Miss-Communication (An Irony) - The Joys of An Autistic Mind
I am, as you're all well aware by now (#yawn), of the autistic breed of human.
As such, one of the defining characteristics is a difference in communication.
I've lost friends because of this, I've damaged relationships.
Sometimes, no... a lot of the time, I reply mentally or far too concisely.
Those who love me know and accept this, other times I've lost people who thought they were unloved by me. I do not not love another living soul.
"But she writes so " Yeah, maybe, but it's a thought-stream, and it goes one way. I struggle with reciprocal conversation, even via messages or comments here sometimes, unless there's a subject I'm hyperfocused on comes up.
It takes enormous effort for me to focus enough to know others want a response
Sometimes a response is a nod in acknowledgement
Or a thumb up
Because there's nothing else to say
Other times you can't shut me up. Those of you who I've spoken to in messages will know you either get a dissertation or little to no response at all.
Sometimes I don't know how to deal with the sheer volume of communication. But it's wanted. It's SO wanted.
So, if I haven't responded, message me. Say "Woman, I need a response. Answer me or I shall beat you 'til the beans role in your belly". Or whatever.
In life I am what has been beautifully labelled, a selective mute. That means it appears I'm ignorant, or catatonic, or even a bit special needs unless I can communicate, sometimes I am unable. Words fail me.
Anyway, I wanted to explain why I am the way I am so you're not wondering did you say or do something. You've never said or done something. I'm fairly unoffendable.
Now, sometimes I say things without a filter. Because it's what I think is truth, I don't coat my words, especially if I love you. I tend to be overly open, but I like that. I like being able to say things others guard. I like opening my heart and pouring it all out, exposing my vulnerability or aspects of myself others don't talk about.
The irony is people here have called me prolific, but I'm anything but in reality. I'm sorry, but you guys hear what people on the outside never get to, for better or worse.
And words! Those bastards! How they fail me. How I love them. How they hobble me and reveal me. I wish we could communicate directly, without the interface of words, then you would know my heart, and you're in it.