I am not Broken (Trigger Warning)

I just went to bed. It’s been about twenty minutes, and I couldn’t stop my brain. Every night it is this way and always has been. I am great at meditating, but, there are times when I cannot focus on the single breath or the space between breaths or my heart beat. I just can’t shut up~!

This explosion of words and flickering images tonight was as usual, about my day, maybe what I read, saw thought, or felt and tried to ignore. I watched the new Sherlock Holmes and suppressed my analytical mind as much as I could, which is to say the movie drove me over the deep end with it’s lack of attention to detail. It’s Sherlock Frigging Holmes, you cannot miss the ligature marks and the color of the nails. That’s the very least of what was missed.

What they did add in however were moments like what I feel and go through when I go and do things. Sherlock was shown doing drugs, he was shown having too much sensory input, and he was shown having racing thoughts, images, a compilation video in his own mind that screamed at him the things he should know. That’s right, things that come from my Autism were shown in Holmes. I declare it mediocre which means most people will like it. It takes an awful lot for me to like a movie, partly because I require that this movie is either flawless, or can at least drown out my brain. Few movies can meet either criteria, and truly the best do both. I don’t have a favorite movie for t his reason, but my default answer is Batman.

The antidote for me has always been to imagine something. Imagine the better. For the last few years the better is always death. The last few weeks I have been afraid to try. Tonight it was a flash of that but I pushed that away and reached for the  better. It was exactly who I am but with a wheelchair and my natural hair color (red) again. It was me. I panicked. How can that be better? Sure I have freedom, mobility, and can resume living. My life is on pause while I fight for the new chair since the scooter died exactly a week ago come sun up. Better is me as I am?

I screamed. I screamed the word No. I tried to imagine something else. The only non me thing my brain reached for was… Barbara Gordon, as Oracle. The only actual change in image? Her computer was better. Same face, same chair, same eyes, same hair, same … ME. I should someday write a list of parallels i share with that character, some of them are astoundingly creepy. The few things we do not share I either do not want or would not be me if I had them (like a decent father). I do not know what this means. I had to talk myself down.

I am fine the way I am. There is no getting better. There is nothing better to be. Does this mean I accept myself? I do try to, but, my reaction to this makes me wonder if I fear accepting myself truly. I fear admitting that my life is this way. I tried to think of anything else but, I am still in that frantic space. I feel the spiders under my skin, and I just want to be .. me. My brain showed me an analogy that I thought may help someone else struggling with this.A fter all I have done so much, and I have changed a lot, yet some of the things will never change right?

A diamond is multifaceted. I am multifaceted. A diamond’s facets must always be a part of the diamond itself. They may touch each other, or reflect into one another, but, the fact is every facet is touching the core of the diamond. With a person this means that as much as the outside changes, as much as the body changes, the mind even… there are parts of the identity that are core to you, and will never change.

That’s when my brain stopped screaming. Another flick of random words and visions, colors, it’s hard to describe unless you experience this anyway, but the daily swirl resumed. It was more like a life montage with prettier colors involved. The time I was shot in the leg, the time I was stabbed, the time… pain happened. Instead of being different though the person was just me. My body as I am, right down to what I am wearing.

Even when my father shot me with a nail gun in the foot to punish me, and told me that the pain would make me better I was still just me. The name I used to use from birth because my parents thought it would work out? That was still me. No matter what name I answer to, no matter what highs and lows I face, no matter what injury, ability, life goals, jobs, passions, and love. I am still me. The things that make me happy have not truly changed much at all. The needs I have,yes, some have but, it turns out I never broke. I merely had a new facet added to my core. I am not broken.

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