How it feels to live in my autistic innerworld

Come, my pretties.  I’m picking up hitchhikers today, in the safest of senses.  We’re not climbing into my truck; we’re climbing into my brain.

My brain can be perceived as a map, with different towns representing concepts, subjects, and miscellaneous thoughts.  The roads between them link them together in unusual ways, with scenic winding routes and express, direct flights between towns one might not expect, but somehow manage to make sense.

It’s a busy place, with lots of traffic.  Everything gets to move, all things are considered.  That ant crawling on the balcony railing?  Gets a perspective, as I imagine life and the universe through its eyes.  There’s no reason it doesn’t deserve it.

And so it is with everything else, too.

There are some shortcuts, too, like a Favorites directory of most-visited links along the margin of an Internet browser.  Shortcuts to unusual topics that the average mind of the general population might not be used to clicking on.  Topics like metaphysics and biochemistry and human physiology and the afterlife and just how infinitely the color spectrum can be divided before one shade is indistinguishable from its neighbors.

Everything is personified, too–the ant on the railing, the colors on the visual light spectrum, and so on.  After all, colors aren’t thought to have neighbors in the general thought-stream of the general population.

Songs play in my head, too.  I don’t always realize I’m choosing them, but they’re in my head after all, so they must be my volitional choice on some level.  Today it’s “Rain Song” by Sunny Day Real Estate, a group that practically musically embodies how it feels to me to be autistic.

Nature is of utmost importance, as it is the factor of my world with which I feel the most kinship and the strongest connections.  The sky is infinite, as is the horizon, as are lifeforms.  Cats, of course, are royalty.

I need my external world to be as calm as possible so that my inner world can receive the proper energy allotment, which is a heavy investment.

My autistic mental landscape is mostly lacking in people, save for a select few in my inner circle.  Others matter to varying degrees, some much more so than others.  The general population matters least, as its members have historically ended up to be secret agents of pain, feelings of nakedness, and unnecessary self-doubt, and I no longer have room in my world for that.  Bah!  Humbug.

My landscape is vivid, with infinite color, ceaseless dot-connecting, and endless possibilities.  As new concepts are realized and learned, new nodes are built, as are connections between them and those already in existence.

Constructing these roads and redrawing the map to include the updated material is not difficult, but it takes time and energy.

Speaking of energy, it’s the rate-limiting step, the currency on which my world runs.  Without sufficient amounts, everything goes to sleep.  The traffic wanes, the lights go out, and all becomes quiet (unless, of course, my dreams are particularly active).

My world is not lonely.  There’s plenty happening inside.

I’m content here. πŸ™‚

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32 Comments

  1. My world is not exactly like yours, but because I am also on the spectrum I can most certainly relate to some of it and if not at least understand. What a beautiful/unique way of explaining your mind. I really enjoyed reading this post and today I really needed this. Thank you for sharing. πŸ™‚ ❀

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  2. I love the way you illustrate your world. It’s so vivid! πŸ’“ I have a wealth of roads inside my head, too, so, of course, I find many commonalities here. I especially like the thought about the ant, as I am always pondering what life looks like through the eyes of different creatures. Thank you for a lovely road trip, friend! 😘😘😘

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  3. Like others have said, my world is not exactly like yours but there are definitely similarities. I, too, experience the ceaseless dot-connecting. My latest theory of autism (okay, that sounds too grand and I’m only half serious, but still) is one of hyperconnectivity. Things are connected in the brain in unexpected, perhaps even unexplainable ways, and an external stimulus sparks a whole wealth of connections and associations, which also explains the slower processing speed. πŸ¦‰πŸŽπŸŒ¦πŸšŠπŸ™ (some random emojis because I feel like it and I don’t want to use the same ones over and over! πŸ˜€)

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    1. Omg sweet!! I love your theory and I do believe you’ve got the seed for one of your delightful blog posts there! πŸ˜˜πŸ˜˜β˜„β˜―πŸ’ͺπŸΌπŸ˜ŽπŸ’πŸ›πŸŒΌπŸŒΈπŸŽ†πŸŒˆ

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    2. Little Sparrow – I’m with you on the hyperconnectivity theory, and here’s what flows from that: slower processing speed or more to process? Science seems to be favoring the latter.

      Laina – LOVE the guided tour. Great post – very evocative. Thanks for this. (I share some of your reality, btw)
      xx,
      mgh
      (Madelyn Griffith-Haynie – ADDandSoMuchMORE dot com)
      ADD/EFD Coach Training Field founder; ADD Coaching co-founder
      “It takes a village to educate a world!”

      Liked by 2 people

  4. Sure, I can spend all day sitting or lying down with my eyes closed and living in my head. I don’t know that I’d be able to put what goes on in there into word like you have. You have a great way of explaining things that makes it easy to understand. If my thoughts were roads they would loop around and have many side roads. It would look like preschool crayons scrawlπŸ˜‚πŸ˜γ€½γ€°πŸ”€πŸ”ƒβ†ͺβ†©πŸš¨πŸš§βš‘πŸŒˆπŸŒŸπŸŒŒπŸŒ…πŸπŸžπŸ‘£πŸ’₯πŸ’ŒπŸ’ŒπŸ’žπŸΎπŸ•ŠπŸ‰πŸ€πŸŒΌπŸŒΊπŸŒΊπŸŒΈπŸŒ·πŸŒ»πŸ˜Ž

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    1. Preschool crayons scrawl rocks! πŸ‘πŸΌπŸ‘πŸΌπŸ‘πŸΌπŸ˜˜πŸ˜˜πŸŒ·πŸ’–. Thank you so much, my lovely Dearest Cosmic Sister-Dude! I need to say that I always love reading your comments! They’re so uplifting and kindred πŸ˜˜πŸ˜˜πŸ’šπŸ’™πŸ’œπŸŒΈπŸŒΊπŸ’ͺπŸΌπŸ™ŒπŸΌπŸ™ŒπŸΌπŸ›πŸŒΌπŸŒ·β˜„β˜„β˜„πŸŽ†πŸ’“πŸ’“πŸ’“

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