I understand the mechanics – to a degree.
God has a sense of humor. Many people on the autistic spectrum struggle with language, especially with making one’s use of language audience appropriate. As a hyperlexic I deal with verbal language much more easily than many people on the spectrum, but I still have my limitations. I understand what I mean to say and I understand the vocabulary I use, but not everyone else does. I prefer to communicate in writing for this reason. Writing allows me to organize my thoughts more effectively and to communicate more clearly. Writing also takes away that awkward non-verbal factor that can distract and vex me as well. I talk with people all day on the phone (again, don’t have to deal much in the non-verbal there) but when the day is done I really don’t have much left to say. I’m usually all talked out by noon, especially here lately that I’m stuck doing two people’s jobs again, so I’m craving my solitary time away from the idiots and inquiring minds.
Call me back when you know what the hell you want, dipshit…
The humor in this is that somehow I ended up with a loud, resonant speaking voice that carries, and a broad (almost four octave) vocal range. I studied classical voice for a number of years, and was even the lead singer in a heavy metal band for awhile. The two are not nearly as far apart as most might think, and classical technique will keep you from destroying your vocal cords. When I was in high school I performed a capella in a hall that seats 1,000 without amplification. The people in the back could hear just fine. Oh, yes, you bet your sweet bippy. In spite of my bad sinuses and history of bronchitis and pneumonia, I can project. Just ask my son.
Even though I can communicate relatively articulately (especially when non-verbals are out of the equation) every morning I have to fight the temptation to simply choose not to communicate. With anyone (except maybe the dogs and cats, because they can’t fend for themselves, because they don’t have thumbs.) Definitely not with humans.
I don’t know if it’s an Asperger’s thing or just my own personal frustration with dealing with people in general. I’m not specifically incensed with stupid people or angry people or people who want stuff, although I very seldom speak with anyone that isn’t in at least one of those categories. I pretty much don’t want to talk to anyone. I especially don’t want to have to fulfill anyone’s request, placate anyone’s anger, or explain the obvious to the stupid for awhile, but I will have to start right in again in the morning, just like Sisyphus pushing the boulder up the hill every morning only for it to roll back down to the foot of the hill to start all over again.
There are too many times when I’m afraid to use my voice. Too often I stay silent either out of self preservation, fear or expediency. My own cynicism and sense of “why does it matter anyway,” keeps me from saying what I should when I should speak out.
When my emotions kick in – especially when I am angry, insulted or outraged, I lose what eloquence I thought I may have had. At that point my silence is a result of not finding the words, of not being able to express my loathing, fear or outrage in a coherent and logical way. The voice loses its connection with my rational mind, and a breathless, mindless silence is the result.
I guess if I were to continue on the cynical rant, I might as well be resigned to the fact that since nobody gives a rat’s ass about my opinion except me, then why bother sharing it?
It might be funny. It might be twisted. Somebody might get some entertainment value out of the things I say. Maybe.
Today I got to see yet another medical specialist- an endocrinologist- to try to figure out why my blood sugar is so damned hard to control even though I’m trying to do all the “right” things. Of course he took more blood and pee and he’s going to do more tests the other doctors didn’t do, etc. This Dr. thinks I could have a thyroid and/or adrenal issue that’s playing into my sugar control as well as the lingering fatigue and the depressive funk that just won’t go away. I’m not holding my breath.
I’m thankful I can communicate. Sometimes it’s everything I can do to communicate- but God had a sense of humor when he gave me a voice.