research

I am altogether not sure about the z and s in the spellings of these words. It was always s in my day, a zillion yonks ago, and there’s a thing. Zillions were Millions back then and that was beyond most everyone even then. So I play with the ‘zee’ and the ‘ess’ for godsake. Language changes after all, and I don’t know what that means, not neither. Moving on……..I have been full of thinks these past quiet times, and not just thinks, although the thinks-thing is of value, in that it, the think, thinks me. I had the eyeball check, all ok in that nothing will heal my left eyeball. My right is right as right. I was always right oriented, not that I need to be right, but my right side is my strength. Writing or any other thing, I do with my right. But I need my left, to educate me. So, my leftie is a tad compromised? We can deal with this, the two of us. And there’s the thing, again.

The clouds louer, growl, hover, push down, closing the sky. That sounds so like a sentence, but it is nothing of the sort. We know clouds out here, in the hawk spit of a volcanic finality, where it landed, where we live. It rains and loud, like a growing out of all sound, even the meen of a liquidiser, conversation stalled, loud, that loud. The Western isles clouds move like queens out on the raz. They come with punch and independence and consequence. I have known these trixy clouds for decades. We have had many conversations. They have guided me through lambing, sailing, hanging out the washing, choosing time to walk, to lead the horses, the bull, the milk cow to a field, or out of it. A keek at them clouds, and a wee question, sometimes a negotiation, and we have worked our way through the days.

I know that weather has changed, but for those of us who knew this was coming, it is no surprise. I know I have the benefit of longtime association with clouds, and intuition around weather patterns, but anyone can learn this. I am no scientist, no clever student. I just know that we can catastrophise and dramatise. We can hide, pretend it isn’t happening, but it is. And, happily we can realise and research and be aware as much as possible. And life is so beautiful. I hear at times, those who hold on to what was, the summers we knew, the way fungi should not be rising just now, what happened? That pointless question.

We can catastrophise, dramatise, or realise, and get going with how it is, how things are. It is a beautiful understanding, and an opening in the clouds, and more, an opportunity. Roses are fabulous this year, the sun blast sudden and as a real head turn, the random warmth like a mother, colours rise like fires in the grey, raindrops diamond, people laugh at the turn of it all. There is so much for the ones who notice, who engage.

Dont’ miss this. Realise.

When anyone asked me if I was looking forward to some event or other, such as a visit or a trip away, (why is it called a ‘trip’ as in a falling over?) I couldn’t find any feeling of anticipation, nor excitement. And this has been the case for years. Although I longed to reciprocate the thrill in their eyes or their voice, all I saw were the problems around leaving home, even for a day, even, back a few months, when I only had to go shopping for food supplies. In short, I looked forward to nothing at all, even though I felt certain that I was not right, my head not right, that faulty wiring thing again. Until, that is, I discovered that I am autistic. I had never even considered it, felt far removed from what I believed autism to manifest in human form. I am extroverted, a crazy and colourful dresser, excellent at showing off, talking to strangers and one who loves physical contact. However, having read the book recommended to me by a doctor, called Unmasking Autism by Dr Devon Price, I found myself. There she is, all out-there, noisy, loving people, colourful, high functioning and not wired faulty at all. I never was. All those decades of counselling, of studying ‘self-help’ books on how to be a better fit, all those days and nights of angst and self-doubt, gone in the very moment I heard the diagnosis. I felt relief and immediately, because at last I am seen, recognised, respected. I felt my strength returning, even if I had almost no knowledge of what it means to be an autistic.

Overnight, it seems, I grew more confident in my my decisions. I know, now, that my dislike of chaos is perfectly fine, and the fact that I lived inside chaos for years and had small chance indeed of changing that, tells me how resilient I am and was. I know that, although I love people, that people are my absolute passion, I don’t like a whole load of them all together, nor do I like anyone coming too close, unless invited by me. I know that I need more rest times than ‘neuro-normal’ folk (who is ever ‘normal’?), that I don’t like being forced to stay when I want to leave, that my independence and solitude are very important to me and so on. All of these fit. I am not wrong. I am not disabled, but more unable to be what the world expects of my out-there, high functioning, colourful self. For the very first time since I was five years old, I am free, freed from the chains of stereotypical human-ness. I am unafraid of life. I can say, and with confidence, that I am looking forward to my travels, whether abroad or just into the little harbour town for avocados. I am more definite in my No and my Yes. When I wake each morning, the day is not a challenge, not a bank of potential troubles and worries, but a fascination of hours within which anything can happen, and so be it. Even when I meet a female adder in my garage, I feel excitement rising (as she did for a strike) for she is beautiful, all 3 feet of her, her markings breath-taking, the work of the Master Painter. She is lethal, yes, but only if I upset her, so I don’t. Nonetheless, I will be wearing thick gloves for weeding, just in case she still lurks.

It thinks me a lot. To find myself, even at 70, to know how well I lived inside a life that never really fit me, despite the depression, self-harming, insomnia, self-doubt and self-abuse, I know I am a strong and powerful woman, and not the misfit I had always believed myself to be. I feel no blame, no regret, no wish to go back and to do it all again, because it doesn’t matter to me. What matters is that now I am found and the glass is no longer dark. I am deeply thankful for all that research on autism and all other mental health states that now free all those of us who have felt trapped and faulty, perhaps for a whole lifetime. Understanding of Difference and the subsequent exposure of those differences to all people is progress. Recognition of how uniquely we are all wired and the acceptance of such will ripple out into work places, schools and colleges, homes and communities, changing lives as it tickles every shore. And I am glad of it.

In my youth, we were ignorant. Anyone showing ‘alternative’ behaviour was judged as mentally dodgy at best, shunned, marginalised, abused and hidden away at worst. Labels were handed out like sweeties. It wasn’t right but it happened anyway. Nowadays, a curious and questing person or two has dived into a probably aggressively resistant sea of research, and come up with treasure. We all are needed in this life, all of us, no matter who we are. People broken down by impossible expectations need to be seen, not judged and dismissed as weirdos. It is coming and there’s a looking forward to it. So, if you ever wonder who the hell you are inside a life that fits like a hair coat, I get you, and, sincerely, I hope you can find out who you are because the best freedom of all is to have the answer to that.