Transitions and the Chasm

I recently described NLD as "in the chasm between Autistic and not." I think it's an apt way of putting it –we're not full-on Austists, but nor are we neurotypicals. It occurs to me that much of my life has been lived on the borderlands, in the twilight, braced on the liminal line, too much of one but not enough of the other. In folklore, liminality is a powerful state. It also figures in rites of passage, but those must end. Will I follow the pattern of separation, liminality, reintegration? Or will always be a shadow-being, the threshold keeper? The answer is, only time.

Lately, I've been realizing how much I have in common with Dee. We have similar senses of humor, taste in books and films, idiosyncratic dress styles, are highly creative people, and like roleplaying games. The last thing she actually introduced me to – I had never played before college. ^^; It makes me feel a little weird, since she's Emmy's ex, but also makes me laugh, because when I met her I went "That girl is amazing! I wanna be as cool as her!" And, hey, I kind of am.

My siblings and I are doing a great room switcheroo. I have lived with Janet for the last few years, before which Janet lived with Scott, and Parker had his own room. Now, Parker has essentially moved out, I have Parker's old room, Janet has Scott's old room, and Scott has our old room so that Parker can store his stuff and sleep there when he's home. Oy! Parker's room – now my room – is a refurbished crawl space. The ceiling is peaked, and it's accessed by a trapdoor. Yes, trapdoor! I'm now fairly cut off from the rest of the house, which I like. I can basically keep my own schedule because it's too much trouble for the parents to come check on me, and I can play Beethoven symphonies late at night. The only problem is that it's much smaller than the room I shared with Janet, and all my stuff doesn't fit. I have shelves around all the walls, and stacks of books on the floor, but I'll still have to give some away. I let Janet keep a lot of the YA novels that I was given which she still likes. Still, I'm loath to give up any books...

In this NPR article, the author writes about going to see Ponyo with his ASD daughter, and the similarities between them. It's very sweet, and the author obviously views his daughter's PDD-NOS as part of who she is, not something superimposed on her "real" self. That and the overwhelmingly positive comments are heartening. :) I keep meaning to go to Ponyo, maybe with Janet (I hate going to the cinema alone). Miyazaki movies are always amazing, and they have a special place in my heart – My Neighbor Totoro was the first film I saw, in the theater, no less. At age four, I got bored about half way through and demanded my father come out of the theater and read to me, right now! :D

The line about prolonged, enthusiastic hugs hit me with a pang, though, reminding me again how I'm not back at college. Part of me is glad for this – no crowds, no organization hassles, no new room, no overstim, no dining hall, no friends who drink, no interpersonal worries. But then, no girlfriend, no firm, warm, encompassing hugs from Jaye, none of Arax's concern, her crazy-sugary cookies, her late-night tea. No community that accepted shut-off, strange, shy me as one of their own unquestioningly. And that's what I do miss, a lot.

What makes things so much better: I got a card from Jaye today. It was of a wind-twisted tree on a promentary. He said that it reminded him of me – "in the rocks, without water, this tree made it," – and on the inside, he thanked me for supporting him through the year and the summer. It meant so much to me not only because I like and care for him and it meant he was thinking about me, but because when I try to comfort someone, I never know what to say except to give them advice, and assure them that I love them and they will get through. And apparently this is enough.