Alexander Gordon Jahans
So things are weird. Better than the old shit but weird. I guess that’s only to be expected when two people on the autistic spectrum get together. There are a lot of webs to untangle so let me try to parse them out one by one to make sense of the madness that is now driving me to great darkness.
Think of the stress like a song. Each element a different instrument adding to the melody. In the background as a nice light tinkly piano or string section are my complex feelings for my closest friend. When all the false friends of college and uni had forgotten me she kept in touch and I fell in love with her. She is utterly my type and fairly flirty so there is a constant underlying tension there which is only complicated by the genuine depth of feeling I have for her as a person and as a friend for being there for me when nobody else was and for actually caring about my writing and encouraging me. When I talk with her I feel so much better but now her relationship is on the rocks and I’m unavailable in more ways than one.
Next comes the Shattered, a group I once called home and counted among my friends but has now fractured more. Think of it like a backing choir where some have got coulds so the harmony is missing, a constant jarring almost melody as those who are left keep me in contact with the real world with my brief brushes against it.
My family is an orchestra, at times sweet and soothing, at others, violent strings jabbing every moment. Get a job, get on benefits, babysit the cat.
Politics is an electric synthesiser, at times making melody of of disharmony with the hope of Corbyn and Sanders, at others forcing discord with the EU referendum, Trump, the Blairites and the vile Tories.
And of course then there is the baseline of my self loathing. Deep booming brass. The fear that my writing and sexual proclivities will have me branded a monster. A fear that has begun to subside with the presence of my boyfriend but comes back in spikes when I am at my weakest. Like now. A great booming fuck you from my neuroses.
Then there’s the hatebase, the sound of the crowd hissing and booing at the cacophony. Kill yourself. Die. Faggot. Spergy.
Then there’s my boyfriend. A marvellous electric guitar for this one I think. He is so so sweet and so so lovely but so utterly hurt and so unwilling to try that which might cause more harm. I would bleed for him. I thought once that I wouldn’t, that I was too cold. I was wrong. I am his as long as he wants me, even if it hurts me and he can’t understand that. He keeps thinking I’m going to leave him when I have upturned my whole life to try and make him even slightly happier. Maybe I’m stupid. Maybe I’ll think differently in a year. For now though I know that when I am with him I don’t hear the noise. I could have alzeimers and terminal cancer and the world could be about to end and so long as I was with him I would feel okay.
But now that peace is ending. At least for a little while. He is moving so I must return to the house of discord and plate spinning. He can’t think about the future, not like you or I can. Games can help an imagination but only when the rules are solid but he knows all too well how to change the rules to fit him so he can’t learn to work within them, to plan each move that will likely need to be made. I can.
I feel dizzy, I feel like I’m jet lagged and there’s a thousand trains rushing past me because I can see the madness that awaits me when I leave him. I can almost hear the discord already. There’s a reason I scream so much in my videos, why I can’t write unless I’m listening to music, because I can hear that discord going on inside my head every single day. I can’t smell, I can’t see well, I’m paranoid about going deaf, I have no money to go out and see people and I don’t have a fancy sense of touch but I do have a brain that runs at a million miles an hour and won’t shut up... unless he’s in the room.
He thinks he’s a problem to me. That his autism makes him an extra burden. he’s got it all wrong. It’s like how us sleeping together means I can go to sleep on a schedule, his snoring is so loud it shuts out my thoughts and forces me to sleep. Neurotypicals are easy to predict so my brain is free to race but my boy requires me to even moderate how often I give verbal cues to show I’m listening to and am interested in what he’s talking about. I can’t afford to think about anything else and I don’t have time to either. When I am with him I sleep better and I live better because the madness in my head stops.
It’s funny really I came here because he wanted help with not thinking and he wanted someone to sleep in the same bed as him so his sleep would be better and I’ve found he lets me stop thinking and he lets me sleep better. I don’t know how he feels about me, neither of us do yet but I know that he is sweet and kind and adorable and he makes me better.