As a life long introvert, a diagnosed autistic, I've always been comfortable with only my self, my thoughts, and pets for company. It is enough for me and I rarely find time heavy on my hands. I come from a family of mostly introverts, so I do have a bit of leeway with required family gatherings.
I always end up with sensory overload that manifests as a debilitating migraine. When my family gathers they love to talk, talk, talk...and the listening gets to be too much. I can't just pull out my book and read.
These are Grandma and Grandpa, who haven't seen me since Christmas. They've been good to me, I love them, and they deserve my time and attention. Same story with Mom.
It is like they save up all their words solely for that day, so I listen, I entertain the kids, etc. I help control the chaos of a large gathering, but I pay for it. Mom and Grandma have both seen it. You go until you have nothing left.
I make time for family because it is important to them. I also seem to have somehow acquired the habit of being adopted by extroverted friends. (This has happened since grade school.) I get toted along to movies, car races, flea markets, shopping trips, concerts, the renaissance festival, and plays. I've read Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix at a stock car race before. I don't have to actively participate in the conversation going on around me, but I do chime in if I like or know something about the topic.
My friends and family also make sure that they give me plenty of prior notification so I can wrap my head around what we are doing and where we're going. If it is on my docket I can do it. I might squirrel away spoons for a few days before the event, but I can do it and generally have a good time. I love music and there is really something so different about attending a live event rather than listening to a recording.
If it is a gathering for a special interest e.g. A writing conference or my critique group, I make it a priority because I like to learn and this is something I know how to do competently. Moreover, the people involved don't look at me as if I've grown a second head when I deep dive into minutiea of obscure poetry forms and the tesselation transposition of verse across the 3 and 1 rhyme patterns. My knowledge is acknowledged instead of being a conversation killer. People actually listen to what I have to say. It is not just strings of letters on a screen.
No one in my immediate circles knows much about fiction writing, let alone poetry. The extent of poetry books at my house growing up was The Owl and the ***** Cat, Shel Silverstein, and a battered old book called The Treasury of the Familiar copyright 1944. It came from my Grandma's, I still have it and all those previously mentioned. I found a Dore illustrated copy of Rime of the Ancient Mariner and the complete works of Ruyard Kipling (The White Seal is still one of my absolute favourite stories), at a library sale in middle school. It has been an obsession ever since.
There is so much going on in my head at any given time that I am way too comfortable in my own company. I can go for days without human contact and be perfectly fine. (Not that I'm allowed to do that. People check to make sure I'm alive.) Quarantine, I know was hell for a lot of people. I saw how hard it was on my best friend who is very much a people person, when she had to work from home for nearly a year. There was much rejoicing on all sides when she was able to go back to the office.
One thing that I know is somewhat atypical for nearly 33% of people is being able to find peace and a level of contentment where I'm at. (I don't struggle with depression. Never have.) I don't have a burning need for more money, a better car, a bigger house. I have my basic needs met. I am very comfortably circumstanced and I can manage my docket, so when I have down time it doesn't loom large and empty. I know how to embrace my solitude. And as much as I might want to run silent, folks in my circle check on me.
I read, I write, walk and wander. I talk endlessly to Rue Dog when we take off or putter about the house. Around people I don't know or really know how to read, I stay quiet. Even with those I know, I don't talk much, but when I want to engage it is as if someone flips a switch and my words and expressions turn on. I talk with my hands and revel in the details. These unmasked conversations are very rare for me because peopling is a challenge for me.
I shield with routine, I have a social mask few people see beyond, but my inner worlds are rich, dense with thriving shoals of ideas, thoughts, and a need to learn and communicate effectively on topics I enjoy. The internet has been a huge help on that specific point.
No one would guess that I am autistic or as introverted as I am by my internet presence. I engage, actively, openly and find the stride of my words.
Sorry about the blabbering. This isn't something I usually talk about.
- D.
I always end up with sensory overload that manifests as a debilitating migraine. When my family gathers they love to talk, talk, talk...and the listening gets to be too much. I can't just pull out my book and read.
These are Grandma and Grandpa, who haven't seen me since Christmas. They've been good to me, I love them, and they deserve my time and attention. Same story with Mom.
It is like they save up all their words solely for that day, so I listen, I entertain the kids, etc. I help control the chaos of a large gathering, but I pay for it. Mom and Grandma have both seen it. You go until you have nothing left.
I make time for family because it is important to them. I also seem to have somehow acquired the habit of being adopted by extroverted friends. (This has happened since grade school.) I get toted along to movies, car races, flea markets, shopping trips, concerts, the renaissance festival, and plays. I've read Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix at a stock car race before. I don't have to actively participate in the conversation going on around me, but I do chime in if I like or know something about the topic.
My friends and family also make sure that they give me plenty of prior notification so I can wrap my head around what we are doing and where we're going. If it is on my docket I can do it. I might squirrel away spoons for a few days before the event, but I can do it and generally have a good time. I love music and there is really something so different about attending a live event rather than listening to a recording.
If it is a gathering for a special interest e.g. A writing conference or my critique group, I make it a priority because I like to learn and this is something I know how to do competently. Moreover, the people involved don't look at me as if I've grown a second head when I deep dive into minutiea of obscure poetry forms and the tesselation transposition of verse across the 3 and 1 rhyme patterns. My knowledge is acknowledged instead of being a conversation killer. People actually listen to what I have to say. It is not just strings of letters on a screen.
No one in my immediate circles knows much about fiction writing, let alone poetry. The extent of poetry books at my house growing up was The Owl and the ***** Cat, Shel Silverstein, and a battered old book called The Treasury of the Familiar copyright 1944. It came from my Grandma's, I still have it and all those previously mentioned. I found a Dore illustrated copy of Rime of the Ancient Mariner and the complete works of Ruyard Kipling (The White Seal is still one of my absolute favourite stories), at a library sale in middle school. It has been an obsession ever since.
There is so much going on in my head at any given time that I am way too comfortable in my own company. I can go for days without human contact and be perfectly fine. (Not that I'm allowed to do that. People check to make sure I'm alive.) Quarantine, I know was hell for a lot of people. I saw how hard it was on my best friend who is very much a people person, when she had to work from home for nearly a year. There was much rejoicing on all sides when she was able to go back to the office.
One thing that I know is somewhat atypical for nearly 33% of people is being able to find peace and a level of contentment where I'm at. (I don't struggle with depression. Never have.) I don't have a burning need for more money, a better car, a bigger house. I have my basic needs met. I am very comfortably circumstanced and I can manage my docket, so when I have down time it doesn't loom large and empty. I know how to embrace my solitude. And as much as I might want to run silent, folks in my circle check on me.
I read, I write, walk and wander. I talk endlessly to Rue Dog when we take off or putter about the house. Around people I don't know or really know how to read, I stay quiet. Even with those I know, I don't talk much, but when I want to engage it is as if someone flips a switch and my words and expressions turn on. I talk with my hands and revel in the details. These unmasked conversations are very rare for me because peopling is a challenge for me.
I shield with routine, I have a social mask few people see beyond, but my inner worlds are rich, dense with thriving shoals of ideas, thoughts, and a need to learn and communicate effectively on topics I enjoy. The internet has been a huge help on that specific point.
No one would guess that I am autistic or as introverted as I am by my internet presence. I engage, actively, openly and find the stride of my words.
Sorry about the blabbering. This isn't something I usually talk about.
- D.
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