much to see them fall back on old ways.

They may mildly relate to my symptoms but people get diagnosed with an autism spectrum disorder for a reason. There’s impairment in their everyday life, especially in a changing environment and with social communication. If my sensory issues were only half as bad as they were I’d probably do a lot better, but they are the worse they have ever been. If I could handle the anxiety I’d probably do much better. Actually the only time I didn’t need routine or had a fear of change was when I was on anti-depressants. So, if I take them maybe people will tell me how proud they are of me again. I’m going to take them anyway because I need them. This newly developed anxiety disorder is just too difficult to handle with distractions and CBT. Where did I put that book?

I fight my symptoms everyday so I know I’m not weak or lazy or just overreacting. Sometimes they get so bad that I can no longer fight them and need a couple hours to be in despair, then I problem solve. I’m a good problem solver.

I live in a good place now. A supportive place with a sister who really cares about me. And that’s because she relates to my symptoms and I relate to hers.

So, this year will be about healing, creating art, growing socially but embracing who I am, the obsessive nerdy one-sided talker and fierce socialist that I am. If you have a problem with that then I’ll surround myself with people who encourage that, and I hope I can learn a lot about them, from them and that we can celebrate our diversity rather than feel a need to suppress it and mirror every other socially acceptable person so we don’t get ostracised, bullied or included yet still made to feel like who we are is somehow wrong and needs to be changed.

Autism: different, not less.

My next blog post will go back to my long-winded 1100 page article style. The next one is already planned. I just really needed to write something today because: these thoughts were driving me crazy.

***

On December 14, 20 year old Adam Lanza killed his mother and 20 school children and 6 adults in Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown Connecticut, when he forcibly entered the school and went on a ruthless killing spree. The terrifying ordeal lasted 10 minutes before Lanza turned the gun on himself.

Not only does a nation mourn but the whole world mourns for these children and adults that lost their lives. But not long after the shooting those in the autism community were faced with another problem – accusations that the killer had Asperger’s syndrome and this somehow caused him to kill innocent people in cold blood, because he had a lack of empathy. For many years advocates of autism, mainly adult individuals, have been spreading more awareness about their condition and debunking this myth that all autistic people have a lack of empathy.

People with autism have a hard time reading body language, working out their motivations and seeing from their point of view. But they do care and you can teach them how to understand people better. The real problem is in expressing empathy, but just because one doesn’t show it doesn’t mean one doesn’t feel it too. In two years I have developed a high amount of empathy and what used to be an empty void in my heart, aches 26 times harder in wake of this tragedy. After I lost my father to a brain tumour I’m deeply saddened by every death I hear, and every injustice done to humankind.

In the week following this tragedy many rumours and theories have been spreading across the internet like wildfire. Some have given a platform to those who truly hate autism and want to institutionalise us all. There have been ‘experts’ saying that this behaviour is a cause of our lack of social skills. And the autism community have been following it all, replying to try to debunk these harmful accusations.

How quickly those in the media forget. Months ago I read an article in SMH about a family with Asperger’s syndrome. There was no mention of lacking empathy, only of their struggles but it was still a light-hearted read. They were a happy family despite their struggles. And last April the internet exploded into hundreds of testimonials about autism. ABC even interviewed individuals, showing them as everyday people, who had some struggles but they worked, raised families and did everything else non-autistic people did.

I even got bored writing my own testimonial every Autism Awareness Day. We have awareness now, I thought. There’s nothing more to say or do.

Then another mass murder occurs and the cause is speculated to be the killers supposed autism.

The stories still pop up in the news about how people with mental disorder and mental illness have the potential to become a cold mass murderer. Autistic people are fearing for their lives. While not everyone is going to believe what the news media says there are some people that take every word said to heart. There have been a few cases of parents of autistic children being told not to bring them around to the house of a non-autistic child for a play date, because they are told by those parents you never know if this child might become a killer. Autistic children have been targeted by other children in the playground too. These children are still in a critical stage of social skill development and need as much exposure as possible to other children. To deny them this will be a major setback to their social development, and may just make things worse.

These have just happened in America and there have been no reported cases yet in Australia. Australian citizens – the group I converse with a lot anyhow – are very sceptical towards the news media and are not shy in voicing their opinions. Some news programs are known for being brash in reporting stories sourced from social networking sites – Jeff Goldblum is dead? Remember that one? We have separated the sensationalist from the satire. Some of us don’t believe anything we hear. Some of us keep an open mind. Then there are some of us that drink in every word.

As I said before, people have their own theories about what motivated Adam Lanza to commit this heinous crime. Those are just theories. No one even knows for sure if Adam Lanza had Asperger’s syndrome. A sibling cannot diagnose someone with Asperger’s syndrome, not even a psychiatrist in Sweden who has never seen Adam Lanza for one consultation can diagnose him. Only a trained professional and expert in autism spectrum disorders can. There’s the interview to find out more about the patient. Then the doctor asks questions related to the symptoms and asks the patient to talk about their childhood, how they were in school, how they got along with their peers and if possible a parent fills in those gaps of the infancy years. An IQ test may be taken and a diagnosis is then given when the doctor has observed enough behaviour to be sure this person has Asperger’s syndrome.

There are some doctors that diagnose after one simple session but even this is more than never having met the man whom you are diagnosing with an autism spectrum disorder.

I have my own theory behind the motivation of this killing. It is just that – another theory. I have spent almost a week thinking this over and not just jumping online the night the killings happened and typing furiously out an impulsive and emotional reply (I did that in the blog post before this one) and criticised people for dare thinking these acts could be blamed on a person’s autism, whether he had it or not.

I went through many modes of thought before I landed on this one. At first I agreed with the community then thought again, then agreed, then came up with my own theory, and then circumstances in my life led to this latest theory. I could have said nothing and let the many autism blogs that get straight to the point, don’t deride off into 6 different directions and turn a blog post that was supposed to be only 3 pages long into 300. But no one is saying what I’m going to say and as an artist and writer I focus on presenting works that are scarce in literature and the artistic community.

In my hearts of hearts I strongly believe this needs to be said and a conversation needs to be started. I’m going into dark territory here and will reveal things about myself I have never told my friends. But it’s the only way you will understand, so I’m taking that risk. I’m taking that risk for you to compare me to Adam Lanza.

I don’t believe mental disorder or mental illness is the primary cause of mass murder, I believe it’s how we treat those who are different. I’m not just talking about those who are diagnosed with autism, ADHD, Bipolar, depression, schizophrenia – I’m talking about those with no diagnosis who seem to make people feel uncomfortable and who they feel they have every right to exclude, make fun of or bully. I’m talking about how they are discouraged from being different, from being individuals. They are forced to change into a more socially appropriate person, even when this behaviour is not anti-social behaviour. These people are not just introverts but extroverts. They are encouraged to embrace a way of life that has no interest to them and to do away with those immature, boring or just downright weird interests. They are told it’s their own problem if they don’t pick up on sarcasm or feel offended by a joke. Then they are told they are selfish or rude when they begin to mirror this behaviour.

They become anxious, depressed, begin to harbour feelings of resentment towards people, similar to the ones that bully or reject them, but who actually have done no such thing. Some give in and try to copy this more appropriate behaviour by watching groups converse, noting what they wear, what subjects they talk about and consider what interests they all have and try to mirror this behaviour. Some are successful but others keep running into the same difficulties even after they have put all their effort into appearing to be like everyone else.

The feelings of failure and loneliness can be a constant presence and may mix with the frustrations from the struggles they already go through on a day to day basis. They make one last attempt at explaining this behaviour being out of their control, only to have people deny it instantly and tell them to stop making excuses.

The resentment manifests deep within them. They stop ‘making excuses’ and distance themselves from the group. But now they are so full of anxiety they begin to think those people are still making fun of them. They obsess about it. Anger turns into hate for all people not like them. They have no one to turn to so these emotions fester inside them and influence their thoughts. How they just want to pay people back for everything they put them through. They are jealous of everyone, even children for being so normal.

They become emotionally blunted. No empathy is felt for anyone anymore. If they have access to military grade firearms the consequences can be catastrophic.

I’ve been that angry before. Fortunately, I got on medication which stopped such thoughts all at once. It was a dark time for me. I struggled to get a job even before the recession hit. I had done work experience for just under two weeks which exhausted me and I harboured feelings of resentment against my temporary boss. I felt like I had no future as I didn’t think I had enough energy to work, let alone actually getting a job. My family ignored my struggles. I had just cut ties with friends who had all at once verbally abused me, for apparently making excuses or trying to make them feel sorry for me. At this stage I was actually seeing my autism as a gift and just loved to talk about it.

People have always treated me unfairly too. I get told to stop talking about my interests, which for a long time was all I was capable of talking about. I’ve had people laugh at some odd behaviour I do, which were at the time symptoms that really frustrated me. The speech issues were the worst. I even tried to limit my speech to one worded sentences but this just made people confused, annoyed and turn once again to sarcasm at my expense. And then when I explained it I get told I’m just making excuses.

I turned against all people who did not have my struggles, who just didn’t get what it was like to be like me. Nobody took anything seriously – all they did was make stupid jokes! I had daily meltdowns. My life was just so stress filled. My thoughts had begun to scare me.

Then I got the help I needed and all those issues dissipated as I obsessed about learning year 12 physics and writing Doctor Who fan fiction. I had new friends who showed more understanding. We were seeing bands and I was taking photos of those bands. I was happy again. I had goals to reach. That was my motivation. I spent the days reading every science book imaginable, I started to study how my favourite authors wrote and mimicked their style, and a group of people taught me how to be more empathetic. The real reason for my increase in empathy was that the Ritalin I took opened my mind up to clear and focused thinking. No longer was interacting with people stressful. Before I avoided people and hated to have to speak to them, now I was looking for people to talk to. My social skills developed so fast and I even learned how to have a conversation that wasn’t about one of my interests. I committed myself to writing a story as a platform for autism and ADHD advocacy, integrating into it every interest I ever had and added some science fiction action so I could at least stay motivated to write it.

I moved into a house where at first I faced the same amount as denial as before until I developed such extreme anxiety following a near mugging that I couldn’t hide it any longer. The city also brought out the worst of my sensory issues. I have a very supportive family, adequate access to mental health services and an understanding psychiatrist. I’m a proud auntie who would rather play Skylanders with my nephews than hang around with the adults. I love to buy gifts for people and make things for them. They motivate me to focus on my art.

A few days prior to the shooting I wrote a blog post that had me shed all my formal stilted language and tried to keep it short so that more people would read it. In it I describe the epiphany I had when someone told me they understood how much I struggled without once bringing up autism. I thought that maybe people care more about me than my diagnosis. Then I started to give real consideration for dropping the autistic label. I was doing ok with it, after all. I didn’t even spend that long in the autism forum Wrong Planet anymore.

I was going to make Christmas cards. Have Christmas lunch with my family. Go see The Hobbit with my sister and see a band on my birthday with my friend.

Then the Sandy Hook tragedy happened. The media outright blamed Lanza’s actions on his supposed autism. I tried to shrug it off as they also said James Holmes may have had Asperger’s syndrome. But links to more and more articles flooded my Twitter and Facebook feed. I got angry, I got scared, and I supported those in the autism community who spoke up. I became obsessed with reading about it and posting links to the articles on Facebook. At one point at 2am in the morning while I was in bed with my iPad, I thought ‘I don’t ever get this obsessed anymore.’

The next couple of days I was under extreme stress for unrelated matters but I still read the articles and posted replies, helping to quash rumours all autistic people are potential mass murderers. I found out one friend was getting a bit tired of me going on about it. I was shocked with confusion. So, I ignored them, and took it down a notch. I was never good at ignoring small round notches. I kept adjusting it until finally it broke.

Amongst the stress of responsibility, the obsession with the backlash against the media, the under stimulating chore of waiting for Christmas Day, change happened. Change happened bad. What was happening to me? I’m usually good with change. I got into arguments from left, right and centre. I lost friends, realised not all family members were exactly supportive, I had meltdowns, crying fits, I wanted to lead a revolution against Office Works, I had a severe seizure that affected my speech and movement, and I completely cracked the next day and regressed into an honest speaking child. People laughed at what spouted from my impulsive mouth but I enjoyed it.

Somewhere along the line being under too much stress triggers a coping mechanism that turns me into a delightful child rather than an enemy of society. Perhaps it’s the fact that I still get treated like a child, in a good way. Maybe. However, not everyone goes through this type of temporary regression. Autistic regression in adulthood is similar to a nervous breakdown.

I firmly believe that if we want to minimise the mass murders we need to start by treating those who seem odd, annoying, or are just plain different, better than we are now. It’s time to cease bullying. At the same time we need to make mental health services more accessible and tighten gun laws.

I understand Americans feel it is their constitutional right to own guns because they fought for their freedom; Australia just became an extension of Great Britain, and storage space for the incarcerated. We still made this land our home and I love my country but what I’m trying to say is we don’t hold the right to bear arms in such a high esteem. We’re a nation of subversive thought but our revolutions don’t get very far. There’s nothing in our laws giving us that right to own a gun, or guns. Our cultures are different and a lot of the time Americans get criticised as being a crazy gun-loving nation. No longer do I think that. It’s just so ingrained into your culture, as being naïvely offensive is in ours. Prove me wrong, Australia. *wink*

But failure to modify this law even slightly is killing innocent people. Since I was 9 or 10 guns have been illegal in Australia, with the exception of gun clubs. The Prime Minister of the time, John Howard, made the call following the Port Arthur Massacre in 1996 that killed 35 people. Even at that young age I knew about it and as I read the names of the dead on a memorial stone, I cried. That weird quiet child who was a constant worry to her parents and teachers, who never showed the slightest feeling toward another human, cried over the death of strangers.

Since the introduction of gun laws no such massacre has happened again. The facts speak for themselves. The decision is yours, America, but as long as firearms are so easy to obtain the more likely that photo being displayed on the 6 o’clock news is of you, your child, another family member or friends. I have family in America and I fear for them. If they met such a fate I will step up my activism by a million. I will lead peaceful protests of 200,000 demanding the introduction of tighter gun laws. I believe in the power of people and putting pressure on the government who has failed them.

Quit thinking that you won’t be affected by this. As long as guns are as easy to own as they are now every American is a potential victim. My heart aches for every American but not as much as it aches for my family and friends over there.

Weeks before this tragedy happened my sister and I were chatting on Skype. She once again threw in a request to ask me to visit her in Portland, and stay over for a few months, to actually live there for a while. I giggled and said I would love to. I would love to explore the landmasses, experience snow for the first time and test this theory my sister has that Portland is actually made up of clones of myself.

I don’t want to do that anymore. I rather stay in Australia with its problem of alcohol fuelled violence, severe bulling at school and work, casual racism and pockets of violent racism, the ever growing slacker mentally, its blistering hot summers, and constant risk of bush fires. Don’t even get me started on the state of its sandbox politics. We’re not the safest place to live, but we have free Medicare (more or less) and tight gun laws. And despite all that I listed it’s really not a horrible place to live, and not all its citizens are slackers. There are a few gems to be found here. But this government needs help. I’ve always been a Labor supporter but now there’s no party left worth supporting. If things are going the way I think they are I might just vote Liberal.

It’s not just one issue we need to focus on to make sure no mass shooting ever happens again. The news media and blogosphere will tell you otherwise. “It’s not about gun control; it’s about the poor state of mental health services.” “If guns were illegal it would be harder for these shootings to occur.” It’s both and it’s the issue with how society treats those who don’t make the grade for the socially acceptable human, who must be educated and assimilated because what they are isn’t right. They should be more like everyone else, right? Why? What’s wrong with individualism? Why does liking Star Trek make me a target for ridicule? So what if someone collects stuffed bears? What’s it to you if somebody is interested in a subject most 6 year olds are? You’re not a dag if you don’t stick to the ever changing fashion trends. You have your own style, or like me, are a disorganised writer who has no time for even brushing your hair.

My own theory for the continuation of these mass murders is something that has been troubling me for years. And here it is: our lack of open mindedness and inclusion towards those who are different has caused the unthinkable. This is a huge ask from me: one that will takes decades to achieve, but we need to work towards it, otherwise even with tighter gun restrictions, more affordable and accessible mental health services, these horrific mass murders will continue.

There’s no doubt this post will be interpreted in an entirely different manner than I wanted it to. You might think I’m reaffirming speculation that people with mental disorder and illness are most likely to carry out these acts of planned violence. If so, that is a shame. If these people were treated well in the first place and were encouraged for their individuality then they would never have to resort to such measures. They may even never have to be diagnosed and treated for mental illness.

I know people are going to agree with me and people will disagree with me. I’ll get praise and I’ll get hatred. I’ll be called a mass murderer because I was once so beaten that I had a few negative thoughts. People change. My change is not unlike a member from the Klu Klux Klan changing their ways. Or a career criminal finding God in prison. Or Pauline Hansen, once a fierce racist, befriending an aboriginal woman in prison. And even Autism Speaks who years ago released a video in which a woman say she feels like driving her 7 year old autistic child off a bridge, and the focus on curing autism and making it out like being autistic was a terrible thing. They too have changed their ways and now support the autistic individual, and lately they have helped immensely in debunking these rumours that people with autism can commit such a horrific crime.

My heart breaks every time I read about those children who lost their lives way too soon, at a time when they were probably excitedly anticipating Christmas Day and opening all those presents. I spoiled my nephew and nieces this year because I love them, and I hope on the day I can push through whatever stops me from hugging people so I can hold them near me and never let them go.

I mourn both for the lives lost and the loss of autism awareness too.

indigoOne

For too long I’ve had to do my damndest to hold off that meltdown that will just makes the public feel uncomfortable, call the cops on me or have me hospitalised. At Soundwave 2010 St John Ambulance denied me treatment because I was under too much stress to ask for it. I’ve been given the looks though. I don’t know what the hell they mean. Are people trying to work out why I seem to be struggling to hold back tears? And what the hell is that hand flapping nonsense about?

Earlier this year it happened following a failed attempt by muggers to rob me and you know, kill me. I ran as fast as a could, making sharp turns whenever I could. Though I was eventually safe I had a panic attack and bless Sydney’s inner west, nobody stopped to help. It happens everywhere I go. People don’t even try to ask me if I’m all right. I’m not scary looking. I look like Harry Potter. Are these people denying Harry Potter a pat on the shoulder, a “you all right love?” or you know even finding out why I’m under so much stress? No. Not your problem. Fine. I’ll just have a heart attack due to severe anxiety, break my head open on a post when I bang it because that’s what a meltdown turns into, or continue to fight off the suicidal thoughts.

I have developed post traumatic stress disorder following that almost mugging. I will not go to that town again and have just recently started to go to see live bands with my friends. In January I’m going back on anti-depressants to stop panicking so much.

Well, today it happened yet again. It was clear I was distressed about something. I looked lost, confused, did that weird staring thing I do, had shallow breathing, seized and then finally I ran out of there before I burst into tears.

So I wrote a letter:

“Dear Sydney Office Works (the one on Parramatta Rd), I must sincerely thank you for not just once or twice but countless times failing to serve me or asking if I needed any help. I was in a delicate state of mind before and going to Office Works to print two copies of a measly two-page document was the only thing that would have held me together. It was the decision between curling up into the foetal position with self-decrepit thoughts or getting these documents printed out at Office Works. But that is neither here or there, as those confusing neurotypicals say.

You might not have been aware by my staring at the ceiling and batteries on display for about an hour in between nervous pacing, that I am autistic. So I cannot simply speak up as it is primarily a communication disorder. It’s not the fault of your staff for missing the obvious signs, but it is for ignoring someone who was clearly struggling. And to that lovely stranger behind me who didn’t do a damn thing when I held my head in what could have looked like agony and that at that very moment I was having my third panic attack building up to a seizure, I thank you. I keep forgetting why I have such disdain for neurotypicals but you reminded me. Everyone there who didn’t help and just stared at me blankly as though I was carrying a concealed weapon, I thank you.

You See, I had to hold back the tears and the violent outburst (to myself) that usually happens when I get under such severe stress, because people would have thought the worst of me. I’d like to thank the lying sensationalist media for that.

So I held it in and collapsed under the weight of it all. I so wanted to collapse on the floor and start hitting myself. I should have. That would have showed you. But I don’t like to burden people with my weirdness. That was one reason I entered the store alone. I’m trying to become independent and was set right back today.

Eventually, I had to get help from outside and my friend whom I live with and have only known for a year turned the most stressful meltdown inducing task that no one bothered to help me with into something fun to laugh about. I didn’t even feel embarrassed that I had missed the card vendor that I kept passing because my brain couldn’t focus properly. I’m not even going to bother to explain how I process information differently but I will tell you I have to take medication to process information like you normal people do.

I don’t want any vouchers or money back or anything like that from you. I’m not going to forget about this and it takes me awhile to forgive people. You don’t even have to reply to this. I just want the next time you see someone who enters that store and seems to be lost or struggling, to actually give them a hand. But does this mean I will never come back into your store? Hell no. I’ll be back in my dark sunglasses, with my awkward gait and my lack-of-eye-contactedness or goggling-at-people-too-much-it-makes-them-feel-uncomfortable and my obsession with staring at the battery display. I’ll be back to purchase myself a printer! And possibly some ink. Maybe an iPad stylus and some Doctor Who stationary…

This isn’t the first time I’ve been ignored to the point of a mental breakdown and I hope leaving this here on your page can create more awareness about the autistic adults who have left home and are trying to become more independent, and they are still struggling and are probably worse off without the help of parents or family members.

I just want you to keep it in mind. People need not fear or ignore mental illness and mental disorder. They need to support it.”

Dear comrades of WrongPlanet and all those other brilliant autism and Asperger sites, forums and Facebook pages, this is a call to arms. No more will we pretend that everything is A-OK. No longer will we blink the tears away. No longer will we suppress stims or force eye contact or even  make any attempt to engage in small talk. It’s time to release that meltdown!

Or you can just re-post this all over the web so we can create more awareness and maybe people might start caring about us.

Note: Don’t take the subject heading literally. It really depends on the situation and how much stress I’m under. Let us not all start having meltdowns when we get a bit of sensory overload or fail to have a conversation. It’s basically reserved for those times when suppressing the meltdown makes us feel like we’re going to die. It’s a catchy heading anyhow.

Shadro

For some reason it takes a singer or musician just making a casual comment they assume everyone picks up the meaning of, and it’s nothing more than two empathetic minds touching each other for a second, and then moving on as though nothing dramatic has happened at all. For me such a statement has a dramatic impact, almost in the same way I get inspired to create art. I remember it like I remember those times a parent or teacher has given me some sage advice – that they often thought obvious – that would build onto my understanding of the world.

Basically, what I’m trying to say is I discovered people actually had their own thoughts and feelings, and could ‘hurt so bad’ as I could but for a completely different reason when I thought ‘hmm, maybe Tim Rogers really doesn’t want to be here because he misses his daughter so much.’ I basically came to that conclusion through reading an interview he did and observing him at a Christmas show I went to that he played at.

An obvious observation but it was the cornerstone to developing my own theory of mind. It was one of those light bulb moments when something suddenly becomes so clear to me but then the chaotic ever changing environment got in the way, and I went back to the same mode of thinking; self-absorbed, unable to see the other person’s point of view and became angry when they didn’t realise that I had my own way of doing things. I mean how hard is it to remember that I do everything the same way every day, at the same times and expect you to agree with me about everything I say? And if that TV is not on the SciFi channel at 5:30pm every evening there gonna be trouble.

That was a couple of years ago. I don’t even have access to SciFi anymore. In fact it was SciFi who kept changing the showing times of Stargate: SG-1, SGA, SGU and Star Trek so I had to eventually work out a way to prepare for it, otherwise I would have a meltdown. And then when Syfy decided ‘let’s cancel the Stargate franchise’ and MGM thought ‘yeah, o’right, that was getting kind of expensive anyway’ – I basically stopped working.

It took me a long time to build on my theory of mind and become more empathetic, and a lot of that happened when I was diagnosed with ADHD and put on medication. Not only does finally being able to read increase one’s self esteem somewhat but it also made me, for the first time in my life, seek people out to talk to, and the subject was often a regurgitation of the current chapter I was studying in my Year 12 Physics textbook.

So, I had to work on my social skills a lot. I wasn’t even sure if I would ever get up to the level to have a two-way conversation about something that didn’t involve the word ‘science’ in there. But it eventually did happen. I started to read The Sydney Morning Herald on my iPad and I started to get into discussions about the news. Then when I was at a loss of what to say to people and didn’t want to bore them with the most interesting thing in the universe (my current interest) I could just talk to them about the news.

When I moved to Sydney I entered into a fairly science fiction friendly house and that was good for a while, but even sci-fi nerds who replace the most common swears for ‘frak’ and all silently unanimously agree that Neil Gaiman is a highly evolved being and the Sandman comics contain coded scriptures that once translated will help us reach enlightenment so we may shed these physical bodies…ok maybe not. We love Neil Gaiman in this house and I just wanted to reference Stargate again.

In this house guests are always a comin’ and a goin’. I call it the Mad Jazz House because the people could be either musicians or artists. And they be mad and that’s ok. I think to be a really creative person it helps to have mental illness or brain damage, and I’m not talking neurological disorders but a legit frakked up brain from all the medication I’ve been on, and other people from all the drugs they’ve been on. Is that a fair assessment? There were times people called me obsessed because after talking about the brain I went upstairs and came down with my Discovery Science magazine issue on the brain. None of these people know I have autism and ADHD. At most they think I have an allergy to oranges, an aversion to wine and are aware that marijuana gives me migraines.

I also get called ‘genius’ and ‘cute’ a lot. I’m not sure how I feel about this.

Since living in Sydney I have developed better social skills. I don’t always have to talk about my interests and can last a few minutes having a normal person conversation, even when it bores me. I’ve noticed when I’m not on my medication I have to remind myself to pay attention, and when talking on my medication I may seem to talk too much – yell at the person really – and not pause for breaths or let the other person reply. I’m still working on it.

I’m a lot more impulsive now when I speak and will just say whatever comes to mind. I often do this when I bump into one out of five housemates in the kitchen. My cat Lyra is a great conversation starter, and then we move onto Bear, who is our dog…

There’s always room for improvement and I’ve been noticing my social skills are either slipping or are not as developed as I thought they were. I may go on about being O.D.D which basically means there’s a little switch turned on in my brain that when flicked on will make me argue and become aggressive or offended at those people who probably don’t deserve it. There’s only one person I know who understands this and I’m sure he’s chuckling at me right now. O.D.D or whatever it is makes me completely non-empathetic. My mind is speeding too much, it’s over stimulated and it’s loving the stimulation. It’s actually engaged in a battle of words against my opponent and it will stop at nothing to become the victor. After a few hours I’ll just stop, feel tired, no longer feel bothered to argue with ‘some NT who don’t get it’ and go do something else. Mental, kinaesthetic, and tactile stimulation is kind of an ADHD thing crossed with sensory seeking behaviour. It basically happens when my brain is overjoyed with finally being able to focus and it turns into over focus, and I’m kind of just speeding down a highway until I run of of gas…er petrol. Or neurotransmitters.

Needless to say this gets in the way of me building up my social skills.

My latest epiphany relates to the title of this post. My mum once told me that people don’t want to treat me different because that’s what they think I want. But in the autism community we don’t always see autism as something bad and instead of being treated like a normal person we want to be acknowledged as being autistic, especially those of us who have been diagnosed as adults who have been mocked and bullied and shouted at for doing things out of our own control. Now this can have a downside; people can become too concerned and talk to you like you’re actually worse off. When this happened to me I realised I’ll probably never be satisfied with how people treat me. I tried to decide which is worse: people yelling at me for my symptoms that I couldn’t control or thinking I wasn’t capable of things that I could actually do. I decided the latter.

Then another musician – my friend Davey Lane actually – made it possible for me to fit another piece of the puzzle to this social enigma when he said he understood all the effort I had to go through just to see him play live and then I thought ‘he’s thinking about me, not the autism. Oh. That’s why people show concern for me but don’t talk about the autism.’ Why would they? They don’t have it. They don’t know that despite all the impairments I like being obsessed with interests and becoming an expert about most of them in a very short time, having attention to detail and getting away with having the same interest as my seven year old nephew. Synaesthesia (I can smell my memories) is pretty cool too.

I’ve been told countless times before that people just want to treat me like they would any other person but it never sunk in like it did recently. I suppose they were saying it to me like it was an obvious thing, making me feel bad and flicking that oppositional switch in my brain. I learn more through surveying behaviour than I do being told what the behaviour is about, plus I was on up to 20mg of Ritalin which is something I rarely do, and Ritalin makes me focus, makes me open minded and take the time to think about the meaning behind peoples words, instead of me jumping to my own conclusions.

It means a lot to me when people tell me that they know how much effort I have to go through just to do basic things. They don’t need to mention autism; just acknowledging my struggles is good enough.

I’m not really a part of the autism community anymore. There are too many people that focus on just the positives. You either have the people who get offended when you say they’re autistic and not a person with autism (usually parents of autistic children) or you have the individuals who get offended when you say they have autism and are not autistic. I don’t frakken care no more. Gods…I may be going through a Battlestar Galactica phase. Again.

It’s just a non-issue with me now. There’s also this whole movement of thinking the autistic brain is sign of the changing times, the next step in evolution if you will. I don’t see the autistic brain as being vastly superior. I see the human brain as having an outstanding capacity for compensation. You see it all the time in traumatic brain injury. I understand why minority groups want to feel that they are somehow special; it gives you a lot of emotional strength. It also makes you arrogant and not seek treatment which could help you functionally, emotionally and socially. It widens the gap even more between autism and those happy social beings we call neurotypicals. Entees ain’t the enemy, they just be different, neh? They seem crazy to go out all the time and not take breaks to recharge their social batteries. They be insane for going to loud bars or clubs and be around all those crowds. They be boring for not knowing much about our interests. They just stupid and we the intalektals. They say we crazy too and we are. We all the same people.

My Ender’s Game phase is entering its second year. I had to put some Battle School slang in there, I just had to.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be like them. To go out and hang with people, more than once a month, and not have any of that dread. If it’s not a sensory issue then it’s wondering if you’re speaking too loud, too much or not enough, and whether you’re keeping on topic or monologuing to them about your latest theory of particle physics. Sure, they probably have their own worries too but they work, they’re independent and they get a lot of enjoyment out of socialising. Hell they even date and marry and have kids – what’s that about? I know other people on the autistic spectrum can too, but not me. My life is basically about my interests and my sanity requires that I have a daily unbreakable routine. People can get on my nerves anyway. Moderation is key. OK, your hour is up, I got to work on this chapter. I can only put intense focus on one thing at a time, and I ain’t sacrificing the time I spend on writing my book to be with another person, that’s for damn sure. The Christmas holidays take enough time away from it. I really like people. They interest me as though I’m studying a strange species with their own unusual rituals. Behavioural psychology is one of my interests but people still confuse me.

I don’t often label myself autistic, not like before. As an advocate it’s hard not to but there’s another reason. I can actually forget that I am. Autistic symptoms will be at their worse in an unpredictable environment and in a social setting. My usual environment is strictly structured. It involves to-do lists, scheduled meals and covering my ears and screaming ‘CHANGE BAD!’ when someone wants me to go out without preparing. The family members I live with are actually very aware of this and do what they can to help, so I only turn into a deer in the headlights for a few minutes. Oh yes, and music constantly playing. When I go out it’s dark shades, charged iPod and maybe a hat.

When I leave this environment I’m thrown into chaos. Strangers are talking to me. Masses of people are standing around. Cars are coming from every direction, and even stationary objects start to zip and zoom around the place. And I look at the tops of buildings and the details are real sharp. Mentally I see myself lightly sketching the shapes in one of my sketch books. I’m kind of a reluctant savant artist. Art is not hard but motivating myself to do it is. So, I see art everywhere to serve as some sort of a reminder to do it.

I have to prepare and I need to bring along ‘sensory supports.’ If I don’t I will not be able to survive in the environment. I have what is known as sensory overload which is basically like being high on LSD, and experiencing both depersonalisation and derealisation at once. Just Google those terms. And oh, panic attacks. If I haven’t got my sensory supports I have to self-stimulate which often involves moving one of my limbs in a repetitive motion, staring at some highly detailed object, feeling textures, imagining Phil Ochs is playing beside me or just becoming an uncontrollable level of hyperactive and impulsive. I also got to watch my blood sugar level. I have hypoglycaemia so if you see me stumbling around zombie-like, well you know what’s happening.

I have to always prepare for my symptoms after going so long in an environment structured just for me, by me and where unsuspected guests can just be blocked out by turning the volume up on my iTunes or a video game. And usually at home, when things are too loud for me I compete by making myself louder than them.

But I really hope I can remember that people will be concerned for the individual and not the disorder. It’s the symptoms of the disorder that makes them concerned but they care more about the person’s individual needs, and not the general needs of the autistic individual. They will be understanding to our limits but treat us as though we are a normal person because they assume it’s what we want. And I’m starting to think they might be right.

You wake up suddenly from a sudden rush of cold on your body and an angry voice in your ear demands you to get up and get ready for school before they leave for work, otherwise you’ll have to make your own way there. You look up bleary eyed at the impatient face of your mother who, you can now, see has dumped your quilt and sheets on the floor. She walks out, not neglecting to give you a final ‘hurry up’ before leaving you to get yourself ready. You look out after her, when she’s gone you collapse back on the bed, release a long exasperated breath as your head floods with every task you must do today.

You’re not completely refreshed from sleep and you don’t like that. But you have no choice but to get up.

On passing you in the kitchen, watching as you pour yourself some cereal, your mother asks you to feed your two cats and dog. You leave your bowl filled with milk and cereal on the breakfast table while you try to round up your pets. The dog is first, he eats outside. You pour some dry food into its bowl and go looking for the first cat. She runs away from you but the other one comes near, loudly demanding food. You’re barely awake enough to tolerate it but you go back inside and spoon out god knows what out of its can into its bowl, and set it down next to it. It sniffs at it then walks away. Not your problem. You go back to your cereal bowl. Realise you forgot to get a spoon. Upon picking up a clean spoon the cat that ran away from you earlier comes in. You put down the spoon and feed her too. You go back to your bowl, suddenly remember you left your spoon somewhere. Oh well, you’ll just get another one out of the drawer.

Finally you sit down at the breakfast table in front of your cereal bowl, spoon in hand and are about to take that first bite when you hear screams of your mother commenting on your clumsy feeding habits outside. Now you have to clean up all those dog biscuits. The dog it has turned out has lost interest in eating too and won’t be the usual vacuum cleaner he always is.

You say you’ll clean it up after you eat. Your mother comes in, notices your still in your bed clothes and rushes you off to the shower. In the shower you’re reminded every 10 minutes to not take too long. After some time you’re yelled at for taking too long. You get out, pause at the sink and remind yourself you need to brush your teeth.

Now dressed in your bedroom you slowly get your school bag in order. You still need to pack your lunch. But at least the assignment you printed out last night that you stayed up all night finishing causing you to sleep in, is completed and neatly present in a folder on top of your computer desk.

You go down stairs to pack your lunch. You’re reminded you still haven’t cleaned up the dog food. You hastily do it and then pack your lunch.

You tell your mum you’re ready but she’s on the phone, tells you she’ll leave in 15 minutes. That’s enough time to kill on the internet. You put your assignment folder on your bed. You try to remember where you put your bag. It has to be in the kitchen or lounge room. You check your email and the usual sites, one link leads to another interesting one and soon some completely random and previously uninteresting to you subject tickles your fancy. You get so absorbed into it you don’t realise how much time has passed when your mother calls out it’s time to leave. You get up and go down stairs to grab your bag, throw it over your shoulder and run out the door.

Your mother goes through the usual checklist with you before dropping you at school. You answer ‘yes’ impatiently to every item inattentively.

You’re restless at assembly, bouncing on your heels and barely registering any of the announcements. A teacher you’ve never sat one class for glares at you sternly. You slow your bouncing and pretend to pay attention. You would like to pay attention even if you don’t usually care to listen but all the other students are as still as statues and attentive as soldiers. You can hear everything around you at once: the shuffling of feet, breathing, snorting, someone sneaking food. You’d make a good school captain if you cared anything about the rules. Everyone around you is boring so you look around, higher and further away. You think about that subject you looked up, another line of thinking builds from that, suddenly you’re entertaining yourself with something completely random. You smile outwardly. The student next to you gives you a strange look.

First class is English. You like English but your report card shows that you barely learn anything from it. You try to pay attention but you just can’t focus on words today. You look at the page knowing what the words mean but can’t comprehend the sentence. You glance at the other students reading along. They’re all so calm. You look down at your feet that can’t stop shuffling. You pick up a pen and start tapping it on the desk. The student next to you glares at you. You look at them sheepishly, slowing the pace and then finally stop. You decide to trace around the worksheet. You start sketching an elaborate woodland scene. You wonder whether you should add some elves or knights next. A looming figure clears their throat above you. You hand your unanswered worksheet to your teacher. They comment if this was Art class you’d be getting an A but it isn’t.

Math class next. The symbols in the textbook may as well been written in another language. You could probably make up our own language and a system of measurement where math wasn’t so confusing. Or instead of symbols they’d be pictures. Your math teacher appears in front of you, asks if you need help. You say you do. He tries to explain the problem and how to work it out. You stare back blankly. He tries again. You still don’t get it. He’s starting to get impatient. You nod and say you’ve got it now even though you still have no idea. You make it look like you know by guessing what the answers are.

At recess you sit with other kids in your class. They don’t give you a hard time about being such a poor student. You sit and try to listen to what they’re talking about but keep losing focus. But you keep up the pretense like you can follow along. When you join in it’s about something they’ve already said. So you just talk about whatever is on your mind, except for your ideas and inventions. They never seem interested in that. Soon you drift from the conversation and lose interest in what everyone is talking about, as much as you’ve managed to piece together from the snippets you’ve managed to pick up.

You walk away. It feels good to be moving. You walk around the school as your thoughts start up again. At times you stop as people come up and talk but then you keep walking.

The bell rings. More lessons. Great.

You’re starting to feel tired though you have barely read or answered one question properly today. Doesn’t matter, after lunch you can at least make one teacher happy when you hand in your History assignment. By this time you’ve given up on the other classes. You flip to the back of your exercise book and let your pen decide what to draw. Some kids in class are sniggering about something. You lean your chair back towards them to get in on it. They’re laughing over a dirty note about the teacher. You recommend a few more words to add to it. By now the laughter has reached the front of the room. The teacher demands the person with the note read it out loud to the class. Your pen is on the sheet. You shrug and stand up, clear your throat and before you know it are booted outside with the three other boys.

After lunch bell the teacher calls you back inside and talks to you all. You bear it, as always, and when it’s over you turn to leave with your friends. But the teacher makes you wait behind. She tells you that you might think you’re like the other boys but as much as they clown around they can still manage to do their work, you on the other hand, are falling behind. You pretend the words have no affect, but they do. You’ve noticed for awhile that you struggle more than any other student with doing the work. Even the clowns, the ones who  complain about how much they hate school, still manage to do their class work and hand their homework in on time.

You lost your appetite to eat, the teacher’s words still echo in your mind. Your friends think you were giving a private word because the teacher thought you were responsible for the note. They thank you for not ratting them out. They start talking about games, girls, music – you don’t care. There’s something else more pressing on your mind. You walk off without telling them.

You walk into the library where a group of eight year olds are gathered around a white board. To your surprise they’re not drawing but writing. Writing notes. You try to read it but it doesn’t register. You march off to the high school student’s side of the library, grab a book off the shelf and try to read the page. You can’t do it.

You put the book down and run up the stairs to the study area. Few students are studying. They’re either younger or around your age but they seem alien to you. Who the hell uses their break time to work on assignments? Do they actually enjoy doing this stuff? What nerds.

You walk up to the window and gaze down at the other students. Talking, playing, sitting still. Even now you’re pacing. When your body is actually still your mind races about nothing in particular. Better things. Better things than what you have to learn here or what anyone else wants to talk about. Things that will completely change the world that people are too stupid to think of themselves. Not as stupid as me though, you think. They can do the work. If I could do the work then maybe my ideas will be more than silly dreams. No wonder people don’t take me seriously.

Even lunchtime gets boring.

You leave the library and almost collide into a group of students. Oh, it was deliberate, right. You hardly care. Hardly care when they make fun of you for coming out of the library. You make a snide comment about it being boring to them because they don’t know how to read but it backfires – everyone knows how poorly you do in English too. You feel a sting of anger. Along with everything going around in your mind today you don’t want to have to deal with this. You push past them, violently. You hear them jeer. Let them think my anger is directed at them. It’s more than that.

You find your friends hanging behind a school classroom for shelter from the sun. You slide down next to them. You feel nothing as they talk and laugh next to you. You feel distant like there’s more than a couple of inches between you and the next boy. A least they’re not making fun of the way I talk, you think. Or are correcting me, making me feel stupid. Or giving me that look when I blurt something out.

The bell rings signaling an end to lunch. You all head toward your next class. You look around the History room. You always enjoy reading the various facts about some historic figure on the wall. You always forget their name and mix up the dates but you like hearing the stories, especially about the inventors or artists.

The teacher asks for quiet, announces it’s time for the class to hand in their assignments. You smile inwardly, proud you can at least do one thing right. You open your bag and notice the absence of the folder. You groan loudly and dramatically collapse on your desk. It’s not there. After everything you had forgotten. What an idiot I am, you scold. You don’t even hide your frustration from your teacher when she asks for your assignment. She takes it as apathy. This time it’s not. It’s one of the few subjects you had half a chance at passing.

Nothing, absolutely nothing gets through your head for the remainder of the lesson. Your head is too clouded with every mistake you’ve made that day, and going back days, weeks, years. It’s all thrown on you at once. If I keep failing even when I try then what’s the point in trying?

Physical education is next. At least I don’t have to use my brain. If only that was true. You immediately forget the instructions for the game and that was after turning up to the lesson without changing into your sports uniform. You say you left it at home. Now you’re expected to run with a metal pole and what? Give it to the next person. Then what? OK, I’ll play along. They didn’t much appreciate the way you cleverly handed them the pole, especially when the spinning toss hit them on the knuckles. What’s the point of this stupid game anyway?

Another game, another set of rules that didn’t register. Other kids are getting impatient with you. Your teacher keeps yelling at you about something. You shrug. You’re over this. Everyone acts like school is so important but it ends, and then you don’t have to play such pointless games or answer questions about things you’ll never need to know again.

You teacher shouts at you and this time pulls you over to the side. He’s yelling something about listening and team work and something else. The other kids are sniggering, others are impatient.

You say you didnt hear the rules properly. He explains them again. It sounded like white noise. A burning rises inside you. The teacher sounds patronizing when he says that’s not too hard to follow. You push him, hard. Hard enough for him to lose his balance but not hard enough to fall. He looks at you as if he was suddenly afraid of the frail angry boy standing in front of him. You freeze. He slowly comes forward, not showing any anger. As soon as you can move again you sprint off, over the fence separating school oval and a small bush land, and you keep running.

Now you’re really panicking. You need to get control of yourself. As much as you hated him you could have really hurt him and you’re not a bully. Not one of those people who enjoy beating up another person. Even to just get back at someone. The scary thing was you wanted to hit those boys outside the library.

When you get into town you slacken your pace into a walk. You know you’ll be in trouble when you go back to school, if you ever go back, and home, if you ever go back home too. You assaulted a teacher and left school grounds. There would be more than the odd punishment.

There’s not much to do in town. You left your money in your bag, with your phone and everything else.

You go to the park and climb up the fort. You notice some kids. Older or younger, who knows? You stand up slowly, on guard. They’re friendly. You relax. They notice your uniform, say they stopped going to school years ago. You say you’re about ready to do that. You talk and soon notice the same attention issues. Eh, you don’t care. You no longer feel stupid. These kids have a different kind of intelligence than your fellow students. They knew the world and seemed to be doing just fine without going to school.

You go walking with them into the shopping centre. You look around with little interest in the items. You have no money anyway. You glimpse one of the boys slips an ornament into his jacket. Why would he? It’s the most boring thing you could think of stealing. The others join in, grabbing things randomly, openly. You become nervous but try to not to draw too much attention. You purposely block them from the cameras.

You march quickly but calmly out of the shop. Your new friends laugh and high five once they realised they got away with it. You walk a few metres before a security guard blocks you off. Before you realise it you’re running away again. The group has dispersed. They’re faster than you. You tire quickly. They’ve probably done this loads of times before and you, you barely pay attention in P.E. One security guard sees your weakness and tracks you. He grabs you when you were ready to collapse from exhaustion. Some of the other kids are caught too.

At the station you tell the police that you didn’t take anything or know that’s what the other kids were doing. They look at your uniform; it might actually get you off the hook this time. They ask you to call your parents. You don’t want your mother knowing about this so you reluctantly call your father. The weekend parent. The parent that only becomes a parent when he tells people how many kids he has.

To your displeasure he takes you home anyway. Your school called your mother and told them about the incident. She bans you from internet, video games, and hanging out with your friends. After all that has happened you just want to settle down to a good game but she won’t even let you do that. You throw the controller against the TV and flip the table, and run to your room quickly. You’re sister smirks at you from the hallway. You purposely knock into her as you go.

You’re too angry to do anything in your room but destroy it. Then you collapse on your bed. Something falls off. You pick it up. It’s your History assignment.

The next day both your parents are outside your school talking to your P.E teacher. They all go into the principal’s office. Given all that has happened your friends and some other students in your class think you’re a legend. You enjoy it while you can.

You’re called into the principal’s office. No one appears to be angry at you. You sit down slowly as you’re introduced to the school psychiatrist. Great, now they think I’m crazy. Not just stupid but crazy.

The psychiatrist says he wants to do some tests with you to see if you have ADHD. That anger rises in you again and surprisingly you see the same look in your father’s face. The psychiatrist tries to talk you through it through your protests and flat out denials.

He says that these things that are happening to you; not being able to focus to absorb spoken and written information, to not remember things, to take ages to do a simple task and to have poor control over your emotions – are not your fault but are the result of a difference in the brain.

He goes on to say that just because it’s in the brain doesn’t mean the things are impossible. You can take medication to help regulate the brain (whatever that means) or start therapy to help you work out ways to lessen the symptoms, or a combination of both. He finishes by saying we must work out what is causing these problems so we can fix them.

It takes a while to sink in, for the anger to dissipate, and for denial to turn into acceptance. You read more about ADHD and go into special ADHD classes and get extensions on homework and assignments. The medication felt weird at first but you stopped being so restless and always needing to move and find some form of enjoyment. You can now think one thought at a time and don’t get easily angered anymore. But the best part is you can pick up a book whenever and read it and understand it, and remember it the next day. When the teacher talks in class you can follow it. Even your sister says you’re less annoying, and your mother keeps saying how proud she is of you.

While the above isn’t true for all people with ADHD – some excel in classwork and are impaired in other areas and some don’t have a maths disability, and some have even worse symptoms – it’s an insight into one individual’s struggle with ADHD. And yes, most of it relates to my experience.

I hope today on the second day of ADHD Awareness Week you are not just more aware, but informed, and have learned that ADHD is more than what the media tells you, and actually is a real neurological developmental disorder, no matter how persuading one’s argument may be against it. I like many of my friends live every day of our life with ADHD. Some take medication and some don’t. We’ve all gone the non-med route and our decision to medicate or not reflects our individual results from such methods.

However, ADHD is not all doom and gloom. When you learn to take advantage of symptoms it can give you an advantage over other people, who usually have all the advantage over us. I have so many random thoughts pop into my mind which can be directed toward coming up with ideas for blogs and ideas for my novel that I rarely have writer’s block. I come up with ideas few people have conceived. That’s great for someone aiming for the very popular and competitive science fiction industry. I’m not that influenced by peer pressure and naturally am always on the opposite side of an argument or…way of life (i.e anti-digital technology). That can get frustrating too but it’s also liberating. And I love exercise.

But let’s not forget how impairing it can be to those with ADHD and how it interferes with not just productivity at work or school or relationship problems with friends, loved ones and family but it can also affect one’s self of worth, how they value their own life. Eventually people will learn to get passed the sense of worthlessness and see ADHD as being a constant companion, at times infuriating, at others hilarious, and lastly being that quiet complacent friend who blows the whole group away when it’s revealed they can keep cool in a crisis and go from follower to leader in seconds with their ability to think of many ways to solve a problem in one single moment. That whole out-of-the-box thinking thing.

The ADHD person is an unpredictable person even to themselves. The whole disorder is unpredictable. They never know whether it’s going to help them or break them.

/Shadro