I don?t usually like to talk about some things but here I am and I suppose that if I don?t talk about things I give them free rein to run roughshod all over my life, I actually try to take control more often than not, I try to head it off at the pass and I don?t allow it to take full possession of my faculties because I wonder if I did that how long would it be before I did something I would regret, or not be able to regret.
I have never been diagnosed for anything else but suspected by professionals of many ?isms and ?ions, the second the Aspergers was found I realized I didn?t want to dig any deeper out of fear of being put in a rubber room, or into one of those special jackets that you look like you?re trying to lace it up at the back yourself, if the only the sleeves weren?t so long. My father was a manic depressive at the top of the list of other stuff as well and my mother spent time in a psychiatric hospital apparently, shock treatment as well she says, but you didn?t hear it from me, after all, I am not privy to that generations need for secrecy so I couldn?t say what predilections and maladies I have running around inside me that I remain unaware of, I may wake up dead one morning or my heart may explode if I develop an erection after 40, it may well be that I have far too many things going on to contemplate and that could very likely be for the best.
I can?t say I like the idea of taking medication to fix an anomaly in my otherwise shining example of a perfect life (that was a joke). If I had to go on medication I wouldn?t be me is how I feel, I would end up being some pitiful shambling shell of my former self, chemically lobotomized and hiding, screaming inside my own skull. I would try desperately to see out of closed eyes, hear with deaf ears and speak with a mouth sewn shut against the very self I am trapped within? so very melodramatic you say, well I have known people on medication for all sorts of things and this is a vague idea of the collective thought of the whole negative side of the experience. Okay yeah, and a little melodrama thrown into the mix, hey what can I say, I am a consummate showman and I have to keep you enthused to get you through to the end, don?t I?
Oh why would you need to go on medication you ask, you seem like a bright sort of bloke, all happy go lucky and excitable at the drop of a hat, but don?t forget the tears of a clown, you can?t see what I don?t show you. There are aspects to any personality that are not paraded down the avenue for the gossips to talk about behind closed doors, as example; there were the times when my girlfriend would hide the steak knives because I would be so depressed I would stand for a half hour with one in my hand trying to confuse myself enough to let the brain have a moment without restriction in which to plunge said knife deep into my temple, quick, easy and supposedly painless, but the stoopid brain kept on saying things that made too much sense and I managed to talk myself down from the ledge, in fact I always do, I once said (and believed) that people who suicide were the ultimate cowards but in truth it takes more fortitude and gumption to successfully override the self preservation of the human animal.
Anyway, I believe she ended up developing a phobia (the girlfriend did), it got to the stage where she wouldn?t use a steak knife herself because she started having thoughts like that herself (she said), apparently I am rather a smooth talker or at least quite convincing, when I reach a certain point, things can be explained by me in such a way as to make even the most destructive behavior look appealing. Thanks be to the gods I am not a politician!
Now before you put me on suicide watch or alert Scotland Yard there is another potential ripper on their hands, I never do anything about it, I just wade through my depression and come out the other side smiling and carefree as always, that is what a man is supposed to do isn?t it?
I am not a man though; I am a fully grown child with a geriatric mind? this is the best explanation I had for myself before I discovered I was aspergical, I would tell people that I have the drives and excitement of a child because I never was one, but I think like an 80 year old man, I rationalize and understand things on so deep a level that sometimes I don?t even understand my own thought processes, whereas physically, I am a normal healthy? man of almost 40 years.
Why am I writing this, I am writing this because I have to say something, I never say anything, I see people talking about vitally important things as though they were nothing, oh I feel like this? well you can do this, that or the other and bingo. I never join in because it is a situation where I honestly feel like I am being a misery guts already, I only ever contribute negatively, or at least so is my assumption. I understand that no man is an island and it is only my own antiquated thinking that keeps me in the dark, but the truth is, does it mean anything for me to be saying these things to you dear reader or could it be that you simply don?t care, I mean, after all is said and done, there is really nothing you can do for me and you have your own problems to deal with, and who the hell am I to expect you to take the time to help me deal with problems that might be mild by comparison, that is to say that I may be taking vital help from someone who may be feeling suicidal, doesn?t have my restraint and they need your help desperately, so where does that leave me?
The question then is should I post that I too get depressed or should I keep mum and go about my business, will everybody without realizing, breathe a sigh of relief that there is one less person to have to console or placate or harmonize with.
For all I know you may well be thinking to yourself that I am making all this up to get attention, it simply could be that I see the bandwagon trundle past and figure I too should jump on, but that is yet another reason why I choose to keep silent about certain things.
Oh and then of course there is this idea I have which I feel is probably the most valid; if anybody has developed an interest in anything I have said or have to say, and either is amused or intrigued by me, then how will they feel after I say something to the effect that I am able to talk myself out of horrible self atrocities but wish I didn?t. How would you see me then if you read that even when things are going great for me I still feel like I am nothing but a waste of a perfectly good human, somebody decent could have been born in my stead but I had to be the one that got to the egg, what a terrible crying shame huh?
There is another thought I have entertained on occasion, and that is the theory of one-upmanship in which you say this, I say that and you have to trump that with something else, I see it all the time, one of my pet hates is male posturing in which even a complete stranger (if male) will, upon meeting me, find some way to surreptitiously slip into the conversation how strong or tough or manly they are and how good at fighting they are into the bargain. Well buddy I truly couldn?t give a ****, I don?t want your food, fire, woman or cave so back up.
I so often find myself lamenting things I never had or never lost, a sense of purpose, love, friendship, honesty, romance, respect, truth (different from honesty! Trust me), trust.
Bah, I am losing my own train of thought here and the fingers are pausing more often over the keys, oh yeah, depression, I get it, and I get it, the doctors would probably put me on tablets and I would let them, but it is a constant debate as to whether the merits outweigh the detriment.
It doesn?t even take that much to set me off on a spiral that can have no set period for explanation, if I see a couple holding hands and they actually suit one another, if I see an older person having trouble with a bag or wallet, if I see a youth zooming blissfully down the footpath of a crowded street on anything with wheels, if I remember something sad and chastise myself for lamenting it that can even set me off, I thought if I threw myself into moving it couldn?t find me at my new address but it seems depression is everywhere at all times and in varying heights and colors, its in the mailbox and the fridge, under the bed and behind the couch, it was certainly in those packed boxes I opened that had the contents damaged, it could be on someone?s avatar or in a sentence in a post to a thread. It takes a special someone to be able to recognize the triggers, I am not that someone and nor am I special in that way, if I knew what caused it I would put a stop to it, I cannot therefore be proactive I can only ever be reactive and that is developmentally irrelevant it seems, without medication.
I will stop my whinging now as there is no point to anything I have said and if you read it you have my sincere apologies for dredging the marshland of my soul and dumping the contents on the front lawn of your mind. Forgive me in spite of my being undeserving as it may restore my faith.
I have never been diagnosed for anything else but suspected by professionals of many ?isms and ?ions, the second the Aspergers was found I realized I didn?t want to dig any deeper out of fear of being put in a rubber room, or into one of those special jackets that you look like you?re trying to lace it up at the back yourself, if the only the sleeves weren?t so long. My father was a manic depressive at the top of the list of other stuff as well and my mother spent time in a psychiatric hospital apparently, shock treatment as well she says, but you didn?t hear it from me, after all, I am not privy to that generations need for secrecy so I couldn?t say what predilections and maladies I have running around inside me that I remain unaware of, I may wake up dead one morning or my heart may explode if I develop an erection after 40, it may well be that I have far too many things going on to contemplate and that could very likely be for the best.
I can?t say I like the idea of taking medication to fix an anomaly in my otherwise shining example of a perfect life (that was a joke). If I had to go on medication I wouldn?t be me is how I feel, I would end up being some pitiful shambling shell of my former self, chemically lobotomized and hiding, screaming inside my own skull. I would try desperately to see out of closed eyes, hear with deaf ears and speak with a mouth sewn shut against the very self I am trapped within? so very melodramatic you say, well I have known people on medication for all sorts of things and this is a vague idea of the collective thought of the whole negative side of the experience. Okay yeah, and a little melodrama thrown into the mix, hey what can I say, I am a consummate showman and I have to keep you enthused to get you through to the end, don?t I?
Oh why would you need to go on medication you ask, you seem like a bright sort of bloke, all happy go lucky and excitable at the drop of a hat, but don?t forget the tears of a clown, you can?t see what I don?t show you. There are aspects to any personality that are not paraded down the avenue for the gossips to talk about behind closed doors, as example; there were the times when my girlfriend would hide the steak knives because I would be so depressed I would stand for a half hour with one in my hand trying to confuse myself enough to let the brain have a moment without restriction in which to plunge said knife deep into my temple, quick, easy and supposedly painless, but the stoopid brain kept on saying things that made too much sense and I managed to talk myself down from the ledge, in fact I always do, I once said (and believed) that people who suicide were the ultimate cowards but in truth it takes more fortitude and gumption to successfully override the self preservation of the human animal.
Anyway, I believe she ended up developing a phobia (the girlfriend did), it got to the stage where she wouldn?t use a steak knife herself because she started having thoughts like that herself (she said), apparently I am rather a smooth talker or at least quite convincing, when I reach a certain point, things can be explained by me in such a way as to make even the most destructive behavior look appealing. Thanks be to the gods I am not a politician!
Now before you put me on suicide watch or alert Scotland Yard there is another potential ripper on their hands, I never do anything about it, I just wade through my depression and come out the other side smiling and carefree as always, that is what a man is supposed to do isn?t it?
I am not a man though; I am a fully grown child with a geriatric mind? this is the best explanation I had for myself before I discovered I was aspergical, I would tell people that I have the drives and excitement of a child because I never was one, but I think like an 80 year old man, I rationalize and understand things on so deep a level that sometimes I don?t even understand my own thought processes, whereas physically, I am a normal healthy? man of almost 40 years.
Why am I writing this, I am writing this because I have to say something, I never say anything, I see people talking about vitally important things as though they were nothing, oh I feel like this? well you can do this, that or the other and bingo. I never join in because it is a situation where I honestly feel like I am being a misery guts already, I only ever contribute negatively, or at least so is my assumption. I understand that no man is an island and it is only my own antiquated thinking that keeps me in the dark, but the truth is, does it mean anything for me to be saying these things to you dear reader or could it be that you simply don?t care, I mean, after all is said and done, there is really nothing you can do for me and you have your own problems to deal with, and who the hell am I to expect you to take the time to help me deal with problems that might be mild by comparison, that is to say that I may be taking vital help from someone who may be feeling suicidal, doesn?t have my restraint and they need your help desperately, so where does that leave me?
The question then is should I post that I too get depressed or should I keep mum and go about my business, will everybody without realizing, breathe a sigh of relief that there is one less person to have to console or placate or harmonize with.
For all I know you may well be thinking to yourself that I am making all this up to get attention, it simply could be that I see the bandwagon trundle past and figure I too should jump on, but that is yet another reason why I choose to keep silent about certain things.
Oh and then of course there is this idea I have which I feel is probably the most valid; if anybody has developed an interest in anything I have said or have to say, and either is amused or intrigued by me, then how will they feel after I say something to the effect that I am able to talk myself out of horrible self atrocities but wish I didn?t. How would you see me then if you read that even when things are going great for me I still feel like I am nothing but a waste of a perfectly good human, somebody decent could have been born in my stead but I had to be the one that got to the egg, what a terrible crying shame huh?
There is another thought I have entertained on occasion, and that is the theory of one-upmanship in which you say this, I say that and you have to trump that with something else, I see it all the time, one of my pet hates is male posturing in which even a complete stranger (if male) will, upon meeting me, find some way to surreptitiously slip into the conversation how strong or tough or manly they are and how good at fighting they are into the bargain. Well buddy I truly couldn?t give a ****, I don?t want your food, fire, woman or cave so back up.
I so often find myself lamenting things I never had or never lost, a sense of purpose, love, friendship, honesty, romance, respect, truth (different from honesty! Trust me), trust.
Bah, I am losing my own train of thought here and the fingers are pausing more often over the keys, oh yeah, depression, I get it, and I get it, the doctors would probably put me on tablets and I would let them, but it is a constant debate as to whether the merits outweigh the detriment.
It doesn?t even take that much to set me off on a spiral that can have no set period for explanation, if I see a couple holding hands and they actually suit one another, if I see an older person having trouble with a bag or wallet, if I see a youth zooming blissfully down the footpath of a crowded street on anything with wheels, if I remember something sad and chastise myself for lamenting it that can even set me off, I thought if I threw myself into moving it couldn?t find me at my new address but it seems depression is everywhere at all times and in varying heights and colors, its in the mailbox and the fridge, under the bed and behind the couch, it was certainly in those packed boxes I opened that had the contents damaged, it could be on someone?s avatar or in a sentence in a post to a thread. It takes a special someone to be able to recognize the triggers, I am not that someone and nor am I special in that way, if I knew what caused it I would put a stop to it, I cannot therefore be proactive I can only ever be reactive and that is developmentally irrelevant it seems, without medication.
I will stop my whinging now as there is no point to anything I have said and if you read it you have my sincere apologies for dredging the marshland of my soul and dumping the contents on the front lawn of your mind. Forgive me in spite of my being undeserving as it may restore my faith.
