Dissidence isn’t new. It’s been a way of thinking, way of being since human beings began being. History’s tapestry has anomalous thinkers interwoven throughout it. And yet society has yet to make room for them. I mean really make room for them. We’ve come a long way in my lifetime and even more in the last decade. But as Robert Frost put it, we still have “miles to go before we sleep. Miles to go before we sleep.”
When you take a deep swirling mouthful of why I wrote this book, you’d find many different ingredients dancing about together. If you put that mixture into a boiling pot and distill it down to it’s elementary ingredients what you have is this narrative.
My earliest memories of life were intertwined with the constant awareness that I was different. Initially I didn’t have too many opinions of whether the difference was good or bad. I was out to collect data and find out. I didn’t have to wait long. The data began to inundate me. Data from loved ones, teachers, caregivers, strangers in the bank, the grocery store, the people on the trolly, on the subway platform…everyone. They all seemed to behave a certain way and understand the way that they behaved but not the way that I did. Perhaps my manner of speech, preferences, thought patterns and behavior were normal, just not for someone of my age, gender, race, etc. Perhaps it was tolerable, even permissible just simply not in the volume or with the frequency or at the depth at which I existed. Once the data was aggregated and analyzed I concluded that there was something inherently wrong with me. I was beyond repair. It became my deepest, darkest secret. I began to study people to crack the code on normality so that I could embrace it, even embody it. And if the mission failed, I could at least fake it. I could pretend to be normal.
We moved around quite a bit and every new school I attended I anticipated finding someone like me. Someone who understood. Every train ride, bus ride, restaurant visit, shopping excursion, trip to the beach…What I found instead were one, maybe two overlapping circles on a Venn Diagram. I settled on the fact that I would never be fully understood. The pain however, was not alleviated by such acceptance. At each new school or new grade I had a teacher who would comment about my brightness and that I was “smart.” I assumed that if someone really were smart or bright, they would feel like they were. I didn’t. I didn’t understand most things. I had no idea why most of the kids liked the same music, watched the same tv shows, and liked to dress alike. They enjoyed doing the same things, going the same places, and even eating the same foods. There was some variation based on culture, socioeconomic status, etc, but largely there were vast groups of individuals who shared common behaviors, desires, dislikes and patterns of thought.
There were times when these observations from well meaning teachers led to conversations with my mother about my differences. They were spoken in hush tones, and I was often, if not always asked to wait outside. Following these conversations were trips to the school psychiatrist or guidance counselor. Testing followed. The outcome of such tests were never discussed with me directly. They often resulted in the teacher treating me differently and either my classes or my school changing. I overheard a teacher, proctor, whatever she was, gasp after looking at the test and reference Einstein. I didn’t know much about him then, except that he was old, dead and had disheveled hair. I couldn’t find the connection between he and I and the reference alone sent me on a downward spiral. I stopped compiling data. I didn’t want to know anymore. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I possessed some level of psychopathy, I was inherently broken and completely beyond repair. The only viable course of action was to hide within myself until I died.
I only revealed bits of myself based on the recipients ability to tolerate it, tolerate me. I could tell when I overwhelmed someone. Most of the time. I could tell when they were mind numbingly bored with me. Some of the time. I could tell when I revealed too much of my inner life and they needed to escape and recuperate. And then there were times that I was completely oblivious.
I was a daydreamer. I would be underwhelmed with whatever was going on or just wanted to escape the painful reality in which I existed. So escaped within myself. My mindscape was rich and unlimited. I could go anywhere and do anything, and so I did. I would collect data, create theories based on that data, test those theories and so much more. When I was traveling among these imaginary lands and scenarios I was completely unaware of whatever was going on around me. I was impervious to sound, sights, heat, cold, hunger…the real world in it’s entirety. A family member recalls my mother testing my hearing to determine the cause of these episodes. When I asked about my periods of silence outside of those episodes, I was told that it seemed as though I thought the conversations were so trivial that they didn’t warrant a response on my part. He said that I thought it was beneath me. I don’t recall ever feeling superior to anyone…ever. But I do recall not having anything to say or that if I said what I wanted to say, no one would understand. I still deal with that at times.
After a lifetime of research, data collection, observations and interviews I now understand how I am wired. I also understand those who have similar wiring. Hence this work that I now share with you.
Lover’s Manual 