It’s morning here in the US. And I’m stalling. My motivation is in there somewhere; I can feel it. I think it merely hit the Snooze button one extra time.
I’m counting down the last of my days before Project: Overhaul is launched, a tall-order effort to transform my physical–and probably mental–health.
I’ve done this before. Living so many years as someone undiagnosed on the Asperger’s/autism spectrum, I’m fairly adept and seasoned at reinventing myself.
In my younger years, I underwent these metamorphoses at my expense, to create a Likable, Acceptable Me.
This time, it’s different. I’ll be inventing an incarnation of myself for my own benefit. If others benefit, too, then that’s great. But this time, that’s merely a happy side effect, not the main goal.
Today is a good day for contemplation. Yesterday’s rain has moved on eastward. The cars in the neighboring parking lot that I frequent during my times of need to be alone are encroaching on my personal space, but at least there aren’t too many.
I think about what lies ahead. In another month, maybe two, or maybe three (it all depends on the agility and prowess of my executive function), I may not recognize my life.
And that’s OK. I sort of reincarnate myself, birthing a new self without dying in between. It’s a useful skill. I now understand that it’s one of the gifts of my autism.
There’s a concept spoken of by a few autistic people out there–not very many, but enough to know that it’s a Thing: bridge-burning.
From what I’ve read, the bridge-burning concept is typically applied within the context of chucking one’s entire life as they currently know it and making drastic changes, such as leaving everything and everyone they know, moving across the world, pursuing another career field, a new life, even a new identity. Sometimes this even includes a legal name change; other times, it doesn’t.
My journey may not be so outwardly obvious. I’m not physically going anywhere. I’m not changing careers or leaving my partner.
The bridges I burn will be largely internal.
My friends and family need not be concerned. The same applies to the Asperger’s/autism spectrum community and lovely readers of the blogs I write.
The changes may be more subtle, especially to the casual or intermediate observer.
I don’t know yet what form this transformation may take. I can’t yet see its face; I wouldn’t yet be able to give a description.
But I feel its presence, waiting in the shadows, just around the corner, in the blue sky just behind a cloud. It whispers to me in the wind. It makes its presence known, unquestionably.
My brain and body have been sagging for three years now. I think my body is sad. My brain convinces me it’s OK. I don’t know whether or not to believe it. It has bullshitted me before.
I’m ready to shed the weight, both the invisible weight on my brain and spirit, and the visible weight that makes me grunt just a little with physical movements that never elicited that effect before.
Well, maybe I’m not fully ready. My brain is still working out the logistics, happy to play devil’s advocate along the way, reluctantly devising alternatives to the inevitable temptations, lest I step on a trap.
My to-do list–and my recent enthusiasm for it–will likely serve as a life-jacket and an anchor at the same time, both of which will be welcome, and indeed necessary.
My executive function process is currently working diligently to try to identify the weak points, at which the hopefully-reinforced walls could be breached. I know that I must build those walls with stone, complete with No Trespassing signs directed at the temptations.
The first step is the prerequisite to all others.
It’s also the hardest.
I never thought it would come to this. Or maybe I did; forgetfulness can be convenient. Ignorance can be bliss, even if it’s killing you. Temptations can be so inviting. They can be too convincing. But I have to remember that they’re deceiving.
At least I’m no longer ignorant. I didn’t exactly have a choice; my issues can no longer be ignored. It’s time to take a new path.
There’s a fork in my road, but I’m going to need spoons. Spoons are the rate-limiting step. They’re the currency that will rapidly become much more prominent. I hope I have enough.
Forks Over Knives, goes the documentary title. But my case is Spoons Over Forks (in my road). It’s like my own personal game of Rock-Paper-Scissors: Spoons-Forks-Knives.
I’m stalling on multiple fronts. Stalling on getting started (kind of–my deadline is a mere eight days away, so I haven’t failed at this point; I’m still OK). Stalling on beginning my work for the day.
It’s just that it’s so peaceful here, at least outwardly. My internal world is anything but. But that’s fine; it’s part of my process. I’ve done this before, and I can–and will–do it again.
Here’s where black-and-white thinking can come in handy–I’ve left myself no choice but to launch Project: Overhaul.
My current plan is to chronicle this journey on my other blog, but some of it may inevitably spill over into this one. I hope that’s OK.
I hope I’ll be OK. I hope this works. I hope I make it.
Spoons Over Forks and all that.