Author: Matt Johnson

Meditation diaries: Not the man I want to be

Matt Johnson3 Comments

Like rats teeth, the feeling of being overwhelmed gnaws at me.

It’s a subtle sense of overwhelming.

Where I daren’t say aloud the things that are making me feel that way.

Because they are surface things. They are stupid.

One of them is a pretty narcissistic thing, something to do with my looks. I’m not one to obsess that much about how I look. Ask anyone and they’ll tell you I often go out with my hair still messy. But there are a few things, niggling things I have a complex about.

The other thing, well I guess the fact I saw a rat in the garden for the second time today is on my mind.

I keep having conversations in my head with support workers and managers and the manager says to me, “Matt, you need to stop feeding the birds.”

And I…

This is how pathetic I am. I guess.

I had always wondered why I often found it so painful, so odd a feeling, so stressful to some of the smallest of changes.

I guess now I have the autism diagnosis it makes sense.

The idea I might have to stop feeding the birds makes my brain feel fried. It’s a hard feeling to describe. But it hurts.

Not to mention that my key interest in life is… yea, you guessed it…Birds!

To an obsessive degree.

Do you know what I spend the majority of my time doing when in my flat? Talking to my budgie and looking out the window watching the birds feed at my feeders.

Do you know what I do when I notice the feeder is empty? I clean it and then refill it.

And do you know the action of cleaning it, then leaving it to dry makes me a bit angsty?

It does.

I always wish I wasn’t this way.

I’ve always wanted to be one of those men that exudes competency with a really calming, laid back appeal to me.

But my brain doesn’t allow it to happen. It’s not wired that way or something. I don’t know.

I’m the kind of person that watches western movies wishing I could be like clint Eastwood silent characters or like Shane from the book Shane written by Jack Schaefer.

Read books about how to be more ‘stoic’ etc.

But inside my head, it’s too painful to be that man.

It’s funny in a depressing way because I’ve searched about autism and stoicism together, trying to find ways to group the two together. To find ways to make stoicism a way of coping with being autistic.

And I’ve found a few posts on Reddit and one or two on facebook where people claim that as autistic people stoicism seems to come naturally to them.

Yet I can’t figure out how they’ve found it to be so compatible. Given the anxiety that often comes with autism, the tendency to meltdowns etc.

I can see how visually I may seem like a person who it would be compatible with. I don’t have as many expressions on my face as others, I can say very little and seem relaxed. But often inside I’m the exact opposite.

But eventually, that silence cracks and I become overwhelmed and show my hand for what it is.

Often broken.

Stressed.

Part 2 of Chapter 1: Dragonfish

Matt Johnson1 Comment

Read part 1 of this chapter

The neon sign glares through the bus stop and reflects on the night washed pavements; it’s raining that summer rain, and it’s humid as hell.
“Gilly,” A voice beckons to me, loud and boisterous, “My man! How are you doin’?”
I turn to see who it is; it’s a guy I used to know from school, I nod in acknowledgement of his presence, hoping he doesn’t wish for any more conversation.
“How’re ya doing?” I know this is just that thing people call small talk, and he doesn’t give two shits about me, I turn to look at the bus routes.
“Have you heard the news?” He continues on
I nod and I look down at the shiny pavement, closing one eye then closing the other watching how the reflection of lights appear to change their position.
“What do you think?”
I look at my shoelaces that I’ve just noticed have come undone, I find his topic of conversation to be too vague, I shrug my shoulders.
“Ah man, you’re still as awkward as ever.” he smiles, and fist bumps my shoulder.
He used to do that to me at school ironically to take the piss out of my supposed social incompetence.
“But yeah,” he leans against the glass, “Shademore high is closing down.”
“Oh” I manage
“Yeah.” He shrugs his shoulders, “It’s a real piss take because my auntie was gonna put my little cousin in Shadmore.”
He runs a hand through his hair, “She’s ranting at us all the time now, man!” he leans his head back against the glass, “We can’t move again.” He says, trying to mimic his aunties voice.
I nod to show I’m listening as I watch rain drops on a reflection of a green neon light. “Ofsted closed them down, said they’re not up to scratch,” he laughed, “They’d been threatening that all the time when we were there,” he looks at me, “do you remember?”
I can only nod, I remember it well because every time rumours got around about Shadmorehigh closing I was fucking buzzing! But then I’d consider the fact my mother wasn’t just going to keep me out of school if it closed down, she’d just take me to a new one. And then I’d get angsty about Shadmore high closing.
“I mean,” he continues with himself, “It’s not like we turned out bad is it?” He laughs, though it’s clearly fake, “I mean we’re still alive, right?”
He asks as if needing reassurance.
I take quick glances at him as I take in all the changes that have happened to him since school, never crossing that threshold of looking at his eyes. He’s filled out since his school days, we both have. He has a goatee and is wearing long shorts and sandals with white socks.
I never thought he’d be one to dress like that, sandals and stuff. He’d have pulled a mooney through the bus window at the guy he’s dressed as now. “It’s gonna start lightning soon,” he lifts his bag from the bench,  and points to the sky “got all my camera gear in here.” He grins.
A woman about the same age as us; in her late 20’s comes and sits where his bag was. She’s chewing gum and smoking a cigarette.
“What you doing nowadays, anyway?” Nick asks, his eyes subtly glancing over at the woman.
I shrug.
“Nothing?”
I shrug again, close my eyes tight and try to unleash the leash around my throat, “Work.”
“Ah.” He nods his head, “Yeah, life got old quick after school and all that shit, eh?”
“I…I guess.” It’s like he read my mind, then again life got old way before leaving school if you ask me!
His bus arrives, and he rummages in his big pockets on his khaki shorts, “Nice seeing ya, Gilly.” he steps on the bus and shows his pass, the driver nods his approval and Nick walks on and is still walking to a seat as the bus starts moving.

“What kinda name is ‘Gilly?'” She chews loudly in between her words.
I feel my body go more rigid, wooden. I freeze up inside. A stranger is talking to me; I don’t like the intrusion.
She scoffs, “Cat got your tongue?”
My taxi arrives just in the nick of time, my saving grace. I go to open the car door when her voice, shrill behind me, “Eh, are you ignoring me?”
I quickly get into the back of the car, tell the driver my address and the car jerks forward.
I find myself looking out the rear window at the woman chewing gum.

Part 1 of Chapter 1: Dragonfish

Matt Johnson2 Comments

The neon sign from the cinemas glares through the glass panels of the bus stop, my taxi arrives and a bus pulls up behind it.
“You have nice night?” The driver asks me in a strong Asian accent
“Yea,” my eyes dart around the interior of the car, I take a deep breath.
There is that summer hum of distant mopeds, and for a moment I reminisce of holidays as a child in Spain.
But to serve as a stark reminder, there are stickers all over the cab advertising ‘Shademore taxis at the lowest price for all local destinations an more.’
“Nice summer,” The driver intones as the car jerks forward and the air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror swings rhythmically to the motion.
“Yea,” I try a smile and think about a line I read in a book the other night where the protagonist pays a cab driver more money not to talk. I consider for a fleeting moment that I do should do the same.
“You been out with nice girl?” The driver asks in his broken English.
I focus down on my shoelaces, “No.”
“Shame,” I don’t look to greet his eyes in the rearview mirror, but I know he’s staring at me through it and that he’s grinning with white pearly teeth.
“Right turn at traffic light?”
“Yes,” I confirm the direction.
I feel a sense of relief sinks into my flesh as we edge closer to my flat, and I let my breath settle into the moment as the car pulls up outside the building.
I show the driver my Shademore disability pass to get a lower price.
He clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth and shakes his head as he looks at his counter on the dashboard, “Should show pass when begin!”
I always forget, “Sorry.”
He smiles and I try to mimic the action of a normal smile back to him but it just feels like the friction of lips behind forced off their hinges.
“Never mind,” He waves away my apology but with a huff at the end of his sentence ejaculating his frustration.
I give him the money and close the door, running my finger down the edge four times to double-check it’s really closed.
The driver is eyeing me through his window, his face the epitome of a living question mark. I watch him pull away and drive off.

The lobby of the building is lit up, I pause and gaze through the gaps in the blind through the window and see a man checking his post. I wait for the figure to go and for the light to go off before putting my key in the door and turning. The light beams back on as I enter and then darkens once I’ve left the lobby and the other corridors light up to my presence till I arrive at my door.

My flat greets me with a calm emptiness. Security lights beam a little glow through the windows from the garden. I close the blinds, just another day over in a life not long for this earth.
The laptop whitewashes my face against the vast blackness of my empty flat. I’m picturing myself with a lightbulb head on a regular human body; I imagine my lightbulb head in different scenarios like walking down a dark unlit alley and lighting up the path as I walk. Drunks and druggies are stood against the wall, their faces reflecting orange from my head. Yes, I’d wear a suit with a tie and draw an ironic happy face on the glass. Come to think of it the bulb would be a dud; it would keep flickering on and off with a fizzing sound in between each flick. I’d go off into the town of Shademore at night with a smiley face drawn on my head and stand outside someone’s window, “police,” his or her voice will say shakily down the line, “there is a lightbulb stalking me.”

 

Lipstick

Matt Johnson2 Comments

Always on the wrong side of love
It’s been a while
Since you could take it all in

With your lipstick manufactured crimson smile
You can wipe away
The mistakes you kissed

Lipstick stains left on the ruins of us
A mistake we made
We no longer trust

And with your lipstick manufactured crimson smile
You erase
The way we loved
And with your lipstick manufactured smile
I’m the mistake
You wipe away

At the end of the night
You take your painted lips
Wrap them up in paper tulips

Forgetting the nights you let slip
The words on your tongue
That kissed

“Nothing to regret it’s just a kiss,
just a kiss”

“I was thinking of you
I promise this
I promise you this.”

No more frogs, no more prince
You said you want to rewild
Want to be free

And I told you
Freedom doesn’t exist
You’ll soon see

You’re chasing a myth

Meditation diaries: In which I just ramble and call it meditation diaries only because it was a ‘series’ I started…

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Often life feels like you have this constant ‘thing’ chasing you. Be it the Depression, the anxiety the overwhelmingness that seems to come simply from having Autism. I don’t want to call it a black dog, that’s just…insulting to black dogs. Quite frankly if I did have a black dog following me I’d probably be pretty happy with the black dog (unless it was an aggressive dog following me to attack me of course).

Not sure why people use that black dog metaphor, especially when we supposedly love dogs so much. Why would you call Depression or anything else like it ‘the black dog that follows me’? Seems a rather strange one to me. Perhaps it should be clarified that it’s a rabid black dog. In which case that would certainly be depressing because that dog is really fucking ill and will need to be put down.

And dying dogs are a very depressing idea.

I went to a cardiac clinic today to check on my heart. I was overdue my heart check-up anyway but the reason I went today was that I have been having palpitations.

And the truth is the older I get the more aware I’m becoming of the fact my heart condition isn’t ‘cured’ and never will be. Not that I ever thought it would be cured, but the point is the older I get the more the risks of further complications with my heart go up a notch.

And that’s from a heart that was already very much at risk as a child.

It’s gotten to the point where I’m either thankful I haven’t started having heart failure yet, and thus actually appreciating life.

But then there are the other moments when it’s all I can think about, “Shit, my heart is gonna fail, my heart is gonna fail! It’s going to fucking fail!”

And then to conflict that I have the depression that sometimes tells me, “You’re better off dead anyway,” but then that ends up being quite relaxing because then I just sort of start relaxing into this state of mind where “Welp, my heart might start to fail, but whatever. Who cares.”

I know ultimately that my life expectancy is shorter than average.

Some people use that sort of fact to their advantage. They use it as a means to appreciate every day more because their life really is short!

But I struggle with that.

Because the world is often so overwhelming to me. I always feel like a sort of fish out of water trying to navigate through life and social interactions.

This isn’t really a woe is me post. It looks it though.

I mean what I am trying to say is that I do appreciate some aspects a lot more the more I come to the realisation I’m at least maybe early middle age in terms of my heart condition and life expectancy? I mean I could be totally wrong. I could defy the statistics. And last longer than expected

Or

I could die tonight. I could die tomorrow. Or next week or whenever.

And yea sure it can help put things into perspective.

Like when some arsehole screams at you for no reason that makes sense and you’re thinking, “You fucking prick,” you take a breath and you think “Well, what’s the use arguing. We’re all gonna be dead one day anyway. So why argue with a person who won’t even listen to a word you say anyway?”

But I find another part of me, the part of me that is like a terrier with a bone, he wants to grip that bone and he wants to never let it fucking go.

As with all terriers, he’s fucking cute.

But he’s also an angry cunt who barks. Too fiercely.

Currently, I appreciate Jays (birds) and yea, all other birds actually. And dogs. I love dogs. And did I tell you I love Jays?

But I’ve also got some things bugging me.

Too much is changing at once. The local council are changing things. Support is changing. Nothing feels in its place and it feels like my brain is being electrocuted. My life doesn’t feel in it’s place.

And that screaming prick. And others response to it all. “Just ignore him,” Well thats all well and good but I ignore the person 90% of the time. I’m not a fucking brick.

But what really, really, really grinds my fucking gears…

All the responsibility is being put on my shoulders to ignore them. What about putting some responsibility at his door?

I sound like a sibling who’s younger brother or sister gets away with everything, don’t I?

*sighs*

I try to set out to be the image of myself I have inside my head. And I’m always falling short of it.

I’m not a duck either. I can’t let things just let it go like water off a ducks back. What kind of oil would I use to make that ‘water’ go off my back? I don’t have a preen gland that produces oil to make it just drip right off me.

Which is partly why I fall short of my ideal self because I wish to be a duck. If only to have a corkscrew shaped penis.

Goodbye – lyrics

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In the storm
I gather myself
Pull my heart
And these strings
They call my veins
Like barbed wire
Around my throat
I black out again

I know there is nothing
Wait-ing
On the other side
I’ve seen it
The darkness
Thats never ending

No lighthouse
No life jacket
Just the waves and I
Take these strings
They call my veins
Like barbed wire
Wrapping around my throat
I black out again

I’m a monster
Deep inside
But you’re ugly
Just like me
So come with me
And step inside
The eye of the storm

Let it take us
Just you and I
Take these strings
They call our veins
Like barbed wire
Around our throats
Blacking out again

And I only wish
I could have said it sooner
Goodbye

I wish I could’ve said it sooner
Goodbye

And my heart
Is thrashing in the ocean
And my lungs
Are filled with too much emotion
I’m barely even breathing

I wish I could have said it sooner
Goodbye

*Note I can’t write music, can’t sing. If anyone wants to try putting it to music give it a try, and let me know about it.

*another Note. Yes the lyrics about veins and strings is inspired by the song Bleed from Cold  “Take all these strings They call my veins Wrap them around Every fucking thing”