It was not so much that people and their words and actions irritated or bored me; the effect was far more inclusive than that. People, particularly people I never saw or thought of unless they were sitting in front of me, unraveled me. They unhooked the calm in me and let loose too many thoughts, too many images, too many questions. My mind would melt amid the noise and the light and the voices and the asymmetrical patterns and the smells and the images, as I desperately tried to attach meaning to every word every person uttered. If I could not find a reason out of my meetings, and believe me I found many, I would allow my mind to settle on a few of my favorite obsessive rituals. I might have counted to ten over and over and over. I might have typed sentences in my mind, creating patterns as I did, so that my left hand would spell out the first two letters, then my right hand, then left, then right, until the sentence was spelled using a variety of symmetrical patterns. I might have ground my teeth to a rhythm playing in my mind.
I can imagine that other people have all kinds of masking rituals they do to pretend they are interested in the topic at hand, and so in that, I am probably not so very different from the norm. The difference comes, I think, at the point when closure comes. Speaking to others, I learned they quit their ritual the moment they want to, or the moment they need to. I go beyond that and continue my habits until their symmetrical pattern is complete or until the rhythm is over. I could not, and cannot, seem to easily shake my compulsive rituals from their hold on my thoughts. Not until they have completed their pattern. I try terribly hard not to fragment, particularly if I know I am going to be called on for much input or conversation. I know it is important to stay on task and work with others as well as I can. And for the most part, I can, at least on short projects. But back when I taught, I had to fight with myself to stay on track. I would try to keep my eyes very still, concentrating intently on people’s faces, but not their gestures. Gestures took on dialogues of their own, making it even harder for me to keep up with the conversation. I would take notes, hoping that if I wrote down everything that was said, I could later piece everything together like a puzzle. Or, I would completely take over the meeting, asserting my own thoughts and ideas, as if I were the self-appointed expert. But when all else failed, I used to rely on a «fitting in» trick that is nothing more than a sophisticated form of echolalia. Like a professional mimic I could catch someone else’s personality as easily as other people catch a cold. I did this by surveying the group of people I was with, then consciously identifying the person I was most taken in by. I would watch them intently, carefully marking their traits, until almost as easily as if I had turned on a light, I would turn their personality on in me. I can change my mannerisms and my voice and my thoughts until I am confident they match the person I wanted to echo. Of course, I knew what I was doing, and of course, I was somewhat embarrassed by it, but it worked to keep me connected and sometimes that was all that concerned me. It was simply more efficient for me to use the kinds of behaviors other people used, than it was for me to try and create some of my own.
Old habits are hard to break and sometimes I notice myself echoing even though I work at home now and rarely feel compelled to fit in at all. Interestingly enough, I do not think anyone else realizes I am echoing, not even the people I am copying. Everyone that is, except for those who know me quite well. A few very observant friends have noticed an occasion or two when I had lost myself in the shadows of someone else, but no one has ever noticed as quickly or completely as my AS daughter does. She recognizes the moment I bend my voice or my motions to match someone else’s and it drives her to distraction. In no uncertain terms she will demand I stop acting like whomever, that I quit walking this way or that, that I stop pretending to be someone I am not. Though she does not yet fully understand the weight of her words, there is little that keeps me from comprehending the fact that she is right on track with her observation. Funny that she, another Aspie, is often able to see my pretence before I am.
I have come to the conclusion that even though I need to stop doing it, it is simply easier to echo, more comfortable and typically more successful superficially to pretend to be someone I am not. It is like putting myself on automatic pilot and free floating without lending a care to whether or not I am fitting in with the crowd. I must be if lam momentarily someone else. It’s a free ride until someone else notices. But it is a ride I have decided I need to get off. And with the help of my daughter and a few of my closest friends, I think I will, mostly because when I am with the people I really understand, the people whom I trust implicitly, I never have to take a free fall.
The people who have proven they will stand by me no matter what I say, think or do, have given me a finer gift than they will ever realize. They have given me the real gift of freedom that allows me to experiment with my development as I continue to refine and sharpen my instincts and actions. These are the friends that do not wince when I fracture a social rule. The people who offer immediate dispensation should I offend them with my words or actions. The colleagues who call me to offer their support before I have a chance to tell them I am falling apart. I am aware these are the kinds of acquaintances everyone treasures, but for AS people, they are much more. They are our barometers and our mirrors. By their actions we see how we are doing and in their eyes we can find who we are.
My two closest friends, Maureen, who has known me almost forever, and Margo, who found me during the last part of my most obvious AS years, help me to know what acceptable is, not just because they are always willing to offer instructions on how to act or advice on how to perceive things, but more important because they are so loyal in their affirmations that I am fine just the way I am. Through their eyes I am perfectly fine. Each of them dismisses my idiosyncratic ways with a smile and a wave of the arm, as if to say, You’re okay. Keep your head up. You can do this. They are confidence builders, confidants, cheerleaders, and advisors. They rein me in when I travel too far, they protect me from obvious blunders, and they applaud me when I stumble onto some part of me that is particularly worthwhile. But most important, most endearingly, they protect me, whether they realize it or not, from those who do not afford me so much grace.
They are quick to come to my defence, perhaps with just a word or a look, should someone begin to judge me for something I have said or done. And yet, they never condescend or patronize me. They simply illuminate that which is made better by my AS, my straightforwardness and assertiveness and creativity and tenacity and loyalty. Because they see me first as someone who possesses many good qualities, and only then as someone who is just a tiny bit different, they give me the notion to begin to see myself in that light as well. And though I cannot explain why this happens, their belief in me fosters my own belief in myself, which in turn helps me to become less apprehensive and more able. Maybe I just see myself as more able. Maybe I have just learned how to put my best foot forward in public. It does not matter what the reason, for the truth is, Maureen’s and Margo’s influence is substantial to my self-esteem, so important that when this invisible difference that is my walk with AS comes home to stay me, I am quickly comforted and buoyed by the fact that my friends will be there for me, no matter what, no matter where.
When I am with my closest friends, I can feel what it must be like to have a bunch of other friends, and for a moment I think I might just be over the old hang ups and anxieties. Sometimes, I will even try to do a really big friendship thing. I will host a lunch or show up at a function or even ask someone to go shopping with me. But, unless the person is extremely straightforward and blunt, I usually end up climbing back on stage, reciting the old lines and the old jokes, as my stomach starts to knot and my thoughts remind me how difficult this all is for me. I worry about this inability of mine, not so much because of how it affects me, but more because of how I think it might affect my children or the people whom I do not seem to grow close to. I do not want my children to grow up thinking they need to be loners, just because I am. I do not want the kids to be embarrassed because their mom would rather stay at home than join other moms for coffee or a girls’ night out. And I do not want the people whom I meet to get offended if I turn down their invitations or never offer one on my own. I wish people could understand that I can soak up all I need from most friends in just a few minutes, then walk away happy and content, knowing I have just spent time with a friend. I am not trying to be at all evasive or unfriendly, I just fill up fast.