This will begin like many other posts in the future with, "Before I knew I had Asperger's..." In many of my previous posts, someone familiar with the signs and symptoms of AS would see it. I was only familiar with myself, not any form of autism. I didn't see it until I "saw" it in my daughter. But, now, it all makes sense. That sense is a relief. Although, I do not in ANY way view myself as a freak (or any other person with Asperger's), I like to think of the wedding banquet scene from Browning's movie, "One of us! One of us! Gooble-gobble!" There are others like me. Well, kinda. Not JUST like me, similar. More importantly, there are other who understand. Whew.
Before I knew I had Asperger's, little things would bother me a lot. They still bother me a lot. Now, I know why. Today, I don't have to feel awkward, feel defensive, or worse, hide my agitations with shame. The little things are mostly sensory. Like the taste of a spice or herb or seed like caraway causing gag reflexes. The odor of some one's cheap perfume coating the inside of my nostrils and mouth like wax for hours. A school uniform turtleneck choking me and causing a panic like being buried alive. The sound of someone chewing across the table from me creating images of a food bolus being broken down with saliva between molars-- louder and louder and louder. Every night, my husband still wonders how I can read by such dim light. Because, I tell him, the light reflects off the pages and makes me snow blind. It hurts.
When I would tell someone it hurt or caused discomfort, often they would think I was being overly dramatic. Simply trying to cause diversion or to be disruptive. I couldn't understand why they didn't understand. I took it personally. It was depressing to think people didn't believe. It came across as a bizarre punishment when people would tell me to "just deal with it".
Today, many of those things still bother me. However, I can somewhat control my responses or at least control what I share with others about it. I learned how to avoid the "what's the big deal" shrug of the others' shoulders. I can still taste a teensy piece of celery as if eating a head of garlic. But, I don't wince and verbalize my displeasure. I push it to the rim of the dish. I learned where to place my shopping bags in my car so I don't need to listen to them rustle around in the wind coming through a rear window. A sound that amplifies in my head to the sound of water roaring over Niagara Falls. Even the word rustle bothers me because of this association. It makes me shudder if I let myself go with it. But, then I think of a word I like, snacks. That's a funny word. It makes me smile. But, my relationship with words is a another blog entirely.
I sat down with my husband and my psychologist to have a 3rd party person tell him I wasn't just trying to be a pain in the ass. Most of the time, he is understanding about it. But, when we are out to dinner and I order a nice filet only to realize it was grilled with a rub containing caraway seeds (or just one caraway seed or cooked near caraway seeds) making it inedible? Well, that's one time when I can read some one's expression pretty clearly. I am okay with it. I can sleep at night, knowing I married a man that can move past all the things I can't.
Conversely, little things make me love certain things more than others. And, by more-- I mean, A LOT more. There is something so subtle about a walnut lentil burger. I can taste the walnuts, the lentils, the cumin, the garlic, et al. This same sensitivity makes me a good cook. I love the flavor so much, I wish I could eat one (or three) every day. I'd eat them for every meal if I could. Yet, through over forty years of past experience, I learned it is neither practical nor fun to eat the same thing every day. Although, it is comforting. Eventually what happens is: I eat something so often, for so long that I get to a point where I can't even look at the food-- like with Pad Thai. Saying the name of the dish would bring the taste to my mouth. I try not to do that so much anymore. I rotate between certain dishes-- and sure, I'm nutritional more sound for it. Not to sound like an wild animal, I can taste the difference between a grass-fed steak and your run of the mill injected variety. They are two different planets on completely different arms of the Milky Way. With the grass-fed, the taste of the iron in the blood takes the lead in the list of flavors in the steak. Mmmm... irony.
I'll save the list of things I like to look at, listen to, and touch for a later day, too. However, seeing the little things has made me a better illustrator and designer. Listening (I "see" a lot of what I hear) to the little things has made me a better musician. And, the touch part usually comes to the rescue when I need to zone out or relax-- this usually doubles as what I've heard called stimming.
Since being diagnosed with Asperger's, I decided it is all differences of degree. Like changing the font on a document. The rest of the world reads a phrase in 12pt, but to me it appears as 48pt. These little actualizations help me become more comfortable with the big me (which I like to believe is as large as a Macy's day parade float crammed into a slightly above average height human shell).
