A Literary Genius in the Making? More Than Likely Not.

Okay, I’m no literary genius. On one hand, I know that I am not in the same vein as Poe, Steinbeck, or even Hemingway. But on the other hand, I do most certainly believe that I was born with the gene for writing creatively. Nope, can’t draw, paint, sing, or sculpt to save my life, but I do have that special knack for making stuff up. My poor mind is in a constant state of creating: characters, plot lines, beginnings and endings, dialogue, etc. It never ends. I blame this disgruntled brain of mind. But for all it’s worth, I don’t mind all the confusion one iota.

These ideas, they haunt me, but in a Casper-the-friendly-ghost sort of way, not in a Poltergiest sort of way. I have many friends and they all are living in my head! It may be a bit overcrowded in there, but, hey, they haven’t complained as of yet, so who am I to judge? They are never quiet; noisy tenants. But gosh darn it, I love ’em anyway! I get so excited(keep your mind out of the gutter) whenever these thoughts come barreling through and I have no choice but to quick grab a pen and paper and start jotting words down as quickly as they hit me. I have to hurry before these thoughts float away and I’m left with nothing but “damn, that was a good thought; too bad I can’t remember it now!” Hey, give me a break, I’ll be fifty years old this year.

So here I sit, originally, outdoors, my dog at my feet, pen in hand, doing things the old-fashioned way. If I am to get my thoughts down before they melt away like hot breath on cold glass, I have to be quick. Writing it free hand, it comes out so sloppy sometimes. I think it must be my own brand of shorthand. Sometimes I can’t even read what I wrote. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not. But write I must. Every writer out there knows the feeling. It is an addiction. A sweet drug that keeps us going day after day. A love of words. A hunger to share what is on our hearts and minds, and of course, in our heads. In our imaginations.

But, alas, the thoughts are slowing down now. My fingers are beginning to get some life and blood flow back in them. Perhaps my friends in my head have decided to retire for the day, perhaps they’re all going off to some party and leaving me behind, tired but sated, for the time being anyway. But I’m not disappointed. At least I know they’ll be back. I am their landlord after all.

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Yes To Life

Okay, now that I understand who I am deep down inside, I am happier and much more content with myself.  Though last week a screaming reminder that I have this syndrome came to me.  I’m embarrassed to say I had a bit of a meltdown last week over something trivial. As a woman of almost 50 years of age, I should not be getting upset of minute things such as a kitchen appliance that I can’t seem to get working. But that’s how I know that I have Asperger’s.  Normal women of my age do not have those types of meltdowns, at least not that I’m aware of.

Between tears and swearing up a storm, I finally got the thing to work, and then wondered what the hell is wrong with me…or yeah, now I remember.  So for the most part I’m fine, and function quite well on most given days, but there are those times that depression sweep over me to the point that I feel like I’m drowning.  But I know what it is all about so I can get over it quickly and move on.  That is the point I’m trying to make.  Remember, during those rough patches, it is only a temporary set-back.  It will not last forever.  You can move on from it, learn from it, and become a wiser individual in the process.

 

A New Way of Looking at Things

Okay, continuing on from my last post, I am most certainly sure that I have Asperger’s.  Yes.  It’s undiagnosed, but reading all the info about it, I match almost 100% of the traits, etc.  One of my sons has it, and I know now, without a doubt, that I too have the Syndrome.  No big deal to me.  I am jut elated to discover after all these years, I’ll be 50 this year, that the way that I look at things is not weird or bizarre, but my normal.

I look at how I related to other people, how I prefered my own company to that of others.  I liked playing with boys and hanging around them instead of other girls.  I never was into the ‘girlie’ stuff, like makeup and dressing up.  I hate jewelry, flowers, and all of those other “Hallmark Holiday”.  Knowing that my husband loves me 365 days of the year means that we do not need special days to for him to tell me that.  Flowers die, chocolate adds inches to my hips, and jewelry to me is a big waste of money.  Okay, I’ll stop.

I now can move on and enjoy the rest of my life, however long that may still be.  When I act different, I’ll know and understand the why of it all.  If people don’t like me now, it’s their problem, not mine.  Unless, of course, I’ve done something to cause their dislike.  Wow.  A dark cloud lifted, a heavy blanket removed, and a light going on inside of me.  That’s what this discovery has done for me.  After years of depression, and suicidal thoughts and attempts, and just a deep gut-wrenching sorrow of wondering why people didn’t seem to like me, is over.  I have been set free.  And, damn, it feels wonderful!

Now I can go on writing on the topics that I enjoy writing about without wondering why I am so attracted to those story lines.  I can go on reading those books that I enjoy so much without wondering why I love this genre so dearly.  Ah, the freedom to be yourself.  I always knew that I didn’t want to be like other people.  I’ve always rejected that way of doing things.  If people want to be friends, all well and good, but I’ve decided that I am no longer going to play at being normal.  I will now live life as I was created to be.  A very unique and sometimes strange individual.  And that’s okay too.  Trying to fit a certain mold is draining.  So tiring.  I can like me and be happy with the way that I am.

So, have a wonderful week everyone.  Hope that you find some joy in reading my posts.  And I do truly appreciate everyone who takes time out of their busy day to read what I write.  It definitely means a lot to me.  Writing is my lifelong dream and goal of being officially published someday.  God bless and stay safe out there.  We know it’s a crazy world out there.  Peace.

So I’m Not Crazy???

Okay, so this isn’t an official diagnosis but I think I’ve finally discovered what the hell is wrong with me.  I’ve made a few discoveries about myself in the past couple of years: (1) I’m lactose-intolerant and (2) gluten makes me terribly ill.  Perhaps that’s too much information, but I figured I should share.  Now, after decades of wondering why I’m so different from other people, I believe that I have Asperger’s.  One of my sons has it.  And now my dad thinks he might have something along those lines, and after reading quite a bit of information about it, I am sure that’s what I’ve been struggling with for decades.

I’ve never been very good at making friends, and I actually don’t always enjoy making conversation.  For years I have always wondered what was wrong with me.  Why didn’t people like me.  Why am I so different from other people?  Why can’t I make good eye contact, or if I do, why do I wind up staring?  That’s probably even creepier.  My sense of humor was always different from the other females I knew.

I’ve had people tell my parents that I was stuck-up because I didn’t talk to other people, but it was because I would rather bury my nose in a good book than have a boring conversation with people I hardly knew.  School was a nightmare.  I’d overhear other students mock me, tell each other I was strange; different.  And I guess that I was.  Talk about feeling like a square peg trying to fit into a round hole.

I’d struggle for years to try to fit in and be like the other women.  The things they enjoyed doing, I hated.  The things I loved, other women would just stare at me and wonder what was I thinking.  I like looking at houses, reading a lot, writing creatively; especially poetry.

Checking out the websites about female Aspies, I compared myself with the list of traits.  And yes, I have almost 100% of them.  I always thought I was crazy, that I didn’t fit in to this world.  I tried to take my own life due to this.  I’m glad that I didn’t succeed.  But it’s sad that it took me almost fifty years to figure this out.  I’m not a freak of nature, I just have Aspergers.  I am human.  I am someone who is not like the other ladies out there.  I can breathe easier.  I can be who I was created to be.  I am an original.  One of a kind.  I don’t have to worry any longer whether people like me or not.  I don’t have to fit into a stupid mold any longer.  I will now just be.

How many tears did I shed over this!  How much heartache and anxiety I suffered due to this.  But I’m not angry any longer since I’ve discovered the truth.  It’s not too late for me.  No more fear or anxiety over this.  I will be myself.  I will love myself.  I will love my son even more now that I know we share this difference from the majority of society.  Now I don’t have to keep questioning ‘why’.  Why did I have such a strong imagination.  Why did I have this love of words.

I have peace now.  I can be content.  No more trying to please others by trying to be just like them.  If people don’t want to accept me, then it’s their problem, not mine.  I used to blame myself, not anymore.  I will get off my soapbox now.  But let me say; love yourselves too.  Embrace your differences.  Don’t try to be like everyone else.  It’s self-defeating and tiresome.  Enjoy each day of your life.  You are one of a kind.  No more wasting time.  Now it’s time to get on with the joy and adventure of living.  Now I can throw more of myself into my writing, whatever the subject.  Now I am whole.

 

The People You Miss

This post will be pretty short this week.  I haven’t written anything for over two weeks now and just wanted to share a quick thought with you all.  Do you have anyone in your life that you miss?  I’m not talking about someone you loved who had died, but someone who used to be in your life and now isn’t any longer.

I have such a person.  She is a cousin of mine.  We used to do a lot of fun things together.  Share secrets.  Be each other’s best friend. Hang out.  Talk up a storm.  Just have fun together.  We’re the same age.   My mother and her mother are sisters.  I really miss her to the point of tears.

We also got in trouble together.  One time, we were teens and started smoking.  Back when we were teens we still could buy cigarettes in our neighborhood from a vending machine.  It seemed like a cool thing to do, to us at that age(I think it was sixteen).  But we got busted by our parents and lectured about the dangers of cigarette smoking.  We, of course, let it go in one ear and out the other.

As time went on, we began to drift apart.  She grew up in Chicago’s Ravenswood neighborhood, but around seventh or eighth grade her and her family moved out to the Northwest suburbs.  She was quiet and I was still the more outgoing one.  But as time went on, she made other friends and, well, we started living separate lives.  She made a close friend in the area and I had one myself who I’ve known since the sixth grade.

But then we graduated, started dating, and put even more distance between our friendship.  It pained me perhaps more so than it did her.  But I don’t really know.  She fell in love with one of my brother’s friends and I felt alone and abandoned.  Now, they are in Texas and do not wish further contact with any of the family.  And that hurts deeply.  When you had someone in your life that you treasured so dearly and now they no longer wish to know you exist, it tears one up inside.

Okay, that’s my story.  Barb, you have always been my very dearest friend, and I’m sorry we no longer communicate, talk, write, whatever we do nowadays.  It’s been many years but I still feel the sting of your rejection.  But I hope that you’re happy and content with the life you chose and are now living.  Love to you always.

Eva