Communication

There is a war. It is disconnected and dysfunctional.

sketch by me, 2008

I seem to only be able to communicate in metaphor and allegory. I CAN talk simply, but when I do, I am lost and lose words and fall apart. Mostly I remain quiet, thinking nothing I add to the conversation will be worthwhile. So I stitch my own mouth shut. I am better at writing things out than speaking them. Sometimes I am very very quiet, sometimes very very loud.

It depends on whether you are talking to me about one of my passions or not.

A lot of my frustration comes from this miscommunication. I can't seem to speak normally. Even Bryan has had to learn to adjust, and often tells me, "It's hard to have a conversation with you when you're this way." Problem is, I am "this way" most of the time. Oh, I put on a good performance and can seem eloquent for doctors or teachers, or other people I've rehearsed for. But if you really want to talk to me and see my face light up, ask me what I'm obsessed with. If you're not interested in that one, I've got plenty more.

Am I the only one who can't make small talk?

Aspies?

I've been frustrated lately. Really, really frustrated. I drew this image, as it popped into my head while Bryan was discussing his novel. I've been distracted by my own thoughts and moods, and can't seem to get outside of them. I can't poke my head through the tiny hole I've made for reality. I always seem to make my outlets much too large and real life way too small.

So I took a break. My best friend flew in from California, and we had two weeks of just sitting next to each other (sometimes quietly talking), while each was absorbed in her own tasks. This is where the interesting hair on this picture came from. I've had bursts of creativity, and more and more of a foul mood when dealing with the world around me. It was nice just having someone sit with me, even if we said nothing. I even began the arduous task of crocheting my first pair of socks!

But everything else suffered.

I discovered that tension displays itself in my jaw. I clench up into near teeth-grinding over things. And then come the headaches. And then I wonder where the heck my real self is gone, lost as it is in a miasma of phantasy and refracted reality.

When I came back to the world from my self-imposed sabbatical, I discovered a nice article by a blogger named "Bad Cripple" had been pinned to my social networking wall ... by my awesome friend Lori, who must be psychic. (P.S. You should read his blogs!) The article was on disability and identity. Down by the corner at the end of his wonderful little rant was an online quiz for Asperger's Syndrome. Being the naturally curious type, I took it. My scores in the Asperger spectrum were quite high, but what if it was a simple problem of the  internet not being able to factor in severe schizophrenia? Here is my score sheet:

Noted, this test also showed me as "gifted" in the explanatory pages that followed. Always when I get a gifted score, my faith in said test is undermined. I feel utterly out-of-sync and unable to do the smallest things. But is my frustration part of a deeper neurological disorder?

*Deep thanks to the folks who created this "Final Version 2" quiz, and to Lorifishes, who always knows just what to say.