All I can do, is smile and say ‚Hello‘ – A Social Aspie Selfie

First of all, there is New York, acoustically everting on top of Berlin. Please take your time to vision(?) that. I can’t even describe all the thousands of noises and tunes, getting to me, whilst sitting in the middle of this café. My favourite Barrista is present today. I wonder if there’s some hidden braveness to ask if I can put him in my drawing, but as you can see, I cowardly drew people from behind sitting quite far away from me. Anyways, ‚all I can do is smile and say hello‘ in a Sleepless in Seattle-attitude, when I see him. Everytime I appealed to someone I felt affection for, it kind of ended in a desaster of patterns of my childhood. I tend to attract the unsociable father-figures, even if I talk to women. However, smiling seems the best, besides the fact that I could hardly have a proper conversation at the counter with all it’s million noises.

Running against the ‚unsocial barrier‘ with others must seem as a very unlikely Aspie trait for people like psychiatrists and customers of tabloids, who mostly state, it would be the other way `round. But to me it is indeed a very logic thing. I attract unsociable people for the sake of fighting my way to sociability so hard all the last three decades of my life. I’ve kind of become a professor in overcoming.

Therefore especially my old contacts are based on retreating behaviour. None of my therapists ever noticed that fact. It’s just me, because I can’t make these contacts work.

And I believed that f o r   s o   l o n g, 

until every spark of self-confidence left me.

What most people don’t understand about autism – especially in women – is that you can adapt and learn and compensate a lot, to a degree of invisibility, but that won’t eliminate the difference of the brain model. It’s like inventing the best wheelchair ever, but it still doesn’t give you the ability to walk with legs.

So – I’m driving. I’m a driver mistaken as a pedestrian.

I’m not unsociable. Autism is not unsociable. There’s hardly anything else I concentrated so much on, than being social with others. It’s just getting there another way, whilst others often don’t even try

– and (it hurts to observe) mostly never get anywhere.

Next time I will ask him and add a little drawing to the smile.

 

 

Creep (for a child slayer) *Trigger warning*

Still you creep down my spine,

your unforgiving superiority, the painless cocoon of your chained soul,

made of carbon envy and ice, welded together with a thread of melting hate.

You carved your traces into every rift to be found,

to inject your poison, creeping slowly to the core of everyone you’ve known.

You’ve sucked into all the light that fell on your breath,

though mine, though hers, though his.

Now he is dead. You’ve killed your very sun.

No more comfort for you and your craving grasp.

Who will lead your cracked surface to forgivingness?

You’ve cut me, you’ve chased her, you’ve killed him. I’ll learn to forgive –

you will be creeping back into your shadows and live the pain,

that makes us all the same.

 

Note: All lyrics are written in order to process trauma and are not meant for considerations or messaging of and to others. Thank you for keeping mindful distance.

Hypocrisy and me

​Of course I never knew, I was hurting sentient beings, back in the days when I was eating their flesh. Of course not.

Surely I only damaged my environment, because I did not see a chance in preventing others from doing so. Surely.

No, I never had an extraordinary attitude of getting whatever cheap products I want, just because I knew stores are filled. No, I didn’t.

Did I ever put so-called hygiene arguments over destruction of the planet, when I bought all these plastics? Nah, did I?

Well, I thought about not paying taxes, so the weapons my money would buy won’t kill children, women and men in other countries. But yea…can’t save the whole world ya know.

…what did you say? Atomic energy?

Duh! So many things, one human just can’t mind. Right?

A shiny new world (mixed media by Amy Rose @tuulikkiswald)

Rette mich nicht

All die Zeit habe ich versucht dir etwas mitzuteilen. Du hast nicht zugehört, ich habe mitspielen müssen.

Deinen Frieden, Deine Kontrolle habe ich dir nicht gelassen, das war mein Verbrechen, welches den Knebelknecht, das freundliche Mädchen zu einer Aussetzigen machte.

Was hast du denn, uns geht’s doch gut. Anderen ging es viel schlimmer, die hatten nicht xy.

Ertrunken bin ich unter deinem Schweigen, deinem verlogenen deutschen Sonntag.

Um Hilfe habe ich geschrien, bis mir die Stimme wegblieb. Dann kehrte endlich Stille ein.

Du konntest in Ruhe weiter das Bruttosozialprodukt steigern, während ich in deiner Gemütsinflation ertrank.

Du bist aber auch empfindlich. Was du immer hast.

Kaum die Stimme wiedergefunden schrie ich aus voller Leibeskraft.

Ich kotze dir vor die Füsse, dir und deinem Golf und deinem Golfkrieg und deinen Fabriken und deiner Artentfremdung und deinem Leistungskomplex und deiner Strohmann-Republik und deinem Smog und deinem morbiden Schweigen und deiner spießigen Unspießigkeit.

Von halb lebendig-Toten wollte ich gerettet werden. Ich schrie und schrie dumme, stumme Schreie.

Nein, denke ich jetzt, endlich gefasst. Hier am Grunde aller Dinge – so still. Nein. Rette mich nicht. Rette dich.

FRANZ JOSEF DEGENHARDT – DEUTSCHER SONNTAG

A strull through scribblewood

‚Agents of the closet‘ textured art – inspired by the tales of Narnia