Inspirational Prose: Being
I am only defined by what I think about at any given time. So often, I forget that I look different and don’t realize I live a different way. It is funny how often I look into the mirror and am surprised to see that I look different, and that I have a human form at all.
Sometimes I will just stare at that reflection, wondering what that is I am looking at, since I could change my perception so fast and be just about anything. Sometimes I lean in closely, to stare into my eyes, wondering what is behind them or inside them — what is the energy that moves this body and shapes this form and lives each day? My mind shifts through ideas and concepts with lightning speed, trying to find the answer, but I always end up with a blank. What is that blank? I want to know; yet I know any word I use to fill in that blank is not adequate or expansive enough.
When I shape my mind to think about my syndrome, it becomes Miller syndrome, metaphorically speaking. When I am around people with typical hands and typical arms, that is what my mind sees and that is the shape it becomes. It takes effort to separate myself from my mind. I still don’t know what my self is, but it is not what my mind reflects.
I do not see my autism from a social perspective very well. I do not identify with the construct of autism the way other people do, as I am not on the outside looking in to see the separateness and uniqueness that autism causes. My perceptions and perspectives and actions are guided by what resonates within me. When everything inside me and in my environment resonates together to a perfect pitch, I think that is the unity I look for and want. Is that unity a sense of my self or would a sense of myself be apart from that unity? It’s a perplexing question. When the food, clothes, sounds, and sights all resonate I feel at peace. Is that peace who I am? Is that peace autism?
Sometimes I have a strong desire to reach out my hand and feel an object, to believe that object is, in a sense, real. My mind gets into a state where I feel separate from everything, including my own body. It is only a thought, though, not an actual feeling; and yet I feel compelled to reach out and slide my fingers along the top of my computer desk, trying to understand just what it is that my brain is interpreting as real. How can my brain really feel this desk underneath my fingers? What is this desk and why is it here?
Other times, I might look at my foot, wondering how I know it is my foot even though it is very far from my face and it is not my face and it is not inside my head. I will reach out and touch my foot with the same fascination as a baby might. I think if my foot were cut off, my self wouldn’t recognize that it was once my foot. Is all of this a part of autism or is it just a byproduct of a strange mind?
Unlike the visibility and tangible essence of Miller Syndrome, my mind set of autism is chaotic, imperceptible, and always shifting to where it is difficult for me to get a grasp on my own sense of existence at times. It is difficult for me to know how much of my other worldly thinking is due to the separation of me from the social atmosphere of the world, or if it is just a result of an intelligence process. My whole being is autistic and yet I am just me, a collection of energy manifesting itself in magnificent ways.