beaisdifferent

[beaisdifferent]

Contradiction

Back before I had a diagnoses, back before I even had a suspicion I was on the spectrum, I was walking to a math theory class in my community college.  During my first semester there, I went on a whim to see the school’s theater preform She Loves Me, and I fell in love with theater all over again, in a way I hadn’t since my local dance school put on Annie (I played one of the orphans, July).  And as I was watching my peers sing and dance and act out what remains one of my favorite stage performances to this day, I had the though: I could do this.  Maybe I should have auditioned.  So when I was walking to class and saw an audition notice for the next play, a non-musical called She Kills Monsters, I decided I would audition.

Of course I chickened out and the audition date came and went.

But I had started attending the improv classes in between my own schoolwork, and I knew the head of the performing arts department, a ridiculously kind woman.  So when I wandered into the theater on the first official reading after casting decisions were said and done, and took a swing to see if I could still be a part of things somehow, the director and department head said they could find a spot for me in the ensemble of monsters, I just had to do a quick audition with a monologue I prepared.  We stepped aside before the rehearsal started, and I stood before them, giving the first audition I had since I was a child.

And I was so nervous as they watched me, tears rolled down my cheeks as I monologed.

Luckly, the piece was about a breakup, so it just made me look like a better actress than I was.

They said they could definitely find space for me in the ensemble, and while I was exhausted by the very vulnerable experience of an audition, I was so excited to begin my work as a monster.  They sat us all in a circle so the primary cast could do the initial read through of the book and we could all learn the story.  One of the casted actresses couldn’t attend the first night, so they gave me her book and asked me to read for her part for the evening.  The part of the antagonist, a bitchy cheerleader who became a bitchy succubus in this Dungeons and Dragons themed fantasy.  I was flattered that, as I read, the director nodded her head thoughtfully.  I was doing well!  I didn’t ruin all my chances at this fun by missing the actual auditions.

A few days later, when rehearsals official began, I learned that I would be playing a few nameless monsters on stage long enough to be slayed…and Evil Tina, the bitchy cheerleader/succubus.  The actress initially cast dropped from the production and I was dropped in her place instead.  I was terrified and thrilled.  It wasn’t really my first play, I had been the cheshire cat in a bootleg production of Alice in Wonderland a few years prior, but this was technically a college production that I was thrown into at random, and I had never played a bad guy before.

When I joined the show, it wasn’t just because I thought it would be fun.  I’d joined because I was struggling with significant social anxiety, and decided that throwing myself straight into the fire, going as hard into being seen and known as I could get, would be my treatment.  And as I went along, I realized something.  I was actually rather good at it.

I didn’t get what I call Hollywood autism, in that I’m not a savant and I despise math in a way that only years of bad teaching can do.  But I’m really good at memorizing blocks of text.  I was the first person off book, something the director called attention to and mortified me because any kind of attention mortified me, but it was something I could be proud of.  And even know I think I am a decent actress.  And it’s not because of some innate artistic skill, I wasn’t a star waiting to be discovered.  I would realize later with better understanding, that I already had years of practice.

I had spent my life practicing blending in with people, being convincing in saying things I didn’t feel or managing the tone and body language of my responses to mirror those around me and mask my own differentness.  Now I was just doing that for fun.  I really don’t want to blow my own horn, I’m not trying to hail myself as some amazing actress above my peers.  But I felt like I had a leg up on the stage, and could really feel natural actors vs awkward ones.  Some people read their lines like they were trying so hard to act, while other’s just said what they’re character was supposed to say in the way they were meant to say it based on the context of the situation and nature of the character they were playing.  There was such a difference, and I could find it.  Autism is not my superpower, much of the time it feels like an inconvenience to manage, but here it did feel something like a superpower.  And it only got better.

I adore reading lines.  It’s my favorite part of the whole thing.  If pressed, I would get rid of the performance nights and only do rehearsals—In fact I might prefer it that way.  And like everything else, it took me a little while to figure out why.  It was practice.  I struggle in conversation.  I think in pictures, and it can be hard to translate those pictures into fluent spoken words, and to do it the “right way” so I can connect with my peers and be an accepted member of the herd.  Running lines, playing different characters in different scenarios, gave me the chance to play around with back and forth dialogue, with different characters and different means of expression.  It felt like real connection with my line partner, especially when they could really commit to their role, all the while I stood behind the safety of a character who was not really me with rules of how this conversation would go, clearly defined expectations.  A desperate and lonely autistic young woman thrived in a space of performance and spotlight, it felt like such a contradiction of nature.  But it was perfect.  I didn’t have to be me for a while.  I was Tina, or Kira, or Judith, or Monster #4.  And whatever I did right or wrong during that time wasn’t me.  I could drop into a character and find the thrill of being good at something, a feeling that was largely alien to me until then.

I haven’t done a play in years now, adult life doesn’t leave a lot of time or energy for 12 hours of rehearsal every week, but I always think on it fondly and would return given the chance.  In many ways that black box theater raised me into the woman I am today.  Some of my fellow actors remain my best friends today, and they first show we did together has kicked off a Dungeons and Dragons group that’s been going on for 6 years now.  I’m so grateful I was given that chance for a last minute audition, and so happy I took the swing that has helped me in so many ways all these years later.  I raise my glass to the contradiction of anxiety, autism, and the performing arts.

[beaisdifferent]

I wrote a book!

I wrote a book! Self publishing through Kindle Direct Publishing and kicking off my writing career. 100 Distractions will be available to read soon, I'm so excited to chuck this thing out into the world.

[beaisdifferent]

It makes me happy when they listen

[beaisdifferent]

If I don't let myself stim or I'm in an environment where stimming is more difficult (like work meetings!) I can get overwhelmed very quickly. For me it often manifests in the inability to focus and involuntary twitching…

[beaisdifferent]

Sometimes I do not like how I feel. And that makes me not like who I am. But I am not how I feel. I am not even what I can do. That's a resume, not an identity. My life and relationships are not a business. I am what I choose to do and say. Even if I do not feel good, it does not mean that I am bad. I am not my feelings, I am what I choose to do and say.

[beaisdifferent]

The Sadness of Learning

There is a mourning process that comes with being diagnosed.  And it can be really confusing.  You can spend years and years--sometimes your whole life—suspicious of yourself, knowing something about you is different, and not having the words to describe it.  You can feel so left behind, so disconnected, so misunderstood, so frustrated, and so silenced.  Then the words do come, things like mature for your age, shy, sensitive, lazy, ungrateful, difficult.

So when you put together the pieces as an adult and finally realize that you might need to seek out a professional’s opinion for all these thoughts and behaviors that you hadn’t grown out of yet, it can be so exciting.  You sit for four hours of tests, doing random activities with a stranger who calls you back after a week of thinking on it to tell you that you have autism and ADHD.

That’s it!  I’m not weird, I’m not stupid, I’m not any of those things.  It’s not me, it’s just the way my brain is wired!  It can be so validating, such an important cornerstone to understanding yourself and finding your identity and your community.

But there is also something strangely final about it as well.

I remember after getting my diagnoses, the sadness I felt was unexpected.  I had suspected myself of being autistic for a long time, and though the ADHD speculations were newer, they were firm as well.  It just made sense, this would explain so much of what was going on with me, what had characterized my internally turbulent childhood.  But when my doctor said, “Definitely autistic,” it struck me.

I think I’m still figuring out how to put it down into words.  This is permanent, this is my situation, something I will need to handle and monitor and be responsible for for the rest of my life.  There is something wrong with me.  It’s not going to go away.

I have to manage my neurodivergent self in a neurotypical world.  Even on days I’m just home by myself, even on days I’m working to get to the end of the day, even on days I wish I could strangle the pieces of me that don’t fit in the way the world demands they do.

It’s a lot of work, a lot of research, a lot of relearning how to both find mercy with myself but also take responsibility for my shortcomings, whether or not they really feel like faults.  It’s something that I have to keep in mind all the time, something I have to keep secret from certain people, something I have to hold even when it’s weighing me down.  And it so often weighs me down. 

There is something wrong with me.  I don’t want to have to be positive about it all the time, sometimes it’s really hard and I wish I was different.  There was a period of adjusting to this news, of learning how to swallow it down and accept myself as I was.  I’ve mostly settled in with it now, made a bed for it beside my own so we can properly get to know each other and rest without spite for the following morning.  After over a year of compiling the right resources, I’ve been able to use the diagnosis as a springboard to understand myself and massively improve my life.  This has 100% been a change for the better, I need anyone hesitating to get a diagnosis to understand that.  But there was a period of sadness that came with learning all of this about myself, and sometimes its still here, still lingering as I practice harder than anyone else I know to keep my shit together and fail anyway.

[beaisdifferent]

I don't want to drive to work, I want to lay in the mud and listen to the frogs sing and know the names of mushrooms and wait for it to rain so we can all share a feeling.

[beaisdifferent]

My Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Drive Home

It was a long, frustrating road to getting my ADHD diagnoses.  The phycologist I saw was ready to label me with autism, but decided that my issues with memory, organization, and motivation were the result of anxiety, and diagnosed me instead with generalized anxiety disorder.    I didn’t quite buy it, but accepted the diagnoses and the medication prescribed for it.

It didn’t help.

I could feel it wasn’t helping, and in some ways it was making things worse.  Surprise! taking medication your brain doesn’t need can have adverse side effects.  But I still had the rest of my day to day life to tend to as I tried to figure it out.

I had just left my position as an administrative assistant at an office that I generally was very fond of, for one that I liked much less but that paid me a living wage.  As I got into my car that morning, dressed up in business casual clothes that I despised, the fuel gauge stared at me, reminding me I forgot to leave early enough to fill up before work, after also neglecting to fill up on my way home last night.  I had enough to get me to the office, I would just have to fill up after my shift so that I could get home.  No problem.

I watched the clock through my shift, forgetting to fuel up during my lunch break as that would have made things too convenient.  I locked up and got back to my car, and sighed my annoyance at actually having to stop at the gas station this time.  I navigated there, parked at the pump, and went for my wallet—

My wallet.

It wasn’t there.

I dig through my bag.  Nope.  I dig through my glove compartment.  Nada.  I dig underneath the seats of my car.  Uh uh.  I turn my bag upside-down this time, dumping everything out to see where it must be hiding.  No cigar.  I don’t have my wallet.  I don’t have any way to pay for gas.  And I don’t have enough gas to get home.

I sit in the parking lot for a few minutes.  This wasn’t the first time I had done this.  I once missed my turn and got lost downtown, eventually having to call my boyfriend to come rescue me as I waited at a sketchy gas station parking lot with my shih-tzu on my lap, growling at passersby.  Bitter but fitting, this was the night before I was to travel upstate to meet with the doctor for diagnoses.  I bought I big, rainbow-colored wallet to try and make it something I couldn’t miss  Then, weeks later as we were going to TSA for a trip to attend his friend’s wedding, I didn’t have it.  it’s mortifying to be ready to board an airplane, realize you don’t have arguable the 1 thing you really need to make that happen, especially when your partner is really expecting you to have it, because it’s the airport, how the hell could you not have your wallet?

    I was embarrassed then, and was even more embarrassed about it now.  I didn’t want him to see me like that again, to have to come and rescue me again.  Besides, he was at work anyway, and wouldn’t get off for several hours.  I did the only thing that seemed reasonable in the moment, and started driving home.  Whatever night I had ahead of me, I wanted at least to be closer to home for it.  So I drove, praying, anxiously watching the gas gauge tick down, down, down as my GPS lets me know the several mile difference between what I have and what it will take to get home.  I keep going until the dashboard read only 1 anticipated mile’s worth of gas left.  I didn’t know what would happen if I let the car run out completely, so I pulled into the corner of a stranger’s wide driveway.  I had five miles to get home.  I liked walking, went on walks for pleasure when I had the time.  Maybe I could just walk home.  I still had at least 2 hours of daylight left, besides.  No big deal.  I hadn’t told anyone about my predicament just yet, too embarrassed to admit that I was this much of a mess.  So I write an apologetic and explanatory note and leave it on the dashboard of my car for the driveway’s owner, and begin my journey.  In the little ditch in between a backroad and someone’s crop field, I began to walk home in four year old, $20 Walmart faux leather boots that definitely didn’t make me stumble every third step.

After about a half mile, I texted my boyfriend, just so someone knew where I was and what I was doing, hating that I had to show him this side of myself yet again.  He wasn’t happy, but just asked that I be as safe as possible.  I tried texting other people, vaguely things like “Hey, what are you up to tonight?” gauging who might be able to help me without revealing predicament before it was necessary.  No one was available.  So I kept walking.

The shoes and subpar walking ground meant I was moving much slower than my usual gait.  The sun began to set.  I tried to stay optimistic.

Finally it’s dark.  I try to reframe the night so I wouldn’t be so awful.  It’s like an adventure, I’ll have a new perspective I can use in my writing, this will be a story I can laugh at once I’m home and figure out what I’m doing.  But truthfully I’m scared of the dark, I’m scared of the car’s flying past that might not see me and come too close, and I’m afraid of where I’m stepping.  My parent’s dog got out one night, and wasn’t found until the following morning…her paw caught in a coyote trap.  My phone flashlight wasn’t much of a comfort.  I listen to Critical Role on my phone, trying to borrow this fantasy of adventurous travel that might see me home.  Then I listen to episodes of Adventure Time, thinking the comedy and absurdity will distract me until I can get off the road and out of the dark.  It worked for a little bit.

But I was still far from home.  I couldn’t really gauge how many miles I had in front of me, all the houses looked the same in the dark, too many farm fields for me to differentiate them in my current state.  Then, a woman driving by slowed her car to a stop beside me.  I thought she was going to offer me a ride, and was bummed knowing I would be turning her down.  But instead, she held up her phone, her camera flashed as she took a picture, and then she sped off.

What?  What was that?

I keep walking, thinking, and getting more nervous.  Why did she take my picture, and say nothing like that?  Was she sending it to someone?  Someone who would drive down the road soon after, some man who now knew there was a woman walking alone in the dark?

Now I was really scared.  Realistic or not, this scenario was playing out in my head, and I decided I couldn’t afford to take the risk.  I swallowed my little remaining shield of embarrassment, hoping I could just fix this myself, and I called the sheriff’s department.  I apologized, told them I knew they weren’t a taxi service, but I felt unsafe.  The woman on the phone was very nice, staying on the phone with me until the unit she alerted arrived.  I stood in front of a house with a decorative, white well in the front yard, and I waited in the dark, flinching at every car that passed by.  Two cop cars arrived, the officers standing in front of me in that way that only cops do, hands on their belts, and questioned me about what had happened.  It made me feel like I had done something wrong, that I was being investigated and this story about forgetting my wallet was a fishy cover.  But one of them gave me a ride home over the last 2 miles.  I was home at last.

My boyfriend, now that I was safe, could let me know how frustrated he was with my forgetfulness, and that we needed to discuss how it was affecting our relationship.

I was low.  I was exhausted, I was scared, I was embarrassed, I was ashamed, I hated myself.  I cried myself to sleep that night, and walked 7 miles the next morning, carrying a gas can to my abandoned car.

It was such a low point in my journey of self-understanding, such a marker on the map of “why can’t I seem to do anything right?”  I forgot my wallet all the time, and this was the worst instance, a potentially dangerous time.  Shortly thereafter I scheduled another appointment with my psychiatrist, and explained what had recently happened along with all the other instances that seemed so much like issues with cognitive processing rather than an anxiety problem.  This trip of misdiagnoses is another conversation, and this post is already too long, but she agreed to give me a test run of Ritalin to see if maybe treating the issue like ADHD would have a positive affect.

And what do you know.

It did.

So much.

But more on that later.  This night sucked, and I can hardly look back on it and laugh.  For the rest of the year that I lived in that area, I would drive that road and mentally clock that driveway I borrowed and watch the rugged miles fly me by from my car, all the way to that little white well.  If nothing else, it made me angry enough to put my foot down and demand that my problems be acknowledged.  I’m medicated now. 

If you’ve had a similar happening, if you’ve had your issues ignored until you hit a point of shame, danger, and or lost threatened relationships, I see you. I’m sorry. It can get better. I’m medicated now, I’m properly diagnosed now, I’ve got appropriate resources to support me. And now I keep my keys inside my wallet, so I literally cannot leave the house without it.

[beaisdifferent]

ENTRY LEVEL MEANS NO EXPERIENCE. IT MEANS NO PORTFOLIO OF RELEVANT SAMPLES. ENTRY LEVEL IS ENTRY LEVEL

[beaisdifferent]

"adhd isn't a disability"

breaks down over trying to start tasks until he deadline is stupidly close

unable to do basic chores unless it's like 4am and then the whole damn house gets cleaned

speaks too fast

tangent and tangent and tangent. makes social situations hard

literally unable to stop themselves from interrupting people mid sentence (and the constant "*interrupts*- sorry, please continue")

knows what they want to say, cannot find the words, even if it's something basic

auditory processing disorder (pretty common with adhd), like how do you explain that you can hear but your brain has minecraft server lag and the chat will appear soon

hyperfixations, and people thinking they are special interests when they are not (they are short term, literally stops you from basic care like eating and drinking when in)

impulse purchases making bank accounts cry

all or nothing. not hungry to pain. don't need to pee until pain. you get the picture

cannot sit still, like actually can't, constant moving and shuffling which people think would be cute but actually just pisses people off

doesn't have a fidget toy, not bc they are popular but bc they would have to put it away bc dylan over there got a fidget spinner and has been loudly playing with it (dylan is neurotypical)

cannot do anything if there is something else to do that day, must wait

just stfu it is a disability

[beaisdifferent]

Doctor: Yes you can have medication :)

Insurance: Yes you can have medication :)

Me: Amazing, Pharmacy? Can I have medication?

Pharmacy:

[beaisdifferent]

What's fun about executive dysfunction is when you finally break out of it and Complete the Task, your reward is an immediate shame spiral.

"This took 15 minutes. Why did I put it off for six months. I created so many new problems by not doing it six months ago, and it wasn't even hard. I am literally a waste of carbon molecules."

And I know my brain works differently. I understand that executive dysfunction isn't a choice or a thing I can even remotely control. But once the task is done, there's no relief. Only shame. Because wow. Look how easy it was, and I turned it into a burden for six months.

[beaisdifferent]

i feel like no one really wants to hear that sleep/exercise/nutrition/hydration are major factors in treating mental health issues bc we’ve all talked to that person who thinks your depression would be cured by one good session of goat yoga or whatever but unfortunately they do help and i’m chronically annoyed about it

[beaisdifferent]

[beaisdifferent]

Original

[beaisdifferent]

My internal monologue when I try to wing my eyeliner.

The Washington Post, June 23, 1912

[beaisdifferent]

Dungeons and Doing My Best

    So, motivation isn’t strictly necessary for doing something, but it is really, really¸ helpful.  I don’t want to take the trash to the curb.  Even though it will take less then three minutes for me to put my shoes on and drag the bin down to the end of the driveway, I don’t want to do it.  So sometimes it goes ignored, until I’ve missed the Monday morning deadline and have to deal with an overstuffed bin for a week.  That motivates me to put it out, even pull it down early the night before.  But without the motivation, its just too easy to let the trash pile up beside my porch, where I also don’t want it to be.  So I just have to pull myself by the ear and take the three minutes to put my shoes on and take out the trash, or just do it when I already have the shoes on, such as when I’m going for a run or taking the dog out.  It always makes the bin feel a little heavier somehow, but it gets done.

     Lacking motivation makes things harder than they need to be, plain and simple.  There always feels like there’s more dishes, more people in line, more things to be said in a phone call when you just don’t have that kick of motivation to make them happen, making even mundane tasks feel like something you have to muscle through.  On the opposite hand, when you do have motivation—oh shit—that’s where it’s at.  When I properly feel motivated to do something, It’s like I’ve got those springs in my shoes you always used to see in cartoons, a literal spring in my step boosting me through the tasks that can become very easy, or even pleasant.

     Finding motivation isn’t always easy, especially for someone prone to procrastination as they try to focus on what they’re actually motivated to do that day (it’s not usually focused on taking out the trash).  So I’ve come up with a way to satisfy my desire for self-improvement with a hyperfixation as well as a work around for making my problems not feel like mine so they are advertently easier to handle.

     Those of you who are familiar with DnD already know about stats and character building, so feel free to skip this next part.  Those of you who don’t, please follow me into a brief, oversimplified explanation of how a character functions in this tabletop role playing game.

     You are given six stats: Strength, Dexterity, Constitution, Wisdom, Intelligence, and Charisma. 

Strength: Hit, swing a sword, wrestle a fellow.

Dexterity: Sneaky your way past the guards, jump to safety when the rope bridge snaps, steal.

Constitution: stick it out, shake it off, hold your liquor. 

Wisdom: read the situation, understand people, make good decisions.

Intelligence: Book learning, nerd stuff.

Charisma: make friends and influence people.

     So these six basic abilities are the building blocks of what your character can and cannot do.  While we can’t simplify our life skills into numbers so easily, I have been thinking on a way to make daily tasks easier with the motivation of measurable progress and change.  So I present to you, the “DnD real person who’s trying their best stat chart”

     You have six stat blocks, just as your character would, and every week you start with a vase of 10 for each slot.  The goal, of course, is to grind and get those numbers up so you can slay the kobolts, mind flayers, feelings of paralysis, bees in your brain—whatever you’re tackling that week.    How do we build each stat?  Looky right down here.

Strength: You add plus one to this stat block every time you do a strength based exercise.  This can mean weight training, body weight exercises, or walking up and down the stairs until your thighs are aching with all the muscle their growing for you.  Everyone is going to be at a different place regarding what exercise and how much of it is appropriate for them, as always, take your time and listen to your body to find the method most appropriate for you.

Dexterity: You add plus one to this stat block every time you do a mobility exercise.  This can be stretching, yoga, tai chi, etc, whatever gets your body moving so you can bend, sneak, and do the splits past those fortress guards.

Constitution: You add plus one every time you, for lack of a better term, stick it out.  We’re doing cardio, high interval intermittent training, shadow kickboxing, or running.  But it also means walking the three miles around your neighborhood at a gentle pace, finally conquering the mountain that is your overdue laundry hamper, or setting a timer and sitting down for that thing you don’t want to do but have to anyway.

Wisdom: You add plus one to this stat block every time you do something to care for your mental and emotional wellbeing.  Disconnect from all technology for an hour or two, taking a nature walk, meditation and breathing exercises, journaling, or something calming and cathartic like knitting or drawing, whatever does it for you.

Intelligence: You add plus one to this stat block every time you do something that powers up your brain.  Reading, learning a new language, crossword puzzles, listening to an educational podcast, watching a documentary, anything that takes the little gray cells for a jog and leaves you more learned.

Charisma: Add plus one to your stat block any time you connect with someone.  Call your mom, talk to a friend, go for an outing to a book club or a DnD session, whatever means of socializing best suits you.

     These aren’t rigid categories, either.  Did reading that book exercise your brain but also let you rest and replenish?  That’s a point for both wisdom and charisma!  Did that long walk require some resolve to get through, give you a break and some fresh air, and leave you feeling sore?  That’s a point for constitution, wisdom, and strength!  A lot of these categories are based on physical output and exercise because most days my sanity depends on my ability to move my body and wear out the tv snow in my head, but it’s just a vibe, and you can adjust it anyway you need to.

     At the end of the week, tally up your scores and see what kind of character you might best play with your stat scores.  Did you do a lot of reading and have a great day out with friends?  What a sociable wizard!  You’re party will be so lucky to have you!  Did you do lots of push ups and finally set up an account to pay your car insurance?  Your party couldn’t ask for a mightier tank.

     For me, my monster is usually feeling bad about myself, feeling unaccomplished or incapable of functioning as well as everyone else does.  So having documentable evidence that I’m accomplishing things is a powerful axe for that beast.  Especially when I get to feel like my own half-orc fighter or gnome wizard while doing it.  for me, it’s a helpful state of mind if nothing else, so I hope you can get something out of it too.