Marissa's musings about liberty, individual rights, justice, grief, loss, and other random things
The sun’s warming rays
Cut through the cold air;
The day is bright
Despite the chill of the wind.
The grass, still dry and brown,
Crunches beneath my feet
But the statue’s metal surface
Is warm to the touch
And birds chirp
Far in the distance:
The first signs of spring.
2/7/24
Trucks rumble up and down the hill,
Carting away debris.
The air is still and cold.
Fog lingers,
Clinging to the trees
And hovering above the water.
The hammering of construction workers
Can be heard far in the distance.
Sunlight cuts through the fog,
Gradually warming me.
Geese call out,
Honks echoing through the still air.
Lazily, they bob along,
Spreading out across the pond’s surface.
December 2023
A bleak day;
Clouds mingle with sunlight
As they drift lazily across the sky.
The grass is dry and brown,
Punctuated by a few remaining patches of snow;
The pond’s surface still half frozen.
Ducks and geese call to each other
As they paddle in the water
And waddle across the ice.
2/1/2024
Stonewall Jackson’s 200th birthday was yesterday, and this is how I celebrated!
This past weekend was Lee-Jackson Day, the holiday honoring Generals Robert E. Lee and Thomas “Stonewall” Jackson!
One day, I would love to go to the celebrations in Lexington, Virginia honoring these two amazing heroes. But because I live too far away for that to be practical, I enjoyed looking at the photos and videos on social media. The celebration of Lee-Jackson Day confirms to me that there are still some people who believe in honoring heroes and doing what is right.
I also thought this would be a good time to introduce my new project: The Historical Heroes Blog.
There, you can check out photos and videos from the ceremony at Stonewall Jackson Cemetery, parade, and flag ceremony at Lee-Jackson Park, to give just a few examples.
This new blog will be dedicated to sharing content that I find around the internet about my favorite historical figures – art, quotes, statues, birthdays, holidays, events, news, and more. Unlike the content on this blog, the content on the new blog will focus solely on the positive. Given the horrific events of the past few years, positivity is a concept that often seems elusive. For the first two years of the statue genocide, it was almost entirely absent. But gradually, I have become able, through various avenues, to find small glimmers of hope that make me smile. Not by moving on from the historical figures whom I love, but by celebrating them and honoring them and incorporating them into my life as much as I can. (I wrote more about this concept in my post about Christmas and New Year’s). It is the desire to collect these glimmers of hope, of beauty, of goodness, that gave rise to the creation of the new blog. In the darkest days of the statue genocide, the idea of creating such a blog didn’t occur to me, because I assumed it would be impossible to find suitable content for one. Everything relating to historical figures was dark, sickening, horrifying, and negative. But the idea for the new blog began to take shape in my mind last year, and shortly after the new year I finally launched it. I am hopeful that the new blog will be a place for hope, beauty, and goodness, and a place to celebrate and honor historical figures, for years to come.
I will continue this blog as well, as a place to share my opinions, thoughts, and experiences about the things going on in the world. Over the years, this blog has undergone many transformations. At first, I pretty much stuck to sharing my opinions about current events, with a little bit of sports stuff and a little bit of history stuff thrown in. When I became interested in watching high-profile trials, my first-hand reports from the trials that I attended became the primary focus of the blog. Then the blog went relatively dormant for a while, when I lacked the time, energy, and inspiration to update it. Over the past few years, the horrible things happening to historical figures affected me so deeply that my writings became centered around this subject and the personal impact that it had on me. Recently, I’ve spent more time thinking about my identity as a person on the autism spectrum and how this is intertwined with the statues. I feel that my autism, my imaginary world, and my love of historical figures are strongly connected. Given that the majority of autistic voices seem to express political beliefs that are the opposite of mine, I feel that I have a perspective that is unique and different and therefore important to share. In the future, I plan to write more about my personal experiences with autism and mental health, as well as statues, historical figures, individual rights, and anything else that I have a strong opinion on.
As always, thank you for reading.
On Saturday night, I endured the worst sensory experience of my life.
I was walking to the train station from work, and out of nowhere I was attacked by the worst wind imaginable. Wind so horrendous that I don’t even think the word “wind” is adequate to characterize it. It attacked me with a viciousness and brutality so severe that it felt like sharp claws ripping and tearing at my clothing and skin. It felt like being stabbed by a million icy cold knives, my skin shredded to pieces. I was in such atrocious pain that I was literally screaming in agony while I sprinted down the block to the train station. (There were a few people out and about who almost certainly thought I was insane; I’m lucky that no one called the cops.)
It was torture.
In my opinion, weather is simply not supposed to be the way it was during that torturous walk. Obviously, part of existing on earth is the fact that on different days, you get different types of weather. There are warm days, cold days, sunny days, cloudy days, rainy days, and, yes, windy days. But this was not merely a windy day. This was an abomination. Air is simply not supposed to act like this.
The wind was so bad, in fact, that even inside the train station, even after I had angrily stomped up the stairs to the second level of the station, ice cold wind was still blowing through the train station.
The experience was so horrific that even hours after returning home, I could not recover. No amount of being inside a warm, wind-free house, or drinking hot tea, could help me to feel better. The only thing I wanted was to scream and scream and scream at the top of my lungs, and to smash every building on that evil block into pieces until all of the apartments and all of the storefronts were reduced to a heap of rubble.
The experience itself lasted only a minute or so, because I was only a block away from the train station when I was assaulted by the abominable wind, but I could not get it out of my brain. I re-experienced it again and again while I was lying in bed, trying futilely to fall asleep. The sensation of the wind ripping and tearing at my face and neck, and buffeting and battering my body, is permanently etched into my consciousness.
As an autistic person, sensory sensitivities (finding certain sensory experiences unpleasant, distressing, and even painful, which most people are not bothered by) are a big part of my life.
As you may have guessed, wind is my biggest sensory sensitivity. Noise is one as well, particularly sudden noises that come out of nowhere. Light is another, particularly when it is at the wrong angle, shining directly into my eyes.
Obviously, although most people would likely not enjoy spending time in such strong wind, my autism is why the wind felt so incredibly distressing and painful to me.
I am certain that if other people experienced what I did during that horrible walk, avoiding creating the conditions that cause such strong gusts of wind would be the number one priority of every city and town government, every architectural firm, and every civil engineering department. If other people experienced what I did, they would do whatever it took to prevent such an experience from happening to another person ever again. Even if that meant demolishing buildings and rebuilding them in a different place. Even if it meant razing entire city blocks and entire neighborhoods.
But other people do not experience what I do.
So I’ve been thinking about steps that I could take to decrease the odds of having a repeat of this experience. As I’ve embraced my autistic identity more and more, I’ve been thinking about ways to accommodate my sensory sensitivities, ways to avoid being subjected to the things that cause me discomfort and distress, ways to hopefully allow me to have a better quality of life.
The autistic community is pretty much in agreement that sensory sensitivities do not diminish with repeated exposure. Autistic people can’t “get used to” the things that bother us, or learn to tolerate them over time. If anything, it’s the opposite: the more we are exposed to something that bothers our sensory sensitivities, the more it bothers us.
Wind is a difficult thing to avoid, however.
It is impossible to predict with any degree of certainty whether any particular street or block will be particularly windy at any particular time. Yes, some streets are more predisposed to wind than others, but on the Saturday night from hell, a street that has frequently had terrible wind in the past was fine, while the abomination happened on a street that has never been a problem, wind-wise, before. I could choose a route to the train station that avoids both of these streets, but there’s no guarantee that a different street won’t randomly happen to have terrible wind.
Because wind is just that – random. I’m sure there are scientific laws that explain why some places tend to be more windy than others (I’m not a scientist, so I don’t know the details), but any prediction is inexact and uncertain. I check my weather app each morning, but it is an imprecise guide. There have been days when the app shows a wind warning and/or an icon signifying strong wind, but once outside I don’t find the wind to be particularly bad. Conversely, there have also been days with no wind warning and no icon, on which I nonetheless find the wind to be absolutely awful.
Clothing such as scarves, down parkas, and hats with ear flaps help, but don’t prevent suffering entirely when the wind is really bad. It’s also not really socially acceptable to wear such clothing in spring, and wind can really bother me in that season as well, even though the temperature is not as cold.
I could take Uber or Lyft to and from work to minimize my amount of walking, but that would be much more expensive than the train, and I also enjoy riding the train much more than I enjoy being in a car one-on-one with another person, with whom I feel obligated to make small talk.
I could buy a car (something that I don’t currently own) and drive everywhere that I need to go as opposed to taking public transportation or walking, but that would be quite expensive as well. Plus, there’d still be a chance of getting attacked by a gust of wind in the parking lot.
The only way to avoid wind entirely is to never leave one’s house, and that is neither a practical option nor a desirable one. I wouldn’t be able to work, for starters, at least not at my current job. Plus, I really enjoy running errands such as going to the post office, bank, convenience store, and grocery store. I also enjoy walking around in both natural and urban environments and taking photos of the things that I see. And walking is good exercise, which is valuable as well.
Having said all of that, I am trying to manage risks wisely and minimize exposure to the things that bother my sensory sensitivities when it makes sense to do so.
Yesterday, for example, with Saturday’s abomination still fresh in my mind, I decided to take the bus to the downtown area to buy face cream at the drug store, deposit my paycheck, and get a coffee at Dunkin. Normally I would walk, but as I was about to leave my house, I realized that the bus was due to come soon, and I was able to catch it without waiting a long time. The timing of my errands worked out so that I was able to easily take the bus back home as well. All in all, I was able to complete the tasks I needed to do, walk around the downtown and observe all the goings-on there, and snap a few photos of the bright and snowy day, without being subjected to significant wind.
While wind (like noise or light) is impossible to entirely avoid or accurately predict, I am learning that there are measures that I can take to minimize my exposure. Gradually, I am finding ways to enjoy the activities that are important to me without being subjected to unnecessary distress from my sensory environment.
As the year 2024 begins, I am going to get a bit introspective and take a look back on the past few years…
2020 was, frankly, the worst year of my life. I didn’t share the extent of my struggles at the time, but the events going on in the world – the Covid pandemic and the policies implemented in response to it, the 2020 election, and the protests that resulted in statues being removed and torn down – really negatively impacted my mental health. Particularly the statues. For reasons that are difficult to explain, I couldn’t stop thinking about them. I was extraordinarily angry and sad about what had happened, and it affected work, friendships, hobbies, and every area of my life. No one understood why I felt so strongly about metal and stone sculptures. I felt alone, I felt unheard, and I felt powerless to change anything.
2021 was a difficult year as well. The horrible things happening to the statues continued, as did the pandemic and the authoritarian actions taken in response to it. Feeling that I needed a major change in my life, I left my job and started a completely different one, which came with mixed emotions. I did experience some glimmers of hope, however: I connected with fellow Italian Americans who share my love of Christopher Columbus, and while scrolling through social media, I discovered an opportunity to put up my very own statue.
2022 was a year of ups and downs. I struggled with finding the time and energy to do the things I wanted to do, as well as with striking the right balance between speaking out about my beliefs but not wanting to be so controversial that I would lose friends and opportunities. Overall this was a year in which I became more active in expressing my views, honoring the historical figures who are so important to me, and trying to make a difference. I began sharing my artwork publicly and selling it at local fairs and festivals. Most importantly, Stonewall Jackson came into existence and came to live in my yard, which I consider to be the most significant accomplishment in my life.
In 2023, I continued to make progress on my journey of healing and finding my place in the world as an authentic person. Stonewall Jackson was by my side, experiencing all the seasons of Massachusetts and celebrating all of the holidays with me. Additionally, Christopher Columbus got his head re-attached to his body and returned to view, although not in the way that would have been ideal. Many people don’t understand why someone with a degree from Harvard would want to work at a grocery store. Many people don’t understand why someone would care so much about statues and be affected so strongly by what happens to them. My way of seeing the world is different from most people’s, and that is OK.
In 2024, I hope to continue expressing myself through drawing and writing, and I hope to incorporate the historical figures that I love into my life as much as possible.
Cheers to 2024!
This holiday season has been one of contradictions. Darkness and light, hope and despair, joy and pain.
A few days before Christmas, the bullies whose goal is to eliminate from the world everything that makes life worth living struck again, inflicting horrific and agonizing pain. Like so many other places and things in the United States, Arlington National Cemetery has been transformed into something sickening, disgusting, and horrific. It has become yet another symbol of me being rejected, excluded, and hurt, yet another reminder of the atrocities that have taken place, yet another trigger of grief and rage so strong that I feel sick to my stomach at the mere mention of its name. Arlington has been transformed by bigotry and intolerance, from a cemetery honoring the dead into a shrine to sameness, compliance, and conformity. Where a cemetery is supposed to be, there is now nothing but a hideous scar in the world. Arlington is yet another place that has been physically transformed, using cranes and work crews at taxpayer expense, to ensure that people like me do not feel welcome there. To ensure that autistic people, rebels, people who think differently, people who are different from the norm in any way, will feel rejected and excluded. The fact that anyone would think that this is a good thing to do is incomprehensible and unimaginable.
And just a couple of days after Christmas, on December 27, the bullies inflicted horrific and agonizing pain yet again, this time in Jacksonville, Florida. At the orders of the bully who was elected mayor, Donna Deegan, a monument honoring the women of the Confederacy was obliterated from a city park, a park which, by the way, had been known as Confederate Park, but of course Deegan ordered that name to be obliterated too. Because God forbid that anyone who is different from the majority in any way be allowed to exist. God forbid that anyone unique or different be honored in any way. Only people like Donna Deegan matter, apparently, and no one else. No one else’s feelings or perspectives matter. Only hers.
Just like the kids who bullied me when I was growing up, the kids who wore makeup, highlighted their hair, spoke using the latest slang, dressed in the latest fashions, listened to whatever music was popular at the time, watched whatever TV shows were considered “cool,” and IM’d with their friends after school instead of reading about and drawing historical figures. They are the only people who matter, apparently, and no one else. No one cares about my feelings or my perspective. No one cares about my right to exist. They only care about themselves and the people who look like them, talk like them, act like them, and think like them. In their eyes, no one else matters.
The atrocity, which cost $187,000, was funded by a grant from an organization called the Jessie Ball duPont Fund (source here). Which means that yes, people actually donated money to inflict horrific and agonizing pain on other people. People actually donated money for the purpose of destroying everything that makes life worth living. The fact that someone would donate money to such a cause is incomprehensible, unimaginable, and utterly sickening.
Statues and monuments were the only thing in our society that actually reflected my perspective and my values, that actually made me feel represented and included. So of course, they had to go. Of course, they had to be destroyed. Of course, it was deemed unacceptable for me to feel even the tiniest bit represented or included. Apparently, it wasn’t enough for the makeup-wearing, IM-ing, mindless conformists to control the media, the economy, pop culture, fashion, technology, etiquette, and social norms. They also had to take away the one thing that actually reflected my values and not theirs, the one thing that was beautiful to me, the one thing that made my life worth living. They had to turn statues and monuments into yet another thing representing their own values, yet another thing to make me feel condemned, rejected, and excluded, yet another cudgel to beat me with.
Society decided that because I am different from the majority, I deserve the death penalty.
That is what the Biden administration’s Department of Defense did at Arlington National Cemetery.
And that is what Donna Deegan did in Jacksonville, Florida.
Anyway, I digress.
Suffice it to say that each time a new atrocity occurs, I am assaulted by pain so horrific and agonizing that it cannot be described in words. Each new atrocity brings with it the pain of all the previous ones, and I am buried beneath the avalanche of atrocities. I am crushed by the weight of the pile, as if I will never be able to dig my way out. I feel as if I’ve been swept away by a tidal wave, lost in a vast sea of atrocities, directionless, as if I will never find my way back to shore.
It is difficult to see any purpose in celebrating the holidays given the vast and ever-growing mountain of atrocities. Putting up a Christmas tree, looking at beautiful lights, playing Christmas music, baking, buying festive foods, all these activities seem insensitive, superficial, tone-deaf. When the tidal wave of atrocities attacks, I hate the entire society. Because this society, as a whole, allowed the atrocities to happen. This society has decided that the destruction of everything that makes my life worth living is somehow an acceptable outcome, that there is no need to stop it, to reverse it, to condemn it, or to do anything about it. And because every person, every organization, and every company are part of the society, every possible way of celebrating the holidays is to some extent “contaminated.” When the pain is at its strongest, and my mood at its darkest, it seems that to celebrate the holidays would be to condone the atrocities.
Yet I decided to try, anyway.
Not because I condone the atrocities. Not because I wish to “move on,” or take my mind off of what happened, or dedicate my time and energy to something else, or find a new thing to be interested in.
But rather because I believe that I am a good person, and that I deserve to have joy in my life. I believe that the historical figures would want me to feel joy. Without joy, it would be impossible to summon the will to keep fighting. Just as the Confederate soldiers found ways to celebrate Christmas as best as they could, despite being exhausted and starving, missing their homes, shivering in their threadbare uniforms, suffering from illnesses and injuries, and traumatized from horrific battles, I celebrated as best as I could.
Of course, I wish to eventually heal from the horrific and agonizing pain that has been inflicted. (No person wants to experience horrific and agonizing pain.) And I believe that over the past couple of years, I have made slow and halting progress in doing so. But the healing does not consist of “moving on,” and it certainly does not consist of forgiving the perpetrators. Rather, healing consists of centering my life around the historical figures, doing whatever I can to honor them and keep them alive, incorporating them into everything that I do, and finding joy in them.
Over the course of the holiday season, my soul vacillated between these two states: being engulfed by horror and despair on the one hand, and experiencing rays of hope, joy, and even excitement on the other.
I tried to spend my holiday season doing things that I truly wanted, as opposed to things that I felt obligated to do. Some of these activities didn’t have anything to do with historical figures, but most did. Historical figures are the thing that I love more than anything else in the world, after all, and so it makes sense that most of the things that bring me joy would include them. So, after this long and rambling introduction, here are a few of the things that I did to celebrate during the holiday season:
Buying and setting up a Christmas tree and decorating it with ornaments honoring some of my favorite historical figures.
Putting up Christmas lights on the front of my house…
And in the back of my house, where Stonewall Jackson lives.
Sending out Christmas cards
Buying some festive foods from Trader Joe’s
Visiting the Christmas tree at the pond near my house…
… and the World War I memorial, which was decorated for Christmas.
Checking out the Christmas lights at Assembly Row, the area where I work…
… and going to an ice sculpture walk, also at Assembly Row.
Looking at Christmas decorations in Boston, paying a visit to Christopher Columbus, and giving him a little gift.
Eating Chinese food
Visiting a house with amazing Christmas lights
Making cinnamon bun pancakes
Making photo calendars to give as Christmas gifts (including, of course, a couple of my favorite statues)
Asking for toy soldiers as Christmas gifts…
… and receiving several other gifts as well, such as Confederate coffee, a Christopher Columbus teacup, and a necklace with a locket containing pictures of historical figures inside!
Finally, I spent Christmas night sitting on my couch, writing while watching a football game. The lights of my Christmas tree, with historical figure ornaments hanging from its branches, twinkled softly in the background, and the calming pine scent filled the living room. Although sports are something that can go either way for me regarding being “contaminated” by the statue genocide, I really enjoyed watching the game, particularly the interviews and the festive montages that played during it. Spending Christmas night with only my historical figures for company might strike some people as sad or pathetic, but for me, it brought a sense of peace and Christmas spirit that was exactly what I needed.
Here’s to more joy, more peace, and more historical figures in 2024.
It was December 23, and the North End of Boston was filled with Christmas cheer. Lights twinkled on the trees, and the cafes and restaurants were adorned with wreaths and garlands.
People hustled and bustled through the narrow streets and lined up outside Modern Pastry and Neptune Oyster in search of goodies for their Christmas feasts. Car horns honked impatiently. Tourists chattered excitedly in various languages and stopped to snap pictures.
The only person seemingly left out of the festivities was Christopher Columbus. A narrow alley off of bustling Salem Street, deserted except for a few parked cars and an abandoned mattress, led to his home in the parking lot of the Knights of Columbus headquarters. As always, he stood solemnly atop his modest pedestal, isolated behind a tall fence.
Merry Christmas, Chris. How have you been? Everything is so cheerful out there, with the lights, and the decorations, and everyone buying food and presents. And you are here all by yourself. Nobody seems to care about you out there, but I do. You have no decorations, and no presents, and no family, and no one coming to visit you. But I’m here to visit you. I didn’t forget.
I stood for a few moments with my friend Chris, separated from him by the fence.
And then I noticed that the gate behind him, on the other side of the parking lot, was open.
And an idea came into my mind.
Perhaps Chris could receive a gift after all.
I didn’t know for how much longer the gate would be open, so I had to hurry. I turned back onto Salem Street and, turning my head to the left and to the right, began scanning the storefronts for one that might sell suitable gifts for a marble statue. I remembered passing by a CVS earlier, shortly after getting off of the train. So, battling through the crowds, I retraced my steps. Once inside the cramped drug store, I found myself surrounded by an overwhelming assortment of candy, stockings, toys, and holiday decorations. What would Chrisopher Columbus like? I asked myself as shoppers flowed around me, checking out the merchandise, and the automatic doors noisily clanged open and closed. A statue cannot eat, so candy was out. The toys all seemed too juvenile and silly for a great admiral. I noticed a table filled with bouquets of flowers, which were beautiful but very expensive, and likely too big to rest securely atop Chris’s small pedestal. And then I noticed that next to the flowers were some small plants, with beautiful white flowers, that cost only $7.
The perfect gift for Chris!
I paid for a plant and, praying that the gate hadn’t closed, carried it carefully through the busy streets.
To my tremendous relief, the gate was open, allowing me to stroll into the parking lot and present the admiral with his gift. A sign sternly warned me that trespassing is forbidden and that violators will be prosecuted, but I ignored it, figuring that no one would mind, because after all, I was there to give the statue a gift, not to harm him. I gently placed the little plant between his marble feet.
Merry Christmas, my friend. I brought you a gift after all. I hope you like it.
I took a few photos of him with his gift, patted his foot, and bid him farewell.
See you later, Chris. It’s been wonderful to see you, as always. Until next time…
I’ve seen several posts on social media lately claiming that masking is a privilege.
For those who aren’t super familiar with the world of autism, masking is the ability of an autistic person to essentially “pass” as neurotypical – to copy the mannerisms, slang, body language, and communication styles of the people around them in order to fit in and to avoid attracting negative attention.
Masking is something I’ve done for as long as I can remember, way before I began to consider myself an autistic person in my late teens, and way before I received a formal diagnosis at age 26.
For me, masking is not an ability that I can choose to deploy in certain situations, while refraining from using it in others. This is because, for as long as I can remember, I’ve had something that I refer to as shyness. Shyness, for me, is a disability that makes it impossible for me to be my authentic self when I am around other people. It prevents me from expressing any opinion that the people around me are likely to disagree with, saying anything that the people around me would not expect me to say, or doing anything that the people around me are likely to find weird, strange, or bad in any way. Shyness is not mere social anxiety; it is much more severe and debilitating. I am not merely afraid to do the aforementioned things, or anxious about doing them, or worried about what the consequences would be if I did them. It is literally impossible for me to do them. I physically cannot force myself to, no matter how hard I try, and no matter how strongly I feel that doing the things would logically be the best option in the situation.
What does this have to do with masking?
Shyness, essentially, is the same thing as masking. Or, to be exact, shyness is what causes / motivates the masking. Shyness is the thing that forces me to mask all the time. Because of my shyness, not only do I have the ability to mask, but I also have the inability to not mask. I cannot turn the masking off, no matter how badly I want to.
In case you are wondering how a person could come to have shyness, I am not 100% sure, because I have had it for as long as I can remember. But my guess is that it resulted from one or multiple negative social experiences I had at a very young age, perhaps situations in which I received unexpected negative reactions from other people when doing things that I thought were completely innocuous. When one thinks about it this way, it becomes clear that shyness is actually a form of PTSD. Although the negative experiences that caused it were not life-threatening, my nervous system reacted as if they were, and these same emotions are activated each time I am in a social situation. In other words, every social situation that I encounter, triggers the PTSD. Every social situation triggers flashbacks of the traumatizing events that caused the shyness. The flashbacks don’t take the form of visual and auditory hallucinations of the traumatic events, as is commonly associated with PTSD. Instead, they take the form of re-experiencing the emotions from the traumatic events. My nervous system believes that I will die if I do anything that will be perceived as weird, unexpected, or bad in the eyes of the people around me. Therefore, I am unable to do these things, no matter how certain my logical brain is that I will not actually die or, in some cases, that doing the things is actually the best option in the situation.
The shyness has had a profound negative impact on my life. There are numerous jobs that I cannot do because of the interpersonal interaction required. If a restaurant messes up my order, a service provider gives me a surprisingly high bill, or a store overcharges me, I’m not able to say anything. I’m not able to negotiate with merchants or vendors to try to get a lower price. I’m not able to say no to salespeople who try to pressure me into buying things. If I’m having a problem, I’m not able to ask for help. If I don’t understand something, I’m not able to ask questions. If someone asks me to do something I don’t want to do, I’m not able to say that I don’t want to do it, and usually end up having no choice but to do the thing and pretend to be happy while doing so. The medical system is a nightmare, as I’m not able to say no to examinations, tests, and medical procedures that I don’t want. Perhaps most significantly, for my entire life, neither friendships nor social relationships of any kind have ever brought me the slightest amount of enjoyment, pleasure, or happiness. Social activities are, and have always been, an unpleasant chore, a task that needs to be completed before I can have time to do the things that I actually enjoy. Yet whenever someone asks me to do an activity with them, I have to say yes, resulting in my entire schedule being consumed by get-togethers that I do not look forward to and get no enjoyment out of, with no time or energy for the hobbies and interests that make my life worth living.
Many of the autistic content creators on social media who allege that masking is a privilege, also speak about partners, spouses, children, and close friends whose company they enjoy and with whom they feel truly relaxed and safe to unmask.
Due to my shyness, all of these things are complete non-starters for me. The entire concept of a friend whose company I enjoy is a contradiction in terms. I only feel truly relaxed and able to unmask when I am by myself, or with my statues. (And then I am ridiculed, and called a white supremacist, for my love of statues.) Living with another person, as presumably those with partners, spouses, and/or children do, would be so intolerable to me that I would probably commit suicide if I had to do it for more than a couple of weeks.
Given my experiences with shyness, it is appalling that someone would claim that masking is a privilege.
Those who claim that masking is a privilege characterize it as a tool, an ability. People who have a tool or ability at their disposal, the logic goes, are privileged compared to those who lack that tool or ability. But for a person with shyness, masking is not something that can be turned on or off, depending on what makes sense in the situation. Masking is not something that can be deployed when necessary or advantageous, and left on the shelf when not needed. Due to my shyness, masking is something that I do all the time. There is no choice. It is automatic. It cannot be turned off.
If anything, it is those without the ability to mask who are privileged. After all, it is such people who are recognized by society as being disabled, and who therefore qualify for the programs, funding, support, and accommodations that people with disabilities are entitled to receive. As a person with shyness, I am not able to act in a way that would reveal my disability. I am not able to tell or show others when I am suffering, when I am having difficulties, or when I am struggling with something. My shyness prevents me from asking for support or accommodations, let alone receiving them. Additionally, if someone is unable to mask, that means that they have no choice but to be their authentic self in every situation. This might be disadvantageous in some contexts, but it also means that if they are accepted by others, they are being accepted as their true self. For me, on the other hand, it is impossible to show my authentic self to others, completely foreclosing any possibility of my true self being accepted.
Whereas some people lack the ability to mask, I lack the ability not to. If I am privileged for having an ability that others do not, then by the same logic, people who are able to take their mask off are privileged compared to me, because they have an ability that I do not.
In the posts claiming that the manifestation of my PTSD is somehow a privilege, I am implored to put aside my own feelings and thoughts and instead to listen to those who are allegedly less fortunate than myself. But by the same logic, those whose disabilities are more visible than mine, and who therefore do not have shyness, should be implored to put aside their feelings and thoughts in order to listen to mine. What makes people with visible disabilities so inherently superior to me that being a decent person requires me to put aside my own perspective and instead focus on theirs? Why are their perspectives inherently valid, while mine is inherently not? Why are their voices considered worthy of “centering” and “amplifying,” while my voice is considered worthy only of being dismissed?
Yes, people with more visible disabilities, and more substantial support needs, face challenges that I do not. But as a person with shyness, and a person who has always been held to the same standards as a neurotypical person because I have always been perceived as one, I also face challenges that they do not. I don’t understand why this is considered a controversial concept.
I have always been opposed to the entire concept of privilege. But when multiple people are claiming that a debilitating form of PTSD is a privilege, it is clear that things have reached new levels of absurdity. The concept of privilege has gone way too far and needs to be challenged and spoken out against. Privilege is a concept whose only purpose is to hurt people, to invalidate their perspectives, and to dismiss their suffering.