family impact on family

I’m going through and rescuing some old drafts that got lost in the draft box, so hopefully for the next couple weeks I’ll be posting more frequently. Some of the details might be a bit out of date and sometimes the topics are a little bit silly.


So in my earlier-autism-maybe-read-everything-watch-everything-even-slightly-mentioning-it but before my allowed-to-consider-the-possibility-to-myself days, I started watching Parenthood. Also, admittedly, mostly I think I started it because of that thing where when you finish all the episodes of one show on Hulu, it throws you onto another one.

But then it got older and I stopped liking it as much

(mostly because things got sad and stressful
and then so did life
and so I started wanting my tv not to be sad. But to have it be happy thinking.)

And then I’ve rewatched some since.

And what bothers me about it is my oldest-sister-thinking. My oldest-sister, always-responsible thinking. Because I love routines and I love rules, but I also know that the overriding rule has always been, it has to be done. People have to be safe. If my sisters don’t do it, then I have to do it, even if it isn’t fair. (For things that have to be done.)

Because I watch scenes where there are
“THIS ISN’T MY JOB”
and know that I never could have done that because it was my job. It was my job to help. It was always my job to help.

My sisters have screamed that (and I sure I have too, but rarely rarely rarely because as the oldest helping WAS MY JOB) as an older sister HELPING WAS ALWAYS MY JOB.

(And I know I don’t have to like every autistic character ever*, and that I don’t like middle school and teenage boys in general** which probably made it even worse but this made me hate it for a while a long long long while because I would have never screamed THIS ISN’T MY JOB)

And to watch everything be a CATASTROPHIC CHANGE and CATASTROPHIC REARRANGEMENTS


It’s weird how I was considered a big kid at 10 who had responsibilities and had to stick to them, and my youngest sister at 17 is still considered little. My parents commented on how she has a very different life (which is certainly completely true) and my parents weren’t nearly as old and frequently injured as they are when she is the same age. And its true.

But I also spent high school waiting for rides because with two parents and three children, the one who is old enough to wait at school as opposed to having to go to a place for an activity, is the one that waits. Once I was old enough to drive my siblings, I spent (some but not all) late afternoons doing homework outside soccer fields and dance studios.

I wonder what pieces are autism and what pieces are older sister-responsibility-pieces.

Because some pieces are both.

I hear stories about how everyone centers around the autistic kids life. And disruption! Well, in my mind, nothing was a bigger disruption than my sister’s dance classes almost every day and sometimes over an hour away.

Mine were the quiet kind, where we turned into a family that didn’t do birthday parties because I didn’t like them, so my parents never got in the habit of big parties. The differences between my parents telling me to stay out later and the strict curfew my youngest sister has.

We almost never had babysitters because I was usually scared of them.

Of course, I never went to high school parties like the ones on tv. I thought they were mostly plot points to move the story along, like cafeterias. Both of them were things I learned later on were very real. In “peer counseling” sessions which were mandatory school-wide discussions that occurred in section and lead by older students, I heard all about them. And my youngest sister goes to them full of all the alcohol and activities and sometimes lies to my parents to go different places and all the storybook high school things.

Sometimes when I see and read and hear about other people melting down, I think of all the times I wish I could have but I couldn’t because I was responsible and it was NOT ALLOWED. Where you have to wait to wait to wait until you get home because you are driving or IN PUBLIC or I can’t think of any of the top of my head. I can’t think of reasons why I am not more visibly noticeably autistic.

I’m usually in somewhat vague denial of it.

I went to small schools. (Catholic schools–I would have gone anyway.) Uniforms. I could learn the names of 60 other kids when only two or three names changed from year to year. Eventually. I think by third or fourth grade I knew most of them.

Everyone was decent mostly.

I went to plays and dance recitals. I had to go because where else would I have gone? But I also don’t think I ever—well, ever is not true—I very seldom had to go to places that made me uncomfortable. My parents were good about that when they were able to. And they usually were able to. But mostly, we didn’t go to those places. Sometimes there were sister’s soccer parties and such, but those events didn’t really start in loud until I was old enough to stay alone. Benefits of being the oldest. There was a brief period of time maybe where they were starting to get loud but that was also when my youngest sister was born so then we didn’t go to things that babies couldn’t go to also. And then I was old enough to stay home alone.

But I also don’t remember being a small child, or at least not well, so who knows what they worked out then or when. (They do, I’m sure). I suppose I could ask some.

But I was my first parents child so they didn’t know what was normal and not, so they assumed everything I did was normal.

So I got my autistic normal imposed on my siblings, slightly, slightly, slightly.

I wonder what it’s like to have that. Introverted autistic normal imposed on extraverted siblings. Still slightly brainweird, though. Our whole family is. At least my mom’s side. Smatterings of dyslexia gathered in there, with various (sometimes un)diagnosed ADHD and  definitely autistic traits. Brainweird.

(It sounds like a chicken looks.)

And I’ve been thinking so much about family and differences because of getting married and how I will have different family things to join and be part of in a family that hasn’t been shaped and adjusted to fit our pecularities like my cousins and my mom’s side, where there are quiet rooms at Christmas for breaks and no one minds if you disappear for a few hours.

I didn’t realize how weird we were until all the things we went to with boyfriend (now husband). (And sometimes not until after complaining about how their family does X or doesn’t do Y to another friend who tells me her family also does X and doesn’t do Y and who is generally in touch with the scope of things).

Inconclusive.

normal normal normal normal?

Oh hey, maybe it’s like me being a person with specific characteristics and preferences and needs affected my family as much as the other people in my family also being different people with different characteristics and preferences and needs.


*Also because many of them are bad in general. And I don’t really remember much about this show TBH but I do strongly remember this feeling of “I must be helpful”. ALSO THIS IS VERY MUCH NOT A DISCUSSION ABOUT AUTISTIC PORTRAYALS IN TELEVISION. It’s just that this was a starting off point.

**This is a detail that has changed. I am much more comfortable around boys and men in general than I was however many years ago that I wrote this.

Advertisements

Balloons

Growing up, we had a two-story-height roof in a mostly 1 story room, and balloons would escape and just float up to the roof, unreachable but still visible if you looked up. Even the adults couldn’t catch them, because even my parents didn’t have thirty-foot long arms. The balloons would just sit there for days, above our couch and our table and our living room. Eventually, they would float back down to the ground, but by then they would be sad-shriveled-not-floating balloons. The fun was in the floating and the bobbing and the magical-THIS-BALLOON-IS-FLYING.

That’s where all my thoughts and ideas are. I forgot to hold on to them or I miss the chance and they float away up to the ceiling. They are there, but by the time they come back to me, they are sad and are missing the parts that I was interested in. I miss posting things on here and figuring them out by writing about them. I figure so many more things out by writing them, but I keep missing the chance to grab them. There are tons of half-floating ideas that I think of when I am biking to school or walking to the bus or somewhere else. They are half-remembered ideas just out of reach and it’s frustrating.

  • I have ideas about sensory overload and spoons on crowded buses home, but then I am too tired to write them down, and they float back up to the ceiling.
  • I have a half-developed theory on my ideas and thoughts on Appropriate Social Behavior and eye contact and my semi-autistic family.
  • There’s something I remember on my bike half a mile into the trip about keeping Bad Thoughts Out.
  • There’s something about executive function and what bits and pieces I have and what bits and pieces are broken.
  • Some more bits about thinking in general.
  • There are other ideas there, too far away to work out what they were, but they are still there, hitting up against the top of the roof, bobbling around in my brain. 

I can tell they are there, but I can’t tell what they are. I want to be able to reach out and pull them down and figure them out. I want to classify  my thoughts and order them out so I can figure out how and what I’m thinking. And whenever I succeed in grabbing them, they are only half-there. It’s the sad old not-flying balloons. The essential part that made them good and interesting and desireable has diffused out.

I’m doing fine, generally, in life, but busy with TAing and actual lab work and grant writing and literature reviewing and wedding planning, and I just don’t have the tools available now to reach up and pull down those thoughts. I want to be able to figure out how to grab onto them right away so they can’t escape to the roof immediately, to take them and run to my normal-sized-roof room right away, where even 5 year old me can reach the string of the balloon if I stand on a chair. But I don’t have thirty-foot-long arms to reach the ones on the ceilings, and they always appear when I can’t grab onto them. It’s a minor annoyance. I don’t need balloons. I can get along fine without them. But they make life better and I want them.

A brief rant about brain activity

Everything is all in my brain. Because my brain is the filter through which I interpret the world. Everything is all in your brain. Because your brain is the filter through which you interpret the world. Everything is always in your brain.

In our grad school ethics class, one of the topics was science and religion, and the presenter brought up some brain scan studies done on religious people praying, and how they had specific brain activity when they were praying. One of the people in my class decided to take this to mean that therefore it couldn’t possibly be real and it was just a brain malfunction. That it was proof that all religious experiences were not real.

I did not like this conclusion. Or this logic.

Because it was missing the clear bit of information, which is that everything we experience we process through our brain. I’m not going to argue about religion or God or gods or personal beliefs, because in general those are up to you to decide. But saying that something isn’t real because there is specific brain activity associated with it is a horrible argument. Of course there is brain activity when people are praying or having religious experiences. The presence of brain activity does not make something NOT REAL. Because you experience everything through your brain.

That is sort of the point of having a centralized nervous system.