It is true that those who follow this blogging post (in which I cordially give my undying thanks) have yet to hear from me in quite some time. I have been busy… maddeningly busy… to have currently arrived in a state in which I feel–this is how I put it–weird. This term “weird” constitutes a collection of emotions all founded by a simple state of psychotic, manic, depressed, delusional and hallucinogenic emotions inflicting me to the point of physically harming myself. The numbness from the force of power exacted by my hand to head releases a numbing sensation precisely in the same manner as a narcotic drug. I regret to be in this state and feel nothing in shyness via my testimony to you about it. However, I articulate this current state of mine to iterate the fact that, by reasons I can albeit explain subjectively, I cannot alternately employ to my psychological health despite my cognitive solution to each psychotic behavior. But I do not arrive here hitting myself and suffering delusions from zero stimuli. No, there is stimuli and there are causes for this behavior. The only one I shall share is my speculation that my medication is loosing an effect it had at one time employed quite adequately. All other stimuli are matters which any bloke may look upon and digest as a mere passing fancy; an obstacle–if an obstacle at all–hardly worth the energy of one single iota of worry, anxiety or a yactobyte of concern. In one such scenario, the powers of certain people who have controlled me–as it feels–are continuing to do so and I stand powerless to even object, even at the point of failing in remonstration. Have bemoaned to the devilish abuse of control, I was overcome with rage and punched holes in my bedroom door. I have no medical insurance to see a psychiatrist who may prescribe a better suited medication. My therapist is on vacation all this week for thanksgiving. Yes, these things, seeming to be trifles, are, to the Autistic, a mountain to scale naked of an altitude which makes literally Mount Everest a speck of dust. NO! I am not exaggerating. Situations to overcome on this magnitude confound us and disallow any rational thought of somehow triumphing over such tribulations. Indeed, I have come lightyears from whence I came: crawling on my floor, cutting myself and thoroughly convinced that I am in Hell; literally in Hell; having been forsaken by God. Now, I am a published author of a first of many books to which my interview and press release links shall by pasted upon this post that you may help a man whose sole dream was to simply live a humble, giving and moral life writing books. All I ever wished for was a simple, small, decent, ample and secure living: a small home, a car so I could drive to Starbucks to write and a few extra bucks to enjoy at Applebee’s. I never wanted anything more. I would choose the life of a hermit monk if I could. Yet I am explicitly called to writing. I believe unflaggingly in God and his will for me, regardless of any others’ opinions. Did I really ask to be super rich and famous; to be celebrated and adored by all; to own multiple homes all around the world and never have to use money again? I would rather die! Maybe I am tired of waiting to earn my living; to earn my livelihood; to earn my life!
I read about other people who have suffered the torture of Autism. I read about them because they are blessed enough to have had the means to spread their account of their life; to have been fortunate enough that their gifts engender finances that they my live! A plethora of other Autistic people, children and adult alike, are being crucified in a world which does not accommodate the Autistic. I think about suicide perpetually. I have begged God, incessantly, that I may at last live without fear and find my place in this world. As I beg all my readers: all I am is a writer. I can do music and instruments, too. Yet, in fantasy, science fiction, fables, children’s stories, none-fiction and my later auto-biography, all I have been called to do is write. If I cannot write for a living, then I am nothing. If I work a blue or even white collar job and earn my bread, I am nothing. If I live off of social security, I am surely nothing. I also do not expect a wife. The Beatles were right, in a sense: “All You Need Is Love.” Well, I love writing. Please look over my press release, readers, and enjoy my interview. It may help shed light upon my character from a mind-set absent of depression, fear and insanity. And do not hesitate to share. Thank you.
-The Giver of Words.
This is the link to my press release:
This is the link to the radio show. My Interviewer was Doctor Carol Francis: