Meditation diaries: Not the man I want to be

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.

As yet untitled

And shall I act the gentleman when intoxicated by anger?
Simply twirl my moustache and walk away?
For what fairness is this, If I am the victim
Of an abusive charade?
What if another, an outsider lets say
Walks in and witnesses my anger on a particularly bad day
Would they not side with him, my nemesis?
For they would not have the eye that beholds
The images of all our yesterdays
And his bitterness and abusive ways

How does one act with stoicism
When anger curdles the blood within one’s veins
When there is injustice being etched
Upon the lines of my face
Perhaps one day becoming my age
And for moments in glimmers of time
I see to it that he remains only human in my mind
But then a sadness my own and his, I should well imagine
Leaks from my eyes
And empathy kicks in
Only to find it makes me angrier
The next time he crosses the line

For I burdened myself with sadness for him
When I have my own dark abyss
Fearing I haven’t experienced the scars
That are his
And thus undeserving of this sadness
For surely I haven’t been through enough
For such madness
And that makes me a terrible man
To think I’ve suffered enough to be sad!
Yet here it is, it beckons in my heart
An emptiness that is full
That could tear even oceans apart
A depression so deep
I never really know where to start.