Lately I feel restless, so in the absence of a good outlet, it's probably best to write, even if I am not quite sure yet what to write about. I don't really have a consistent schedule on here. It's the antithesis of social media, where, to serve the algorithm and remain “relevant", one must follow certain rules. I don't do well with rules or schedules. Which I know is contrary to my love of being organized, writing bullet lists, and communicating in a straightforward way. Sometimes I wonder if my obsession of being organized is tied in a way with past failures as opposed to a real trait I was born with. I advocate for having a neuroaffirming society, but am a ruthless perfectionist with how I present myself to the world. I sometimes wish I had a perfect mask of no fear and no pain. This journal in a sense is a way to release that tension that accumulates in my body when processing life's ups and downs so I can mask a bit better. Which is bad bad bad. I should not be masking, I should live my life honoring my needs. Even if that world were tiny, it would be mine. But something still compells me to connect with others, not matter how many times I have been burned. No matter how aware I am that I just seem to lack some capability to live in a normal manner. My need of perfection extends into wanting to be accepted for my idiosyncrasies, whilst still feeling frustrated when people say I “think too much" or “am too intense" am “too sensitive". The most delicate feedback I heard was “Sabrina, you're SO DEEP" from a kind boss who saw me in tears one day years ago.
I know I am those things, and I know I am worse than those things. I am cold and logical and blunt and too old and too young and I know I am not a reliable or good friend, partner or even mother. I know that life gets too much for me. Sometimes things bombard me from all the directions. The kitchen light is too bright, but it is too dark for my understimulated daughter to feel at ease, so I suck it up. My husband is understimulated too (they're both ADHDers!) He lets out steam by singing loudly for long stretches. I need my volume at a 5 on the tv to relax to my gentle music, but my family need a 15 of men complaining about video games to feel happy! I remember feeling confused as to why my anxiety baseline became what it is but I think I realize now that unfortunately, no matter how small I WANT to make myself, and how much I want to ignore my needs and be agreeable, my autism is in the end a disability. I always summarize in my head that part of autism is that one's filters are not very effective, and the less effective one filters are the more support needs are in order. I think that is why in my biggest pain I become temporarily non-verbal. I am lucky it is seldom it goes that badly for me to be rendered speechless but it's hard taking in so much of the universe, unprotected. I can't imagine how much other autistic people have to absorb and process. Anyway, I'm in an odd twilight zone of having a decent filter, so often even I don't realize I absorbed too much info and that I am anxious becuase I somehow saw a man two tables away, who is hunched over and upset. Or that a light was too bright or a sudden noise too jarring or that I chatted too long with a friend.
At their kindest, people will tell me fairy tales of how they accept me for the way I am. I have heard countless time that my intuition is sharp because I am sensitive, that I am loved and cared for and that I could never do any wrong. But I call that the “feel-good movie" myth. We think that love and care will save our souls and that if we all try a little harder we can conquer all, as the scene fades to black and a lovely melody swoops in. But autism can ba hard and ugly and cold. So there never is the fade to black. It's more like, living and having meltdowns and messing up and having people throw their arms up because it's all too much and life is not an upward arc, like the movies. Being the way I am and living the life I do, I've learned that sometimes it's easier to walk quietly up the stairs, close the door, and let the sweet silence envelop me and keep me safe.
Once we accept our limits, we go beyond them.
– Brendan Francis