Underneath my yellow skin

Tag Archives: neurospicy

Why my brain doesn’t brain, part six

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I want to talk more about how my brain works–or doesn’t. In the last post, I went way off the tracks as is my wont, and I never really made my way back to the main road. Who knows if I’ll do the same thing today? (I will. I always do.)

I was talking to my mother tonight, and she was lamenting that she hadn’t been shopping in a real store in such a long time. Nor does she really feel comfortable shopping online. She was castigating herself for not doing the former, putting it in very negative terms. I was saddened for her because of the huge amount of shame she was carrying because of it. And I understood because I did the same thing to myself more often than not.

She was shaming herself and saying she was getting agoraphobia as a reason for not going shopping. I stopped her and said that she had a lot to deal with, so it made sense that it would be harder for her to go shopping. In other words, it didn’t always have to do with mental health. This was something I had a hard time deciphering. Sometimes, it was my mental health issues acting up. Sometimes it’s something that anyone in the situation would do. And sometimes, it’s just the way my brain works.

In other words, it’s not always a mental health issue–though sometimes it can be, of course. Anwdn it’s not always my particular way of thinking. Sometimes, anyone would react in the same way in the same situation. It’s just hard to tell when I’m used to defaulting to there’s something wrong with me.

One thing I talk about with A is how to decide which flaws I want to actually change and which I’ve accepted. This is getting past the point of shaming myself for everything I think of is wrong with me. For example. I work to the back of a deadline. My mother and I used to have friction over this when I did editing for her. She would give me a date, and I would assume that was the date she wanted it by. It was usually a date far in the future, so I would file it in the back of my brain and move on.

A week or two later, my mother would ask how it was going, and then  be not happy when I said I hadn’t even started. We did this song and dance for far too long (Midwestern and Taiwanese cultures at work here) until I finally brought it up to her. She said that the date she gave me was the ‘last resort’ date. Secretly, she wanted me to get it to her about a week or two after she sent me the piece to edit.

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My brain and me, part four

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Let’s talk more about how my brain is weird. I’ll give a very recent example. Tonight (last night? About five hours ago), my carbon monoxide detector/smoke alarm went off. I thought it was four quick, sharp (and loud) beeps in rapid succession while the lights flashed green. I looked it up, and four beeps meant CO. Before I go any further, here’s my post from yesterday.

I’ve had one go off before, and it was because it had reached the end of its life. I read a lot of conflicting information about the beeps, but I finally decided that calling 911 and just explaining the situation as I did the last time was probabl yfor the best. Three policemen came, and I explained what happened. We tested the detector/alarm (I had put the two batteries in wrong, so we put them in the riht way and tested it.) It was actually beeping five times. We counted several times. That meant it was at the end of its life, but why is it so close to the actual alert for CO, I don’t know.

They checked the gas levels all over my house, and there was nothing. The lead cop told me to buy a new one (I only had one) and to monitor how I was feeling. I knew the basics–flu-like symptoms, dizziness, etc. The lead cop told me that I really don’t want to turn chherry red.

I’m not overly concerned, but there is a nagging thought in the back of my mind that maybe there is gas somewhere. And I should have tried harder to get the detectors (I’m getting them tomorrow morning). I don’t think that’s so unusual, but I don’t know.

That’s the worst part of having a weirdo brain. Not knowing what is normal and what isn’t. I don’t think this is that unusual (to be worried even though there’s no real reason to). The higher the stakes, the more the worry explodes. And even though the chance of dying from CO poisoning is minimal, it’s impossible to detect except for with a detector.

I don’t know if I’m overreacting or underreacting. Or maybe just reacting? It’s so hard for me to gauge. Also, I’m tired AF because I only got three-ish hours of sleep last night. So knowing whether I’m fatigued or not is not that possible. I was joking with the lead cop that who wasn’t fatigued these days? He had a girlfriend and a child, so he knew all about tired.

He sent his cohorts back to the cop shop to get the CO monitor, and we chatted while they were gone. I learned about his prior jobs and how he ended up in New Brighton on the night shift. It was a nice little chat, and I proved I can be normal when I need to be. Granted, I had a vested interest in keeping the cops on my good side, but still. I was able to talk like a normal person, and that felt good.


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Me and my brain, part three

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Let’s talk more about me and my broken brain. I say that with my tongue firmly in my cheek, but I still half-believe it. Or rather, I know that I think very differently than most other people. I have accepted that, and I’m mostly ok with it. The hardest part is when I say something that I think it totally vanilla and get an outsized reaction to it. That’s when I completely retreat into myself and shut down. I hate when I’m trying my very best, and it’s still not good enough.

Which, honestly, is how I feel most of the time when I interact with the normies. I’m always calibrating what I should say and what I shouldn’t. And usually erring on the side of not saying something if it’s even close to questionable. That’s why I’m miffed when I say something that I consider safe and then I get shit for it, anyway. Oh, and here is my post from yesterday before I go any further with this post.

You know what’s also frustrating? Neurotypical people saying that everyone has to mask or hide parts of their true selves at work (or other times). While it’s true that everyone has to mask to o certain extent, it’s the extent and amount of effort that matters. And it’s discounting how much more neurodivergent people have to mask than normies.

Side note: I could say that about any minority, by the way. It’s a point I wish normies would truly internalize. Minorities have to go the extra mile-and-a-half past where they (the normies are) just to be considered equal. Plus, we always have to make the calculation of how much of ourselves we can show. In some ways it’s better now than it was when I was in my twenties, but in many ways, it’s much worse.

One of the big ones is queer issues, especially trans issues, obviously. It’s horrifying how quickly and viciously the current administration is attacking civil rights for queer people. Every time I check the news, they are trying something or the other to do harm to me and my kin. It’s reached the point where I don’t want to hear anything on the news because it’s just going to make me angrier.

I was talking in the Discord I’m in about dating. I mentioned that I haven’t dated in quite some time in part because the last two times I thought about dating, rather big events interrupted that train of thought (the pandemic and me dying (twice!), respectively). I know it’s superstition, but I’m worried about trying for a third time.

Also, I’m overwhelmed every time I go on the apps. There is just so much there, I don’t really know what to do. One person in the Discord suggested doing backstage steps first. Such as writing out what I was looking for to make it clearer in my mind. I told her that was what actually worked for me, anyway. Breaking things into micro-steps, I mean.


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How my brain works (or not), part two

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For the first forty years of my life, I thought my brain was broken. I didn’t think like other people, and for the first few decades of my life, I thought that meant there was something wrong with me. It didn’t help that I had very old-fashioned Taiwanese parents who were more than willing to criticize every aspect of me. I was too loud, not feminine enough, too fat, just too much in general. Here is the post I wrote yesterday in which I wrote a lot about politics. Which is a side tangent, but also not a side tangent. Which I also said in the post.

I thought I was worthless and broken when I was a kid until I was in my twenties. Hm, scratch that. It was until my mid-thirties. Then, I started taking Taiji, and that helped me feel better about myself in agonizingly tiny incremental steps. It wasn’t until about five years ago after my medical crisis that I realized I was probably autistic (with the help of a friend who was also autistic).

I thought I couldn’t be because of how strong the stereotypical depiction of an autistic person as a young, hapless, white man who stims, can’t look people in the eyes, and makes clueless comments all the time is so pervasive. Oh, and that he has little to no empathy. It’s the last one that made me think I had no chance at being autistic. For several years, I thought that I might have ADHD because that fit better. The lack of focus until I hyperfocus. The scattered attention. Those were the main ones.

I knew there was something wrong with my brain–I just wanted to figure out what it was. This is one of the arguments I’ve had with K. She thinks that there is too much emphasis on…how do I phrase this correctly? We are both proponents of mental health awareness. She’s just less enthused about how much it’s emphasized now. She said we dealt with it as kids and figured things out. I pointed out in a snappish tone that some didn’t figure it out. Like me.

I spent so many years thinking it was me when it mostly wasn’t. I mean, it’s always partly one’s one fault because no one is perfect. However, the way I thought was not my fault–or rather, it wasn’t because my brain was broken or wrong–it was just different. And had I been told this when I was a kid, I would have had a much easier time in life.

You would think that having a psychologist as a mother would have made these things much better for me, but that would only be true if she was a good psychologist. Which, sadly, was not true. Her flaws as a human being interfered with her ability to be an effective psychologist. In fact, she went back to Taiwan so she could escape some of the constraints she faced here in America. Like mentioning religion in a session.

Honestly, the vast majority of my self-esteem issues stem from her constant and persistent criticism of every part of my being. I cannot name a single thing she liked about me when I was a child. I was never enough, and she pushed me to do a wide variety of things I didn’t want to do. Like a typical Asian mom, my brother and I had to take music lessons. I did piano for a few years and then cello for eight or nine years. dance lessons for twelve, and I played ping-pong, volleyball, and softball. Not on a league, but just played them. Oh, and tennis.


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The fluidity of Taiji and me

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Before I start the actual post, I want to complain a bit about Word Press. The post I wrote yesterday did not get published on time, and I don’t know why. This has happened more than once, and I think it has something to do with lag. It’s Chrome. I don’t know why it’s all fucked up, but it might be time to change browsers again. I remember when it was fast and sexy. Now it’s sluggish and annoying.

Anyway. I was talking about habits, schedules, rigidity and Taiji in yesterday’s post. And neurodiversity. Taiji is really good for me because it challenges the part of my brain that gets stuck in routines.

It’s tricky because habits are good, especiallywhen you’re starting a new skill. But there’s a thin line between a healthy routine and stagnation. I can tell when I’m practicing when I’ve crossed that line. It’s a feeling in my body, and it’s hard to explain.

Taiji is alive, and ideally, you should practice while being rooted in the present. Your brain should not be thinking of what you need to do next or that fight you had with your partner last night or anything like that.

Most people have difficulty with that, including me. I have anxiety, so my brain is always scrambling all over the place. Taiji has helped with that, I must say.

My teacher has said that everyone’s minds are gaing to wander. There’s no point in castigating yourself for it. Simply note it and bring your mind back to the present.

In yesterday’s post, I mentioned that I am evenly split between needing a schedule and doing something impulsively. I like routines, but then if someone suggests doing something on the supr of the moment, I’ll be happy to do it (if it’s something that interests me).

It’s one reason I really like being friends with K. She is much more imuplsive than I am, so I have ended up doing things with her that I wouldn’t have done otherwise. For example, her brother was in a band who were performing in two days in Kansas City. Missouri, I think, not Kansas. So she, andother mutual friend, and I drove down there. Or rather, she drove and the mutual friend and I rode in the car. K loves driving, which works for me because I hate it.

We stopped at a seafood restaraunt and then got to the hotel with about an hour to spare before the concert. I flirted my ass off with the bassist and got his orange-lensed sunglasses by the end of the night. If we weren’t leaving the next morning, I would have spent the night with him, but I needed to be somewhat responsible with my time. Also, the fact that K and our mutual friend was there. It’s not nice to ditch your friends for a booty call.


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A letter to my younger self, part four

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In yesterday’s post, I went off on a tangent because of course I did about how much I love tangents/side notes/footnotes/side roads. Then, because I’m me, I spent a healthy chunk of time on that instead of what I actually meant to write about.

Which, in this case, turned out to be about how much I was bashed about the head when I was in my twenties for not womanning the right way. And how it was the planting of a seed (ironic in the context of having children) for me questioning if I was a woman at all.

Side note: Here’s the thing about gender–for me. My biggest feeling about gender is that I am not a guy. I wanted to be once when I was a kid because boys clearly had more freedom and autonomy, but that’s not the same as thinking I am one. More to the point, I don’t want to be one because of the negativity associated with being male. In the general sense, I mean, not specifically. And I don’t want to have to deal with that bullshit, either. The patriarchy hurts women, yes, more than it hurts men, but it’s not great for the latter, either.

When it comes to thinking about my identity as a woman, I draw a giant blank. This is because I (still) don’t know what that means. I can think of how I’ve been treated because I was perceived as a woman, how women treat me (for better and for worse), and how that has affected me. But it doesn’t make me FEEL like a woman.

As for nonbinary, I probably would have chosen that (maybe) when I was a teen if I knew it was a possibility back then. K and I have talked about this–how we both would have went with nonbinary if it was a thing when we were teens/in our twenties. As old people now (in our early fifties), it’s not at the top of either of our important things to do.

Also, for me, there is no gender that feels right to me. I sat with ‘woman’ for a long time, and it did nothing for me. I can relate to women because we’ve had shared experiences, but when I focused on the word woman and tried to relate it to myself, I came up empty. I did not feel anything other than a vague, “Oh, yeah. I used to be called that.” I don’t hate it when others call me she, but it doesn’t really ring true with me, either.

I have explained it thusly: It’s like an ill-fitting raincoat. Yes, it’ll keep the rain out–mostly. But it’s uncomfrortable and restricting (if it’s too small), and I’ll breathe a sigh of relief once I take it off. In other words, it does the job–barely–but it isn’t the best for the job–by far.

When it’s raincoats–I don’t have to stick with the too-small coat. I can buy another one, an umbrella, or just run around in the rain (which is my personal favorite). When it comes to gender, though, they all feel weird to me in one way or the other. With that in mind….


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A letter to my younger self, part three

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In yesterday’s post, I went completely off the rails  as is my wont. I’m not going to bother justifying it because it’s just how my brain works. In fact, it’s part of my neurospiciness, which I did not realize until just a few years ago. I can’t get past the thought that had I had a more accurate list of symptoms at a younger age, I would have dealt with so many things in a much better way.

Side note: I have loved side notes and footnotes in my writing ever since I was a young one. I will gleefully add them until there are more side notes than actual text. And, as I demonstrated yesterday, I will side note a side note if that’s what it takes to get my point across. I have also put a pair of parentheses in another parenthized statement within another–like nested Russian dolls.

I have learned that this is a trait of neurospicy people. So is having terrible handwriting–which I do. I have such bad handwriting that I gave up trying to make it better when I was in elementary school. I practiced and practiced and practiced–and it still looked like chicken scrawly. It’s even worse now, in part because I never write anything by hand any longer.

In fact, in looking up if this was, indeed, a sympton of autism. And the solution is making the kid do gripping exercises and other things to make their handwriting acceptable. I’m not saying they shouldn’t try to improve their gripping ability, but I do think this is one way of looking at the world through a neurotypical lens. In this day and age, what does it matter how pretty a kid’s handwriting is? It would be better to teach them to type than to waste so much energy on handwriting.

This is something I’ve been thinking of a lot lately, by the way. How the world is so very unkind to neurospicy people. And how we can reimagine a world in which this wasn’t true. I have mentioned in the recent past about my irritation at the fact night owls are now being pathologized. Which can also be a part of neurodivergency, by the way–different sleep patterns, I mean.


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Overcoming my brain

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I have come to the conclusion that I have a weird brain. Yes, that is my official diagnosis–a weird brain. I have read up on ADHD, and I think I may have some version of it. Some of the traits hit home and some don’t. One, the flitting from thing to thing like a magpie until one thing catches my interest. Then, I hone in on that with laserlike focus until I’m bored with it. that could be days, weeks, months, years.

Some of those things last a lifetime. Those are few and far between, but they are there. Writing is one. Taiji is another (especially weapons). FromSoft games is a third. My cat is another, but that’s more because I love him to bits. Even when he’s being a picky prick (at mealtimes).

Another thing is that I am much better at coming up with ideas than actually following through on them. I have a hard time motivating myself to do–well anything. Even something I like. K and  I used to joke that when we got together to go out, it was pure agony. Not the going out part, but the actually getting our shit together enough to meet. First, finding a date when we both  could meet was not easy. Then, actually getting the energy to leave my house was a problem. Our way of going out was that I would drive to her house and then she would drive us whenever we needed to be.

She would be not dressed when I got there. Not dressed to go out, I mean. She wasn’t naked or in her underwear; she just didn’t have her going-out clothes on. She would ask her husband to dress her (essentially) becasue he had impeccable taste. We would chat as she got ready, which could take up to a half hour. Then, we’d finally leave to go where we needed to be and have a great time.

I’ve read that time management is a big issue for those with ADHD. People have tried to describe how they would honestly decide to do ten ‘things I can do in 10’ minutes and not add up all the ten minutes. Then, they would be surprised when after the first thing, they had run out of time for the ‘just one more thing before I leave’ task.

I don’t have that, but I do have a problem that is related to time–I always, always, always worked to the back of a deadline. I have done a lot of editing for my mother, and I finally had to tell her that when she gave me a deadline, it had to be a concrete deadline. You see, before that, when she gave me a deadline, it was the absolute latest time she wanted it back.


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Neurospicy is the new neurodiverse

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Neurospicy is the new word for neurodivergent. I’m not sure how I  feel about it, and I say this as someone who is pondering whether or not I am–neurodivergent, I mean. In the last few years, I have heard it being called neurodivergent, neuroatypical, and neurodiverse. Neurospicy is a newer one, and I think I like it in a casual setting, but not for something like an office. Just like I wouldn’t use queer in a more formal setting, but I would with my friends.

I only started thinking about this issue seriously in terms of myself a few years ago. Why? In part because I did not present in the typical way, which I learned was more based on male behavior than female behavior (as are most medical diagnoses, sadly). I learned about a decade ago that the hyperactive thing was a drastic simplification of the matter. There was also a hyperfocus aspect that people overlooked when they talked about the inability to focus. Those two things (not being hyperactive and being able to focus with a laserlike precision) made me dismiss the idea that I had ADHD for a long time.

I kept getting drawn back to it, though. Things like being repeatedly told you’re lazy because you wouldn’t (couldn’t, actually, but it looked like wouldn’t) do simple things like check the mail or recycle empty boxes (the ones my cat, Shadow, doesn’t want). I would castigate myself for being lazy, which didn’t help, of course. I didn’t even learn of the term ‘executive function’ until about five years ago.

I did hear about hyperfocus before then, but I still didn’t think it was me. Until I read more and more about it. How it presents it women, I mean. I no longer identify as a woman, but I definitely grew up being treated as one. Oh, and it’s often talked about as a kid’s thing, when it’s definitely not.

The other complication is that I have trained myself from a young age to overcome some of the symptoms without even knowing it. I have, er, had a phenomonal memory. So I can overcome the shortcomings like being bad with details by brute force. I was also trained to take care of other people’s emotions so I was forced to pay attention to other people to an unnatural degree. I also have an off-the-charts EQ and can read people like books to an extent that makes them uncomfortable.


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