Words of warning and welcome:

This is very much my blog, so don't be surprised if this doesn't follow accepted patterns and norms. Obviously it started out as a blog about my cross-dressing but it has developed a great deal since then. It is a place where I can be anonymous and honest, and I appreciate that.

It will deal with many things and new readers would do well to check out the New Readers' Page above this and the tag down there on the right. Although there's nothing too bad in here there will be adult language, so be careful. If you think this needs a greater control, please let me know. Thank you!

Thursday, 6 October 2016

Unapologetically Aspergic

Raising awareness seems to have become a Thing recently
without any concept of what one does with that awareness nor
any real connection with the activity used to 'raise awareness'
and the thing about which awareness is supposedly being
raised. I like dress down days as much as anyone (so not much)
but I fail to see how one could use it to raise awareness of
autism.

Also, what the fuck is awareness of autism? Are there really
people who don't know? Surely we'd be better doing things to
accommodate, or otherwise, autism in the workplace? Just
sayin', campaigns with no clear goals are standard NT methods
of dealing with things. I don't get it.

Like I say, I might just be a cunt, that's still on the table.
Someone asked me today how bad my autism was. Well, first of all, I remain undiagnosed so I have no confirmation as to whether I am autistic or just being a bloody annoying bastard. The reading I have done has suggested strongly that I am, but I might just be a selfish cunt, we can't discard that option. Of course, these were not the words with which I met the question, being asked by a 14 year-old student.

I had to think about the answer for a fraction of a second, but ultimately it was about how to phrase it, because the answer isn't what people expect, or maybe it is. Either way, my answer is mine and I get the impression that many people with the now defunct tag of Asperger's would recognise it as their's too (not everyone, after all: you've met one person with AS then you've met one person with AS). My answer was that it's not bad. I do not suffer with it, I do not work at surviving through it. I do not struggle with AS. I struggle to understand how people without it function. I suffer the lack of logic of others. That is: how do neuro-typical people operate and engage with a world they rarely, if ever, analyse and understand? It's strange. So that is my new battle cry - I am unapologetically autistic.

Fucking how!?

No, seriously, what the fuck has fancy-dress got to do with autism? And, also,
what? I mean, seriously, what the actual fuck is this all about?

Finally, comic sans in italics... really?
And on that note, I am unapologetic about my foibles. Or, rather, I am now. I have spent most of my life struggling with them, with my desire to cross-dress and appear outwardly as I would like to appear. I have struggled so much and so long that I completely missed when people were being accepting and the arenas in which I could have indulged, explored and understood. I carved a life where my outlets to do anything in the cross-dressing sphere have been curtailed and slowly dwindled to nothing. Almost by accident as Tilly has offered to provide time I have found myself with none, as Tilly has agreed with my need for the physical space to do so I have found myself with none and this will only increase. Not because of Tilly but, as usual, in spite of her. In spite. And so it is that I find myself having not dressed at all since... well, my autism allows me to remember some things with crystal clarity and other things to fade unless I directly record them. Especially if I record them. The answer is in this blog but fucked if I can be arsed to go and look.

The brave man does it with a sword. Okay, that's Oscar
Wilde, but Turing quoted it.

I love the fact he dropped his oddity casually because,
to him, it made perfect sense. We should all be so bold
and maybe, just maybe, people would stop being such
dicks about everything.

Or it would be easier for bigots to murder the different.
Same diff.
In the car I was listening again to the Prom that the Pet Shop Boys did a few years back where they premiered their orchestral piece A Man from the Future about Alan Turing. Homosexual he may have been, exceptional his pardon, posthumously, from the Queen for his indecency conviction that led to chemical castration and thus to his suicide may have been but he was also autistic in his own way. I can follow his reasoning and I am intrigued by the story of him revealing in conversation nonchalantly in 1943 (!) at an army dance that he was homosexual. Casually, in conversation, simply stating a fact. At a time when homosexuality carried a prison term. Later, in the 1950s, the government would view homosexuals as an automatic security risk as it was believed that the USSR would ply them with males who were spies to find information. Treason, heresy, homosexuality and non-conformity linked once more as they always have been. And, you know, I am happy with mah penis. This mah penis, this mah guhn. It's part of me and I understand it in some small way. I get it. I get that part of me. I'm not saying having a vagina wouldn't interest me, nor that I wouldn't change given the chance, but I am at peace with that part of me. I am at peace with having a beard, with underarm hair and puberty. But I am not a man and I am at peace with that too.

Back lit: check.

Villainy by dint of being something I desire based
solely on appearance: check.

Deviant behaviour beyond acceptable societal
norms through looking at clothes rather than
having a boner: check.

So, villainy, back lit.

It'll do.
Perhaps it is the autism, perhaps it is the upbringing, my class, education or religion, but I am happy now with the parts of me that are undefined. I am happy with my attraction to females and my simultaneous jealousy of what they get to wear and to do, with the clothing and the trappings, the femininity and the masculinity. And I want to embrace that androgyny, the both-ness, of it all and live it more. I want an androgynous hairstyle, I want androgynous clothes. I want to challenge the Default Man settings of the suit, a coat of war, and I want to carve out my own part in life.

Scroobius Pip said "always had the feelin' I could never be the villain because the villain in the films is always back lit" and he also said "you don't have to be back lit to be the villain". And I was public for the first time today with my lack of happiness for having a third child. I do not believe that I can, nor do I want to, be at peace with this whole thing. I will never want a third child. My arguments will not be mollified or quieted - my feeling that it increases population, that it is wrong to bring a young life into the world the way things are going, that I and my family are ill-prepared and ill-equipped to work with three children - all of those things remain and will not change. Oh, I will love the child, none of this is the child's responsibility. But no, I shall never be able to claim that I want nor wanted the child that we will eventually become stewards of. I can't do that. And, if asked by the child, I shall tell them the truth: I love them but I did not want a third child.

Maybe that makes me a monster.

The first image when I searched for 'cross-
dressing monster' on Google.

It seems somehow fitting, n'cest pas?
And I think: yeah, I can be a monster. I care not when people die, it does not affect me and they are dead. I analyse before I emote and I am, apparently, incapable of understanding what other people want in relationships. Tilly is trying and is relentlessly positive at the moment. I am given my time and my space. And, you know, I actually care less than I did the last couple of times. I mean, yeah, I love her but not in the same way as before. This latest break in physical relationships may well be my last. I actually don't think I can be arsed with the whole fucking journey back, you know? I mean, sure, maybe she'll want to do some sexual stuff again in the future but, fuck it, it's never going to be what I want. No one is ever going to be able to provide what I want from sex and relationships because not only am I unrealistic I am a monster. And I can be a monster. I can be as much Frankenstein's Monster as I can be the scatty professor or the distant father. That's me. Unapologetically me. As much a part of who I am as my autism and my genderqueer-ing. As little a choice as my analysis of History and denial of passion. Woven in like my kinks with unknown influences, beginnings and pathways, as much a part of my fucking tapestry as anything else.

You may think yourself in general to be a
nice guy but I'm telling you now: that there
is a lie. Even the nicest of guys has some
nasty within 'em; you don't have to be back
lit to be the villain. Whether it be greed, lust
or just plain vindictiveness, there's a level of
malevolence in all of us.
This whole blog I paint myself as a victim of others but that is only because I wanted to be that role. I made believe that I was a better person, that I had something better and higher in me. But that's not true. Just because I want something doesn't make it true any more than not wanting something means it won't happen anyway.

So, a monster.

The villain. Back lit. I can be back lit. I invite the back-lighting. I can put on masks in the classroom and in my life. I can do the grand gestures. I can turn off compassion and feeling if I want. I have done it before but without choice: unconsciously. Now? Now I need to do it consciously.

What does all this mean? What action will it lead to? I don't know. But enough apologising, enough struggle, enough analysis. Decision. Action. Movement.

The chances are that my marriage will actually survive and it will continue as it always has. Tilly will no doubt be happy because whilst I don't lie I also don't let anyone in that I don't want to let in and so she won't know unless she thinks to ask, and I will pursue the resistenz of Broszat, the inner migration, and live there instead. As I already am.

And, as a father, that is monstrous.

2 comments:

  1. Ageed. We all have monsters within us. What makes us good or evil is how we act on those impulses. Do they stay thoughts only, or do we shift them into the corporeal?

    I have a passing acquaintance with autism, having two kids officially on the spectrum, and the middle one likely so (just better at hiding it). Much of it comes from me, I believe. I share your feelings about death. I struggle to understand what I am feeling, and to give it voice. I wonder just how differently I must see the world. Analytical over emotional, always.

    It will be hard to make a proper marriage with Tilly being completely tied up in emotion, and hating your cold logic. It will be hard to be a warm father, though I find that it is much better as children reach the age of reason. I get on much better with adults.

    You can fake your way through a world of feelers. It can be quite lonely at times, though.

    I do like your honesty.

    Much love,
    Leslie

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you, I appreciate, and always will, your commentary.

      I find that I feel a lot, and deeply, just not the same as other people. Differently? Hard to say. But yes, warm fathering and proper marriages are perhaps beyond me, which is fine.

      Thank you and love in return,
      Joanna

      Delete

All comments are welcome, I have a thicker skin virtually than I do in real life!