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Being Out Under the Sky

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Here is where I find freedom, physically, for my mind and for my soul. Out under the sky the pressures that close in on me; people expecting certain responses, placing expectations on me that I can only fulfil I part, being social, showing I like them through the normal noisy and complex neurotypical means. The closing in of walls and ceilings. The further closing in and prickle of bits, things, clutter, shapes, more bits, carpet patterns, pictures, furniture design, papers, cups, stale air, chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter, prickle, spike, prickle, suffocating movement, restlessness, noise of clothes rustling, fingers moving, shoes moving, breathing, prickle, spike, yellow tungsten light, lack of visual contrast, too much to see, a queasy colour balance, noise, people’s social prickle, chatter, chatter, chatter, movement, nudging, swirling, Brownian motion of people, but worse because the Brownian motion is sentient, directed, emotional, demanding responses from me, getting nonplussed at my inappropriate or absent responses, faces, bodies, words showing rejection, irritation, criticism, more noise, swirl, I feel giddy, sick, in pain, literally, oh this will last for ages, I’m panicking inside, I hold a straight face, going red, itches hurt, social prickle stings, I notice everything going on, all conversations simultaneously, all crockery and glasses chinking, all movement, the noise of people’s movement and breathing, still I am expected to socialise and respond with social competence and display all sorts of chatter and bonding behaviours, I perceive so much that I do not know when someone is addressing me, if I do I use all my remaining cognitive abilities to try and concentrate on them long enough to understand what they are saying, a response, I am delirious this place of noise, prickle, chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter, clinking, rustling, lights, unnatural colours, low contrast, swirling movement, expectations of me, conversation from me, neurotypical amounts of emotion around me, expected from me, I suffocate on all this, I am confused, overloaded, unable to have relationship with anyone, I want relationship, I’m isolated, in pain, I’m in hell.

 

A 287 word sentence. Intense, can did you follow it? Did you skim it? Did you jump forward out of it? Was it comprehensible? Did it irritate by being bad grammar? What was the point? People don’t concentrate for that long on something so intense, muddled and poorly structured. Being autistic is like living in this sort of intensity all the time. We go quiet, have meltdowns, avoid social situations, stand in the corner holding a drink, eyes down, faces detached, brains in overload, souls in hell.

 

Being out under the sky. Blue, white or grey above. Green or brown below. The world of nature moving, living all around. The sweet sounds of life, wind, water, birdsong all music. None of it wants to claim me, thinks it has a claim on me. I feel life everywhere. I live in and notice things neurotypical people overlook. The noise of socialising and chatter masks all this. Out here my hypersensitive soul has rest. None of nature wants to claim my attention, it has it. Life goes on, sweet, just right, pure life, sounds, no noise.

 

Above is the infinity of space, not a ceiling with its horrid yellow light. Wind moves the clouds, lovely random patters driven with power. They do not claim me. They are lovely to behold.

 

Curious wildlife regards me, cows stare, sheep swish and patter off. We all share life, none wants to claim the other.

 

I photograph in all this. Take only photographs, I sit light and autistically in this. I do not claim anything. I live in and with it.

 

Have a listen to “The Fool on the Hill” by the Beatles, that’s me. People have told me I am just a fool in many ways. When they say this they overload and hurt me. For a while I am blinded by the pain. I try to work it out, let it subside, like waiting for nettle rash to fade. Hmm, nettle rash, that’s like neurotypical social prickle. People say I am just a fool. Should they take time to listen they can get rather discomfited by what I know. I am the remote observer. In my quiet I see much, I analyse, I report, I don’t sugar coat this. Later in life my insight and analysis has become valued. I don’t play politics I’m autistic. People who are genuine and do not far the truth value my insight, those who play game