I’m a sci-fi nerd.
I watched Star Trek the next generation in the early 90’s and really identified with the character that was an Android.
He was constantly trying to work out human behavior and fit in.
Data was extremely intelligent, strong and an integral part of the crew but still different.
Our son was diagnosed with Autism a few years ago and I’ve been open about it.
We lived in a small town, so it wasn’t long before everyone knew. In fact, we wouldn’t have been able to keep it a secret if we tried.
Now that everyone knows I get comments like “That makes sense.” “I think you’re on the spectrum.” “You’re strange, but it’s a good strange.”
He had an obsession with Roman numerals in early primary school, I did too.
At ten years old my special interest was Ancient Rome. I remember being told by the kids at school to shut up about it.
That was a difficult time, but it is for the best really because I have been forced to understand that not everyone is interested in what I am interested in, and that a conversation involves give and take and listening to the other person.
Also, there are certain things that you can always talk about.
With girls – clothes, weight, hair, what we’ve been eating, how well we’ve been sleeping, what they’re cooking for tea tonight.
With anyone – speeding fines, the weather, a random observation that I have turned into a little funny story from recent days.
With men – assess their interests, ask questions.
I’m also getting into a habit of bringing up a random memory from ten to twenty years ago as I reconnect with old friends that I haven’t seen for quite some time.
They seem to find this a little odd, but I always get a smile.
If you want people to like you talk about them or find a common interest and talk about that.
I have spent so long adhering to these ‘rules’ that I don’t ever fall into the abyss of boring people with my special interests ever again.
I like autistic people, I feel an affinity with them, instantly comfortable.
However, I find their tendency to get straight into a way too personal overshare at the point where we first meet or the sprouting of fact, fact, fact quite disconcerting.
I’m not surprised that despite being a nice person, quite intelligent and motivated they struggle in this neurotypical world.
I can’t help the autism, but I’ve masked for so long I feel better in the neurotypical camp.
There is however one thing that I still can’t manage to do in order to ‘appear normal.’
Before our son was diagnosed, I was at my friend’s hen party where we all stayed together overnight and made ourselves eggs in the morning.
The other girls had fried eggs sunny side up. I decided to make an omelette.
The bride’s mum said, “I knew you would want to do something different.”
This is something that comes up for me again and again.
I don’t see what’s wrong with doing what I want as long as it isn’t hurting anyone.
A neurotypical person would have gone along with what everyone else was doing and had their eggs sunny side up.
Even if they had wanted an omelette.
I have even been accused of ‘being difficult’ because I don’t agree and I’m not afraid to say so.
It appears that the instinct of neurotypicals to fit in with the herd is so strong that some of them actively feel threatened when there’s any kind of challenge to the status quo.
I don’t disagree with people or do things differently on purpose. I have to be honest about who I am and what I think.
I feel physically uncomfortable when I don’t.
At times when a friend and I have not agreed about something, and I still refuse to back down I say “It’s not that important in our lives is it? Let’s not talk about it anymore.” and we move back to common ground.
If there was not some common ground, then we wouldn’t be friends.
When I got with my ex it seemed that here, finally was someone that shared all my special interests and was happy to talk about them all day long.
And I do think that we both genuinely both did enjoy Star Trek.
I did my usual thing of taking an interest in his interest if they at least had some merit like watching Star Wars Movies and listening to punk.
Nineteen years later it seemed that everything I had to say was wrong, I was boring, miserable, getting a pot belly, dressing like an old lady, not giving him enough attention while at the same time not giving him enough space, none of my friends liked me anymore, the only time I was ever any good to spend any time with was when I was drunk but at the same time, I had a drinking problem.
I thank God, that I still had to go to work where people were really lovely.
I said “That’s not true. Why is everybody else nice to me but you?”
Near the end of the relationship, I just didn’t love him anymore because he wasn’t meeting my needs.
Near the end literally said to him at one point “Our son could have been killed earlier today, can you come out of your room and give me some comfort?”
He refused.
Over the years as I complained and complained about his behavior towards me the word narcissist got thrown around.
Having listened to his concerns about my drinking some months earlier and utilizing podcasts on the subject to cope I turned to podcasts about this.
It all made sense.
According to the latest figures from the Australian Institute of Health and Welfare women with a disability are more likely to experience emotional, sexual and economic abuse from their partner.
I am one of those women.
I thought I grew up a lot when I became a mum, again when I had my son diagnosed, set up his NDIS plan and coordinated his therapy.
But I am growing up again now realising that these are not stories, these are not statistics, these are people.
Every one of us.
It’s something that I didn’t quite grasp when working in the media or gossiping about other people’s relationship breakdowns.
It’s this new awareness that had me removing a joke about the Beaumont Children for my most recent comedy show.
My most recent set was based on personal experiences and I double checked the content with my latest muse.
My ex still makes me really upset.
Even writing this now I am shaking, feel my palms sweating and feel a terrible heavy weight inside my chest.
It’s the autism, the history of logically analysing human behaviour to see what works that made me see that I had done everything and nothing will ever be good enough.
I attended the funeral of a leader in the Indigenous community for a city in regional South Australia earlier this year.
I remember that this day was very important for me at the time and I didn’t know why.
This woman endured significant trauma because of being taken away from her birth parents when she was quite young.
This is because of attempted genocide perpetuated by the Australian Government through policies carried out in all parts of the country that removed Aboriginal children from their parents with the goal to erase the existence of race and culture.
What I say next is speculative but it is my belief that the people behind this very British type of plan genuinely thought that they were more important, that the Aboriginal people were ‘less than’.
They wanted to take Australia’s land and resources and had a vision for the future where there were no full blood Aboriginal people left and the only remaining trace of them would be citizens who were white in their minds and had a slightly darker shade of skin.
It is my belief that what they did was strategic.
They starved people, used them as slaves, caused little kids to endure incredible childhood trauma and neglect that would go on to damage them for life and hamper their ability to raise their own children compared to if this had not taken place.
Have you ever spoken to an English person of a certain class, felt absolutely crestfallen after your encounter but unable to respond to a direct attack?
So it is with policy. They wanted to wipe Aboriginal out, but they didn’t want to be too obvious.
Because if they marched over one hundred thousand people into gas chambers and outright murdered them it would be quite a bit more obvious that this was an evil plan.
When an Aboriginal person speaks up, calmly and accurately about the truth they are gaslighted, bullied and cancelled.
I never thought that booing Eddie Betts was OK.
Is it perhaps a covert narcissistic policy?
At the funeral that I attended earlier this year it was relayed to all of us that when she was alive her love of dance saved her, diverted her from the pain.
The message about creativity being a healing force is sound.
Especially to someone who’s spent some time using unhealthy coping mechanisms like drugs and alcohol to manage a different kind of generational trauma.
Art is diverting me from my own pain at the moment.
As an individual who grew up in remote Australia with little to no contact with people outside my own race except for Indigenous people being a city resident has me having quite the multicultural time.
It has me reflecting on my own culture as an English person and asking “Are we the baddies?”