This morning I woke up with the memory of a dream. A man with straggly hair had just said to me, in a broad Yorkshire accent, “you give me the impression of being norks in a blank of weather.” What did he mean? Is it a coded message from an alien intelligence? It must have been important for me to remember the words, but nothing else.
Maybe – just maybe – it was my mind worrying about my recent posts about local shopping? After all, I am acutely paranoid about being misunderstood.
I also had a response about my supermarket v high street post from a person I trust. Combined, these have caused me to turn things over in my mind while out with the dog this beautiful, warm morning. Uncomfortable thoughts.
When I go into the village I am aware of my disabilities, of course. But a demon arrives in the form of a horrible mist. I lose confidence – as simple as that – and it changes everything.
When I enter a shop I’m already worrying whether I am reading the non-verbal stuff correctly, like eye contact and smiles. It’s not a case of an inability to read people’s faces, it’s a matter of not even seeing them, and not seeing them see me, if you know what I mean. It gives me a shudder, a kind of chink into the trapdoor of autism.
The slightest suggestion of dismissiveness feeds this demon big time. I feel embarrassed and humiliated about being me.
It is hard to bear and it smarts for some time afterwards and, to protect myself, my unconscious tells me it is the shop’s fault. Sometimes it is but often it isn’t.
I love this village.