Healing Together, Walking Together

[Ed. note: After I wrote the essay Falling Down, I authored the update below. Please read Falling Down first, if you have time. Thanks!:]

While my wound is healing, it still hurts when I walk or put pressure on my left leg. I did see a doctor, even though it cost me a $25 copay, and I had to pay $15 for the supplies to treat my wounds. That's okay - I know that I have to stay in good health, and can't get an infection.

Speaking of old wounds, I have been feeling some anxiety about my social situation lately, although I suspect my fears are overblown. It's just difficult for me to avoid my apprehensions even when I have good reasons to suspect they're ill-advised.

I can recognize that many of my friends and the groups where I associate are trending in different directions than I am. Once again, tonight I am going on a date instead of spending time at an outing with some of my closest friends. Almost every time, I feel stupid afterward for missing good times with my friends in exchange for an at-best-mediocre date.

So why do I keep making this trade? There are a few reasons: I do feel lonely sometimes, and I very much want a relationship. Also, while I know my friends are close to me now and I cherish them, I feel vulnerable relying so much on the same people for so long. I want to expand the circle of people I know, especially people that I can keep close to me.

Sometimes I worry that my interactions with my friends and people I meet are two one-sided, too focused on myself and my needs. I want to be a better listener, a more generous and more supportive person. I feel inadequate in that effort in part because I realize that I'm not inclined to take initiative. I'm not always a demonstrative person, and I don't tend to go out of my way to connect with people. I have an inkling that I may want to change this feature, but I'm not sold yet, let alone wise enough to decide how to change.

I just feel like I don't know enough about myself, or about other people yet. This sense of ignorance feeds my insecurities, too...and already, we've returned to a focus on *my* issues - when I'm trying to think about others.

Cutting myself some slack, though, part of the reason I have focused more on my own reactions than those of other people, lies in good intentions. There have been times in the past when I've tried to connect with people in counter-productive ways and seen my outreach backfire badly. That is a major influence on my current instincts of deferring to other people or focusing primarily on my own perspective.

Focusing on myself has long felt like the safer and more courteous option. I am tortured by worst-case scenarios; I can't escape the fears I have of repeating the debilitating mistakes I have made in the past.

As Neil DeGrasse Tyson says, every day you can ask yourself two things to become a better person: 1) what have I learned today? 2) what have I done to help other people? Considered through this prism, I feel positively overall about the strides I have made to be a better person towards my fellow human beings.

I want to focus on the positive lessons I have learned, not on the dread or shame of past mistakes. I want to have the comfort level to take risks, and the discretion to take smart risks. That goes back to why I am going on a date tonight instead of spending all my time with the friends I already have: I know I could take the safer option, but how is my life going to improve if I always fall back on what feels safe?

Sometimes, I fall. Sometimes, I fall because I've done something rather stupid. I have wounds that have healed, and wounds that are still mending. Sometimes, old pains flare again, and it takes all my strength just to walk on my own. Yet - sometimes - putting one foot in front of the other makes me feel more powerful, wiser, and bolder with each towering step.

Watching those who are attempting the same journey, I wonder how I can do my best to help others. What does that promise mean? How do I fulfill this commitment? I have no idea. But first I'm going to get up, and I won't be going alone.

Laughter As A Way Of Life

I used to be afraid. I felt rage and indignation, mixed with regret and despair.  I felt so out of touch, and I was worried that I would never feel at ease.

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night. I feel so much useless energy coursing through me. I feel anxious, and feel so many thoughts rushing through my mind simultaneously that I hardly know which way is which.

I am constantly reminded of my insecurities. Usually, I suppress these feelings, for lack of a better way to cope. I felt like I had to choose between suppression - ignoring the feelings entirely, or depression - blaming myself, or anger - venting at situations over which I had no control.

I didn't know that there was another option.

I'm trying. Sometimes I still feel like I'm in denial. My laughter is not a way to separate myself from my feelings - it is a knowing acknowledgement of the absurdity of my life - but is not a hollow, hopeless, or self-defeating absurdity. This is an affirmation.

I have tried, hard, to find another place - a better place - to go, mentally. I end up so often in my thoughts, that I need some kind of refuge. I have tried to appreciate things in my life for the way they are.

So I laugh. And why do I laugh, and what do I find funny?

I giggle about what I don't know - what I once didn't know but have now learned - what other people deeply feel to be true but don't actually know - about patterns others miss that I understand - when I finally learn something that it seems like other people understand easily.

One of my closest friends recently told me that I am one of the most optimistic people she knows. This shocked me. I have never thought of myself as an optimistic person. Now, I am trying to be more like the version of myself that she has apparently seen.

I'm not saying that I am changing to satisfy other people. I'm doing as much as I can to be true to myself, it's just that there are things about myself that I don't like. Besides, the idea of being "true to myself" has always seemed somewhat contradictory and problematic for me, both in theory and practice.

Theoretically, how can I be true to myself when I barely know what I want? Aren't I just privileging the things I already know? What's the fun in that? I want to keep expanding my horizons - I don't know where I will be in the future, and how I can be true to what I do not yet know?

Practically, I've always felt insecure about some of the ways I act. I feel very uncomfortable in many different situations, and yet I can be extremely engaging and gregarious with very close friends and when I'm talking about my passions. Still, I'm clumsy about how I express myself - I interrupt other people too much, and too often find myself waiting to speak again instead of listening to what people are saying. I'm genuinely trying not to be inconsiderate - I really am - I just find it so difficult to relate to people sometimes, that when I feel like I have something valuable to contribute, it's hard for me to hold back...so this is a way that insecurity feeds upon itself.

I'm constantly struggling to live up to my own expectations of who I can be, of what I can do, and what I can accomplish. I put a lot of pressure on myself. All this laughter is a way for me to deflate the tension.

Sometimes, I just look in the mirror, and I start laughing. Then, like the world's unsexiest vampire, I disappear for a little while.

Leap Into Song: "Rococo" by Arcade Fire

This is the third installment of my recurring "Leap Into Song" series, where I examine my thoughts about different songs and artists that have influenced me. Previously I have covered songs by Muse and Lady GaGa.

I've been getting more and more interested in Arcade Fire recently. I particularly enjoy their songs "Culture War", "Modern Man", and "Wake Up", but "Rococo" most of all strikes a chord with me.

As a philosophy and political science buff, I appreciate the implied digs at postmodernism and cynicism in the lyrics. The "modern kids" downtown are "using great big words they don't understand". Many times I have listened to this song and sympathetically exclaimed, "F*$% Derrida!". But that's just the first level of resonance I have with this song.

As a person with Asperger's Syndrome, I am often prone to fits of echolalia. To avoid being hypocritical by using a complex word without explaining myself, echolalia is "an automatic repetition of vocalizations" (according to Wikipedia). Further information about echolalia and other symptoms of autism can be found here and here. In my own life, I often repeat thoughts or sentences that I have just said - to myself or to people around me - or I'll keep returning to the same ideas over and over.

In "Rococo", Arcade Fire repeats variations of the word "rococo" over and over again, but they vary the notes, the length of the word, and the melodies behind the words. It's a very tasteful and affirmative similarity to echolalia. The way the saying of the word "rococo" becomes bolder and more confident throughout the song, the way that the music swells to a peak of assurance...it's a wonderful synchronicity.

In a world where people are "moving towards you with their colors all the same", it's a positive thought to embrace many kinds of diversity, including neurodiversity. While I'm not at all sure that Arcade Fire is intentionally delivering this message, I have chosen to interpret "Rococo" in such a way that I find personally fulfilling and affirming.

I encourage all people to live their lives in a way that reflects strongly upon their own strengths, no matter what other obstacles they may face. I am thankful for the ability to imagine a positive vision of my life, including my unique features such as my occasional echolalia. These things that make me who I am are neither good nor bad, but they are something I want to celebrate, and I will continue to find ways to see the positive aspects of my personality. I am grateful, lastly, to Arcade Fire for making such great music which has helped me stay optimistic and feel more capable as a person.

Leaving the Scene of a Crash

I may have slain one of my computers, a laptop my parents gave me the summer before I entered my freshman year of college. If this is the end, perhaps it is a fitting time for that machine to go. I've finally received a physical copy of my diploma in the last few weeks, and I'm interviewing for what would be my first paying job after graduation tomorrow. A symbol of my late adolescence may have chosen to exit stage left.

This is the computer that helped me become an atheist, helped me win and lose my first girlfriend, find and secure several jobs and internships, and stored countless memories.

It would be easy to feel that I am burning down part of my past, but that's not how I choose to see the situation. I am leaving a part of my life behind me, where it belongs, to embrace new adventures. That's not just about the computer, by the way.

***

I've finished my interview, and it went well enough. The job is in telemarketing, so it's probably not going to be super challenging and the hours aren't that great -- but I need the money. I got great news today that I got an interview for another job - this time, one in advocacy that is ideal for me. It's something I can do at the same time as my Hill internship, which is really neat.

I'm feeling especially adult today. I've been incredibly productive. I wrote several people to ask where they're living after the spring, and soon I hope that I'll have arrangements for where I'm living after my current lease expires.

If I manage to land a paying job, even a part-time one, and I can find another good place to live for awhile, I'll feel pretty set for the time being. I still have a lot of leads, and I'm really feeling good about my life. I feel very proactive.

Every time I go to the grocery store and get food to eat instead of going out or ordering, every time I pick up dry cleaning and put it away instead of leaving it out, every time I write someone back quickly instead of dilly-dallying and forgetting to contact them...I feel progressively better about my life and what I'm accomplishing.

I'm not doing anything monumental yet, but I am seeking to become a master of small details that should add up to a larger picture. I'm taking time to establish a good, well-ordered life for myself as best I can, and I'm trying to manage the chaos and enjoy what I'm doing in the meantime.

I realize that today and yesterday are parts of the days where I don't feel like I have anything interesting to say. Still, I'm not writing this blog only to be interesting. I need to write, and I don't particularly care whether I say interesting things or not. I need to be persistent. I can't let the perfect become the enemy of the good, because goodness knows I've done that often enough in my life already.

Reflections From Leaving College

I became an entirely different person during college. I lost faith in the religion of my childhood (and became an atheist). I acted in a theater group for the first time. I started performing improv comedy. I started drinking (shortly after the theater and improv). I had (and ended) my first relationship (also after the theater and improv).

I thought honestly about my history with Asperger's Syndrome, and I met other people who shared some of the same stories. I had no close friends my entire freshmen year of college. During my sophomore year, I began to have more friends, but doubts and insecurities about the reliability of my friends plagued me constantly (shortly after the theater and improv). In that same year, I failed my first (and so far only) class (shortly after the theater and improv).

The summer after my sophomore year, I started seeing a therapist and continued doing so until the end of my junior year. Most of the times I went, I felt miserable while I was with a therapist. I didn't know what I should say. It was extremely difficult for me to express my feelings to a stranger...or even to myself. This chance to sort my emotions still helped me immensely, and the lingering impressions of this experience continue to benefit me. It's a strange wonder that I was able to journey through my senior year without any therapy and without paralyzing myself emotionally.

Senior year was rough, but mostly I dealt with my problems better than I had when I was a sophomore. First semester, I was insanely busy. I was struggling with keeping my internship, my classes, and my relationship functioning. I partly succeeded, then I spent the second semester of my senior year trying to save the things I still had left after my first semester. [That was supposed to be funny.]

One of the best and worst moments during college came for me near the very end of my sophomore year. I was at a Cinco de Mayo party with some kids from my theater/improv group, and two of my friends were talking with me - while they were quite buzzed. They told me that they were quite impressed by my ability to do improv, especially since one of them knew me as a freshman when we lived on the same floor of our dorm. She noted that I seemed very shy and not the kind of person who would thrive in improv, but she added that she was pleasantly surprised by the quality of my participation.

I was extremely happy to hear that praise: at that moment, I was very depressed because I had quite recently realized that I was, in fact, about to fail an important class - that I had yet to inform my parents - and that I was moving out and going back home the next morning. It was a dark moment for me, and it was the precise time when I needed to hear some reassuring and uplifting comments. That's one aspect of my life during the past four years for which I am especially thankful: that every time I've felt most alone, least capable of handling my problems, or most lost and vulnerable -- that I've still found some consolation to ease my way through the anguish, and somehow become a stronger, more resilient person.