Category: personal

bookmark_borderSensory sensitivities aren’t as bad when you don’t have to hide them

Posted on by Marissa

Yesterday I was walking to the train station after work, and I was in agony. As an autistic person, I have severe sensory sensitivity to wind. As I speed-walked down the sidewalks and ran across the streets, trying to get to the station as quickly as possible, air blasted brutally and relentlessly in my face, freezing my cheeks and nose and causing excruciating pain throughout my entire body. 

As I waited for the train, exhausted and trying to recover from the assault, I dreaded the walk at the other end of the commute, from the train station near my house, to my house itself. This walk is more than twice as long as the one from work to the station, and there was no reason to believe the wind would be any less vicious. Because I had gotten out of work a few minutes late, there was no way I could catch the bus from the station.

After getting off of the train, I took my time securing my hat on my head, putting on my gloves, and making sure my scarf covered as much of my face and neck as possible. By the time I stepped out into the painful conditions, the crowd of people from the train had dispersed. Because there was no one to feel self-conscious in front of, I muttered under my breath as I walked. I complained, sometimes profanely, about how painful and horrible the wind was, about how wrong it was that work got out late and cause me to miss the bus, about how bizarre it was people could walk around and exist in these conditions as if nothing was wrong, and about why the heck humans hadn’t invented a way of preventing such atrocious weather conditions from occurring. 

A remarkable thing happened as I made my angry way through the streets: the wind wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.

When the ice-cold blasts of air started to increase in frequency and severity, I turned around and walked backwards. That way, the back of my head sustained the brunt of the assault, as opposed to the bare skin of my face. This slowed down my progress considerably, and I must have looked like a complete lunatic to anyone who happened to be observing from the houses that lined the streets, or the cars that occasionally passed by.

But miraculously, it worked. Freed from the obligation to act in a socially acceptable manner, I was able to take the measures that I needed to take in order to minimize the pain. Wearing the warmest clothing possible, walking as quickly as possible, walking backwards when the direction of the wind demanded it, and expressing my anger and pain, all combined to reduce the amount of suffering that I was subjected to.

My past self, if faced with this same situation, might have forced herself to walk quietly and forward-facing at all times, perhaps even with a smile on her face. And then, upon arriving home, she would probably have commenced screaming, kicking furniture, and throwing things immediately after stepping through the door. But because I gave myself permission to do what my body needed, regardless of how it looked to other people, I was able to survive the journey home with a minimum of suffering. 

In the autistic community, the act of forcing oneself to appear socially acceptable is known as masking. This is something that I’ve done to a very high degree for almost my entire life. When I mask, I force myself to hide my sensory sensitivities and other autistic traits. I pretend that I am okay when I am not, I pretend that I am happy when I am miserable, and I pretend to like things that I don’t. I force myself to behave the way that “normal” people behave, even when it goes against my preferences, needs, and true nature.

I wonder how much of autistic people’s suffering is caused by sensory issues themselves, versus how much of our suffering is caused by depriving ourselves of the things that we need to manage the sensory issues, out of the belief that these things would look “weird.” Is it autism itself that makes life difficult, or is it masking?

To a large degree, I think the answer is the latter. Masking is something that I am trying to do less of. I am no longer willing to deprive myself of the things that I need, and subject myself to needless suffering, for the sake of looking “normal.”

bookmark_borderNewspapers and reminders of trauma

Posted on by Marissa

One of numerous activities that I’ve given up since the statue genocide happened is reading the newspaper.

I used to read the Boston Globe every day, as well as two small local papers every week. But now the news is so filled with triggers, opinions that make me angry, and reminders of the horrible things that have happened, that I’ve decided to give it up. I have always valued being informed about world events, politics, and the happenings in my community, and have always found the news interesting. But these benefits are no longer worth the pain that consuming news now causes.

Last week, my dad visited my uncle at his new apartment and picked up a copy of that town’s local paper. Thinking he was being nice, he gave it to me, and against my better judgment I decided to read it.

Despite the fact that it was only a small, local weekly newspaper, I could feel my mood steadily decline while reading it.

A column about how the town was celebrating St. Patrick’s Day immediately triggered comparisons with how our society treats Columbus Day. Why is one ethnic group’s holiday embraced almost universally, with parades, the wearing of the green, playing of traditional Irish music, and consumption of traditional Irish food and drink, while another ethnic group’s holiday is either ignored, condemned, attacked, protested against, or abolished entirely?

I became angry when reading a press release from the office of Rep. Ayanna Pressley, which bragged about the “just and equitable” district she was creating by securing funding for childcare and programs to help young parents. How is it just or equitable to discriminate against people who do not have children? I found myself wondering.

Similar thoughts were brought forth by an article about a housing voucher program, which was described by the town’s mayor as particularly important because of the disproportionate impact of the housing crisis on people of color and families with young children. Again, I wondered why, in the eyes of society, do white people and people without children always seem to matter less?

The “Beacon Hill Roll Call” column reminded me of the bills to abolish Columbus Day, to force people to undergo medical procedures against their will, and to discriminate against people like me in various other ways, which have been considered by the state legislature at various points in time, some of which unfortunately are still under consideration.

An editorial about Women’s History Month brought to mind thoughts about why other heritage months, such as Confederate History Month and Italian Heritage Month, are not celebrated with equal enthusiasm.

Even an article about subway track work and station improvements caused a pang of sadness. As an autistic person, my special interest is history and statues, exactly the thing that our society over the past four years has decided to destroy. I know several fellow autistic people whose special interest is trains, and I know that they would enjoy reading about these new MBTA developments. It was bittersweet to think about how others are still able to enjoy news about their special interests, while for mine the only available news centers on condemnation and destruction.

The “On This Day In History” feature, something that had been my favorite part of every newspaper since I was 10 years old, reminded me of how much things have changed. I learned that on that particular date, Hernan Cortez had landed in what is now Mexico, and Jefferson Davis had signed a bill authorizing slaves to fight in the Confederate Army. These would simply have been interesting facts to my past self, but now I cannot hear the names of Cortez or Davis without being reminded of how our society has decided to attack, condemn, and largely obliterate from existence, these historical figures.

Because I have always found news interesting and have always valued being informed, my goal has been to one day add the news back into my life. But I have found that right now, the best way of building a life that is worth living is to turn towards my inner world and away from the outer one. Drawing, writing stories about my imaginary world, organizing my toy soldiers, figurines, and dolls, and spending time with my Stonewall statue… these are the activities that bring comfort, joy, peace, and a sense of control. The news, on the other hand, is filled with nothing but oppression, meanness, and injustice.

Perhaps this will change one day, but perhaps not. Maybe my healing will progress, my resilience will increase, my mental state will stabilize, and the world will change for the better, to the point where I will be able to add the news back into my life. But for now, it’s best that I stay away from it.

bookmark_borderPain and perspective

Posted on by Marissa

It’s difficult to live in a world that has decided to destroy everything that makes my life worth living. My existence over the past four years has been filled with pain so excruciating that prior to spring 2020, not only had I never before experienced such pain, but it hadn’t occurred to me that such pain was even possible. Over the past four years, I’ve worked to find some way of continuing on, some way of building a life of meaning and purpose in a society that believes I shouldn’t be allowed to exist.

Living this way is laborious, exhausting, and often demoralizing. But to some extent my efforts have been successful. I have dedicated my life to honoring the historical figures that I love. I advocate for them through my writing, which takes the form of this blog, emails to public officials, and hopefully one day a book. I keep them alive through my artwork, which I sell on my art website and at local craft fairs and festivals, through my Historical Heroes Blog, through collecting dolls and figurines depicting them, and through bringing new statues into the world. Additionally, I have tried to make my day-to-day life as rewarding as possible by eliminating unpleasant obligations and incorporating activities that bring me joy. Particularly over the past two years, these efforts have begun to pay off. Often, I do experience a sense of meaning and purpose. Often, I do feel that my life is worth living.

But not always. Sometimes the excruciating pain attacks. This might happen if a new atrocity is committed, or perhaps if I merely have a bad day. And when the excruciating pain attacks, it takes over my entire soul, so that nothing other than the pain exists. The thing about the excruciating pain is that it creates something of a catch-22. There are three theoretical ways of abating the misery, of making the situation just a tiny bit better. But the nature of the excruciating pain makes every option impossible, inappropriate, ineffective, or all of the above.

The three options are as follows:

  1. Expressing my anger and grief about the terrible thing that happened. This is certainly right, because anger and grief are the appropriate responses when a terrible thing happens. But when the agony is attacking, this can feel pointless. No words are adequate to express the full magnitude of what happened. Ranting wildly, in the strongest language imaginable, would be 100% justified but would also accomplish nothing other than making me look unhinged, which would be counterproductive with respect to my goal of advocating for the historical figures.
  2. Finding some positive aspect of the situation, or of historical figures in general. This might entail focusing on the statues that still remain, making new art depicting the historical figures, or reading about their lives. But when the agony is attacking, it feels as if everything with regards to historical figures is going badly, even if my logical brain knows that this is not 100% true. Focusing on the positive seems hollow and empty, a failure to acknowledge the full magnitude of the bad thing that happened.
  3. Ignoring the situation, and the historical figure topic entirely, and focusing on something else. This seems to be the worst of the three options. When something horrible happens to a historical figure, everything else in the world is like rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. Thinking about, talking about, making a post about, or even caring about pets, food, sports, friends, or family, to give just a few examples, would represent a complete failure to acknowledge the badness of what has happened. Doing so would be petty, superficial, and callous.

When the excruciating pain strikes, it’s as if I am at the bottom of a pit, with no way to climb out. The walls of the pit are perfectly smooth, with no handholds, nothing to grab onto, no protruding pieces of rock on which I might be able to step. I cannot gain purchase, cannot hoist myself out. All possible ways of climbing out of the pit are closed off to me.

But over the past years, I’ve discovered that there is a fourth way out of the excruciating pain, albeit a way that I have no control over: time.

In time, the excruciating pain always subsides. Not permanently, alas, because it keeps recurring. But every time that the pain has attacked, it has eventually gone away. The agony that was nearly omnipresent from spring 2020 to summer 2022 has, since then, alternated with stretches of relatively okay days, days on which I experience a sense of meaning and purpose, and a sense that life is worth living.

I’ve gained a sense of perspective that I didn’t have when the statue genocide began. Although the excruciating pain, when it attacks, is all-consuming, I am now able to recognize, intellectually if not emotionally, that it is temporary.

While waiting for the agony to go away, I have found that the best thing to do is something productive. If the floor needs to be swept, I sweep the floor; if I haven’t exercised yet that day, I exercise; if it is nighttime, I go to bed. These things aren’t exactly fun, but they are useful. When I am in excruciating pain, I am going to be miserable no matter what I do, so I might as well do something that, once the pain subsides, I will be glad that I did.

This pain is probably something that I will need to deal with, to struggle with, to manage, for the rest of my life. It is only logical to experience agonizing and excruciating pain when people have done appallingly awful things. So I continue to fight for both myself and the historical figures. Despite the frequent setbacks and obstacles that I face, I continue to build bit by bit a life of meaning and purpose, a life that is worth living.

bookmark_border“A light dusting of snow” – a poem by me

Posted on by Marissa

The sun beckons with the promise of spring
But the wind still howls
And rips through the air with bitter cold claws.
Geese congregate on the grass
By the pond, still frozen solid;
A light dusting of snow coats the ground.
All is deserted and quiet,
Save for ducks quacking as they waddle around.

A light dusting of snow coats the ground,
Newly fallen this time.
The picnic table, plants, and stone wall
Like eerie black shadows against the white background.
The big tree looms overhead
And the statue, as always, stands guard
With white flakes clinging his hat and shoulders.
All is peaceful and quiet.

bookmark_borderThe statues weren’t hurting anyone, and neither was I

Posted on by Marissa

Everyone else wore jeans and t-shirts. I wore jumpers, plaid skirts, cardigans, Mary Janes.

Everyone else got their hair highlighted and wore makeup. I wore hair ribbons and pigtails.

Everyone else spoke in the latest slang in order to sound “cool.” I used big words and spoke formally.

Everyone else IM’d with their friends after school. I went online to read about historical figures. I made drawings and paper dolls of them.

Everyone played the same computer games, listened to the same music, watched the same TV shows and movies. Everyone except for me.

I collected dolls, toy soldiers, Beanie Babies, and model horses. Everyone called me babyish and weird.

I picked my nose, and the other kids whispered to each other about how gross I was. I picked at my face and scalp instead, but the other kids still whispered to each other about me, and how weird I was. So instead I went through my hair and took out the strands that had become detached, tidying and cleaning up my hair, but the other kids commented on how gross and weird that was as well. So I forced myself to sit, uncomfortable and bored out of my mind, with nothing to occupy my hands.

I was not hurting anyone. I was not hurting anyone by dressing the way that looked good to me, moving and organizing my body in the way that felt good to me, spending my time and energy pursuing the things that I was interested in. I was not hurting anyone by existing in the world as my authentic self, in a way that was different from other people.

The statues are the same as me. They dressed differently from people today, looked differently, spoke differently, thought differently.

Therefore, the statues weren’t hurting anyone either.

The statues symbolized people like me, people who are different. The statues symbolized the idea that people like me have a right to be included in society. When people tore down the statues, that is what they attacked.

Seeing those statues standing, in public parks and city squares, told me that I had the right to exist, even though I am different from others. Because those statues were different from other people, and they had the right to exist.

When people tore down the statues, they took that away from me.

When mayors and city councils ordered the statues removed, they were literally redesigning public spaces in order to communicate that people like me do not have the right to exist there, in order to ensure that people like me would feel excluded.

This is not being inclusive, or ensuring that everyone feels welcome. It is the exact opposite.

When people tore down the statues, they did so because they believe that a person who dresses differently, looks differently, moves differently, speaks differently, and thinks differently should not be allowed to exist.

When people tore down the statues, they did so because they believe, through some perverse logic that is incomprehensible to me, that their right to be surrounded entirely and exclusively by people who dress like them, look like them, move like them, speak like them, and think like them, outweighs my right to exist.

This is not diversity. It is the exact opposite.

This is why Confederate statues and Christopher Columbus statues are so important.

This is why the issue of statues is personal to me.

This is why I will never forget what people did to the statues, why I will never move on, why I will never stop writing and posting about the statues, why I will never focus on other, more important issues.

Because there are no issues more important than this.

I wasn’t hurting anyone by existing, and neither were the statues.

bookmark_borderAnother untitled poem

Posted on by Marissa

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

bookmark_borderUntitled poem

Posted on by Marissa

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

bookmark_borderPhotos and videos from Lee-Jackson Day

Posted on by Marissa

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.