Sometimes it feels as if you are revealing parts of yourself, splattering them onto the computer, and they simply disappear into black holes. Emails, blogs, works in progress, comments on forums. All the years it has taken to get enough courage to write to complete strangers in the faith that someone somewhere understands the gibberish you’re speaking through the help of a babel fish or something of the like.
I was going through images looking for something from “Alice Through the Looking Glass,” and found pictures of this sculpture. It is in Guildford, at the last place Lewis Carroll lived, although he didn’t write those books there. It’s a little sinister, I think. I don’t know what it would feel like to see it in person. No comments about Han Solo and carbonite.
What makes a person respond to another person, and what makes them ignore the person standing next to the person who’s noticed? It’s all very strange. There’s this thing in autism that’s called the “hidden curriculum”–basically all the little social cues neurotypical people pick up that people with autism don’t. How to take subtle hints when someone wants to leave, reading body language in a conversation, things along those lines. Things that we supposedly learned unconsciously. Sometimes I feel like I didn’t learn all of those things the way I was supposed to, even though I don’t have autism. I was just a sheltered nerd.
This is probably why I like writing so much. I can give my characters the perfect thing to say as a retort in an argument because I have time to think about it, whereas if it were me, what I’d say would be more along the lines of, “Well, wha…I’m rubber and you’re glue and everything you say bounces off and sticks to you. Nyah.” If I could even come up with that. I don’t fight very often with anyone, not even my SO. I don’t like conflict, but there are some things I won’t back down from. I suppose that’s not even entirely true. I was so fed up with work, and tired of dealing with them–no one was on my side, and no one was going to listen to me. It seemed like quitting, while it fit perfectly into what they wanted me to do, was at least something I was doing to them instead of something they were doing to me. Of course, a little over a month later, I’m trying to be optimistic about finding a job that won’t send me into a tailspin again.
Remember Lief, the little boy with autism that I mentioned a while ago? Since then he’s had two open heart surgeries because the machine that keeps his valve pumping keeps clotting, then his blood antigen levels went to 100%–which meant his immune system could fight anything, including the heart transplant that he needs, because no heart would match as his body would fight anything. The doctors decided to try something on the chance it would work after nothing else did–they gave him the treatment that transplant recipients usually receive after they’ve had the transplant, and his blood antigen levels went down to 11%, which meant he was back on the path to being able to get a transplant again. Then the machine for his valve clogged again, and Saturday he had a stroke which affected the left half of his body. It wasn’t a bad stroke, he can still communicate using his keyboard pad, and he doesn’t seem to have suffered any cognitive damage. He’s had his 10th birthday in the hospital. This ten-year-old has been through more than many adults, and he keeps soldiering on. There was talk of palliative care at one point, but he didn’t want it. I called him the Energizer Bunny sometimes when I worked with him, and gods, is he ever. He really hasn’t changed much since he was six, except now he can communicate, which is wonderful. So while I feel a little down, I just keep trying to remind myself, “If Lief can do it, I can do it.” He is one incredibly special little guy, and if everyone who reads this could stop for a second and send him a happy thought, that would be nice. It doesn’t matter where you are, he’ll know.