I don't think I planned on that one
summer being the launch point for my adult life. Who knew that first
job my aunt got me the week after my 18th birthday would
keep coming back to me as it has? I had no interest in working as a
disability aide, and I guess I still don't, but this is what I find
myself doing. I didn't realize disability is so prevalent or that it
can pop up anywhere.
I don't think I'm qualified to give
“advice to 20 somethings” as is a popular trend floating around
blogs these days. I have stories, of course, but what I take away
from them is not what you might need. Life tends to keep going in a
direction you aren't quite sure you like. I don't know why there's so
much disability and violence in life. I guess I was surprised to find
it in me too.
I'd give advice to my former self, but
even I don't know the end of this story. Life isn't an Adventure in
Odyssey; you can't usually make a half hour show with exposition,
climax, and resolution. You know in a book it'll eventually be
alright, because there's always an ending. Life isn't like that. I
can't say for sure which parts will factor into the climax and which
parts are just needless exposition.
Someone slapped me in the face
yesterday (figuratively), telling me that no matter what my
circumstances, I don't have to be miserable. I guess that's true, in
a sense. Misery is a state of mind as much as it is a sort of thing
that just falls on you, or perhaps that you fall into. I don't say
this to downplay mental illness. If you don't know, I have depression
and anxiety. People joke that “falling in love” is sort of a
misnomer because you don't fall in love the same way you fall into a
hole. But you fall into depression similarly to how you fall in a
hole; you might be walking along not worrying too much about where
you're going and suddenly you're 6 feet under and have no way to get
out. Is it possible to not be miserable at the bottom of this hole
though? I think that's where the metaphor falls apart. Depression
isn't something you can see, like a hole. It's so intangible there
isn't usually a clear direction you need to go. That's not to say I
have to stay depressed, just that it's not really clear how to not be
depressed.
I don't know that I have advice for my
former self. That 18 year old girl that spent 4 hours a day watching
a low-functioning 10 year old alternately tremble and drool in some
ways is a lifetime away. That girl didn't have insomnia, a college
degree, close friends, artistic aspirations, concrete plans, a
political agenda, a liberal arts perspective, or a sexual
orientation. She'd never had to pay bills, manage a budget, repair a
car, stay up late studying, or weave through the intricacies of
trying to date and not date at the same time. She'd also never really
been on the internet. I wonder if the current me would do things
differently if put back in that place. If she'd still stock up on snacks in
her trunk and spend weekends thinking about doing something besides
driving and playing freecell. But no matter how much I wonder, the
truth is that I'm never going back.
I think that's one thing I would tell
myself. I mean, I'd tell me “you're asexual. It's cool.” But I
would also say that it's not worth having all those regrets. Of
course, I believe in living life in such a way that I won't have
regrets, but sometimes everyone does things that shouldn't have been
done. But you can't undo them. I think I'd also tell myself that
agnosticism isn't for me.
Maybe I'd tell myself to get as much
training on disability as possible. How was I to know that abnormal
psychology exists everywhere (to the point that it's not really
abnormal)? But that field of knowledge is vast and unpredictable. I
think one could study for a thousand years and not really understand
it. I don't even understand my own depression and anxiety despite
living with it every day.
But you know, 18 year old me knew
something that I may have forgotten. She used to dream of a day when
disability would be no more. There would be a day when that
trembling, drooling child would no longer be autistic. He would have
words and be able to walk and run and read and sing and create
without assistance. He would be free. And I think that it's sometimes
easy to stay in a place where disability is crippling and seems like
it'll last forever and that there will never be any hope of freedom
from it. But I wonder if this isn't just a cry for redemption?
