Messy

I don’t think it is a uniquely Autistic trait to desire things be cut and dry, for the lines and sides to be clearly defined, for things to be clearly explained. Perhaps the intensity with which we cling to it can be, and thus the frustration and bewilderment some of us have when it turns out not to be the case being so heightened. I disagree with calling it black and white thinking, because I think that negates the fact that complex mechanisms can be clearly defined if you know well enough what you are talking about.

I think instead it is one of the human things to various degrees. Obviously, not all humans feel this pull the same amount. But it is safe. While there are some people who engage in risk-seeking behavior, for many that I’ve communicated with deliberate risk seeking is about facing or even fighting off the fear that safety makes feel inevitable. When you retreat entirely into safety, everything outside of it can become frightening, unpredictable, a risk. Sometimes I do have to ask, though, if it’s truly risk-seeking, or if it is a form of fear-avoidance.

I went through a phase the year I graduated High School where I wanted to be something I wasn’t. While others might not gauge the risks I took to be the same as “risk-seeking”, it was the same mental process. But it was on the scale of who I am and how small a safety zone I have inside me. It was terrifying and running on adrenaline and “proving” that it was something I could do. It was mildly self destructive, and I had my first major agoraphobic episode the following year. I spent 6 months only able to leave the lot the little house I lived in with direct supervision, to places I knew were both known and safe– my mother’s and doctor offices. And my mother’s was once a month and only because my then Roommate/boy friend had to return to our home town for National Guard drills.

Our stories and feelings are all messy, complex. And as much as I believe complex things can be explained, broken down into the tiny moving parts like clockwork bits, there are things which defy it. I want desperately to believe in a unifying theory, much like Einstein to whom the quote “If you can’t explain it simply, you don’t understand it well enough.” is commonly attributed. But some things aren’t predictable, are running on quantum mechanics, are inherently uncertain. Sometimes there are factors other than not understanding something (communication disorders included!) that make the totality of our circumstances and world more than what some people can explain simply. Perhaps another person could, but when it comes to the experiences rather than the facts? Things are incredibly messy, and the end of our narratives uncertain.

Einstein tried to find the Unified Field Theory until his death, becoming more and more isolated from contemporary physics work. It remains one of the unsolved physics problems. There is a lot of hope to someday reach that, and one of the reasons why people seem so excited about the Higgs-Boson particle is that if it is more than to be expected perhaps someday it could lead there. I have hope that someday I’ll have the words to tell my own stories in simple terms, and that each attempt will lead to more than to be expected.

I have a post in my drafts about Physical Therapy, about body awareness, and about changing over time and what that has meant. I couldn’t continue writing it, though, because it became messy. I started out going straight forward about the things that I’ve perceived differently but generally beneficially about my body in space. But then I was hit with a flare in my joint pain– and the only different thing that had been added was that I had started a Tai Chi class modified for people with issues similar to mine. I had done this to work further on body awareness and my sense of self and movement in space. I ended up spending the next day in bed, and the next several days in a lot of pain.

It is an inherently messy thing, this shift in both knowledge and perception. It came from something that seemed to have a lesser risk than other things I’ve done, and it was unknowable until it happened. Indeed, until afterwards when my body had settled down from the endorphins enough to be aware of the consequences. It’s a reminder of the uncertainty of everything, that we cannot predict everything, as much as even Einstein wanted us to.

When I wanted to be someone else, and even before that, my feelings around disability were messy and striving. While I embraced that I am “crazy”, a person with significant mental health issues, I avoided desperately the other parts of my being that were disabled. I clung to intellect, avoided and denied many of the conversations about my possibly having a developmental disability, swore that I no longer struggled with the same issues that delayed my ability to read by years, avoided the discussion of my experiences of selective mutism. I tried desperately to be “just” crazy, just a manic pixie girl (I never fit the dream part), to suit a limited sphere of what I thought was safe to be.

There are things that I said and sometimes even believed then that I hate myself for today. Eugenics, something I am now fiercely, passionately against seemed somehow a differentiation then, something to prove I wasn’t a “them” with. I used the R word profusely, partially out of habit and partially to distance myself from the times I had been called that as a child. I clung to academic achievements not only because it was something in an environment that I could achieve in, but that I hoped it would contradict the times I had been told my worthlessness. Towards the end of that period of my life I started to see the things I had talent in as simply talents, but before that it was the way to prove myself, to tell people I was not what they wanted to predict of me.

My past is hideously messy. The things I did well, the skills I learned, are overshadowed in my mind by this– how much I didn’t want to be me, and how much I was guided by a desire to deny half the things that form my experiences. It’s horrible, and messy, and confronting that is hard. I know that much of it was ableism, internalized and let to fester, but I still hate that that is a part of my past. That I could have been that person, and to be the person I am now. To desire the ambition and impetuous while despising the things that surrounded and directed it.

It is messy, and it is uncomfortable. It is also true.

_____

I am a layperson when it comes to physics. I’m sure I’ve over simplified or mis-connected some physics bits. But they are the simplifications and mis-connections that best analogize the emotions I have right now about this topic. If you want actual physics awesomeness, I do rec that you check out Minute Physics on Youtube. (Note: I don’t think they are captioned, though I do believe that their production team would be open to use captions that people produce, as time and budget are the big barriers.)

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2 thoughts on “Messy

  1. I guess I’d encourage you to avoid hating yourself for anything you may have said or done, although I know that choosing to be forgiving of self is a challenge. After all, life is indeed messy, and so identity. messy and changeable. Back when I was passionate about physics I was concerned we would find the missing pieces of the puzzle and the mystery of life, the universe, and everything would end. Now I imagine that in spite of our belief otherwise, the mystery morphs. Maybe, just like us, it is unimaginably messy and changeable, so that every time we think we have figure it out, IT changes. Somehow, that would be very satisfying.

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