When one undergoes therapy for depression, suicide is always a concern of the therapist. I have told mine not to worry and none should be worried for me. There are reasons why I won't do it, although they're a bit muddled. For instance, I fear failure in the attempt and becoming further disabled as a result, not to mention the stigma that would be with me for the rest of my life. So that's the purely pragmatic reason. A more noble reason is that I genuinely believe I can do some good with my generous nature. While I am hedonistic as well, that's all just the stuff I do to keep myself going. In the end, I no longer live for myself or what I might accomplish, but for others. Theirs are the lives that matter and that will truly be of substance. Although I am not suicidal, that doesn't mean I don't have an odd relationship with death and my thoughts turn to said relationship as I ring in the year 2015.
While I was not present at my grandfather's funeral due to international travel, I have been told that reference was made to his suffering ending with his death. When my grandmother died, his diet worsened, leading to diabetes and doing his gout no favors. He hadn't felt well for some time and it was said that he was in the afterlife and could say for the first time in a long while that he felt just fine. That has stuck with me, because I too do not feel just fine. The daily struggle with autism, the limitations it has placed upon my life, and the loneliness that fills each day mean I am not afraid to die. On the contrary, I will be very happy when that day comes near enough to be obviously close at hand. Elderly people in nursing homes know this feeling and I have seen that firsthand. They feel that their days have gone on past their usefulness to themselves or others and that each day they awaken is just a pointless struggle to prolong a life they would just as soon leave.
I never judge those who commit suicide. Putting aside those who were too mentally ill to understand what they were doing, I completely get it. They just got tired of the struggle and watching every reason they might have to live turn to dust or be outweighed by some reason or another to die. My own decision to wait for death to come in whatever form it may take me in the fullness of time is supported by many things, such as possession of the means to live in comfort, the joys I take in generosity, cooking, and writing, and a disciplined rational mind formed out of necessity by the very autism that has so limited my life. For those without means, sources of joy, and/or the capacity to be objective under stress from struggles, they may choose another path. Whether it is right or wrong for any given person to take their own life, I do not and cannot know. All I can know is that that must be their decision. As for me, I will do as much good as I can with as much time as I'm given and, when the time comes, I will welcome death as an old friend.
-Frank
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Tuesday, December 30, 2014
Something For The Kids
There's many things neurotypicals say to me regarding my autism. Many of these things turn into articles for this blog. One of the most common ones is some variation of, "Why don't you work with autistic kids?" I can understand the sentiment. After all, I know what these kids are going through from the inside and I understand the very real practical concerns that an autistic child might face in the future. However, these seeming advantages would rapidly reveal themselves to be the disadvantages I know them to be. Some things about autism are not well understood by the professionals that work with kids on the spectrum, and that is to their benefit. Even with the rare professional who does understand these things, which I will discuss shortly, knows how to compartmentalize them and, above all, keep their mouth shut about them. Total honesty is a social liability, not an asset, and being totally honest with autistic kids is where I would fail.
Low-functioning types aren't who I have in mind here. Their parents and professionals working with them already know they're damned and have probably tried to explain that to them as best as native ability to comprehend such information allows. For high-functioning ones, however, you have shades of grey. So what do parents and professionals tell those kids? Well, they probably tell them that if they work hard in therapy to develop coping mechanisms and develop as many skills as possible, they'll be fine. The problem is that might not be fine because sometimes they're not going to be fine. My mistake would be in letting them know that. I could not stop myself from telling them how hard their life may well be even in the event they manage to make friends, have a job, and a romantic life. Sure, I'd tell them they're lucky to be born now, when so much promising research into cures, or at least treatments, is ongoing and that improving their functionality is possible to a degree, but I would not sugarcoat anything.
What is so hard for any neurotypical to understand is the sense of isolation that autistics feel. From my earliest memory, I knew I felt apart from the rest of humanity, although I could not articulate, or even name, why for the longest time. That profound loneliness is the most wearying part of autism. Even in your moments of greatest comfort and joy, however functional you've managed to be, it eats at you relentlessly, mercilessly, and painfully. What most autistic kids, especially the undiagnosed, do not know is that there is no escape from this feeling. There's not a phase you can grow out of, not a class you can take, not a medication you can be prescribed, and not a therapy you can undergo to overcome that feeling. As the years go by, you will live with it as a burden you must carry alone and it will wear on you as mileage wears on car. So that's what professionals who work with autistic kids don't know that I can't help but know. They cannot know how hard this journey is and that is what allows them to sugarcoat things, give sincerely offered hope, and present white lies where they would do better than the truth.
-Frank
Low-functioning types aren't who I have in mind here. Their parents and professionals working with them already know they're damned and have probably tried to explain that to them as best as native ability to comprehend such information allows. For high-functioning ones, however, you have shades of grey. So what do parents and professionals tell those kids? Well, they probably tell them that if they work hard in therapy to develop coping mechanisms and develop as many skills as possible, they'll be fine. The problem is that might not be fine because sometimes they're not going to be fine. My mistake would be in letting them know that. I could not stop myself from telling them how hard their life may well be even in the event they manage to make friends, have a job, and a romantic life. Sure, I'd tell them they're lucky to be born now, when so much promising research into cures, or at least treatments, is ongoing and that improving their functionality is possible to a degree, but I would not sugarcoat anything.
What is so hard for any neurotypical to understand is the sense of isolation that autistics feel. From my earliest memory, I knew I felt apart from the rest of humanity, although I could not articulate, or even name, why for the longest time. That profound loneliness is the most wearying part of autism. Even in your moments of greatest comfort and joy, however functional you've managed to be, it eats at you relentlessly, mercilessly, and painfully. What most autistic kids, especially the undiagnosed, do not know is that there is no escape from this feeling. There's not a phase you can grow out of, not a class you can take, not a medication you can be prescribed, and not a therapy you can undergo to overcome that feeling. As the years go by, you will live with it as a burden you must carry alone and it will wear on you as mileage wears on car. So that's what professionals who work with autistic kids don't know that I can't help but know. They cannot know how hard this journey is and that is what allows them to sugarcoat things, give sincerely offered hope, and present white lies where they would do better than the truth.
-Frank
Monday, December 29, 2014
Utility
To quote a line from one of the best episodes of my most beloved Star Trek series, "One of the most important things in a person's life is to feel useful." Such utility has been a phantom I've been chasing my entire life and this wild goose chase is something up upon which I only recently gave. The quest to become a useful human being is a trial by fire for many autistics. Those who succeed are rewarded with a productive adult life and become capable of independent living. For those who fail, however, wandering about attempting to be useful in the lives of those about whom they care is their neverending struggle. My own quest has failed, despite waging it long and hard. So I wander my world plying my core skills of writing and baking and pastry arts, as well as financial generosity, as my way of compensating for my general lack of utility as best I can. It isn't good enough and it never will be, although what little success I have sustains me with the tiny taste of feeling useful I get from it.
There are very different reasons that my core skills do not suffice to make me useful. Baking and pastry arts, to be done professionally, requires working quickly and multitasking, both of which I am incapable. Writing is more of a matter of being born in the wrong era and having talent in the wrong areas. Novelists are still somewhat viable in the modern world, although distribution is largely changing models from the bookstore to the e-reader. Non-fiction writers, primarily meaning journalists and columnists here, are considerably less viable in the modern era. Very few opportunities are available and what few are present tend to be unpaid. A toxic idea has taken hold that artists, especially writers, ought not to expect pay for their work and the public also expects their work for free. This idea has done incalculable damage to the job market for writers. While I have my doubts that a given publication's staff could endure my company sufficiently for me to succeed, I am confident that I could perform the job well.
Generosity is the real lifeblood of what sustains me in the aftermath of failing in my quest to become useful. Someone else's life becoming better by my action is the most powerful way for me to feel useful, but it is not without its risks. I know from long experience that many people, however sincere their need, will not hesitate to take advantage of the naïveté I come by honestly via autism. So I've had to learn to be careful, but I must stay the course because the benefits outweigh the risks. As I know that I am a hindrance in most respects, I generally try and leave other people to their lives and keep to myself. Even with friends, I try and help when I can and interact primarily when invited to do so. When it comes to others, they have long since made themselves useful and I must respect that. They aren't like me. All I'm up to is marking time as I pass through a mostly useless life that I predominantly observe rather than live. So it is their lives and their happiness that matter to me. Useless though I generally am, I can sometimes manage small exceptions. These small exceptions represent what little comfort I may eke out for myself as I walk a long and lonely road.
-Frank
There are very different reasons that my core skills do not suffice to make me useful. Baking and pastry arts, to be done professionally, requires working quickly and multitasking, both of which I am incapable. Writing is more of a matter of being born in the wrong era and having talent in the wrong areas. Novelists are still somewhat viable in the modern world, although distribution is largely changing models from the bookstore to the e-reader. Non-fiction writers, primarily meaning journalists and columnists here, are considerably less viable in the modern era. Very few opportunities are available and what few are present tend to be unpaid. A toxic idea has taken hold that artists, especially writers, ought not to expect pay for their work and the public also expects their work for free. This idea has done incalculable damage to the job market for writers. While I have my doubts that a given publication's staff could endure my company sufficiently for me to succeed, I am confident that I could perform the job well.
Generosity is the real lifeblood of what sustains me in the aftermath of failing in my quest to become useful. Someone else's life becoming better by my action is the most powerful way for me to feel useful, but it is not without its risks. I know from long experience that many people, however sincere their need, will not hesitate to take advantage of the naïveté I come by honestly via autism. So I've had to learn to be careful, but I must stay the course because the benefits outweigh the risks. As I know that I am a hindrance in most respects, I generally try and leave other people to their lives and keep to myself. Even with friends, I try and help when I can and interact primarily when invited to do so. When it comes to others, they have long since made themselves useful and I must respect that. They aren't like me. All I'm up to is marking time as I pass through a mostly useless life that I predominantly observe rather than live. So it is their lives and their happiness that matter to me. Useless though I generally am, I can sometimes manage small exceptions. These small exceptions represent what little comfort I may eke out for myself as I walk a long and lonely road.
-Frank
Sunday, December 28, 2014
The Farm
Once upon a time, I was a small child at play in the forests and meadows of Oakland, Arkansas where Granny Bailey had a hobby farm. While it was nothing compared to the backbreaking labor and harsh reality that real farm kids experience, I did get a bit of a taste of what that might be like. Walking around barefoot was standard. Exploring real bat caves, crawling through hollow logs, planting my own trees, digging irrigation ditches, catching fireflies to put in a jar, and watching tadpoles become frogs in the trough where rainwater would gather were all par for the course. I think often of that blonde kid in 1980s Marion County and how happy and hopeful he was. Whatever ways autism afflicted me at the time didn't seem to matter on the farm. All I had to do was have a blast and listen to my grandmother tell me what a wonderful person I was and was going to be. You know, I really did believe that.
Granny Bailey is dead five years now. Granddad 13 years, Grandmom 26 years, Pocky seven years, and nearly all of their generation is gone from my family on both sides. While I miss them all, I'm kind of glad they're gone at the same time. Now, I don't know if they realized I was profoundly disabled by my autism or not, but surely some of them had an inkling that something was wrong and of what was coming. I suppose I'd like to think that they died with hope in their hearts for me, if only because that would've helped make them happy and I'd like for them to have died happy. In any event, I don't have to face them and tell them that I'll never earn a living or that no great grandchildren will ever be forthcoming. For that much, I'm grateful. These were not broken dependent people. They all made grand contributions to their families and the economy. May they be at peace, safe from the knowledge I cannot claim this for myself.
The more I understand the extent of the severity of my autism, the more grateful I am for understanding of the natural world and my disbelief in the existence of a supernatural one. That so many believe in and pursue immortality speaks a great deal as to how satisfactory the average person considers his life to be. Death is a consolation to me, precisely because it will mean the end of my autism. While I do not seek it by any means, it will be an enormous relief to me when it finally comes. Whatever good effect my existence may have on the lives of others, and I have always tried to make a positive impact in this way, will not change the fact that it has been a trial to me. When one is raised with all the infrastructure for children available telling you all the work you will do in school and at home is for the express purpose of finding a career and a mate, I'm not sure one is supposed to react to the reality of failure on both fronts. Maybe that kid on the farm was ultimately wrong about where life was going, but, I gotta tell you, I envy him.
-Frank
Granny Bailey is dead five years now. Granddad 13 years, Grandmom 26 years, Pocky seven years, and nearly all of their generation is gone from my family on both sides. While I miss them all, I'm kind of glad they're gone at the same time. Now, I don't know if they realized I was profoundly disabled by my autism or not, but surely some of them had an inkling that something was wrong and of what was coming. I suppose I'd like to think that they died with hope in their hearts for me, if only because that would've helped make them happy and I'd like for them to have died happy. In any event, I don't have to face them and tell them that I'll never earn a living or that no great grandchildren will ever be forthcoming. For that much, I'm grateful. These were not broken dependent people. They all made grand contributions to their families and the economy. May they be at peace, safe from the knowledge I cannot claim this for myself.
The more I understand the extent of the severity of my autism, the more grateful I am for understanding of the natural world and my disbelief in the existence of a supernatural one. That so many believe in and pursue immortality speaks a great deal as to how satisfactory the average person considers his life to be. Death is a consolation to me, precisely because it will mean the end of my autism. While I do not seek it by any means, it will be an enormous relief to me when it finally comes. Whatever good effect my existence may have on the lives of others, and I have always tried to make a positive impact in this way, will not change the fact that it has been a trial to me. When one is raised with all the infrastructure for children available telling you all the work you will do in school and at home is for the express purpose of finding a career and a mate, I'm not sure one is supposed to react to the reality of failure on both fronts. Maybe that kid on the farm was ultimately wrong about where life was going, but, I gotta tell you, I envy him.
-Frank
Thursday, December 25, 2014
Nothing To Report
Christmas is over. I have survived my first season with the full knowledge of the limits my autism places on me. Well-wishing relatives ask me what I've got going on, and I pretty much answer with an only slightly elaborated upon, "The usual." Smoking, cooking, writing, and little else, that's what's going on. That's what'll be going on the next year, the year after that, and all the years I've got left. Of course, it's understandable why everybody asks that. Most everybody has something going on in their lives that's new, especially if you haven't seen them in a year. Nobody wants to acknowledge the disabled relative in the room as a disabled person. Maybe that's what other disabled people want out of a holiday gathering. Pretending to be just like everyone else in the room of sound mind and body sure makes a lot of sense to me, but I can't do it.
There's a lot that I did right this Christmas, especially the vast majority of the candy I made. Aside from one or two cases where relatives either didn't like food coloring or the variety of candy, nobody came close to saying I made a poor product. Buying good gifts is something for which I've long been known and I think that, since I am unlikely to have accomplishments about which to speak at gatherings, I shall need to keep up, and even step up, my game. Mostly, gift-giving is a skill that relies upon equal parts knowing the recipient and insistence upon quality goods. Obviously, the most effective way to ensure quality is to make the gifts oneself, as I did with the candy this year, but the exhausting nature of filling 48 tins with candy ultimately means that I will favor purchases, at least for the most part, in the future. As long as they get the kind of reception I got this year, I'll know there is a very important function served by my presence.
I'm still young enough that most Christmases of my life have been about how I am others of my generation are doing. Well, even though I doubt any of my peers among the Gen Xers in my family have had as discouraging a report to give as I do this Christmas, I still had a lot of fun. There's warmth and cheer to be had in everybody getting together that really is unique and precious. For now, the family I was born with is populous and we have elders to keep us anchored together. While I enjoy it immensely, I do not take it for granted and I certainly do not expect it to be around forever, at least not for me. The Christmas will come one day that is my last with my family because my generation will move on and have their own traditions and I will have nowhere to go. That's okay though. No good thing lasts forever. While it does, I'll keep trying to do it right.
-Frank
There's a lot that I did right this Christmas, especially the vast majority of the candy I made. Aside from one or two cases where relatives either didn't like food coloring or the variety of candy, nobody came close to saying I made a poor product. Buying good gifts is something for which I've long been known and I think that, since I am unlikely to have accomplishments about which to speak at gatherings, I shall need to keep up, and even step up, my game. Mostly, gift-giving is a skill that relies upon equal parts knowing the recipient and insistence upon quality goods. Obviously, the most effective way to ensure quality is to make the gifts oneself, as I did with the candy this year, but the exhausting nature of filling 48 tins with candy ultimately means that I will favor purchases, at least for the most part, in the future. As long as they get the kind of reception I got this year, I'll know there is a very important function served by my presence.
I'm still young enough that most Christmases of my life have been about how I am others of my generation are doing. Well, even though I doubt any of my peers among the Gen Xers in my family have had as discouraging a report to give as I do this Christmas, I still had a lot of fun. There's warmth and cheer to be had in everybody getting together that really is unique and precious. For now, the family I was born with is populous and we have elders to keep us anchored together. While I enjoy it immensely, I do not take it for granted and I certainly do not expect it to be around forever, at least not for me. The Christmas will come one day that is my last with my family because my generation will move on and have their own traditions and I will have nowhere to go. That's okay though. No good thing lasts forever. While it does, I'll keep trying to do it right.
-Frank
Thursday, December 18, 2014
Do We Negotiate?
Well, here it is. The moment has arrived where we, as a nation, must confront terrorism without the fig leaf of religion. When Muslims resort to death threats to oppose speech they don't like, we may safely side with them because their religion must be respected above all else. When Salmon Rushdie publishes a book that inspires death threats, when Theo Van Gogh makes a film that actually gets him killed, when Ayyan Hirsi Ali tells her story and must have armed security for the rest of her life because of it, when Jyllands Posten publishes some cartoons and embassies are burned, when South Park attempts to show an image of Mohammed and gets death threats, and when a woman must change her name and go into hiding because she tried to inspire people to draw Mohammed, our society simply shrugs and says that they shouldn't have blasphemed against Islam. Free speech is important to the western world, but not so much as respecting religion, no matter the cost, is important. So we're not cowards for capitulating to Muslim terrorists routinely, we're just super respectful of their religion. What if the terrorism wasn't done by Muslims though? What if you had to take a stand to give into terrorist demands or not and you didn't have a way to hide your abject terror when you capitulated. We no longer need wonder. North Korea can tell us all what films to watch and which to not.
The Interview didn't look like much I'd be interested in seeing when trailers for it were out. Just a goofy comedy with a gimmicky premise that could be easily avoided in favor of films like the final Hobbit installment. What never occurred to me was that North Korea could intimidate the United States into not showing a film. Art in this country is promised to be free from censorship on the part of the government, but it never occurred to me that a studio would censor itself based on threats from the most obviously insane nation state on the Earth. There can be no possible excuse for this. Fear that people would be hurt of killed of these film were released is all there is to the story. Respect for the bizarre religion of ancestor worship and deification of the dictatorial line is most certainly not in play here. Neither can the studio claim to somehow sympathize with their cause, as they are not crazy people. So let fall the notion that, "letting the terrorists win," is just a hackneyed political slogan, although it is certainly that, because that is precisely what has occurred. Do you think there are other organizations that might have occasion to perform similar terrorist threats when films portraying themselves in a negative light come out? You can count on it. By not drawing the line here, the studio has simply delayed the inevitable decision to draw it at some point, unless, of course, there is no line in the sand worth keeping so that those who would attempt to censor art through terrorism would, at some point, be told they may go no further.
We are a society at the edge of a precipice. It must be decided, and soon, whether or not we capitulate to terrorism. What I was raised with is the idea that one should never give into terrorist demands and that the Unites States in particular does not negotiate with terrorists, let alone capitulate to them entirely. Oh, I know the sacrifices involved could be terrible. Imagine if they did blow up a cinema and we had terrible loss of life. Sometimes though, there has to be things for which you're willing to put your life on the line. Patrick Henry famously said, "Give me liberty or give me death." When you'd rather live than have liberty, you'll live, sure, but what kind of life is that you'll be living? If your liberty remains, that's a fluke and it can vanish in a million different ways the moment those to whom you are so ready to capitulate simply insist it be cast aside. North Korea is a land of a deified boy dictator whose people must endure his every insane whim. My country is supposed to be the land of not putting up with that kind of crap. When someone threatens terrorist action against the United States, I only have two questions: 1). Where are the terrorists? 2) Are the terrorists dead yet? Maybe the boy dictator will see this blog post (okay, probably not, but go with me here) talking about how awful his evil line of dictators is and how his country deserves so much better than they've gotten for generations. If that happened, and he threatened me with terrorist action, I'd write nothing but articles that boil down to, "Fuck him," for weeks. That's how the America I know acts. Liberty is sacred to my country and if you want to threaten that liberty, I sincerely hope a Seal team shows up and ventilates the meat bag containing your abhorrent brain.
-Frank
The Interview didn't look like much I'd be interested in seeing when trailers for it were out. Just a goofy comedy with a gimmicky premise that could be easily avoided in favor of films like the final Hobbit installment. What never occurred to me was that North Korea could intimidate the United States into not showing a film. Art in this country is promised to be free from censorship on the part of the government, but it never occurred to me that a studio would censor itself based on threats from the most obviously insane nation state on the Earth. There can be no possible excuse for this. Fear that people would be hurt of killed of these film were released is all there is to the story. Respect for the bizarre religion of ancestor worship and deification of the dictatorial line is most certainly not in play here. Neither can the studio claim to somehow sympathize with their cause, as they are not crazy people. So let fall the notion that, "letting the terrorists win," is just a hackneyed political slogan, although it is certainly that, because that is precisely what has occurred. Do you think there are other organizations that might have occasion to perform similar terrorist threats when films portraying themselves in a negative light come out? You can count on it. By not drawing the line here, the studio has simply delayed the inevitable decision to draw it at some point, unless, of course, there is no line in the sand worth keeping so that those who would attempt to censor art through terrorism would, at some point, be told they may go no further.
We are a society at the edge of a precipice. It must be decided, and soon, whether or not we capitulate to terrorism. What I was raised with is the idea that one should never give into terrorist demands and that the Unites States in particular does not negotiate with terrorists, let alone capitulate to them entirely. Oh, I know the sacrifices involved could be terrible. Imagine if they did blow up a cinema and we had terrible loss of life. Sometimes though, there has to be things for which you're willing to put your life on the line. Patrick Henry famously said, "Give me liberty or give me death." When you'd rather live than have liberty, you'll live, sure, but what kind of life is that you'll be living? If your liberty remains, that's a fluke and it can vanish in a million different ways the moment those to whom you are so ready to capitulate simply insist it be cast aside. North Korea is a land of a deified boy dictator whose people must endure his every insane whim. My country is supposed to be the land of not putting up with that kind of crap. When someone threatens terrorist action against the United States, I only have two questions: 1). Where are the terrorists? 2) Are the terrorists dead yet? Maybe the boy dictator will see this blog post (okay, probably not, but go with me here) talking about how awful his evil line of dictators is and how his country deserves so much better than they've gotten for generations. If that happened, and he threatened me with terrorist action, I'd write nothing but articles that boil down to, "Fuck him," for weeks. That's how the America I know acts. Liberty is sacred to my country and if you want to threaten that liberty, I sincerely hope a Seal team shows up and ventilates the meat bag containing your abhorrent brain.
-Frank
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
Fatalism & Indifference
For most of my life, I cared deeply about politics. By that, I mean from the ages of around 10 to the age of 31. It was something about which I thought I understood quite a bit and I generally thought I had a good bead on things. Probably around the end of the second Bush Administration was where my passion for politics began to deteriorate, finally shattering utterly and irrevocably at the close of the 2012 elections. Now, I used to think that my disgust with the Republican Party on social issues, the utter rejection of my core fiscal values by the electorate and Occupy Wall Street, or sheer frustration at the GOP for sheer incompetence in messaging, compassion, and the ability to find candidates who weren't batshit crazy were behind my lack of passion and nonvoting status. Don't get me wrong. Those objections remain important, valid, and present, but there's a greater issue I've come to understand that keeps me in a constant cocktail of fatalism and indifference to politics. Autism limits my ability to understand the lives and thinking of the vast majority of human beings and I think that that is not something I can simply cast aside.
As I have written before, I no longer watch the news, although my Facebook feed tends to insist upon exposing me to it nonetheless. The great battles of modern politics rage on, fresh with debates, ad hominem attacks, and inevitable comparisons to Hitler and Stalin. While there are still issues about which I care, I do not feel any confidence in my analysis or my ability to properly going on with current events. For this reason, when I do offer comment, it is in the form of armchair ratiocination, rather than specific comments about matters at hand. My own internal logic remains something I find to be fairly reliable. Ideology is one thing, and politics is another. What I've learned is that I am competent at the former and rather clueless on the latter. When it comes to politics, you're dealing with the messy facts of the real lives of human beings. Sure, I have aspired to that kind of life before, but that doesn't mean I come close to really understanding it. For how can a disabled man understand the life of a man who possesses the traits that allow him to live independently and must apply those traits to the struggles of making a living? How can a man incapable of good relationships understand the pressures of having and supporting one? He can't, and that's a lot of what it means to be human.
At the heart of it, I don't really feel that the world that our politicians seek to govern in the various styles available to them is my own. The world I live in is built by, for, and of neurotypicals. Perhaps autistics higher-functioning than myself feel more connected to it, but I do not. As I watch the political tide flow, I am watching it as one would watch a fictional television drama. One might root for one character to come to a certain end or a certain storyline to turn out a certain way, but this does not mean one is invested in these outcomes in the same way one is invested in, say, the condition of one's car. Of course, the actions of politicians could well affect me as much as any of you, but this does not mean that I feel a sense of agency about the outcomes of elections or that I any better understand the rest of the electorate. Everyone else has much to consider in the direction the country is headed because they are fully a part of society, understand it reasonably well, and have specific and deep interests about how they would like to see the United States government proceed. Whoever one votes for doesn't really matter to me. If a particular candidate is going to take us to Hell in a handbasket, then that is what the candidate is going to do. In any event, I'll keep enduring my struggle to stay as sane and functional as I can. Saving the world may matter a great deal to you, and, if so, go try and save it. To quote Doctor Manhattan in Watchmen, "Why would I want to save a world I no longer have any stake in?"
-Frank
As I have written before, I no longer watch the news, although my Facebook feed tends to insist upon exposing me to it nonetheless. The great battles of modern politics rage on, fresh with debates, ad hominem attacks, and inevitable comparisons to Hitler and Stalin. While there are still issues about which I care, I do not feel any confidence in my analysis or my ability to properly going on with current events. For this reason, when I do offer comment, it is in the form of armchair ratiocination, rather than specific comments about matters at hand. My own internal logic remains something I find to be fairly reliable. Ideology is one thing, and politics is another. What I've learned is that I am competent at the former and rather clueless on the latter. When it comes to politics, you're dealing with the messy facts of the real lives of human beings. Sure, I have aspired to that kind of life before, but that doesn't mean I come close to really understanding it. For how can a disabled man understand the life of a man who possesses the traits that allow him to live independently and must apply those traits to the struggles of making a living? How can a man incapable of good relationships understand the pressures of having and supporting one? He can't, and that's a lot of what it means to be human.
At the heart of it, I don't really feel that the world that our politicians seek to govern in the various styles available to them is my own. The world I live in is built by, for, and of neurotypicals. Perhaps autistics higher-functioning than myself feel more connected to it, but I do not. As I watch the political tide flow, I am watching it as one would watch a fictional television drama. One might root for one character to come to a certain end or a certain storyline to turn out a certain way, but this does not mean one is invested in these outcomes in the same way one is invested in, say, the condition of one's car. Of course, the actions of politicians could well affect me as much as any of you, but this does not mean that I feel a sense of agency about the outcomes of elections or that I any better understand the rest of the electorate. Everyone else has much to consider in the direction the country is headed because they are fully a part of society, understand it reasonably well, and have specific and deep interests about how they would like to see the United States government proceed. Whoever one votes for doesn't really matter to me. If a particular candidate is going to take us to Hell in a handbasket, then that is what the candidate is going to do. In any event, I'll keep enduring my struggle to stay as sane and functional as I can. Saving the world may matter a great deal to you, and, if so, go try and save it. To quote Doctor Manhattan in Watchmen, "Why would I want to save a world I no longer have any stake in?"
-Frank
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