Phone

To add to my string of recent falls, I took yet another tumble down some of the stairs yesterday. Thankfully this time, I didn’t cause much bodily harm although I did crack my cellphone screen. Of course, this is certainly a better trade in many ways, I found myself being just as upset, if not more so. I know that people talk about technology addictions, especially in terms of some people’s attachments to their cellphone, and I’m probably in that camp of people. I can’t really surmise why most people become obsessed because frankly, I don’t have any friends who are to ask. My husband still uses a flip phone and no one else’s phone in my family seems to be a permanent extension on their hand like it is in my case. For me, my phone is my world. It is my way to connect to other people and, in its own right, it is my friend. Since I work at a home office and have no local friends, it is the only vehicle through which I communicate with people and the outside world. I know this is abnormal and unhealthy, but it is my reality. My phone is my anti-anxiety medication; when I don’t feel well, I remind myself of the outline of my phone in my pocket and I feel assured that I can get help if I need it. When I was attacked, as soon as he grabbed me from behind and threw me to the ground, he ripped my phone out of my hand and flung it across the room. When he silenced me, I had no means to communicate that I needed help except silent prayer in my mind. Four days after the attack, I was in separable from my cell phone. My hand was constantly on it, even when it was in my pocket, under my pillow, or in the bathroom.

This phone has been with me for nearly three years, which, given my carelessness, propensity to fall or damage things, and its constant use, is remarkable. Maybe it is the length and depth of this “relationship” that, ashamedly, makes me mourn the breaking of this device.

I am fully aware that phone is not a real friend, and to even remotely consider it as such is quite pathetic. I want to connect with people. I want to have more friends. I’d love to have someone who called me to meet up and hang out. This is a process though and an arduous and unnatural one (for me) at that. For now, I have a handful of good friends that I text or call daily. These people, for the most part, inhabit fragments of my “old” lives: times when I was surrounded by more people, forced to be more social because of work or habitat, or was less encumbered by physical and mental obstacles. (Chronic disease and my near inability to drive certainly hampers my ability to participate in normal social events.) These people have hung with me through changes, challenges, and miscommunications. They have allowed me to grow as a friend and they have ridden out the bumps I’ve made as I’ve learned to be a better friend. I am blessed to have a place in their hearts and I honor and nurture the prominent residence they have in mine.

I am a member of several online support groups for adults on the spectrum. I connect with these virtual friends through my phone. If people were mapped in Venn diagram, the overlapped regions are inherently much larger between my circle and the circles representing many of the other group members than my circle and many neurotypical peers whom I want to befriend.

Like sharing a common culture, language, or customs, I’m more closely “related” to other spectrum-dwelling adults in many ways, and the reciprocity of understanding one another is both easier and more expansive than between me and a typical people of “normal” neurology. Although I am so glad to have access to an artistic community thanks to technological and communicative advancements provided by the Internet, I can’t help but be honest and admit that I’d still really like friends in the flesh who I actually spend time with. Their neurology is unimportant to me as long as they are good people. Even though an autism diagnosis is much more common these days than even twenty years ago, obviously, the majority of the general population is not on the spectrum so it’s more likely to find neurotypical friends. I need to be able to bridge the gap between these two worlds. While I have done this successfully before, it takes time and effort (and compassion and patience of the other party’s part!).

Far and above the challenges posed by my social, emotional, and physical problems, I believe the biggest hurdle to clear making friends is the schedule I keep. Essentially, it’s like that of a shift worker, working second shift. Even for those social butterflies who keep such a schedule, finding friends and participating in social activities is nearly impossible, especially if you don’t live in the city and are isolated in a small town. New York City may be the city that never sleeps but western Mass, although wonderful in many ways, gets plenty of sleep. My body operates on asynchronously with most other people. I’m up before 3am and done for the day around 5pm. I’ve tried coercing it into a more “normal” routine, but that just wreaks havoc on every physical and mental process. Even with Benadryl and nights of not falling asleep, I cannot sleep past 4am. I can then try to remain in as much of a sensory-depriving environment as logistically feasible to keep my overload below threshold, but even so, it’s virtually impossible to have the physical and mental stamina to persist past 6pm before I must be prostrate to the couch with no movement or talking. My brain runs nonstop in high-gear all day and I have yet to tame her incessant work; I can consider and effectively work on many things at one time, but then I run out of legs for the end of the race. I’m a relay of runners who ran their lap together around the track at full speed instead of passing the baton for each individual leg. I’m embarrassingly exhaustible; I’m a racecar on full throttle with no brakes. All this is to say, when most people head out the door for their morning commute, I’ve already put in four or five hours of work, and when almost everyone is clocking out for the day and are finally available to hang out, I’m crawling into bed or nearly comatose on the couch. The only groups of people I seem to overlap with are stay-at-home parents, the elderly or retired). My small town seems to lack any sort of daytime programming or activities for anyone outside of the aforementioned groups, and truth be told, I’m working most of the day anyway, even if I do have some scheduling flexibility. Despite this scheduling incompatibility, I keep looking and hoping to find some venue to meet in person and cultivate friendships. It’s easy to resign my socially-avoidant self to ongoing isolation and fall prey to a myriad of excuses, but I’m actually rather disciplined in researching options, trying to get out there, and simply recognizing the obstacles for the purpose of strategically mounting an effective offense rather than ceding to their debility. At the end of the day, I need to respect my deal breakers (in terms of my work scheduling obligations and energy needs) but compromise on every possible manipulatable variable to try to make it work. My mom always says I find these really interesting opportunities and I do because I’m willing to cast a really wide net; you never know what will pan out so it can only be fortuitous to keep an open mind and religiously seek opportunities for whatever it is you desire.

I am grateful that I live in a time of interconnectedness and communities engaged through technology. In many ways, the Internet has made the world smaller by forging bonds across great distances. My remote friends and online social support network keep me from being entirely marginalized and allow me to hone my relationship skills and understand myself better and more compassionately. It somewhat removes the “freak” or “loner” label that I’d otherwise tattoo onto myself (instead it’s just a removable sticker). Perhaps I’m too addicted to my phone and I recognize that it’s far healthier to have in vivo friendships, but for where I am now in my life, it’s an indispensable tool and companion, a device that teaches me, alleviates my anxiety, and connects me to others and my world. I hope my new one further guides me to forge friendships and that more of the “lifetime minutes” for calls sent and received are occupied by quick conversations to establish plans with others, then it will navigate me to the meetup and get stowed in my pocket while I make new memories with new friends.

 

Lonely

I’m painfully lonely today. This is certainly not an unfamiliar feeling for someone as introverted, socially-avoidant, and socially-isolated as me, but it’s worse today than usual. I’m usually quite satisfied with somewhat robotically and unemotionally going through my day in solitude and that’s exactly how virtually every weekday is, except for the frequent spattering of appointments throughout my week. I work full-time from my home office and Ben and I can count the minutes, rather than hours, that we are in one another’s company each day; our schedules don’t overlap well. I don’t have kids and I don’t have any local friends I spend time with since, in the timeline of someone on the spectrum (who has trouble making friends and doing social things), we’ve basically just moved here. It’s been five months and four days, but who’s counting…

Anyway, today I’m wearing the loneliness like a full-body leaden radiation shield. It’s not the comforting and calming weighted blanket feel; it’s the heavy trapping feeling like trying to fight a strong undertow to get back on shore after a long swim. It’s days like today that the familiar welling of tears keeps filling my eyelids and I have to instantly distract myself to avoid succumbing to their flow. 

My house is cold, both literally and figuratively. It’s an unusually chilly May afternoon and the pervasive grayness has prevented any sunlight from warming the room. The thermostat reads 56, which is even colder than the uncomfortably cool 58 we permitted in the winter to save money. I can taste the figurative coldness, the loneliness, the lack of vitality. When I came back from OT this morning, it overwhelmed me as I approached the front door, the coldness in here hit me like a gust of November air with wet leaves. I could see it, smell it, taste it, and feel it. Coldness like this gnaws on my stomach and encourages me to eat, even though I’m uncomfortably full, to ease the ache and fill the void I feel from lack of human connection. 

The real reason days like today bother me is because I know they aren’t isolated incidents in that it’s not an unusually quiet day that will pass. It’s symptomatic of the life I lead and very much a chronic condition. I want two opposing things at the same time and it’s virtually impossible to rectify that in an agreeable fashion: I long for love and company yet I’m wildly uncomfortable, overwhelmed, and exhausted by it. I prefer to feel connected yet I struggle to connect. Social interaction is my constant logic puzzle or science experiment, as I must carefully observe, analyze, and try to understand and replicate the needed responses. I miss the opportunity to enjoy the moment and be present in the engagement because I’m busy “working” to make sense of it. It’s like instead of watching the production, I’m manning the spotlights and just waiting for the cues instead of comprehending the meaning of the play. It’s not until after the friend and I have departed and gone our separate ways that I can then run back through everything that happened and try to gather the meaning from the whole rather than each individual part. It is then I can assign emotional significance to what happened and not just the literal meaning of each sentence, that I so carefully followed in a calculated manner to determine my next question or response. I appear articulate and like I’m understanding (I hope) because a ton of legwork is quickly and constantly being performed in my head, but unlike a computer, it’s hard for me to simultaneously carry out all of these processes so some information gets stuck in the holding area, a backlog of sorts, that I evaluate later, even if I don’t want to anymore (like if I’m trying to sleep). Unresolved material begs to be processed before moving on to the next activity, which is one reason why social things can be so tiring: for me, they extend well beyond the end of the interaction. 

Any potential sensory overload aside (say we were out and about doing something), my brain will not cease analytic activity until it has completely finished assessing and cataloging all of the verbal, nonverbal, environmental, and contextual information from the encounter. Then, for some reason, after that lengthy and arduous process seems satisfactorily completed, it starts digging up prior social encounters (either organically experienced or observed on TV or elsewhere) and reassessing those or comparing the new material to whatever is stored in memory. There can be no obvious relation but I have to ride out the digestion because I can’t quell it. Sometimes, useful connections are made, such as relating a new discussion about a friend’s volatile freelance job situation with a prior conversation about stressful financial times. Frequently, it’s useless details or seemingly elementary concepts: the geometric pattern of someone’s earrings reminded me of the sweater of someone at the library four months ago or people’s lips purse when they are hesitant to answer a personal question (nonverbal patterns take up a disproportionately large percentage of my brain processing speed and mental attention).

Days like today are somewhat like getting a lousy performance appraisal or report card; all of my acknowledged weaknesses are directly handed to me in objective language. The insecurities I have, the deficiencies I know to be problematic, are presented in clear view and the only possible reaction is to yet again acknowledge their presence and significance. We all want to be “successful” or at least see progress, so it’s ego deflating and discouraging to get reminders of the contrary. As someone who’s naturally and habitually critical of myself, I’m fully aware of many of my challenges and must deliberately try to recognize growth and give myself credit when it’s due. This is not one of those cases. I’m lonely because I live a pretty isolated life and my good friends all live quite some distance from me.

Today, like many days, I turned to Comet for support and, as always, found her love to be boundless and her attentiveness to be unparalleled. While this is truly one of the wonderful blessings of having a loving pet, I want today’s pain to remind me to continue to make a concerted effort to reach out to people I already know and try and cultivate those friendships and also push myself to make new friends in my community. Although this is probably my biggest challenge and least comfortable position, ultimately, it is a required means to the end I desire: meaningful connections with friends who I can spend time with in an emotionally gratifying way. Loneliness carries a potent heartache; I battle enough pains as it is. Alleviating this one will not only eliminate its insult, but friendship has the transformative power to lessen other pains as well. I could use all of that medicine that I can get.