The Sadness That's Hidden in Plain Sight

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Hi.
I'm Dave.

Before I get started, if you haven't already done so, please pop over to the "Getting to Know Each Other" forum and read my introduction: "Hug me or hit me; those are your only two options." (It will give you some information about my personal background, and where I'm coming from when I write these posts.) Thanks!

Here's something I wrote a few years back, before I knew what Aspergers was, and back when I still used alcohol to slow my mind down enough to get to sleep:

"What’s the saddest you’ve ever been?

Mine is so deep, I can only face it in the moment of clarity immediately following a drinking bender. I wake up in the wee hours, heart racing, thirsty for water. In the darkness of the bedroom, I push away whoever happens to be next to me, and I step outside for a cigarette, thinking about my life and what I have become. I’m alone in my thoughts…always alone…and as the smoke fills my lungs, the truth fills my head, cold, unfiltered, and very, very sad.

Sadness as deep as mine cannot be discussed with others. It would scare them, disgust them, and push them away forever. I’d have no friends at all if I shared my story openly. But I need to tell someone. My existence depends on it. And I need to tell it in a way that won’t cause them to gather the children. Or lock the door. Or let the phone go to voicemail.

Or worst of all, call the police."

(Don't let that last line scare you. This is the opening to a chapter in a murder-mystery.) <eg>

In the past 42 years, I've grown to realize that most "normal" people can't understand the gravity of the loneliness that comes with Aspergers. For me, this loneliness is gut-wrenching...a fact made more difficult in that I rely on my imagination to get through the day. I can "see" other peoples' thought-processes, and when I'm engaged in real-time conversation, my brain plays a "scene" simultaneously in my head (as though the conversation were a scripted TV scene, with me in the studio audience). It's all very surreal to me, like Neo in The Matrix. And it's all also very, very sad as I'm rarely able to make genuine "human connections" when talking...and I often stammer & stumble, like an actor flubbing a line. Inevitably, most conversations have awkward endings. And like a bad actor, I'm rarely welcomed back on the show.

There is an "invisible wall" between myself & others, and that's the best way to explain Aspergers-loneliness. Sometimes the wall is flexible (like plastic), while other times it's hard (like bulletproof glass). The worst times are when I'm in a crowded, unfamiliar setting...with the most recent example being 2010's Chicago Gay Pride festival, where I had been invited to a private party (with a balcony that overlooked a parade with 1000s of people):

The day started well; I had attended such events before, and I prepared myself mentally for the crowds/visual stimulation. (I was excited to do something out of my normal routine.) But several hours into it, I reached a point where so many people were talking, my invisible wall became foggy with breath and dirty where others had touched it. (It had grown translucent.) There was too much music, too much noise, too many costumed people moving like cattle; I suddenly saw nothing but a storm of "human static," where the wall of televisions lost their signals all at once: a point of no return. I had to leave - FAST, and my swift evacuation no doubt made others uncomfortable. I remember sitting on the train going home, replaying the days events like a coach reviewing plays with his team, after losing the game. I reviewed the video, made notes of errors that could have been avoided, and filed the whole experience into memory (to reference as needed, at a later date). I also kept my sunglasses on, so no one could see my clenched eyes. "A face in the crowd," indeed...

The invisible wall is the Big-Picture-sadness that's hidden in plain sight, the loneliness of Aspergers that few can understand. Breaking through that barrier is crucial...and our words can be used to make little scratches, scoring the wall like diamonds on glass until the whole thing shatters and scripted lines become reality. I can already hear the audience applauding...for me, for you, for all of us.

Again, from my original post: I believe I can describe Aspergers with the same clarity that Temple Grandin used to explain Autism; but even more importantly, I believe my Aspergers allows me to tangibly describe love.

I also believe that I am in possession of a pivotal Aspergers case-study: a 14-year obsession that made it all the way to John Scognamiglio (the chief editor at Kensington Publishers), but was passed on because both he & myself mistook it for fiction.

Thanks for reading.

I think I understand what you describe as feeling so sad that you can't tell anyone or it would push them away even further. I only feel that way sometimes, but I get that feeling of having sudden clarity about it when you wake up. I don't drink, but I have that same feeling of shock and sudden realization when transitioning from asleep to awake. I'm guessing many other people, as you suggest, have experienced that as well.

I can sometimes be depressed waking up from an afternoon nap, esp if there's nothing to look forward to the rest of the day.

The saddest days of my life was that brief period of my life that I liked the 70s instead of the 60s. I spiked up my hair and wore black and lime green to keep creeps and bullies at a distance and as a point of not looking so vulnerable. I've told the story so many times. I'm happy now, so I'll keep it in the past.

I don't know what to say, but I definitely can relate to what you're saying. Especially this paragraph:

Dave, I also feel I have the potential to do some valuable intellectual work. Back when I was screenwriting, I wanted to walk across that stage (you can probably make a pretty good guess what I mean). And when I was working in philosophy, I thought I could make some real contributions, particularly in academic ethics such as Kantianism and utilitarianism. And one of my big disappointments, my fellow philosophy students seemed more interested in formal phraseology for good papers, that is, they're adapting to the system and trying to give themselves a shot at some of the few faculty positions available. Me, I want to change the world and I kind of look at it like a political. And, and I was kind of avoided as someone "weird." And looking back, yes, it still hurts.

Speaking personally, besides publishing/selling having luck factors and external factors, I have to approach it with 'barefoot irreverance' and maybe I'll get lucky, maybe I won't. I have to give myself permission to take some real risks.

That is, I have yet to read an aspie autobiography or aspie memoir that really moves me, that I really think it great. So, yes, there are some openings. And so maybe you can be among the three guys or gals who write the next generation of books, and why not.

Now, about the glass walls, you might find this interesting. Toward the end of his REASONS AND PERSONS (1984), the philosopher Derek Parfit talked about this. I'm not saying Derek is aspie, I'm not saying he's not. He's an intensely intellectual guy that kind of does things his own way. He talked about that his life used to be like moving through glass tunnels. Now, if he vividly thinks about a couple of intellectual examples, the tunnels are done (it may also help that he has a spouse and professional colleagues!). He talks about this in his rather brief concluding chapter and refers back to a couple of examples earlier in the book. Derek Parfit is highly regarded among contemporary philosophers, not quite my cup of tea ( or wasn't at that time).

And about the Gay Pride festival. Maybe a panic attack, or the aspie version? Or it first hits you emotionally, the event's not going to work out. I've heard religious people say, never more lonely than in a crowd. Now, I myself am atheist/agnostic, was religious as a teenager. sometimes religious people are very smart right brain type of way.

Now, I'm going to reveal something that's not near as central as being gay, but it is something that I've had to come to grips with and decided to take some risks in pursuing. I'm straight, I like kissing and smooching. Those were some of my earliest fantasies from 4th grade. But I also like fantasies of dominance-submission, particularly of spanking. And, and---on the theme of salvation in unlikely places---some of the best conversations I've had anywhere on the web have been at a spanking site, including politics, religion and so much, I think because having this in common gives us a baseline of respect. So, whatever sub-group of gay people you identify with, possibly, possibly, might be some good communities. For example, if you're monogamous, might be groups for people in monogamous couples or looking for a monogamous relationship. Or polyamour, etc. (I hope this isn't bothersome as 'advice,' but I can kind of see how the overly large main Chicago Gay Pride festival wasn't that good an event, or ran its course well before three hours.)

And then something else, I observe. 'Normal' people hang out for long periods and then their interest perks up. Me, I'm on. It's on time for me. I'm not that interested in low-grade 'hanging out' where I'm not even remembering what people are saying but just kind of vaguely being there till a happening perks my interest. And I think a variety of people successful in their fields, both aspie and non, don't have that much patience for small talk.

Dave, welcome to WrongPlanet! I think you have a lot to offer. Please keep talking with us. And please keep writing.

I'm intensely familiar with those feelings you describe. You articulate it so well. Depression can be a huge barrier to me being able to feel connected to anything. I've also had those moments of intense emptiness and isolation, just feeling completely trapped inside my head and unable to find any relief from it. I think this goes beyond Aspergers though. It isn't normal to feel this way. I've recognized that clinical depression has a multiplicative effect on the social struggles I already face due to my ASD alone. The overpowering mental inertia of depression can literally block my ability to formulate speech. There are treatments that can help for depression but you really have to be open to trying anything.

It's hit me hard when I've had a social disappointment combined with the belief that things aren't going to get better. Kind of the immediate here and now, the emotional, combined with the intellectual.

There is a saying in golf: you play the ball from where it lays.

ruveyn

Let me run with this. And it's also important to find a doctor open to trying a variety of things. Actually, I think a person has better baseline odds with an internist or family practitioner, but a particular person might know a psychiatrist who's great, in which case more power to that person. Straight up, I am just not a fan of psychiatrists. So I think it's important for a person to know he or she has options. You can go to a 'regular' doctor, what used to be called a general practitioner, who is now called a family practitioner, and he or she can prescribe an antidepressant.

In fact, antidepressants require trial and error in a credible sense. For example, prozac might work great for one person, and might hardly work at all for another.

Now, you can tell pretty much right away whether or not the drug has acceptable side effects. Whether or not it 'works' to lift the depression, I understand that takes about 4 weeks.

So, in twenty-eight weeks a person could cycle through seven medications, and why the hell not? It's better than doing nothing. There are classes of drugs like SSRI (Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors), and so if one 'class' doesn't work, another might.

And there's not a psychiatrist in the world or the best molecular biologist in the world or the best neurologist who can predict whether a given medication will work for a given person. Maybe down the road when we as a society has molecular medicine or personal medicine, but right now, no, it's trial and error in a reputable sense. The important thing is to have a light touch, not a ponderous touch. And if a doctor turns out to be an egoist, gently sidestep, and get yourself another doctor which you have every right to do.

There's a social negotiation in which if things are kind of improved, a mediocre doctor can pressure you to say that things are adequately improved. "Well, it should be working," the doctor says. And this can be for something as straightforward as bronchitis. And maybe even okay doctors occasionally do this, and I don't think it's so cool. In business terms, this is what's known as selling dirty. And maybe the response is a light touch, maybe even a little bit of a sense of humor. "Well, maybe it should, but it isn't. I do appreciate you being in there trying." And if the doctor doesn't start taking it back to the middle, that's not good, and is probably time to start thinking about gettting another doctor.

And dietary changes work great for some people, hardly helps at all for others.

David Burns in one of his previous books (so now it's maybe dated, maybe not) said that lithium can enhance an antidepressant that's working somewhat but not enough.


Please note: I AM NOT A DOCTOR. but I am a pretty good guy and maybe medical journalism down the road. And whoever's reading this, yes I could perhaps use your help with the research, for this stuff is find-out-able.

Last edited by AardvarkGoodSwimmer on 27 Mar 2011, 5:20 pm, edited 1 time in total.

I am all in favor of that. Take the next positive step forward from right here.

I wake up every morning early, refreshed, and typically with solutions to the previous day's problems. Today was no exception, and even though I got less than 5 hours of sleep last night, I still woke up at 4:30am...and began my morning routine, which now includes checking Wrong Planet.

I've been thinking about depression this week, and this morning I thought about how long-term depression changes into grief. I then thought about this post and it's responses...and as always, my brain reminded me of things I've written on the subject before.

Here's what I once wrote about using Imagination to hide from depression:

But imagination’s not always a positive thing, especially when it’s a shelter to hide from genuine grief. When used in that capacity, it’s an addiction as devious as alcoholism, only harder to overcome because its bottle is internal. In a way, it’s just like cancer, eating out our guts before finally reaching the skin. By the time it’s visible in the mirror, it’s become part of our reflection. We’ve been changed by grief, distorted by living with sadness. And it fills us with rage because it happened so gradually, the people in our lives just assume we’ve always been that way-

Always that mean...
Always that drunk....
Always talking to ourselves...
And always, always wanting to atone for a night eleven years ago that was just too sad to imagine...


Sorry, folks. Not exactly an upper this morning. I will say though, that the BEST part of Aspergers is that just like bad times, I can also remember good things as well, as though they happened yesterday.

And I can play them as often as I want...

Makes sense.

I wonder if I have hidden and ran from society with imagination.

There has been so much pain and disaster in my life. So much of it I can accountly blame on myself. When I was in 4th grade I found a book with Edgar Allan Poe. The words in it inspired me, brought life back into me. Maybe it was because he wrote about grief, as I always write about grief. Even though I couldn't make out all the words itself, it felt like something familar to me. Like a touch on how sad I really was in this world to loud, to noisy, to random and chaotic.

And I wonder at times if I am hiding my sadness within in my words. Within in my stories.

That is so ME.

Hardest bit is when I choose to associate with groups with the goal of improving my relationships with others. It's so trying because I want to connect, but even if I am connecting, I hardly feel anything back. Very frustrating.

The saddest time in my life was when my baby was born. It was when that wall became the most impenetrable and when I most needed it to fall down. I was young and all alone with a new baby. I could see other new mums with friends and family fluttering round them in the hospital. Then there was me, all alone, no visitors, no happy home to take my baby back to. Nothing. Thinking about it even today makes me want to cry.

Yes, I know the feeling so well. It is so frustrating. You are at the edge, it looks like it should be so easy to interact. You watch everybody. Yet, you can't do it. You try to say something, and the words don't come. You finally think of something to say, and you can't find a gap in the conversation. If you do find a gap, the conversation has moved on to another topic. If you do manage to contribute something useful, you are ignored. It is so frustrating, and so lonely. It's a reminder of how different you are. It's a reminder that you are not like them.