Writing A Diagnosis: Asperger's Syndrome in Fiction

In order to get out of my reading rut, I've picked up a few books on Asperger's Syndrome. Most recently, I've read The Curious Incident of the Dog in The Night-Time by Mark Haddon, and The Rosie Project by Graeme Simsion.

You can read the summary of Haddon's book here and Simsion's book here. 

While the books certainly got me out of my rut (I devoured both books in a matter of days), upon reflection, I was left with a sort of troubled feeling. I first shrugged that feeling off as a symptom of reading a text that hit too close to home, but I later realized that it was actually my experience with Asperger's that made me easily pinpoint the fact that these writers were creating outlines of a diagnosis, rather than unique, fleshed-out people.

That's not to say I didn't enjoy the books. The plot lines were riveting, the secondary characters leaped off the page, and both texts were overall pleasant reads. But there is an inherent problem in viewing these texts as the holy grail of autism-depiction.

The protagonists in each book were at completely different stages of their lives, had different experiences, and were, shockingly, different people. However, on the page, they seemed uncomfortably similar in character, and followed a strict list of qualifications that make someone autistic:
-Views every situation as a formula
-Excessively analytical/scientific
-Lacks empathy
-Cannot understand the reason behind certain social niceties/social cues

While it is inevitable that everyone with Asperger's faces the same general issues, they don't magically lack personality because of the diagnosis. Yes, Christopher had a particular tenderness for animals and Don was a foodie, but these additions were thrown in in such a clunky, poorly thought-out way, it was almost as though the authors were going "oh wait! My autistic character needs a hobby" rather than saying "my [insert fleshed-out quality here] character needs a flaw."

And before you go off on me for calling Asperger's a flaw, let me acknowledge the fact that I mean this in the context of fiction (i.e. an internal/external struggle that makes life hard for the protagonist).

Rather than understand each character's personal struggle with social interaction, I was distracted by the fact that the authors kept saying they were trying to figure out the "scientific formula" for interacting with another human being. It would be a lot more telling (or at least more interesting) to understand what the characters were thinking during an awkward social encounter, or what their biggest fears about socialization were. 

Not only do these characters exhibit the exact same laundry list of "autistic mannerisms," but they feed into the commonly believed half-truths about Asperger's syndrome. A huge misconception about a person with Asperger's is that he cannot feel empathy. It was almost straight of a textbook to read about Don's inability to understand the pain of the 9/11 victims.

This is a gross oversimplification. People with Asperger's are not sociopaths. They can feel empathy. The difference here is that they express their empathy in ways that a neurotypical cannot recognize or understand.

You'd think that getting a first-person narrative would help shed some light on that issue. But it doesn't.

Some of the most empathetic people I know also happen to be on the spectrum. For instance, there was a kid who was hanging out with his neighbor, but once said neighbor started lighting ants on fire for fun (twisted view of fun, but okay), he stormed back to his house in a rage that the ants were in pain and suffering.

That's some pretty deep empathy, if you ask me.

Another thing that gets to me about the depiction of Asperger's is that the characters go around announcing every textbook symptom they have. Like, "don't mind me, I'll just be over here avoiding eye contact and misinterpreting social cues."

That's a painfully self-conscious narrative. Most of us don't go announcing our flaws: "hey, nice to meet you; I'm a total commitment-phobe who also has abusive tendencies!"

I think not.

Maybe I've just met some strange individuals, but the least interesting thing to aspies I know (I really hate that word, but there's only so many times you can type "person with Asperger's" before wanting to smash your head with a hammer) is the qualities that make them different. A really authentic portrayal would be having the protagonist rant about dinosaurs for ten minutes whilst forgetting to say hello to someone.

I get that characters in novels are more poignantly self-aware, but still. There's gotta be a more natural way to integrate autistic behaviors.

Then again, I've only read two books on the matter. I'm sure part II will happen at some point in the future when I'm more well-read.

Have a lovely New Year, dear reader. And just remember for your New Years parties: Don't do what I WOULD do. That's what we here at Coffee, Yoga, and Life's Other Necessities call alcoholism.

Namaste.

Lessons From 2015 (The Year in Review)

So I know I did a Snapchat school year in review not too long ago, but as 2015 draws to a close, I thought I would join the rest of the world and reflect on the good, the bad, and the ugly (but I won't spend TOO much time reflecting on Donald Trump. Ba dum shhhhh).

'Cause nothing says "party" like some good, old-fashioned self reflection, amirite?

This blog might as well be called "oversharing with Kira."

Moving on...

A bit of a disclaimer: This is a personal year in review. Yes, there has been a multitude of cultural and political lessons this year (like, don't elect a president who has the vocabulary level of a two year old, or hey, let's not bomb the French), but I'll save that for another blog (these are the promises that I make when I know there's a project on the horizon that requires research and proper citations. These are the projects that stay on the horizon).

The number one lesson that has stuck with me this year is something that I've been aware of, yet haven't fully understood since middle school:

1) There is a natural ebb and flow to relationships. That doesn't mean you're necessarily losing someone for good, nor are you gaining a bff for life.

Basically, people change. Duh.

Sometimes, the assholes in your life will want to "flow" right out the window. Let them.

2) There is a difference between being considerate of others and letting others dictate your life. You don't exist in a vacuum--therefore, your decisions will affect those around you. But there is rarely a time that you will make a decision that pleases everyone. In fact, there will probably be times in your life when you feel like you are pleasing no one (no? Just me? Alrighty then!). Acknowledge the fact that even when it doesn't seem like it, those closest to you are aware of how each personal decision affects you, and, by extension, them. But don't let that make you crawl to the nearest hole and live in it.

Well this is getting mighty dark, isn't it (hole...dark...gettit?).

3) Be ridiculous.
My fondest memories aren't when I went to bars, consumed too many calories, and spent too much money. My fondest memories are when my friends and I decided to "tour" every ice cream venue in State College or performed an entire dance looking like I was on crack (spoiler: I wasn't).

Similarly, I'm at my most confident when I look my most ridiculous. This may be a me-specific thing, but wearing panda ears makes me think I'm queen of the world. 

The great froyo tour of 2015 

I promise you, I'm not on drugs. We're just that weird.

 I wore these to the mall with my roommate, and the "popular" crowd of middle school girls proceeded to sneer and cackle at me like I wasn't a billion years older than them. Clearly these girls have not experienced the joy of giving zero fucks. 

4) Sometimes, the alcohol just isn't worth it.
It's expensive. It makes your body rage with a vengeance you've never seen before. It makes you text either exes or the aforementioned assholes who should have flown out the window (figuratively speaking, of course). Alternatively, it makes you fall asleep on the floor and let your friends do this:

 Note: This rule does not apply to Rumchata. It could never apply to Rumchata.

5) Don't do it for the story (or the Snapchat, or the Vine)
The story is not interesting to anyone but you. Especially when every story still ends in "and I was sad and ate a bowl of frosted mini wheats."

I do love me some frosted mini wheats.


 6) Do something just for you.
This seems obvious, but as I've gotten older and had more responsibilities thrown at me, it's been harder to do something that doesn't benefit my resumé/schoolwork/career in some way. And I know that, with time, it'll just get harder. For me, the one thing that makes me forget life/worries/regrets has always been dance. Joining PSIDE (Penn State International Dance Ensemble) has probably made me the happiest I've been in ages.

Can you feel all the feels yet? 

(However, this particular rule can often contradict rule #5, as dance makes for some fantastic Snapchats. Not even sorry.)

7) Lesson 7 is nicely summed up by a quote by John Lennon: "Everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's not the end."

I hope that your 2016 brings you happiness, joy, and cupcakes. In that order.

Namaste.

A Very Grownup Christmas Part II

Somewhere the inner workings of my brain told me the best holiday-themed blog would be on cultural appropriation, but my better judgment told me to wait on that one.

You're welcome.
How about a story instead?

Once upon a time there was a 21 year old Kira. This particular Kira was troubled by her penchant for getting up at 5:00 in the morning every single Christmas, tearing her stocking apart like it was made of gold, and being convinced that it was appropriate to display more enthusiasm about Christmas than the average five year old.

This 21 year old Christmas enthusiast morphed into a 22 year old Grinch.

I'm not entirely sure how this happened in the course of one year, but I've seemed to forget that Christmas is actually happening. I mean sure, I'm grateful for the excuse to eat another Christmas cookie (and another, and another...), and I have more time to spend with my family, but somehow being too old to have (non-alcoholic) fun and being too young to have kids (seriously, don't remind me that I'm not too young to have kids) makes Christmas kinda just...there--like that friend of a friend that no one really likes, but you're too polite to say anything.

So really, Christmas, I'm doing you a favor by not telling you to leave. How generous of me.

It's not for lack of trying. My roommate, the ultimate Christmas enthusiast, has tried multiple times to put me in the holiday spirit with carols and festive decorations. She even let me scream that "like George Washington!" bit at the end of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (and no one ever lets me do that). Yet despite my roommate's well-intentioned attempts to get me to feel joy, I cannot help but do this at the sight of anything festive:

Maybe it's the fact that, coming from a divorced family, I'm often the product of the inevitable holiday tug-of-war. No matter how kind and respectful of the other my parents are, it's just a matter-of-fact that the absence of family is a hundred times lonelier on Christmas.

(At least that's what I tell myself when I visited my mother in NYC and did all the shopping.)

The only picture I have from New York because I'm a narcissistic fuck (i.e. that time I forced my mother to learn Snapchat)

At this point, the knowledge that I'll inevitably be separate from some part of my family makes me want to jet off to California, lay on a beach with a margarita (I don't know what the proper beach drink is), and go "hah, none of you win! I'm spending Christmas wallowing in my singleness and self-inflicted doom!"

Nothing says Christmas like a healthy dose of doom-wallowing.

Maybe it's the fact that State College seems to be on an on-again off-again relationship with snow (they're on a break at the moment). Maybe I'm bitter of the fact that Christmas break ceases to exist the moment I step into the real-world, so I'm practicing being unhappy. Maybe I haven't eaten enough cookies. Yeah no, it's definitely that last one.

Allow me to fix that immediately.

(And in case any of you think your Christmas card is absurd this year, allow me to introduce you to my family:)

Have a very merry Christmas, everyone.

Namaste.

What's Next? (AKA the Massive Panic Attack)

I've seen this day looming. Stepping into my dorm freshman year, I made sure to remind myself that I couldn't get too cozy in the security blanket that is college. The very notion of entering the real world in a mere four years left me into a puddle of sweat--well, it was either that, or Penn State's brilliant idea to boil all of their students.

However, just because I'd heard of the "real world" lurking about, my idea of it was similar to how one might react to the apocalypse or Bigfoot. You've heard the anecdotes, you've sensed its presence, but you're almost positive you won't have to personally deal with it. Because people who use Netflix and sour patch kids to escape never have to deal with anything, right?

Ah, to be young and gaining the freshman 15 again

Welp, that day is here. Or rather, about to be here in 2 seconds flat. And yet. Adulting is still hard.

Having reached the first semester of my senior year, I've taken more time to indulge in my favorite activity: eating obscene amounts of ice cream. But in addition, I've had more time to reflect on where I've been, where I'm going, blah, blah, Lifetime movie crap, blah. 

I can't blame this all on time, though. Even since freshman year, I would convince myself that because I didn't have a five (million) year plan, my life was over, everything would come crashing down, and that a schlump like me shouldn't be in college in the first place.

You'd think that at this point I would have been smart enough to come up with a five year plan for anxiety and depression, but noo, this was just reason to panic more.

Fortunately for me, I documented all my years of insanity careful planning and dug up this post. And while I'm probably not going to traipse around an ashram from an entire year (don't quote me on that though), one thing has remained consistent: I will do anything to avoid the 9-5 lifestyle. It's like I'm refusing to admit to myself that jobs exist. Like, for people. With degrees and shit.

But you know what they say about jobs.

No, Kira, what do they say about jobs, other than the fact that they help you put a roof over your head and food in your stomach? 

Thanks, left brain. I got the rest of this post covered.

As it stands, not much has changed. I'm still applying to one grad program in rhetoric and composition. Just one--count it, I'm sure you won't.

In the words of my advisor, "applying to just one grad program is kind of a kooky thing to do." Then again, if it wasn't kooky, it wouldn't be me. At the very least, that's what I'll tell myself when I do exactly what I intended NOT to do and roam at the ashram for a year.

Yes, that's still in the works--something that requires no degree or marketable skills. Something that allows no makeup or dessert on weekdays. I sure know how to pick 'em.

(In all honesty, Shoshoni was amazing and life-changing and I'm eternally grateful that my first quarter-life crisis led me there. But still. The lack of makeup was a struggle.)

However, the third and final option is by far the "kookiest," and, coincidentally, the idea that I am most excited about: teaching English in South Korea.

I've never set foot out of the United States in my life. I have yet to see a k-drama or listen to k-pop. But sure, let me just pack my bags and jet off to the other side of the world. That sounds good.

I'm known for a lot things here at Coffee, Yoga, and Life's Other Necessities, but logical decision-making is not one of them.

However, unlike my decision to jet off to Colorado to panic about my impending doom in the adult world, the decision to go to Korea had some degree of level-headed thought to it. As it turns out, there is a multitude of benefits that go along with being aggressively anti-office job:

1) $$$$$$$. Might I just add that I picked the field that has zero money and zero job prospects. Teaching English in Korean public schools generally gets you about $2000 a month--this is already seeming pretty solid, considering that the school pays for your housing and utilities are like two bucks a month.

2) Travel. Contrary to popular belief, my lack of travel doesn't stem from a hatred of other cultures or pure laziness. See reason #1 for an explanation. The sheer lack of money paired with the prospect of not being up to my ears in student loans has kept me in this State College bubble for 22 years. To say I am ready to get out of here is putting it lightly. It's gotten to the point where, every time I step outside of my apartment and walk the exact same route to the exact same campus, I have to remind myself that there is, in fact, a world outside of State College, and that I do, in fact, have access to it. Shocker.

3) Fear. This seems counter-intuitive, but it's easy enough to get comfortable in a simple routine in a familiar setting. Does anyone else get that "itch" to experience life turned upside down? No? Just me?
Moving on, then...

4) Learning a new skill. While I've never had a desperate desire to become a teacher, it is a marketable skill that is a HUGE help for overcoming shyness and uncertainty. Even my brief stints as a TA/tutor demonstrated just how much of an impact teaching can have on your confidence--mostly out of necessity. If you are not convinced that your authority matters, no one else will, either. Enhancing these types of skills are almost expected of me as a "young person," and, regardless of my long-term goals, teaching and managing classrooms can only open more doors.

Even if they are doors to my house. At least I can say I tried.

Namaste.