Thrilling me through

I am remarkably adept at lying to myself.

It's a talent, really.

I ride off into my delusional sunset (apologies to Sara Bareilles) and convince myself of whatever it is. I am perfectly aware of the truth*; I just refuse to acknowledge it, stubbornly clinging to my lovely little fiction.

*He doesn't love you, he's just passing the time

What can I say? It's nice while it lasts.

so he said, would it be all right if we just sat and talked for a little while,
if in exchange for your time i give you this smile?
and she said, that's okay, as long as you can make a promise not to break my little heart
and leave me all alone in the summer

Favorite Song: A Ridiculously Cheesy Metaphor

You know those old survey memes? (Maybe they're still around, it's just that my social circle's outgrown them.) They always ask for your favorite song. And for years I never had a favorite song.

I had songs I liked a lot. Songs that made me happy. I'd come up with something to answer the question.

But I had yet to encounter THE song.

The first time I heard The Hush Sound's "Honey" was a youtube video of a live performance of an early version of the song--not even the same lyrics that appear on the recording. Yet even with the imperfect first impression, my heart stirred and I've never been the same.



What I'm saying is, I never had a favorite song before I discovered "Honey." There were songs that were quite nice, songs I could tell myself were my favorite, but I knew in my heart something better was out there.

My metaphor is, of course, to romance. To the notion of finding "the one." You know you're supposed to have a favorite song (partner), and you find something that works for a while and that you quite like, but when you finally encounter that ONE song, you know in your heart that it's different from anything that came before and anything you'll ever encounter again. That it was worth the wait. That it was okay to go years without a favorite song, because nothing fits you more perfectly.

Appendix:
Evidence of my ongoing love affair with "Honey:"
January 2009
March 2009
June 2009
July 2009
November 2010
January 2011

Foreshadowing

Second weekend together with her new long-distance beau. They embrace on the couch in a borrowed living room. Her new favorite album, the soundtrack to her summer, fills the air. She teasingly sings along from time to time. In the middle of summer. He smiles silently.

Until the last track. He sings, I don't love you, I'm just passing the time.

He breaks up with her first thing in the morning.

6 months out

I never thought my willpower would last this whole time. I figured I'd cave at some point and eff everything up all over again--but feel so good (SO good) for those fleeting moments!

I mean, it's good that that didn't happen, because then I'd never EVER get over it...

I feel like I need a reward of some sort, lol. Because I honestly just always kinda figured that it would happen again sometime. And despite me even almost-trying over Thanksgiving, I've been quite well-behaved. Not self-destructive on any real level, beyond wallowing in drama from time to time, lol. And the natural consequences of being responsible are SO BORING lol.

I wish the wrong decision could've been right. It just would've made things so much EASIER.

But, I mean, I guess there's something better "out there." small consolation.

you gave me roses, and i left them there to die

In a nutshell

Augusten Burroughs regarding his brother (who wrote the passage I quote in my previous post):

"Asperger's Syndrome is on the Autism spectrum, so what that means is that he likes machines, he's real smart, and he's sorta rude."

Conversationally Handicapped

From Look Me in the Eye: My Life with Asperger's by John Elder Robison:

My conversational difficulties highlight a problem Aspergians face every day. A person with an obvious disability - for example, someone in a wheelchair - is treated compassionately because his handicap is obvious. No one turns to a guy in a wheelchair and says, "Quick! Let's run across the street!" And when he can't run across the street, no one says, "What's his problem?" They offer to help him across the street.

With me, though, there is no external sign that I am conversationally handicapped. So folks hear some conversational misstep and say, "What an arrogant jerk!" I look forward to the day when my handicap will afford me the same respect accorded to a guy in a wheelchair. And if the respect comes with a preferred parking space, I wouldn't turn it down.

The label I forget

I rarely write about TS, or talk about it. I don't even think about it much, really. Usually as soon as I notice I'm ticking I stop, and that's that.

While in the bathroom tonight getting ready for bed, I noticed that I was flapping pretty hard. Then, sitting on my bed after putting in my retainers, I realized my wrist was starting to get tired, I was flapping so hard. Do you know how much I tic, and how fast? (In case you didn't catch my tone there, the answers are A LOT and VERY.) I don't recall EVER getting sore from it before.

I wish I knew why I was ticking so hard. Then some mental post-it note appears, left over from the days of agonizing over calc homework, reminding me that stress makes it worse. I'm stressed? I don't think I'm stressed about anything. I pause and my mind lands on a sentence: it's when I feel that my surroundings are out of my control.

And that's it exactly. If my life strays a little from the routine, flapping...it comforts me greatly. Which is strange to say. That's one thing about TS I never really experience--ticking as relief of an urge--as a way to feel good. Because I'm not usually aware that I am ticking.

When I tic I surrender control of my body and my mind. It is pure chaos.

And it's dangerous:
I don't mind if someone sees me bounce or wave, but when I give myself over to it? Fingers a blur, wrists rotating bizarrely, arms held out rigidly ahead of me. Mouth wide open, tongue pressed against my teeth, eyes glazed over.
I don't want anyone to EVER see me like that.

I fall into a state where I'm not in control of my body and I am aware of nothing, completely in a trance. Yet in that double loss I am free. Free from being a control freak. Free from needing every question answered. Free from needing every detail planned. Free from bullshit stresses like homework. Free from the bigger stresses that don't go away, about my future or whatever.

Usually once I notice I'm ticking I stop; it's almost never lucid. Once my mind is back my body feels awkward and follows suit.

But tonight as my wrists started to cramp, I put my finger on a Truth about myself I had no idea I was missing. I'm finally seeing that Tourette's can mean something to me.



Edit: umm. More recent use of that mental post-it note here. As well as another reference to being sore. BUT STILL. hahaha.

Edit 2: is this interesting? I'm very self-conscious talking about it. Is this over-sharing in a cool, memoir-y kinda way or in a, oh my god she's a freak way? Please don't tell me the latter just to mess with me; I am extremely sensitive about this and sincerely want to know if it makes me sound like a freak.