Well, it’s one of those weekends. I got up early Saturday, and walked in the morning. My body said, maybe it’s best you go back to sleep. But I didn’t. I offered my support as someone to talk to… on twitter… and then the day went by, and I became the one who needed social engagement. I’m thinking about signing up on Reddit, but can’t think of a new screen name. There really isn’t anything I can do locally.
So. I might as well get into what happened Tuesday.
The day’s notes and events included fallen branches in the driveway… and the Senate’s first day trying to “skinny-repeal” the Affordable Care Act. (I’ll note that the law, what many on the right call “socialism” is the conservative version of legislation that has been taken to the floor for decades to finally pass. The proposed healthcare reforms under Nixon was more “liberal.” But I digress.)
Tuesday was a day scheduled to see the counselor. We went over the report aimed at enabling access to services regarding my disabilities, and the fun paperwork that entails. However, I didn’t tell him how I felt that morning. He knows about my sleeplessness, my isolation, but he doesn’t quite know how I’ve changed.
The day began with a bit of a breakdown. There’s a big difference between “this sucks, I need to do something” (where I tend to fall back into complacency), and… “I am broken.” Crying entered the conversation this week with N., my practitioner friend; she said she cries almost every day, to cleanse the heart and reset the emotional state. I did, briefly. I got only one more hour of sleep before departing.
About half of 3 p.m., my mother pulled into the parking lot for Crescent Beach. Troubles of the day aside, before me was the opportunity to get some summer photos.
Every now and then, we see the world catching up with itself in little ways, in turbulence and neglect, overwhelm and falling behind— a cycle of too fast and not fast enough until things meet up, in resolution or not. Because the world doesn’t live as one, and in my mind it’s not supposed to. (Sorry, John.)
Life will find a way. …Even if placed or seeded in a completely artificial environment.
So it’s now February. My brain, which won’t stop playing Beatles tunes, has turned to mush. It’s been a while since I’ve written, despite raising expectations of doing so. And it’s all because of denial.
That word, denial. There has never been a time without it in the world. There are always patches of darkness. The dark circles under our eyes show how tired we are in this modern age. The world population continues to grow, raising our need to raise each other. And the cost of growing too fast is taking its toll. The U.S. national debt is hovering around a hair below $20 trillion. (And I didn’t even notice that the debt-to-GDP had surpassed 100% in 2012.) And after a Presidential administration known for growing bureaucratic red tape, we find ourselves with one that has a habit of growing executive red tape, barring even those with dual citizenship from entering the country.
“The hardest thing in life is to know which bridge to cross and which to burn.” —David Russell
Yeah, okay, so that quote doesn’t quite apply here, lol. I’m not known for burning bridges, literal or otherwise. I don’t forget people. My memory may not be 100%, but I still remember faces, even if the names escape me. Every once and a while a regret may pop up in my head over broken connections and bad impressions… but those things are a part of life.
On the literal side of things, a new bridge was recently built to replace an old one and make way for new power lines, here in Nowhere, Maine. (Buxton, to be precise.) It was the Bar Mills Bridge, built in 1936, that had to go. The green bridge, which closed July 11, is still being dismantled…
Large trucks (above a certain weight) were not permitted to use the old bridge, for obvious reasons. (Eighty years old.)
The new one was completed in November— a contract of 120 days.
On the metaphorical side, I have a real problem at building my own bridges. An Aspie who fell out of love with life, connecting with people has always been hard. But I must build. No man is an island. We must grow to live. At least professionally, we need relationships. Of course, there’s always some pain in the process, some kind of labor. And when a bridge fails, it can take part(s) of you down with it… But we need to exercise the right muscles; we need to try to repair and move on. Sometimes we can manage without a bridge somewhere, but every so often we must rebuild.
All of us come and go in our own time, and none of us are the same. What was sweet is bound to turn sour, so we must accept facts and learn to move on— forgive when it is time. Easier said than done sometimes. But if we can, in fact, never forget someone who no longer needs us… then why try to hold on if we’ll always remember?
Soon after crossing that new literal bridge over Saco River, and for the first time, my mother spotted some sheep. Or, at least they appear to be sheep…
She pulled over. It was quite sudden, but there was no traffic. And so I took the opportunity; I crossed the road, and approached the fence. And they, the sheep, were excited. They may have expected food (from strangers), considering they rose to see me. Needless to say, there was no intellectual conversation to be had. I said “hello,” and one of them immediately pooed. They all gradually turned their heads away. …Again, I’m not known for connecting very well with others. Noticing the dropping of “malted milk balls,” I said “okay,” and moved on to the other side of the barn. …And I’m sorry if I’ve caused you to never eat Whoppers® again.
On the other side of the barn, I got some baas. Click here for a video.
I could go into the metaphors of being a “sheep” and “don’t be like a sheep to the slaughter,” and stuff like that, but… nah. (Or na’ah’ah…) We’re all on our way to some place, and it’s not really my place to tell you, dear reader, what to think. I can, however, ask you to be honest with yourself, in good reason and good health.
Well, I got a lot of backlog of reading and writing to tend to. Until next time…
There may be an infinite number of things we can do or ways to do them in life, but we only walk the paths we are ready to walk. We are not meant to walk them all. Or even see them all.
Sometimes we can become so buried in our work that we lose parts of the big picture. We can busy ourselves to exhaustion or pretend to avoid confrontation or danger (such as having a smartphone in front of us, or earbuds in to bore others), or to avoid pain… But life isn’t meant to be lived in a bubble. We are meant to feel, and do what scares us every now and then. We aren’t ants or plants; we are human beings.
Now, if there’s anyone who’s lived under a rock, it’s me. And I mean, I have nothing, nada, zip figured out from experience. The main reason why I can’t really write a novel is because my own living story is so empty. I am Exhibit A for someone who hasn’t done anything with his life.
However, since 2012, I have opened up to opportunity quite a bit. …Of course my methods have been awful as opportunity most always doesn’t return my calls. I’ve been reaching out to strangers, sometimes with my heart on my sleeve. Lots of failure.
Still, the people I’ve met these past four years have changed my life in ways big and small. I’m trying new things, attempting to socialize more, even if the results are not great. The Saturday group, for example— I learned things I couldn’t have possibly learned not going. Continue reading Paths undiscovered→
It’s been a relatively busy week for me— visiting three new locations in three days, the third only hours from now. All of them in Maine. I say ‘relatively’ because I’m unemployed. But I’ve met five new people so far, and have been getting out of my “comfort zone.” No reason for stress, though; it’s all family and support groups.
It’s kind of strange that the unrelated events occur two days apart from each other in sequence. First, was aunt J.’s visit on Tuesday. (Still processing all the over-ninety photos taken that day… not going to be a short post, I can tell you that!) Then, a support group for people on the autism spectrum, Thursday… (I was diagnosed with Asperger’s, if you didn’t know.) We walked for the day; the photo above was of a tree along the improvised path, since one person (probably the group leader) remarked of the ‘interesting’ bark. The group was moving too fast for me to effectively take photos, but I got a few shots of hills, lol. There were some dogs too… on the other side of the fence… something completely different.
If you’re wondering about the name of this post, well… the conversations entered Jurassic Park science, and approached Godzilla versus ____. Including a Venus flytrap. Which is dumb. Because, as one member explained, the Venus flytrap is so delicate that it needs to be in the right climate and needs the right set of nutrients… hell, it’s so delicate you could kill one poking it; it’s suitable around flies. But back to the point— Barney came up, and a thought came to me: Barney vs. Godzilla— a satire that the “dinosaur” wouldn’t behave very suitable for children. The thing is I didn’t speak up. …And I realized why I didn’t exactly fit in. But the social part I need.
I’ve adjusted a little to something of a morning schedule by the end of the week, in part to be there for my far away friend. (Hopefully, I won’t prematurely say “bye” in the next phone call with her, lol.) I’m not used to a morning schedule since high school, hence the lag in blogging; but any incentive to become more versatile and thus grow is a good thing. In concept, anyway.
…Okay. Time’s up. Must turn in. …And so, I shall say: good night, dear readers. 🙂
So, a few things. And no photos (except the lead) because most of the subjects have been elusive, or… well, un-publishable.
Tuesday night, during my walk for the day, I spotted one of the neighborhood cats in the greens. It looked back at me as I shined my flashlight on it— a flashlight with weak batteries, so a dim light on its face. During one later pass, the cat was in the path; I couldn’t help but approach it, slowly, having to complete the path, whereupon it got scared and bolted off into the woods.
The next day was a bit strange, and I’m not sure if the cat was involved. Remember the chipmunk I mentioned in a previous post? Well, I may have found it— or had— in the backyard… on its side, moving only because of the insects beneath it; in other words, deceased. Not a disturbing picture at that stage, but definitely not a picture that’s going up here.
It only got stranger that night. Glenn Beck appeared on MSNBC… live. I won’t go into that ball of stress… it was just unusual.
I contemplated making a long voice message in response to my far away friend, who as it turns out didn’t respond within the week because she was overwhelmed in work, among other things. I made the decision to do the recording… and at the point it was past 11 p.m.
To fill you in, on past matters, briefly, making a phone call wasn’t possible because of the mobile network she had— not being able to call locals, so the next best thing was to make voice recordings. When absolutely necessary, anyway.
Problem is… I am bad at speaking as myself. I’m bad at speaking in general, sometimes losing train of thought mid-sentence, but into a mic, and outside, at night? I could get paid as a voice actor the way I can bend my voice, but… as myself and quiet, it came out a mumble… as usual. And not a “cool” mumble as with Elliot on Mr. Robot (even though that show has become rather dull). The content of the message… it was awful, despite preparation— some preparation. “Wing it,” I cannot. So that message is not getting sent. I would have to transcribe it for clarity, which defeats the point of a voice message.
It approached the definition of precarious being outside before the turn of midnight. The stars were out, the crickets were at full volume, and I had used the screen of the smart phone as a light— no “torch,” as they call it in the U.K. But it was not particularly safe toward the end. And what ended the message: There was some kind of barking in the woods, only mere yards away, but not a dog. Maybe a raccoon, and I think definitely, maybe rabid. Okay, there have been no reports of rabid animals, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
I amplified that portion of the MP3 recording so you can hear it clearly:
Yeah, I returned to the house.
…A house that began to rot four years ago.
…And now, it appears as if aunt J. has given up on me, relinquishing everything onto my mother— someone who, after barely doing anything, doesn’t follow through on the ideas she sells… She doesn’t even remember a written deal she made and I accepted.
Okay, so I’m opening up my depressing circumstances again (and technically it’s more than a few things beyond this point). Sue me. I’m alone in all of this.
I know we all are sometimes undervalued and left to ask questions, not always knowing what to ask, but in my case… Am I not like an animal in the dark?
I know I’m not rabid, ha. But there is definitely darkness, even during the day. An alien in the neighborhood, where I might as well be some stray animal. I’m subject to learn in a vacuum living here. Aunt J. said in 2014, something along the lines of, you a champion, someone who will fight for you. Of course, she made it a matter of disability… to have the public pay for my help. No further help from family… whatever family that’s left.
I’m certainly not an animal if I can speak spoken languages and do square roots in my head. Still, not much of what I say is going to get across anywhere— and doubly right now; the people behind the MERLIN Project say information does not pass well long-term around one’s birthday and six months away from that— biannually. In my case, that’s early March and September.
(I was also going to link to the Wikipedia page for physicist George Hart for more on MERLIN, but the page had critical opinions stated as fact— and for a long time. I did my best clearing up the page, but the vandals out there can be so pervasive that my changes may just get undone. Also, my revisions or wording might not be clear enough or meet standards, so there’s only the win in trying and contributing.)
Right now, I should expect a lot of silence, and making big decisions will fail later on. I should be taking care of things at home, and of myself, and frickin’ sleeping. My teeth and gums are in a concerning state, my right ankle is warped, and my neck is messed up. …But those things cost money to deal with, and I should have a job. It runs in circles.
In my willingness to fight the darkness… as absurd as that gets… I got cocky again. Online, I recently gave advice to people left and right— the kind of advice that makes me— or anyone else— go oh, God… I wrote that. And my far away friend, overwhelmed, certainly doesn’t need essays in the form of emails from me right now.
With my words, trying to make change right now is like barking in the woods.
Then again, ‘right now’… is so small in the grand picture of forever… this darkness that never ends. I’m very much like an animal… on a leash, trapped in my head. …Then again, that could be considered insulting to animals. Who am I to complain when the smallest of creatures must traverse long distances for food? They run circles around me. They reproduce, and I probably won’t… regardless of how much I want a family.
Animals aren’t bothered with human trappings and emotions and judgment… Even the animal people on Penny Dreadful embrace their instincts, and act, whereas I am… reserved in my dreadful absence of support.
—Okay, enough of that. I should get some more air.
Time has run quickly this summer. The whole year has moved so fast, especially the last four months. Something of it being emotionally short for me… Fewer unique memories to link the timeline together, and less interaction overall.
On the second Wednesday this month, WordPress notified me with that little trophy, that this blog has been up for four years. Which made it all the more ridiculous when I saw that the blog had gotten zero views in 48 hours. …It reminds me of the potential quantity over quality of adding posts just for the sake of the Congratulations, you hit another 100 milestone. (This blog has also reached 400 in count, by the way. 😉 )
So… zero. And not the first time. …Write “like no one is reading,” indeed. Okay, enough blog navel-gazing.
2016 is quite a different year— much different. Sometimes it has been in my face this year how messy real life is. And I’m not talking merely of people baring their souls without makeup or “graphic content.” I’ve seen some the limits of the world at large and small, and what it is to be human, and how natural it is. Some of it’s beautiful. But it is all very, very messy.
Still, I don’t have nearly enough of the picture. We’re all limited by our perceptions… But, for me— as the last time I’ve been off the property was maybe two months ago— the view is like impressions from afar.. I practically missed all of 2016.
That isn’t to say I’m alone in the practice of being absent. There are times I’ve gone to twitter and found the most recent posting was several months ago… Life goes on. But it hits me, being so out of the loop, and so out of life.
I used to write things down. I used to get up, and live. I used to dream.
This year, I feel broken. I put too much weight on being useful, and people have gone silent. I’m so dependent. I tried to get back into the loop— or “re-loop,” but it feels futile. There isn’t much ‘relating,’ and not much to say on my end because nothing much is happening on my end. And now it’s the 20th of August.
Time could blur in 2012, but still there was life. Notable things happened in 2012. Success may have been a pipe dream, but there was life. Now I can’t help but think everything is dying. …Technically, I’d be right in a way— none of us are immortal. We are born; we grow, peak, surrender and die. But the culture… not looking good.
I miss sleep… proper sleep. I’m forgetting things like never before— missing count of the passes in my walks, distracted by the “talks” in my head… ruminating, probably suppressing serious thought and memory for a bit of emotional comfort. …Of course, I can’t help but feel things that bring a smile to my face or heart when I think about one person in particular— whose appearance entering the year made 2016 unique. …And now she’s even farther away, geographically… going silent again, where I begin to think about what might have happened… trying not to worry. She’s her own person, but… it can be hard to let go of someone you love.
Another slow day in a slow year, and I find myself rereading… backlogged emails on missed social media and old messages from a deleted account… emojis, broken pictures and the truncated text of email notifications. And despite supposed good times, my broken contributions remind me of how empty and damaged I am as a person. That isn’t at all to say the other is ‘perfect.’ Everyone lies— even your friends, at least to be nice. …Feeling used doesn’t feel nice. (Hypothetically speaking.)
…It’s been four years, and I still don’t quite have a voice. So I kind of blew up, the first Saturday of August. No use pretending things are alright.
Some connections are all but gone, replaced with holes dug in not speaking up. Trying not to harm or offend, or sound self-absorbed, the word count can go up significantly… cut down to virtual grunts… “Distractions” deleted, questions left unasked, and conversations are left in an awkward position. Things just left there. It’s awful. It can even feel as if devaluing the other person, when the purpose was to protect or respect them. Of course, part of editing is getting rid of inaccurate statements… which makes me sound like a liar that I even typed the words in the first place.
Add the perception of absence when someone is unable to speak (properly)… One or both people assume that they aren’t there or are uninterested… it can feel like a communication death spiral— where the connection is perpetually lost.
Silence really can be like a cancer. I never had anyone to talk to— not really— in-depth and uncensored… which makes my ‘experience’ easily overwhelming. That’s why I’m damaged, ultimately. An example of someone who wasn’t lucky enough to have people in his life, friendly or not. Forget loneliness— the absence of others can make you feel worthless.
…It works both ways, of course. I’m not special. I’ve come across people that have found themselves “unworthy” or “dying inside.” I can empathize, first hand. You know you can talk to me, I would think. But I say nothing, unable to articulate “the right words.” Would it benefit him if I spoke up?She turned down talking to me before; why would she talk now? …I’m too toxic. I’m too immature. I keep to myself, partly out of “respect.”
…Anyway. It’s been four years on WordPress. I don’t even want to begin to think about another four… so much backlog of words. I’m surprised I’ve survived this far. 😉
…And to anyone reading this who feels horribly alone: you can talk to me.
I was in a fictional building, amongst, I don’t know, soldiers. Maybe the setting was affected by the latest wrestling-themed episode of Supernatural.
Anyway, there was this boundary moving in, consuming everything in its path— like a wall closing in, but not a physical wall. We could get out of its way, but we had to move fast, and climb (I grabbed on to someone’s legs; the chains attached to the ceiling were out of reach). A leader of some sort opened a passageway by hand. And then I woke up.
There was more leading up, but the memory of what happened before that interactive scene is too vague to recall… lost in its seemingly mechanical routine. But the latter part sort of reflects the feeling that my world is closing in on me, consuming me, silently.
There are so many ways at which my world is going dark, and it is kind of scary if you think about it. In spite of my actions, the lights go out around me. And literally— the two light fixtures in the kitchen no longer work; both of them. We’re using a plug-in lamp, currently burning an LED 60w replacement bulb because the halogen bulbs don’t last very long.
Some of what I get in life could go to the whole argument of expectations versus integrity as Togetherness the TV series conveys, that if you’re not all there and ready, you shouldn’t expect much. But this darkness I face is just absurd.
Warning: this is a bit long and raw. Some unpleasant things are revealed, and not everyone agrees with the content. If you’re only here for pictures, poetry or good writing, you’d best skip this.
So I wrote to my on-off therapist, and told him that I had a few breakthroughs since the last session with him, and would write a post in preparation to the revisit. (I say on-off because the sessions cost money, and I’ve been slow to cooperate.) Really, the ‘breakthroughs’ were discoveries considering a breakthrough is a major achievement, overcoming something an obstacle into action…