anxiety, aspergers, autism, changes, culture, depression, health, ideas, living abroad, philosophy, politics, psychology, travel

Big Boys Don’t Cry

Image result for crying man
Lebron James Crying

No More Gutterballs, Grandpa

When I was 9 or 10, my maternal grandma and his second wife came to visit us in Houston from Missouri. They took us bowling two days in a row. That was one of their favorite activities. We’d go to their local bowling alley whenever we’d to see them. There wasn’t much else in the Ozarks to keep us occupied. Often I’d get frustrated and cry because I wasn’t performing well. I was only a child who didn’t know better. All I wanted was to make strikes and spares. The frequent gutterballs took their toll on my pride. Grandpa would always scold me for my outbursts. Crying was forbidden under his watch. I remember the last time like yesterday. I was about to have a meltdown when I noticed Grandpa staring at me and shaking his finger.

Avenge Me, Boys

The point I’m making is we live in a society where it’s not acceptable for boys or men to express their emotions in any way, shape, or form. A prime example comes from the 1984 classic Red Dawn. That movie is about a backdoor Soviet invasion of the United States. A group of teenage rebels led by Patrick Swayze called The Wolverines after their school mascot fight back. Swayze and his younger brother played by Charlie Sheen encounter their POW father portrayed by Harry Dean Stanton opposite a chain-linked fence. They know he’s about to die. Stanton tells his sons he was tough on them for a reason and orders them not to cry. The character implies they’ve gone soft for exhibiting emotions. One of the last things he says before they leave is, “Boys, avenge me!” In other words, the only things they were allowed to feel were anger and rage. Remorse and sorrow were verboten. I’m not reviled by the disposition of Stanton or my granddad. I chalk it up as them being relics of their time from a different generation where men were expected to be Alpha males and toxic masculinity was unheard of.

Nice Guys Pay; Bad Boys Lay

Much of this sentiment surrounded me every day I was in military school and the Coast Guard. I’m not a big fan of third and fourth wave feminists. Some of their ideas I find a bit extreme, but I agree with them upon the fact that toxic masculinity must be addressed head on. It’s detrimental in the long run. This I surmise is why there’s more male sociopaths and hardened criminals than female ones. There’s too much of it in professional sports as well in my humble opinion. America has become a society where the dating culture has told us nice guys who show compassion are weak while bad boys who display aggression are strong, dominant, and what women want. Sensitivity and social awkwardness equal creepiness whereas cockiness and brash behavior equate to confidence the latter of which makes the ladies drool and cream. Too often I see this has seeped its way into the dating culture. Everywhere I look without fail, dating gurus male and female say nice guys finish last while bad boys win the girls. By the time the girls catch on and realize bad boys are harmful, it’s too late. We’re told they’ve hit the wall and are no longer marketable. I’ve grown so cynical; I don’t know what to believe anymore.

Suck it Up, Buttercup

The media makes it seem like we can control our emotions 24/7 like Vulcans. The human race hasn’t evolved to that point. It was no secret I was suffering from anxiety and depression in the military. I didn’t get sentimental, but it made me bitter and harbor loads of resentment. I stated in my last note why I hate everything about the East Coast of the United States and the military. Doing everything the exact opposite of how I was trained in the services like wearing the complimentary colors, starting off with the other foot, hanging and folding my clothes the other direction, growing facial hair, and living in other countries the GOP demonizes were my coping mechanism from the trauma. I’m not allowed to discuss my feelings because nobody wants to hear it. Everyone thinks you can snap out of depression which is anything but true. To forgive and forget is easier said than done. The first part I might be attainable, but I can’t envision myself ever doing the latter. Once trust is lost, it’s almost impossible to gain back.

Explore Your Sentiments

One stereotype about Asperger’s especially males is that we don’t feel empathy or exhibit emotions. This is one of the primary reasons we’re mistaken for sociopaths. We’re not allowed to show it because that’s what the media has told us. All I’m allowed to exude is anger or joy not fear, guilt, or sadness. Last year, I remember watching Interstellar on Netflix. It’s about a farmer turned astronaut played by Matthew McConaughey who travels into space to find a planet to terraform as Earth becomes uninhabitable. Anne Hathaway plays his co-pilot and one of three scientists. Before the mission, McConaughey achieves the insurmountable task of saying goodbye to his children. He mentions to his daughter they may be the same age when he returns. The viewer disregards this in the beginning, but then it starts to catch on. There’s a scene where McConaughey retrieves his daughter’s messages on the intercom. Later you see she’s grown up. His adult daughter, played by Jessica Chastain, gives him the rundown over what happened over the years. That scene broke me in two. I couldn’t help myself because it hit too close to home. It made me reflect on my own life.

Family is All in the End

One of my biggest regrets is not spending more time with my niece and nephew between the time I left Thailand and went home before my next assignment in Vietnam in spring 2016. I’d been gone and hadn’t seen my family in person for two years while watching Interstellar. The background music compounded the situation. Luckily, it was in the privacy of my own home. I would’ve been embarrassed had I let it out in public. I went into the bathroom and took a shower to cleanse myself afterwards. I could count on one hand the time number of times I conversed with my family via Skype and Facebook not including when we spent Christmas together online. My niece, who was in elementary school last time I’d seen her, was now the same age as my middle school students. It still bothered me the next day at work, and my coworkers asked if I was okay. I was going to travel to Australia with a friend during the summer of 2018, but I cancelled those plans. Not only was I low on funds, I feared I would never to get to see my family again. I can always venture to Australia or wherever later on, but only get to see the kids grow up once.

Beard Away the Sorrow, Hair’s a Tissue

I don’t know if anyone else notices, but you almost never see a man with a beard or facial hair get upset and break down on screen. It’s as if Hollywood and society have told us it’s even less forgivable if a bearded man exhibits emotion. They’ve placed a higher standard on him than his hairless counterpart. He’s supposed to be strong and dominant and show zero weakness. The only time he may get a free pass is if someone in his immediate family dies. I mentioned before I never grew a beard until after I moved abroad, but luckily I was clean-shaven when I watched Interstellar. If you think long and hard enough, when was the last time you ever saw a man cry with a beard? I’ll bet the readers can only count that on one hand if not one finger. This is why I feel it’s imperative that Hollywood activists address this issue and stop dispensing the message that it’s not okay for grown men or boys to express their emotions the same way women and girls do. Ridding society of the stigma towards mental health, therapy, and the need for antidepressants and anxiety pills would be nice, moreover. If Donald Trump isn’t an expert on politics or economics, I’d say it’s a safe bet neither is Tom Cruise on behalf of psychotherapy.

Advertisements
anxiety, aspergers, autism, changes, culture, democrats, depression, education, health, ideas, living abroad, philosophy, politics, psychology, republicans, travel

When Opposites Attract

things-people-say-they-dont-mean-754662862

Redder is Better than Ever

Not long ago, a women at the l corner store asked me in Spanish if I like the color red. The shorts, sneakers, and hooded sweatshirts I I was a donning were all red. There are myriad reasons I prefer it one of which I gave her. My Spanish isn’t that great so I used Google Translate on my smartphone. I could have told her I like red because it’s a conspicuous color that enhances one’s appeal towards the opposite sex, but I opted not to. I may have elucidated I’m tired of being ignored feeling invisible, and red is the most likely color to make people notice you. I didn’t do that, nor did I expound how it makes me feel bold and confident. The answer I gave is because I hate the military, and red is the exact opposite color of green which is what the Army uses. I elaborated how I like orange because it’s the antithesis of blue by which the Navy and Coast Guard are represented.

Their Promises are Lies

This became my modus operandi after being diagosed with PTSD and having my claim for such shot down by the VA in the spring of 2015. My representative whose name I won’t mention gave me false hope the same way the Coast Guard did. He’d blow smoke telling me my story was convincing and cajoled me into doing questionable things to make it work. What he asked me to do was extralegal for a lack of better words, but I don’t care to get into that. The point is my advocate was no better than the armed forces and the military academy I attended in that he did nothing more than overpromise. Those things for which I hoped caused me nothing but heartache. The VA I suspect denied the claim because my circumstance wasn’t combat-related. Their rationale is it must not be real if if you weren’t pounding sand in Iraq or Afghanistan and didn’t see anyone blown to smithereens.

No Brotherly Love from Philadelphia

My dad sent me to Valley Forge Military Academy outside Philadelphia when I was 15. This was long before I was diagnosed with Asperger’s. My mother I was unable to live with at the time for personal reasons. My father was in denial there was anything amiss about his son. He’ll never admit he made a mistake placing me in the public school system in Long Island where there was relentless bullying. We checked out a school in Vermont for troubled kids during our quest. That’s where my father should have sent met, but he decided in his that wasn’t the right place for me. Valley Forge likes to champion itself as a prestigious institute. I’m sure my dad would say the same. Apparently, I was supposed to be impressed because the movie Taps was filmed there, and Norman Schwartzkopf was an alumnus. Knowing my dad, I surmise the real reason he sent me there was because he didn’t want to deal with me anymore. We would often remind me of the tuition because that made it easier on his conscience.

Oh No! Not Again, Please!

My tactical officers and the other personnel would browbeat me each day. Yes, I know what some readers are already thinking. Welcome to the military! Stop typing and listen! Some get it worse than others. No matter how hard I tried fitting in, nothing I did or said was good enough. Nobody spelled it out, but the adults in a roundabout way told me I was a slacker who could never do anything right. There was blatant favoritism everywhere I looked. The powers that be and my own father would look the other way when I was bullied by my peers as if I deserved it. They liked to blame the victim to alleviate any culpability. Their whole objective was to pound a square peg into a round hole. I asked to withdraw the first spring I was there, but my father refused. Not only that, but he registered me for a second year to dump his responsibilities on someone else. I wanted to be expelled, but I had nowhere to turn. At least that’s what I thought. I even pondered asking to be barred from re-enrollment, but the school counselor suggested that might look bad on my transcript. Eventually, my dad got the message and didn’t sign me up a third year. I even got to move back to Houston to live with my mom.

Nobody is Perfect

Many former cadets like going back there for alumni weekend the first Saturday of May but not me. It took me awhile to get over my bad experiences. I smoked my first joint with my brother’s friend after my return to Texas. None of my former classmates know I burned my yearbooks three years later while I dropped some acid. One of my clearest memories of Valley Forge was when one of the class advisers asked me what medication I was taking. Because I was supposed to respect the officer, I divulged that information though it was none of his business. He asked why I was there in the first place. Many times I’ve rehashed that conversation regarding what I would tell him now. My response would be, “Because my father wants what everyone else in this room does – a perfect child who never makes mistakes or asks questions and always obeys. He wants another cog in a wheel.”

Uncle Sam’s Confused Group

That sums up the military down to a T if you ask me. One of my biggest regrets ever was signing up for the United States Coast Guard. I was more or less forced to join when my mother threatened to cut me off otherwise. Her boss’s son was in the Coast Guard then. Therefore, my mom became an expert in the armed forces and deemed that wise. I was flunking out of college, so I understand her rationale. The part most disconcerting was when she instructed me to lie about having Asperger’s to the recruiter. She would justify it saying there were probably other people with undiagnosed Asperger’s in the military as this had reached the mainstream just three years prior. Both my parents knew an awful lot about military life for people who never served. My dad weaseled his way out of the Air Force during the Vietnam War. My mother, whose father was in the Army during World War II, thought it’d be good for me while she moved to Boston to start over. No matter how much I loathed my it and told her that, Mom’s response was “Just suck it up and deal with it.” Then she’d turn around and toot her trumpet to the whole neighborhood how fabulous she was because her son was serving his country after 9/11.

Not this Way, That Way

I don’t know if Mom regrets talking me into it, and I don’t care. She likes to remind me that I signed the papers. The Coast Guard and others would do the same thing. The military always finds a way to justify the means while railroading people. It wouldn’t do me any good to explain it to a veteran or a lifer. All they’ll do is guilt shame me stating there are troops coming home in coffins missing limbs or compare me to medal of honor recipients. Now I’m a disgrace to my country because I couldn’t hack it. Originally, I wanted to join the Marine Corps, but one of my professors talked me out of that. He made the right call. Mom tried to convince me the Air Force was a bad idea because I had Asperger’s, yet somehow the Coast Guard was better. The real reason I did the latter was because I knew America was going to war the moment George W. Bush stole the 2000 election. I was convinced even before 9/11. I saw that coming a mile away. I know the Bush family and the Republican Party not personally but I’m quite familiar with their politics. Most people think the Coast Guard has the easiest job because it’s the least offensive branch of the military. Little do the know, it’s also is the most active and has the highest suicide rate. They trained us for things that will happen not ones that might unlike the others.

Bon Voyage, Northland!

The eleven months I spent on the USCGC Northland were the longest of my entire life. Every waking moment, I was bullied and ostracized by my peers. My superiors gave me the most work and used me as the go-to guy while others got away with murder. They’d tell everyone I was stupid, that I was gay, that I was incompetent, and the whole shebang. Nothing I did or said would ever make them accept me or dissolve that black cloud over my head. The Coast Guard would do the same thing Valley Forge would which is gaslighting. Not only would they try to make me question my own sanity thinking I was going crazy. They tried to assure me there was nowhere else to go. A lot of abusive partners do this in marriages. I saw Gene Simmons do that to Shannon Tweed. He tried persuading her there was no other way but his, and her life would fall to pieces if she left him. If I couldn’t make it in the Coast Guard or Valley Forge, I would be a failure the rest of my life.

All Hat and No Cattle

The military likes to showcase itself as the only option the same way each organized religion claims to be the only path into heaven. It’s a form of mind control to subjugate people. Eventually, I faked my way out of the Coast Guard when they pulled the rug out from me the last time. My mother assisted me in that process. I don’t know if she did that to make amends for making me lie to get in three years prior, but she told me she was impressed in that I lasted longer than she thought I would. They thought they could break my will and force me out in under a year, but it took them three. That’s why I say everyone who’s bet against me in my life has lost (including the Coast Guard.) My second year at Valley Forge, my tactical officer whom I’ll call Colonel Briggs tried to promise me I wouldn’t last until the rest of the year. If only he hadn’t left in January, I would have loved to have rubbed it in his face that I lasted that long.

Dynasty is Falling

Because of my past circumstances, I despise every sports team from the East Coast and the South as that’s where the majority of my provocateurs and their favorite clubs were from. I loathe every franchise from Boston in particular because many were from that area. Watching the New England Patriots win a Super Bowl would only set me off. That’s why I love reminding Pats fans of that season they went undefeated and lost the New York Giants in the Super Bowl. That’s the only time I recall cheering for the latter. Sometimes I’d remind them of Spygate just to heckle them further. I live for the day Tom Brady retires and the Patriots’ dynasty falls. I enjoyed every waking moment when my Houston Astros eliminated the Boston Red Sox from the 2017 MLB playoffs before winning their first World Series title ever. Seeing the ‘Stros knock out the Yankees from the ALCS was even more fun.

Anywhere But There

After living in Long Island where I was an outcast and serving in the military, the only good memory I have of New York is the thin-crust pizza. That accent makes my skin crawl every time I hear it because my mind subconsciously associates it with vitriol and hostility. The same is true about Boston, Philadelphia, and the rest of those locales. The only time I cheered for the Red Sox was in 2013 after the Boston Marathon Bombing. I showed what little empathy I had left for that place because innocent people were killed. My experiences in military school and the Coast Guard turned me off from living anywhere on the entire eastern seaboard or the South again permanently. I can promise you this much. I’ll never live anywhere east of the Mississippi River should I ever return to the United States. That’s a big if whether or not I come back, and that won’t be until long after Trumpelstiltskin leaves the White House. They didn’t push me forward, but they damn sure drove me away. I’m surprised Valley Forge never had a class action civil lawsuit filed against them from the hazing. When I reconnected with some of old classmates a few years ago, they seemed so appalled hearing that from me like they didn’t see it coming.

Good Morning, Vietnam! Good Night, Saigon!

Without further ado, I’ve never stepped foot near another boat or ship since my departure from the Coast Guard in 2004. The only military base I’ve gone near was Camp Mabry in Austin where I did a one-day temp job. That last part is inevitable as it’s adjacent to a major freeway. Were it not for its proximity to Mopac, I wouldn’t be sharing that. Since the VA, Coast Guard, and Valley Forge made it clear I was just a number to them, army green and navy blue are just colors to me. If only those folks knew I didn’t become a failure or bum like they told me I’d be. The past four years I’ve been living abroad killing it as an ESL teacher. Two of them I spent in Vietnam, the one country Bone Spurs, Ted Nugent, Mitt Romney, and those other draft-dodging cowards were too chicken shit to go near. I wonder how some of my former commanding officers would respond if they knew I visited the War Remnants Museum and the Imperial Palace in Ho Chi Minh City and took pictures.

Remember, Remember in November

In every election mid-term and general since 2004, I’ve voted straight-ticket Democrat. That’s not just out of spite towards the military. My politics have always leaned towards the left. I’m not a one-issue voter to set the record straight. That the vast majority of military personnel are Republicans is happenstance. It’s too bad half of them don’t realize the GOP is using them as cannon fodder to make the fat boys fatter. I refuse to be anyone’s puppet. Living in Southern Mexico makes it more titillating knowing I’m on the other side of Trump’s proposed law. I hope and pray whoever wins the Democratic ticket in 2020 wallops Covfefe in the next election, slashes the defense budget in half, and pours it into education, healthcare, infrastructure, housing, green energy, and scientific research.

My True Colors Shining Through

Now the readers know why I like red and orange. They’re the exact opposite of army green and navy blue. Red is the color of communism while orange represents Agent Orange from the Vietnam War. Red is the color of love which heals all wounds. I start with my right foot in lieu of my left foot whenever I walk. That’s contrary to how they made us march in boot camp and military school. I hang my clothes facing to the right whenever instead of the left like they made us do in boot camp. I even do it in the opposite order. I still tie my shoes together, but I place them in my wardrobe with the toes facing in and the heels facing out rather than the other way around.

Less Than A Hairy Situation

I would have loved to grow my hair long, but I’m going bald. I shave my head because I don’t have the money yet to get a hair transplant. One day I’ll have it done in Turkey, a predominately Muslim country. Islamophobia was rampant in the military like toxic masculinity the latter of which being the genesis of my affinity towards purple. Because I’m certain many of them consider purple feminine is all the reason more for me to wear it. My thinning hair didn’t stop me from growing a beard I incorporated into my repertoire after moving abroad. I know facial hair is verboten in the military. That, my thinning hair, and the fact that it makes me look more Islamic are the catalysts behind that. To put it bluntly, I do as many things as I can the exact opposite of how the military wants. Life is too short to hold grudges, but that doesn’t stop me from doing what I want at the expense of my former oppressors.

anxiety, aspergers, autism, changes, culture, democrats, depression, education, health, ideas, philosophy, politics, psychology, republicans, travel, voting

You Pray, You Pay

white concrete building
Photo by Thiago Matos on Pexels.com

Spiritual Imbalance and Global Chaos

Most intellectuals concur there’s no place in politics for organized religion. Sadly, we face this dilemma everywhere in the United States with the church overstepping its boundaries. America isn’t the only country guilty, yet we receive the most flack out of all western nations. That’s one of the perks of being the global superpower. What amuses me is how right-wing evangelicals pontificate how they don’t want sharia law in America, yet they’ve been trying to induce it the entire time. Banning abortions and gay marriage, censoring the media, and imposing the death penalty qualify under that curtain. Just because it’s not Muslims trying to implement this doesn’t mean the same rules don’t apply. This is one of the primary reasons I no longer live in the United States. Organized religion is poison. There’s no two ways about it. The only thing thing responsible for more wars and deaths in history to my knowledge are communism and the bubonic plague.

Theocracy is Hypocrisy

Religion I suspect was introduced to control people during a time when there was no government or law enforcement. Nobody knew jack about science. This was the most plausible method they had to rationalize every day phenomena. It never occurred to them the universe is comprised of random coincidences and such. That explains why in medieval Europe they’d scare people trying to commit suicide with eternal damnation. They can’t control and persecute people if they’re dead. George Carlin made the most astute comments about religion out of any celebrity I’ve known. He noted each contradiction in every Abrahamic holy book and explained there were too many inconsistencies. I will never forget how Carlin elucidated religion makes billions of dollars annually, and it’s all tax exempt. I find it ironic how Joel Osteen lives in a million-dollar mansion but couldn’t be bothered to let people take refuge in his church when Hurricane Harvey hit.

A Non-Prophet Organization

I was pleased to read Italy began taxing churches to pay off its debt after the 2008 recession. The child molestation scandals with the Vatican and economic crises I surmise prompted Italy to drop the hammer. This enticed me to comprise a new method regarding the church. I think they should pass a law in all 196 countries requiring churches to charge goers a fee to attend their services. Before anyone laughs at my idea, ask yourselves this. Would you rather the state govern and regulate religion or do you prefer it the other way around? It’s an honest question. Most religious zealots don’t mind theocracies as long as it’s not their own spirituality challenged or questioned. I figure the government can not only implement property taxes from the churches, mosques, temples, and such. They can gain revenue from the ticket sales as well as income tax from the clergy members themselves.

Freedom Isn’t Free

Many people go to church as a means of cheap therapy. We still live in a society where it’s more frowned upon to seek professional help than attend church or do drugs. I’ve lost count of every imbecile who told me finding salvation in the church would make my woes disappear. When I was in the Coast Guard suffering from depression and separation anxiety, I was referred to a chaplain in lieu of a psychiatrist or a social worker. My company commanders thought that wise and so did I out of fear that everyone would start gaslighting me and second guess my abilities. That said, I never disclosed I have Asperger’s to any of the clergy. Not only was I certain none heard of it; I didn’t think there was anything they could do but give false hope. I didn’t trust them because I didn’t think they recognized doctor/patient confidentiality.

Benito Juarez Reloaded

Two months ago, I took a tour of Chichen Itza. I visited Izamal, the Yellow City, along the way. I learned during that trek Mexico was once governed by the Catholic church. That changed when Benito Juarez came into power. He was the first President of Mexico to recognize separation of church and state. This is all the reason more I think they should start monetizing religion the same way they do movies. Half the role of an ecclesiastic is to entertain and keep everyone engaged. Religion plays a key part in molding our values like the media. If Hollywood rakes in beaucoup bucks to give people reassurance, the same should be done with religion. We can handle Sunday afternoon services the same way the cinema does weekend matinees in that the churches can give discounts. The services can still operate 24/7 like every other business in my book. I’ll bet if the powers that implemented this system, that would cripple organized religion in a heartbeat. This is my solution towards regulating religion. Imagine how quickly that would pay off the national debt and allow Washington and states to balance the federal budget.

 

anxiety, aspergers, autism, changes, culture, depression, education, health, ideas, philosophy, psychology

Autism vs. Narcissism

tumblr_plhe6fZPCr1qznqx7o1_1280

Certain Misconceptions

There’s a common stereotype about folks on the spectrum in that we lack empathy. This I suspect is why the general public mistakes us for narcissists, sociopaths, and psychopaths. The difference between us and them I’ve explained is auties and Aspies are egocentric whereas the latter three are egotistical. I’ve elaborated not all narcissists are sociopaths or psychopaths but all psychopaths and sociopaths are narcissists. Folks with autistic spectrum disorder want to relate to others but don’t always know how. Those with narcissistic personality disorder are cognizant of their actions, but they don’t care. How do I know? My father and two oldest siblings have NPD. I’m the polar opposite from them. Both of my sister’s grand prizes of husbands as well as my oldest brother’s long-term girlfriend and now wife also have NPD. Narcissists tend to attract one another. My stepmother is self-important like Dad but not as bad. To protect their privacy and because I’m too embarrassed to mention certain names, I’ll only refer to them by their connections towards your truly.

A State of Denial

I have another brother who’s somewhat deficient in empathy but he means well. He and I were raised by our mother. People think those with ASD are hoggish because we sometimes require accommodations. Dad, Sister, and Brother One believed I was a spoiled brat who needed extra discipline. All three were in denial that I had anything wrong. To this day, I’m convinced neither three will ever accept it. That’s one of many reasons we’re not on speaking terms and why I have limited contact with them. They’re absolute flakes and wholly unreliable. They think the whole world revolves around them. They never plan ahead and always expect everyone to drop what they’re doing to cater to them. That’s not the same as requesting certain consideration. They’re also great bullshitters. They’re never around when you need them. The only time either of them come around is whenever they want something. They manipulate people and put on their superficial charm pretending to be everybody’s best friend.

A Sister From Another Mother

All of these are why Mom, Brother Two, and his wife are the only ones in my family with whom I I have any relationship. People often ask me what they do for a living. My father is semi-retired, but he works part-time for Brother One who owns a landscaping company. Sister is what I call a snake oil salesperson. She preaches about positive energy and sprinkles her pixie dust on other people’s personal problems. She’s of those pseudo-life skill coaches who promises if you do this and do that, then the whole universe will open up. If you just drop $200 down, she’ll give you all the answers you need and the same platitudes you’ve heard all along. If only her clientele knew how Sister treated her family, they’d see her true colors. I confronted her about it and told her Sister-in-Law (Brother Two’s wife) was more of a sister to me than she’ll ever be. Sister-in-Law at least trustworthy and dependable.

Tales of the In-Laws

Sister has a long track record or picking out losers thinking she can fix them. Her late husband was a real piece of work. Brother-in-Law must have sniffed a lot of paint fumes when he was a kid. He was a blowhard. None of my family or friends liked him. He’d always talk smack about us. The guy had the nerve to call me a closet pedophile. Brother-in-Law was one of those right-wing nutjobs who listened too much to Infowars and thought everything was a conspiracy. He’d put on his chest puff routine and act like could walk on water, eat bullets, and shit ice cream, but he was a coward deep down. Brother-in-Law had never been outside the state of Texas that I recall except to Vegas to attend Brother Two and Sister-in-Law’s wedding. He was too afraid to board an airplane because he worried about germs. The guy tried to convince me he was an Alpha male and that I was a cupcake. One way I saw through him was when my mother needed a bag of concrete lifted. Brother-in-Law whined that his back was sore. I worked at Lowe’s then, and knew the proper procedures. Thus. I obliged and lifted instead no problem. Then I called him out and asked him, “Where’s your brass balls now, tough guy?” Sadly, he passed away four years ago. What’s more, my nephew, their son, has his late father’s smart mouth. I tolerated Brother-in-Law, but I never cared for him. Her current boyfriend sounds like a real tool, but that’s another story. I’ve never met the guy, yet I know the kind of men to whom she’s drawn.

Gaslighting and Denial

Sister is the same-centered person she was when Brother-in-Law as alive. Granted, she got worse since they got involved, but she’s eight years my senior. She knows better, but she refuses to change. She wasn’t much better when she was involved with her first hubby, a two-bit musician. Sister hasn’t improved since Brother-in-Law met his demise. Dad, Brother One, and Sister never take responsibility for any of their actions. Everything wrong is always someone else’s fault. I know gaslighting is every narcissist’s favorite tool because that’s part of their compendium. Too often, they never gave me credit for anything original. Anytime I said something with merit, they would accuse me of reverberating someone else’s words. They had a penchant towards making me second guess myself and question my own judgment. Neither three have never been diagnosed with NPD, but they share certain traits. They won’t get therapy because they think there’s nothing amiss about them, and they’re without shame. I’m certain Brother One is a full-blown narcissist. He’s the worst of the three.

Cheap Gifts and Bogus Apologies

Skeptics often doubt I have Asperger’s because I have some people skills and bullshit detectors. Little do they know, I acquired these traits growing up with three narcissists. I’ve been battle-tested many times, and I caught onto their ploys. Recently, I celebrated my 40th birthday. Dad came to my party and gave me four brownies as my gift. That’s how cheap he is. Dad lives in an $800K house, but he couldn’t afford to get me a present. I wasn’t upset because I knew that was typical. I adopted the same mindset with him after living in Vietnam. If I ever expected anything to happen, I had to assume the outcome would be absolute garbage. I anticipated he’d put on his Father-of-the-Year act and smile at me through his teeth though I could count the number of times I’d seen him the past few years on one hand. Brother One thought it was my 39th birthday, or at least that’s what he claims. He and Sister were too busy to be bothered and came up with lame excuses not to come. Then they said we could meet up another time, but I told them don’t bother. If it’s too much for them to remember their youngest sibling’s 40th birthday, they’re not worth the time of day.

There You Have It

One of the key contrasts between someone with ASD and those with NPD is that we’re brutally honest while they’re pathological liars. Every time I tried to discuss an issue with them, they’d dance around it and claim plausible deniability. Dad had a penchant towards answering questions with other queries. Narcissists polish themselves as something bigger than they are. Brother One enamors himself with accolades that he has the best landscaping business in Austin. I’ve seen his work, and it’s mediocre at best. There’s nothing earth-shattering about it. Dad and Stepmom think they’re more sophisticated than everyone else because they lived in New York for 17 years. Stepmom was an assistant editor for the gardening section of Newsday, but she acts like she’s some Pulitzer Prize winning journalists. She thinks she’s intellectually superior towards everyone else because she has a Master’s Degree and the ability to recite every other ten-dollar word in the Oxford Dictionary. My uncle who’s known her since he was in middle school mentioned this. I gave up on all of them and have minimal contact because I knew that was the only way I could maintain my sanity. Blood may be thicker than water, but it can still be toxic. To put it bluntly, that’s how I know the difference between someone with ASD and a narcissist.

 

anxiety, aspergers, autism, changes, culture, depression, education, health, ideas, living abroad, philosophy, psychology, travel

Asperger’s: A Cinderella Story

adult beautiful girl colorful dress
Photo by Spencer Selover on Pexels.com

When Do We Have Our Voice?

Everywhere I look, people have uncertainties about autism. They want to know what it’s like having Asperger’s. I’m convinced most are uneducated or by default deem someone on the spectrum retarded or mentally incompetent. Those that are educated know we’re just as capable of living successful lives like neurotypicals. The problem is we face discrimination like women, homosexuals, and minorities. We don’t have an advocacy group like third wave feminists, the NAACP, and GLAD. Nobody comes to create a media uproar when one of us gets in a pickle. I keep wondering when the day will come when Bono, Sean Penn, or some other celebrity with a savior complex will come sprinkle his/her fairy dust all over our cause, pull the thesaurus and label it with a new ten-dollar word, and hashtag it all over social media. I’ve lost count of the jobs I’ve been fired from for not fitting in or from those who’ve second-guessed my abilities the moment the cat was out of the bag. Sadly, we live in a society where the man with the most charisma and money is valued over he who has the most integrity or intelligence. Even in Western cultures, the latter two are underappreciated, undervalued, and cast to the wayside. America, like many Asian cultures, encourages assimilation over individuality.

Occupational Hazards

I’ve stated that the media has pigeonholed us as socially handicapped, criminal sociopaths, or a liability of some kind. Once I ran into trouble at work when an African-American co-worker compared me to Rain Man, mental patients, math geniuses, and computer wizards. He didn’t appreciate my retort when I correlated him with deadbeat dads, petty criminals, gang members, drug addicts, rappers, and professional athletes. I was making a point. That cost me my job, but that was no big loss at the end of the day. It was another run-of-the-mill position that paid menial wages and one for which I was overeducated. This occurred a year after I was let go from a security gig for which I was getting high accolades and non-stop praise from my supervisor yet terminated the moment it was revealed I had Asperger’s. My employer there had the nerve to ask me for documented proof. That was none of his business. Their excuse for sacking me was that I was backing up the golf cart while the national anthem was playing, but I knew that was hogwash. The dilemma I faced was Texas is a right-to-work state. They were covering their tails. What employer would ever admit to discrimination?

Maybe, Maybe Not

I’ve come to the point now that I don’t tell anyone if I can. It’s a damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don’t deal. One of the main reasons I no longer live in Asia is because of how they perceive mental health. Those cultures don’t acknowledge it. They act like it doesn’t exist or it’s some kind of impediment. I remember applying for teaching jobs in Taiwan and South Korea for which I was insanely qualified. They started prying into my medical history. I knew I was a suitable candidate, and I didn’t appreciate the way they tried gaslighting me. The last one I told him where to stick it. The reason I enjoy working online now is because I can live wherever I want and not have to deal with any office politics. I don’t have to worry about anyone undermining my credentials, office politics, or any workplace bullies trying to sabotage my livelihood because they feel threatened or intimidated by me or want someone to knock down to feel better about themselves. I’ve had that happen to me as well.

Fun With Cynics

The point I’m getting at is I’ve spent my entire life being the underdog. Everyone had their doubts that I could succeed at anything. My own father and two oldest siblings thought I was a man-child with no ambition. They thought my mother was enabling me and holding me down when I lived with her. My other brother was just as guilty but not to the same extent. My sister, my peach of a brother-in-law, and now former Facebook friends would scoff at me moving abroad becoming successful. They were all convinced I would crash and burn just like I did every other job and with AmeriCorps in Chicago. They considered the idea a joke. Once again, I proved them all wrong. I’ll bet none of them are laughing now. In the spring of 2016 before I came back from Thailand, I was ready to rub my sister and her hubby’s noses in it and show them how it feels. Sadly, her beau passed away a week before my return, and then wasn’t the time to exchange blows.

Against All Odds

Unbeknownst to my skeptics, everybody who has bet against me in my life has lost including the United States Coast Guard. They were convinced they could break my will and squeeze me out in under a year. It took over three before I was discharged for unsuitability. By then, I was ready to go after I had the rug pulled out from under me one last time. My mother even said she was impressed because I lasted much longer than she thought I would. Everyone who knows me knows not to underestimate or second guess me because that’s when I become more dangerous. They don’t realize characters like Daredevil and Heisenberg inspired me. They went from being an inexperienced lawyer and underachieving high school teacher to an unstoppable crime fighter and ruthless methamphetamine kingpin. They looked harmless, but they were heavy hitters. To put it bluntly, my entire adult life has been one big Cinderella story, and I’ve overcome many odds. I don’t break barriers; I crush and destroy them. I’ve climbed an entire mountain range to get where I am, and I know how to get back up whenever I fall. So what is it like having Asperger’s? Always having to debunk naysayers and disprove every other stereotype is the most plausible answer I can give the reader.