Twitch
Destroyer of worlds. Well, my own anyway.
Hey all. I’m Jay, 53, living in Florida. I’ve been diagnosed with a fun variety of things over the years. “Borderline personality disorder” (though I maintain I left the border in the dust years back), PTSD from years of physical and sexual abuse as a child (fun times). Some doctor once decided I was “bipolar” which made NO sense—I’m the most mono-polar person I’ve ever met. I think I’d rather enjoy nice manic episode once in a while…
I tried to off myself a couple of times as a young lad, been sent up to the flight deck on a handful of occasions—though (suicide attempts aside) rarely more than a week or two at a stretch; I know the game and can talk my way off a locked ward with some efficiency.
I am riddled with strange tics and have been my whole life. I pull my shirt out and blow on my chest. I tap the side of my neck with two fingers. If I’m sitting either my leg is bouncing or I’m slowly swaying back and forth but that’s only for private time—of which I require a LOT. Out in the world it’s the bouncing knee: only way to avoid the rocking and I NEVER do that in public. I never do a lot of things in public come to ponder it. The worst though—worse than the grunting, the tuneless humming, and the weird laughing fits—is the pacing…,
I can’t stop pacing. I only take jobs (which I rarely hold any length of time) where I move around a lot or am out of view for extended periods. I pace ALL the time. I’ve stopped writing this twice already to wander back and forth across my room talking to myself. When I was a kid it was down-right psychotic. I wore a hole through my rug. The paint was stripped off the walls on either side of the room. The palms of my hands were massive calluses because as I’d go, I’d start moving faster. And faster. I once gave myself a concussion.
By my mid thirties, I started to suspect I was autistic. While classified, studied, prodded, and pressed at length by the educational system as a youth (I was thrown out of three schools and only graduated for spite) the idea of autism never came up because back in the 70’s and 80’s it wasn’t autism if you weren’t completely withdrawn and mentally retarded.
I’m trying to get the process being diagnosed rolling but I’ll need the VA to pay for it and that means a murderously slow crawl up very a steep hill. I am NOT good at being patient, especially when I’m obsessing about something. I’ve sabotaged things I dearly wanted—and could have had—just because waiting and not being sure was so unbelievably painful, better to end all possibility and thus doubt.
I NEED to know. I mean, I’m pretty sure I already do. But I need to KNOW know—if that makes any kind of sense. Of course I thought I was an alien when I was six so maybe my judgment should be taken with a salt mine or two.
I’ve never understood people on any level. Social conventions are equal parts bizarre and nauseating to me. There are sounds that set my flesh crawling for no apparent reason. I’ve had relationships and friendships, very close ones, but I ALWAYS alienate people in due course. I can’t hold a job. I have practically zero useful life skills.
Oh, and my thing with eyes. I could never stand looking most people in the eye though I got good at being sly about it. I’d look for a second or two when it seemed appropriate but look away to nod at a point, or shrug, or I’d pick something up and play with it, or doodle on a pad. I’d use a lot of generic, broad hand-gestures (I grew up around Italians) to distract from my face. Sometimes, when it felt especially painful, I’d actually look at people’s foreheads, focusing directly above and between their eyes which, combined with situating myself at the maximum acceptable distance for a given setting and, whenever possible, being at an odd angle to them… Damn I’m a mutant.
I feel like a lair every time I speak to another human being even if I utter not a word but empirical truth. I’ve felt like a fraud and a freak my entire life. I’ve hidden myself from virtually everyone I’ve ever known for fear of “exposure” but, fact is, I’m just too damn tired to keep it up anymore. And bitter, frankly. I’ve become so angry I’m making myself sick from it.
I am, in short, a train-wreck of a human being. I am lost and broken. I am human wreckage. I feel like I’m being carried down a river, half frozen, waiting to drown or be torn apart by rocks and all I really want is for it to just happen already.
So anyway, self-pitying tantrum over; how you folks doin’?
I tried to off myself a couple of times as a young lad, been sent up to the flight deck on a handful of occasions—though (suicide attempts aside) rarely more than a week or two at a stretch; I know the game and can talk my way off a locked ward with some efficiency.
I am riddled with strange tics and have been my whole life. I pull my shirt out and blow on my chest. I tap the side of my neck with two fingers. If I’m sitting either my leg is bouncing or I’m slowly swaying back and forth but that’s only for private time—of which I require a LOT. Out in the world it’s the bouncing knee: only way to avoid the rocking and I NEVER do that in public. I never do a lot of things in public come to ponder it. The worst though—worse than the grunting, the tuneless humming, and the weird laughing fits—is the pacing…,
I can’t stop pacing. I only take jobs (which I rarely hold any length of time) where I move around a lot or am out of view for extended periods. I pace ALL the time. I’ve stopped writing this twice already to wander back and forth across my room talking to myself. When I was a kid it was down-right psychotic. I wore a hole through my rug. The paint was stripped off the walls on either side of the room. The palms of my hands were massive calluses because as I’d go, I’d start moving faster. And faster. I once gave myself a concussion.
By my mid thirties, I started to suspect I was autistic. While classified, studied, prodded, and pressed at length by the educational system as a youth (I was thrown out of three schools and only graduated for spite) the idea of autism never came up because back in the 70’s and 80’s it wasn’t autism if you weren’t completely withdrawn and mentally retarded.
I’m trying to get the process being diagnosed rolling but I’ll need the VA to pay for it and that means a murderously slow crawl up very a steep hill. I am NOT good at being patient, especially when I’m obsessing about something. I’ve sabotaged things I dearly wanted—and could have had—just because waiting and not being sure was so unbelievably painful, better to end all possibility and thus doubt.
I NEED to know. I mean, I’m pretty sure I already do. But I need to KNOW know—if that makes any kind of sense. Of course I thought I was an alien when I was six so maybe my judgment should be taken with a salt mine or two.
I’ve never understood people on any level. Social conventions are equal parts bizarre and nauseating to me. There are sounds that set my flesh crawling for no apparent reason. I’ve had relationships and friendships, very close ones, but I ALWAYS alienate people in due course. I can’t hold a job. I have practically zero useful life skills.
Oh, and my thing with eyes. I could never stand looking most people in the eye though I got good at being sly about it. I’d look for a second or two when it seemed appropriate but look away to nod at a point, or shrug, or I’d pick something up and play with it, or doodle on a pad. I’d use a lot of generic, broad hand-gestures (I grew up around Italians) to distract from my face. Sometimes, when it felt especially painful, I’d actually look at people’s foreheads, focusing directly above and between their eyes which, combined with situating myself at the maximum acceptable distance for a given setting and, whenever possible, being at an odd angle to them… Damn I’m a mutant.
I feel like a lair every time I speak to another human being even if I utter not a word but empirical truth. I’ve felt like a fraud and a freak my entire life. I’ve hidden myself from virtually everyone I’ve ever known for fear of “exposure” but, fact is, I’m just too damn tired to keep it up anymore. And bitter, frankly. I’ve become so angry I’m making myself sick from it.
I am, in short, a train-wreck of a human being. I am lost and broken. I am human wreckage. I feel like I’m being carried down a river, half frozen, waiting to drown or be torn apart by rocks and all I really want is for it to just happen already.
So anyway, self-pitying tantrum over; how you folks doin’?
An alien observer like many of us perhaps, but not a mutant. JK
