Someone told me about their father who was diagnosed with dementia. He lives with his youngest sister and her family. He has his good and bad days. Some days, a little of both. He's gotten in the habit of when he forgets things, or sleeps to noon, or stays up past midnight, etc., he'll offer the excuse "it was the dementia again." Like a child might say the "devil" made me do it, he claims the "dementia" made him do it.
This father came to mind the other day when I was deeply entrenched in my thoughts and was on the keyboard typing them out. I was fully engaged in my passion! Then, there was an interruption. Nobody around me was doing anything they had no right to do. My rights were not being violated, but you'd think so from the boiling going on inside of me.
I didn't dare let out so much as a whimper. I suffered in silence because no wrong had been done to me. I didn't want to take it out on anyone. But what was I to do with all this pinned-up tension that was like a tea kettle about to blow?
I thought along the same line as the father, "It's the autie thing again".
I escaped outside and walked around. I worked my hands by picking up twigs. They really didn't need picking up, but I needed to do it to calm my inner storm. The kettle stopped boiling. When I did come back in to resume where I left off, the interruption was gone and all was well.
This is just one of many episodes of living on the autism spectrum. When my disorder kicks up another storm, I think I'll follow the lead of my acquaintance's father and just say to myself -- it's the autie again.
This father came to mind the other day when I was deeply entrenched in my thoughts and was on the keyboard typing them out. I was fully engaged in my passion! Then, there was an interruption. Nobody around me was doing anything they had no right to do. My rights were not being violated, but you'd think so from the boiling going on inside of me.
I didn't dare let out so much as a whimper. I suffered in silence because no wrong had been done to me. I didn't want to take it out on anyone. But what was I to do with all this pinned-up tension that was like a tea kettle about to blow?
I thought along the same line as the father, "It's the autie thing again".
I escaped outside and walked around. I worked my hands by picking up twigs. They really didn't need picking up, but I needed to do it to calm my inner storm. The kettle stopped boiling. When I did come back in to resume where I left off, the interruption was gone and all was well.
This is just one of many episodes of living on the autism spectrum. When my disorder kicks up another storm, I think I'll follow the lead of my acquaintance's father and just say to myself -- it's the autie again.
