Lost Highway

Jon Bon Jovi also lost his highway, but only literally because he was on a boat. He played on a cruise Runaway to Paradise, Palma de Mallorca

I just wasted an hour creating videos (for my pen name account) and I deleted all of them.
It seems the thing I want to share is just not ready to come out by spoken word, without becoming heavy.
I say becoming heavy, because I don’t feel that heavy.

When I go on dates with friends I talk about it very candidly, and we always have a good laugh over how I had to try out using different words at the GP, to describe what my mental health complaints were, in order to get the right referral.
Narcissism?
Suicidal thoughts?
I wanted to know what was wrong with me, and although my off-the-cuff self-diagnose was manic-depression, I could see how my defiant pose could also indicate a personality disorder.

I m on #day10 of trying to get a mental health diagnose, if I start counting this journey from the first consultation at the GP that was literally a request for help.
Because this depression has been going on for 18 months and I ve contacted the GP before. But only to inform her and keep my file up-to-date in case I would get a crisis.

I wanted to do this now that I still had bandwidth to do so, instead of having to tell a congruent story when I was already having suicidal thoughts, already homeless, or when the only thing I could say was:
“Put me on Prozac or any opiate you ve got because I ve accepted a normal job and need to forget my purpose work and everything I came to do here on this earth or I ll go mad.”

She had offered in-house,”light” mental help then too.
Something that initially appealed to me!
But when I actually sat there, with someone who clearly did not understand my problems, I was overwhelmed with a “shoot me now” feeling, that wasn’t beneficial for my mental health.
I never went back.

So if I count outside that brief flirt with getting help, my real journey started 10 days ago.
Despite promising myself I would not put my life on hold until I had a proper diagnosis – I can feel that I AM doing just that! Putting my life on hold.
For seven days I ve been absolutely convinced I have autism.
Absolutely.
Convinced.
It all made sense.

I have a male brain.
I value being in my inner-world way more than in the outer world.
I am totally allergic to small talk.
And super comfortable having a deep connection with others, even strangers.
For me it’s so much easier to really connect on an emotional level, than to engage in superficial “emphatic conversation”, which I find energetically draining.

Friends know I am not the right person to talk to, if you need a shoulder to cry on. But I m a brilliant friend if you want to go for coffee and discuss your deepest fears, spontaneously surfacing, and have a laugh over them.
I show my feelings openly and freely, and only hide them because I know people feel uncomfortable if I show my real self.
However, teary eyed me is only one side of that coin: she is tied to Lighthouse Self!!

And Lighthouse Self is not always welcome so I often leave her at home.
But sometimes when I m out, I get into the zone and start feeling really good, unexpectedly, and I can feel the light switching on!
And then hiding my true self becomes like pulling the light cord of lighthouse.
I want to shout: “I can’t hold this for long! Go away!”

Having unexpected lighthouse moments when you’re around people who feel threatened by that, is a nightmare for all parties.

But my most autistic side is actually the soft side of the coin, the vulnerability.
These moments when I just unexpectedly cry looking someone in the eye, or listening to music or watching a movie. Sometimes I just cry caressing my cat.
My emotions are so close to the surface, it costs me even more effort to hide them, than it costs me in the lighthouse situations.
I ve learned to toughen up a long time ago.

Autism also explained why the profession of yoga teacher (for groups) was not the right one for me. I cannot make a personal connection in a group.
The same thing that makes it so very easy to teach one on one, is what made it straining to teach groups.
Now it did get easier over the years!
And now I have a few residual groups, old-students from the studio. And this goes really well.
Last two years of normal studio life was easier too:
Because we all knew each other.

So the more intimate the setting, the easier I find my work as a yoga teacher. Because there I can make a real connection, and autistic people communicate on an energetic level.
So I thought I had cracked the code to where my mental health problems began:
In this neurological condition called autism.
But then today: Whoops!
Totally swayed to the other side.

I started reading on highly gifted people with autism, and also on highly gifted people mistaken for (also) being autistic.

And after being convinced for a whole week that my upcoming test for intelligence – I will be tested on autism, intelligence and personality disorders – was just a formality, because I m certainly not brilliant in pattern recognition or math – I did a 180 on the whole autism thing….
No.
No autism.
Can’t be.

High intelligence, or highly gifted, explains for my problems way more than autism does.

For instance:
I know perfectly well what people try to establish with small talk. I understand them. But I m interested in deep and or intellectual conversations.
About your life, and how you’re hacking things, and emotionally developing yourself.
It’s tempting to shame myself for not being interested in other people, when in reality, if those people make good jokes, or reflect on their lives, or know many things about many things, I LOVE to talk about them too!

I ve discovered about half a year ago that I can’t remember experiencing any problem conversing, putting on a mask, or having to hold on tight to the cord of the lighthouse, when I was talking to someone a bit nerdy.
Which usually means intelligent right?
We’d always get along.

That was the first time I saw a neurological explanation, for what was basically not being able to function in normal society.
But it wasn’t autism, that was intelligence.
Yet the past week, when I projected it onto autism?
Oh that felt so much better… 

Because if I saw myself as autistic, someone who was wired differently, I would be incapable of doing things that were practically second nature to others.
And I would have to figure out the manual to myself, because autistic people vary vastly. They come with all sorts of talents and sensitivities, so you can’t copy paste.
The only way to deal with autism is to weigh every aspect of your life, everything you do and don’t do, and ask yourself:
“Is this decision or habit mine? Or based on what the world says I can or cannot do?”

Autism gave me a validation.
Both for my talent to make a real connection with people easily (autistic people communicate from an emotional level), and to let the tears come whenever they want.
But autism also explained why I felt drained to make small talk. And in such a charming way….
“I m autistic, sorry.”
But if I m “only” very intelligent?
Or “only depressed”?
Anything else that is not as disarming as autism, then I lose my hall card, right?
I can no longer dodge situations when neutral, accessible human interaction is required, without suddenly coming across as horrible and arrogant.

So I m back to square one.
I have no idea when the testing and the diagnoses will happen, but I m counting on 6 months. 

At times like this it’s good to remind myself of why I wanted to get a diagnoses:
To get some perspective on why I am so stubborn in needing to do my purpose work. Even if it is never going to make me a cent, not in life nor after death.
Even if the worst case scenario, of giving it my all and never being recognized in any way, I want to stand tall and say:
“But I did what I came here to do.”

After wasting ten days, it’s time to do just that.
Yoga, this blog, and everything else I came here to do.
Before I really lose my highway.

~Suzanne
Rock Star Writer


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Bon Jovi concert reviews 1995-1996 Suzanne Beenackers YouTube

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