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This absorbing and humorous story is starkly told from Robert’s point of view, through the kaleidoscope of autistic experience.
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xcerpt from Stim, Chapter 3, Diary entry (591 words)
Meeting Chloe
in the café became comfortingly familiar and as regular as
clockwork. On Mondays, Tuesdays (twice), Thursdays and Fridays, we
convened in the café—nearly always at the same corner table,
whenever we could occupy it, and with the same drinks—like déjà
vu stuck in some kind of unstoppable time loop. On a few occasions,
the time passed without either of us saying anything, but somehow
comforted by the other’s presence. Sometimes we talked about our
studies or assignments, but mostly we talked about ourselves. Or more
accurately, I should say Chloe talked about herself. She had been
entirely truthful about the verbal diarrhoea. Words spilled out of
her mouth with a rapid staccato, machine-gun-like rhythm.
But I did not
mind this. When I was in the café by myself, I could only observe
people interacting socially, try to work out what was going on in
their minds and what it was they were doing, to try to unravel the
mystery of their behaviour. I never actually knew what was going on
with them, could never properly interpret what I observed, because I
could only imagine. Invariably, people behaved inconsistently and did
not do what I expected or wanted them to do, and I could not discern
any patterns underlying their actions. This was confusing, sometimes
bewildering.
With Chloe, it
was all very easy. She just poured herself out to me, wholly and
honestly and clearly, and I lapped it all up like a thirsty kitten
drinking cream from the saucer of knowledge. For the first time, I
had a friend I could understand, and who could understand me, because
we seemed to communicate on the same wavelength. I think she felt the
same, but she never said exactly.
Chloe told me
all about herself, how she had been first diagnosed when young, and
passed from doctor to doctor and psychiatrist to psychiatrist,
collecting the acronyms of different diagnoses like alphabet soup
until finally she was evaluated with Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD).
Once she knew that, she sped-read numerous books on the subject,
assimilating their collective wisdom. The very best, she told me,
were those written by fellow Aspies who had struggled to fit into the
NS world but ultimately prevailed to establish their own place within
it somehow, and yet remain true to themselves. Chloe said she could
identify with their early lives, and that everything in her own life,
past and present, made sense to her after reading those books. She
had always known she was different, and now she understood why. And I
agreed with her. I borrowed the books and read them too. I felt the
same.
Chloe explained
that her father travelled a lot on business and tried to make up for
his frequent absences by ensuring that she always had the best care
possible. Evaluations. Psych tests. Personality tests. Private mental
hospital whenever she felt especially distressed. A seemingly
interminable tweaking of her medications (eleven different
combinations so far) in an attempt to find the right mix and dosage,
a kind of educated guessing on the part of her doctors. There is so
little known about the human mind in general and the Aspie mind in
particular. It is so complex that all the doctors can do is just try
one thing at a time, pick up the pieces if it does not work out as
planned, and try something else, trying to solve the incomplete
jigsaw of a fractured human mind.
One day when
she met me in the café, my life changed forever.
About The Author
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His first novels, co-written with Diane Berry, are Dragons Away!, Growing Disenchantments and Fountain of Forever (humorous fantasy).
Author Links:
Thanks for posting this, Brenna. Have a great week.
ReplyDeleteNot a problem! Thanks for stopping by!
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