Autism and Experiencing

You know.

Autism.

The very difficult experience. Of trying to see the world, and then bringing it all together. Puzzle pieces.

It is like Bob’s grill. You know? Turn the knobs hear the chicken and fry the steak. Except every time you feel a new moment, the knobs change. And the temperature works against you. It wants to be different. So you readjust. Then your spatula is taken, and you are given a prong. Now your height shrinks.

Every condition. Reality changing.

It is sort of a blessing. You always see the world differently. And you can remember all the variations. All the facts. But then it works against you. And then you remember all the variations. All the facts. One in all. Together in your life. It takes years to process all those variations. Because your body doesn’t naturally filter it out.

And you must find a way through. Find a way to survive.

Then people. You crave connection, but they are the most complicated sounds to hear. Static. They smile when they feel sad. Yet you hear it. They bounce when they are happy. 

When you bring that part up you are told immediately to stop talking about it. Like I just insulted their grandma. Annoyed at you. Why? I like hearing those sounds. Why is it a bad thing to point out?

Its difficult. Because I want to say how I mean things. But people look at me different. I hear so much noise, but they judge me because I can’t keep up. 

The social butterfly whose noise is so very warm. The light I see where I cannot find anywhere else. Beautiful. Invigorating and a person I like being around. But then nervousness comes. Because they live in a different realm than I do. Know more. And move from place to place. Where I cannot keep up. I love places. I love cultures. But I deal with just smiling.

Its is what attracted my attention to this very day. These memories bother me. Years later.

The well that will never dry. I pull out and process. But more water comes up for me look into, and see my reflection. It is annoying for me to have to write this out. I write to process, but to them I am just a faint memory from a casual past. Where my memory is crystalline and I cannot forget. Perhaps soon I can finally seal the past. Move on from the hurt of following them around. Clueless of what a fool I was. Clueless of what I was doing to get their attention. Getting carried away with the chemistry I felt.

Like I am now.

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