MyStory/MyStery
Born pre-Google (PG) and it is a mystery how I, not knowing I was (ASD) Autism
Spectrum Disorder, survived fairly happy, optimistic, and somewhat whole. All
those years, the feeling of being an alien enshrouded me, yet I wouldn't give up
trying to fit in. Didn't know anything about it but in the 1980s, when my son was
diagnosed and then I was, well, I just did what I always did: slipped into denial
mode. My mother handled my meltdowns by pulling my hair and shoving me, but I
used denial. He's creative, I'd think. I'm creative, I'd think. And it worked for both
of us.
Well, let's step back because most of this story takes place in the PG Days. The
Titanic sunk on my birthday, April 15, and although I have this theory (after
consulting an ephemeris for 1912) that the misaligned communication was due to
Mercury Retrograde, I always had a taste for disaster movies. They were always
loaded with archetypes: the Shelly Winters older woman who remained cheery in
countless sinking ships or plummeting planes. She always died first. Then the lone
African-American man who always died second. There was always a Barbie and Ken couple:
she with a very pregnant belly or he holding an adorable girl child on his lap. There
were mean people, nice people, but all recognizable types.
So in real life, people I met were also archetypes. To this day I don't know whether that is true or if it is
an autistic thing. And here is a good place to state a disclaimer: No two are exactly alike on the Autism
Spectrum. We are all different!
Not knowing I was disabled meant I lived a normal, neurotypical, life (as opposed to a neurodiverse
one). I had few but wonderful friends and was even a hippie, reading the most exquisite poems. I still
like TS Eliot's Wasteland although I don't like him, still love Allen Ginsberg's Howl. The best books
included: Herman Hesse's Steppenwolf (yeah, I like the rock group of the same name too). The best
music? I had a voice like Joan Baez, that high soprano one, but also loved Janis Joplin and
Aretha Franklin and oh, Jimi Hendrix...
So after marriage and motherhood I joined the League of Women Voters trying to
get the Equal Rights Amendment (ERA) passed but dang, a lot of the women I spoke to didn't want it to
pass because they didn't want to share bathrooms with men. I felt like it was my fault. Like I was missing
the right words or personality to change the world, so decided to educate myself and crack the mystery
of life.
Off to community college, the best way to get an education equal to Harvard and
Yale, and don't argue with me. I spent years also working in the community college
system and it was the best answer to elitism in the United States. It wasn't always
easy. In my last semester, on my way to take my final exams, driving my sons to
the college day care, it began storming and my windshield wipers stopped working. Had to abandon the car and drag them, physically, a half mile to the bus stop for a bus that
only came every two hours. Backpack bouncing against buttocks filled with books,
kid emergency stuff, change of clothes for me, autistic kid screaming, younger kid
begging me to stop. But my force of will was so great, I was so determined not to
miss my finals after working all those years for an AA degree, that when the bus
stopped a half block from me I found the energy to propel us all, while I chanted,
"Please, please, please, please..." and the light turned red and soaked from rain and
tears, we made it.
So, I think I'll stop now. Here I am in the Post-Google (PG) era, and I now came out
of the closet of denial and write lots of poetry about autism. I read all this stuff
about it, how scared the parents are, how (it seems to me) autistic children are still
alienated, and I wonder, not facetiously, I swear, whether we are the next stage in
evolutionary humanity. I call us Homo Autisticus (is the Latin ending correct? I'm
too lazy to look it up on Google). Because most of us are clever people. Most of us
have amazing gifts. Most of us don't lie or cheat or steal. Something to think about.
MyStory MyStery mainly solved...
-Clarissa Simmens
Clarissa Simmens is an Independent poet; Romani drabarni (herbalist/advisor); ukulele and guitar player; wannabe song writer; and music addict. Find her on WordPress, Amazon's Author Page and Facebook.