It’s quite grand that my theory doesn’t require explanation or rationalization or proof. It just is. I think that’s a godsend for us. We’ve been looking for the smoking gun for so long. What if it isn’t about proof? It’s just about faith.
I fight against the proof on a daily basis. I strive for explanations. That’s a non starter.
I also don’t like theories that are moving targets. I need things I can refer to at will, at liberty. I need to be able to hold on.
One of my great wishes in life is to wake up each morning feeling great. Not sore. Not groggy. Not bloated. Not exhausted. Feeling lithe, limber, refreshed. Alive. Lively.
I will make this a reality.
I basically want to feel the way I do when I am going to sleep.
I would be okay continuing on the rest of my life with this mystery hanging over my head. But what about my sons? I should find some sort of resolution for their sakes. They may very well need to know the truth. It’s funny. I do want to know for myself. But it doesn’t really drive me to the finish line. It’s those around me that makes it real. Sometimes I worry about what would happen if I was the last or only man left on Earth. What would I do with myself if I only had myself to be concerned with? I pretty much have a crappy track record when left to my own devices. It improves drastically when there are other people involved.
The other interpretation is the multi-personality one. Even this word that I’m writing right now could be a false version of my real self. I’ve been going with that idea for awhile, with limited returns. If I vacillate from my real self(ves) to my hidden, empty selves, it’s an uncomfortable game of cat and mouse, trying to catch the movable objects of either my real or fake self. It sets me up with a lovely sense of second guessing my actions and motives. But deciding that I am just such and such kind of person (like mildly autistic) is a more streamlined interpretation of my overall self and humanity. I am me. For better or for worse.
The theory is that my personality split off into many sub-personalities. When? During trauma.
Is it a race to see who has the most sub-personalities? Oh, boy. Whose cream can rise to the top? It’s a game. Another game. Yet another tiring game. Like the Terminator in the first sequel. I used to think back to that scene. I feel like him/it frequently. Or I used to. Maybe not so much lately. I have pared down my count, so it appears.
It is a game now. That’s what life is anyway. So I can use my disconnection that way. It was a spiral, as you know. I started out different than other kids. Then I got mocked for it. Then the mockery added a new element to my differentness, a defiant differentness. Eventually the defiance morphed into detachment. But the original differentness could have been construed as defiance and detachment anyways. So they build on each other. And that may be what we’re observing in Cody. That snowball effect.
But as I said, there’s a game aspect to it. I can play with the detachment. I can play in going in and out of it. It’s not so serious. It’s my baby. It’s not so much inflicted on me. It’s me, really. And it’s Cody. It’s our game.
Every time I do something and then regret it, it is my autism that kept me from nipping it in the bud. My ability to write here but not be open in the real world, is my autism speaking. Everything that speaks to a disconnect is the autism. I don’t care if the DDSC or whatever manual would disagree with my assessment of it. I like it. I like using it as a term that fits my life. I know it sounds catch-all.
Every time I spend money I don’t have, it’s autism speaking. To me it’s not catch-all. It’s my reality. It’s my own self.
Eating things that I know will have a deleterious effect on my skin – that’s autism. It’s like the Passover song, Dayenu.
It’s either a catch-all or it truly permeates every single thing in my life. I don’t mind that if it’s true. It’s better than the lifelong haze I’ve been living within.
Quirky. Quirkiness. Is that the beginning of the spectrum? I am tempted to look for alternatives to my autism theory. I think that is part of my quirkiness, my searching for theories. Remember what Amy said? Haha. I never thought it was inborn or ingrained, for some reason. I never thought I couldn’t go ahead and change something in myself. I think it’s very tricky differentiating between different parts of yourself. But it’s a nice thing to try to do, because you’re the closest to the source. Everyone else is just guessing from clues. They aren’t on the inside track.
Last night I thought about writing. I had some ideas. This autism theory is a nice springboard for theorizing about pretty much everything that’s ever happened to me. I have yet to find anything that cannot be applied, at least to some degree, to the autism theory. I guess I don’t like the idea of a psychiatrist doubting or questioning my own hypothesis. It troubles me. I already have a tendency to second guess myself.
It’s a shame if Cody has adopted this propensity. It could be a source of much pain and confusion. But hopefully I can be a guide. If I figure out what’s going on, then he can use me as a resource.
I guess I am not totally satisfied with my theory when I see so many others succumbing to the same foibles. Like overeating and snacking. Why would that be related to a special syndrome like autism? I guess there could be a variety of reasons for overeating. Autism might spur on that sort of dysfunctional habit. This light autism makes it problematic to reason my way through bad habits. Maybe my autism is a complex mixture of different issues that have been conglomerating throughout a lifetime of trials and errors. Cody’s version is at an early stage.
The other question remains: are we talking about a bad thing necessarily? But that’s why I mention the inability to take directions from my own brain (and maybe Cody from teachers/elders). That indicates a reliance on my heart and spirit instead of my intellect. Is autism a relatively new diagnosis? I wonder if I really know what I’m talking about. All I really know is from watching Rain Man.
I guess I think and operate differently. One of the problems with that is assuming I can compare myself to others readily. Also, that others will understand me readily. Also, that I will understand myself readily, haha.
Death. Ha ha. I never knew I was obsessed with it. Since when? Since forever. It seems so obvious now. And there’s a fine line between life and death. Like with food. You eat to survive, but you overeat to commit a slow suicide. They seem so extreme, but actually it’s a razor thin line. Anyone who toys with the idea of death sees parallels all the time. You’re always almost dead. I don’t know if it’s as much morbid as it is steeped in pathos. Another fine line. I wish I could say they weren’t everywhere. I also think they are very Buddhist. If the middle way weren’t so elusive, we’d all have found it by now.
If my response to success is so nihilistic, it’s no wonder I end up back in the same old same old. I mean what have been my great, grand failures anyway? I used to say I wanted failure, I wanted rejection. Then I knew I had at least tried to achieve something great. It reminded me that I was alive and that I strived to improve my lot in life. So I thought.
I guess the question is am I nihilistic, or am I autistic? Do I react to situations in the way I imagine is truly normal, truly healthy? What am I capable of, exactly. Maybe the way people react to success says a lot about them. What is success, anyway? Isn’t it largely self-discovered? You do the work to make the success happen yourself, let’s say. What is the work that needs to happen afterwards? Do you decide no work is appropriate afterwards? Do you turn the other cheek?
Here are my introductions/poems that I read at my recital last night:
Debussy
(mvt 1) Planted firmly on the Earth, a powerful proclamation. But doubt takes on many shapes, as the curves in the road are numerous. You try to find your way, seeking certainty from wise ones. Arriving up to the highest precipice, you reclaim your power.
(mvt 2&3) Trying to be sneaky, but stumbling, bumbling. A lonely melody is strummed in the evening’s twilight. There are phantoms that startle and spook. You run away, faster and faster. Getting lost, finding yourself in unfamiliar territory. Fortunately the lonely melody returns like an old friend, and leads you to a hopeful place. You are connected to the Earth once again. You can fly, explore, zigzag, sink to the lowest depths, but it will never be forgotten. It watches you, this Mother Earth, until at last you land with a crash, a smash, yet reunited.
Ravel
Whisper, whisper, a baby rocking with musical triplets and duplets, back and forth. A beautiful fragrance, yet wistful.
A new kind of rocking, mature, thoughtful, pragmatically nuanced. An interwoven tapestry of colors and ages, millennia old. Diving into the richest soil, returning up to the highest ethers. When nothing more is to be plumbed, the small child finds her tranquilest place atop a cloud.
Stravinsky
(Intro) A lean, formal statement, energetic and lyrical
(Serenata) Rustling leaves in a gently whirling wind
(Aria) A two-faced rustic dance
(Largo) Sighing, reaching to the sky
(Tarantella) A tiptoed sprint, jutting out in spikes
(Minuetto et Finale) A parade begins, then detours, picking up nearby villagers. Not all are eager participants. This leads into a wild dance peppered with remembrances of friendships long past and of love, all culminating in a colorful fireworks display.