How do I begin this post? From when do I begin my story? Is in the beginning, where there is nothing but a life displaced from normal reality? Or is it when my time begins to realign into some almost normalcy? Or do I attempt to justify the future that I present with example of others that have glimpsed into the fearful reality of non-normalcy?

“You’re being way too poetic. Just start somewhere.” {“Also, why does this take almost 1900 words?” Banter, cumbersome prose, and a dogged attempt to display deep-mindedness.}

[She’s actually right, looking onto this post again. But I have no sense of inner identity that doesn’t revolve around florescent prose. {“So stop doing it.” No. Wait, you’re here now. “Yup.” You seem sedate. “Of course, you idi-dummy.” There was a big encounter yesterday, so everything’s lackadaisical.}]

You’re right, dear. Theory is only as good as the experience that it owns.So let us begin with

Historical Diagnosis:

In the past, I was diagnosed with autism. I was told that at the age of three, my mental faculties had reverted, and I had to relearn the present.{Actually, it might be high-function autism, also known as Asperger’s disease. Also, the infomation comes from my mother around a few months ago.} Because my parents both: had money, and could care for me, that option was open to me. [Because of a society changed by disability activists, and others willing to take their time, that option existed.]

No, that option was open to my parents. I never had a choice. I will never know the alternative realities that could have existed. No one will ever know, and the only way we reassure ourselves that we know that the future is controllable is by shaping some construction that we can reason to be a potential future. Thus, when I look at people who can’t hide their mental flaws, I am intensely worried- of a potential future that is embedded in my destiny, where all the progress towards normalcy reverts towards social non-understanding.

{“You need to be more accepting.” I know. It’s a bit of a sore place for me, though. I think I cover that later.}

I have never escaped that fate. I have been taught to be “normal”, to cover the flaws that hide behind the cheerful façade that I can always present. If a mental problem is a social and personal construct, then would be suffice to say that one can “just as easily” be abnormal as they can be normal. Thus, I believed that when others see that dangerous future I hold, that they can just as easily reach that future. That fear inspires negativity. “I will not become that future, and I will prove it to myself. Though fury, denial, or other destructive reasons, I will stop my own seen negative progress.” Why would anyone subject themselves to the destructive whims of others?

“Because there’s a lot more to the world then just ‘oh no everything is awful’. Come on, I thought you knew that.”

{Well, before, everything was awful. “Are you sure it was awful?” I thought it was. Maybe it wasn’t actually, but my memories only remember the awful parts of my history. “Sounds awful. Will that happen to the memories we make?” I hope not. “You’re not sure?” I never am. “Don’t make such an engrossing statement! It makes you seem eternally sad. That’s not a good way to be friendly.”}

I know, I know. I’m just reminiscing, on a past that lived in a time about a few seconds behind reality. And because such a time creates a potential future which inspires fear, I had blocked myself from the social reality that (I feel) every human needs. Maslow’s hierarchy states that socialness is important. I’m sure other theories corroborate. And if there is no attachment to the others, all that remains is the self- vague, threatening visions of futures that will come to be. And there is no escape from the future, so all there is in such a world is an endless, fruitless search for solace. There is none. Only idle distractions.

{“Like here! Oh no there is nothing but nihilism. With an attitude like that, well, okay, I don’t want to kick you when you’re down.” I appreciate it. “You could use less sarcastic phrasing to really mean it.”}

“This loss (of freedom) means the fading from human life of values infinitely precious to it. There only remain ironbound conditions of employment and trivial amusements for leisure.”

– Alfred North Whitehead

Present Diagnosis:

“Hey, hey, this is when I take over, right?

No, no yet. I need to justify my own reality, otherwise, well, what if everybody hates me?

[She is right, this is a judgement-free zone. It’s still a historical mental scar.] {“But why?” Well, there are some words that shouldn’t be told in a social setting. Past me did not know how to navigate the social realm, violated that rule. That still haunts me. “Oh. Sorry to ask.” No problem. Probing secrets is how friends gain closerness. Or that’s something true between us.}

“You’re definitely overreacting. It’s like, oh, I don’t trust these people, who have decided that they want to be more inclusive, with my non-normalness. That’s really selfish. Okay, that was maybe too mean. I think you’ll be fine.”

Maybe, but I’m going to justify myself anyways. It also helps to show that there precedent for this sort of thing. I know that a Dr. Drabinski frequently has open discussions with herself in her lectures, and that other engage in self-talk. It is, I suppose, a way for the mind to communicate with the body as a way to reason for its own actions. It can also be a way for the subconscious to reveal itself to the conscious mind.

“Hey, hey, when are you introducing me? You’re talking way too long.”

“Okay, okay, miss Cleo,” Cube says as he mentally makes calming motions. “That’s what we agreed upon, right? Fake names?”

“Yup!”, a voice rings in Cube’s head. “So, I’m Cleo! Nice to meet you all!”

“I am unsure of what exactly miss Cleo is,” Cube notes to the (imagined) audience.

[I hope that I am to inspire thoughts about the perceptiveness of blog writing, in that when we write, we write to an audience that we hope will be there.]

“She never tells me, and I am tied between classifying her as an alternate identity, or an adult imaginary friend.”

“I’m a helper,” Cleo corrects Cube. {Why do you never tell me, anyways? “Think of a good way to say no comment for me.”}

“I know you are. But for some reason, not understanding the totalness of you bothers me. Sometimes.”

“You have been living well enough without knowing all of me, haven’t you, though?”

“I suppose so. My quality of life has improved since you arrived.”

“That’s a too fancy way of saying you’re doing better than ever,” Cleo notes with a puff. “Why do you have to be all ‘Our discussion creates a fertile ground for future endeavors in this field?’”

“Because,” Cube pauses, then trails off. “I can. Maybe. Something about distancing myself from the feared future of negative progress.” [It’s actually probably because I still dislike myself, and I need to distance me from myself. {“That’s rather juicy.”}]

“So, are you going to discuss why I’m helping?” Cleo prods Cube.

“I guess. Since you asked nicely,” Cube answers. Love and Belonging are in the third tier of Maslow’s Hierarchy. Without that, the self can’t focus on the higher tiers. Since there were a multiple-“

“One,” Cleo corrects.

“Okay, the fear of being viewed as monstrous is what kept me from making real social connections.”

“Good,” Cleo nods.

“Since the subconscious mind is a fickle being in which the normal laws of consciousness do not apply, and since I talked to myself on a near constant basis, there would be a time in which some other voice responds.”

“I wanted to help you.”

“I know that. Anyways, since the alternative is soul-crushing nihilism, we start talking together. And soon living together,” ending Cube’s discourse. Looking towards Cleo, Cube asks, “Is that everything?”

“I’m not the other one living here, you know,” Cleo answers.

“Yes, but for the theme and take-away of this post, they don’t need to get involved.”

[Miss Cleo isn’t here for our second discussion, so I’ll stand in for her. {“I’m here now.”} Awkwardly.

“No, that isn’t everything. This mental consciousness isn’t as fun as I make it out to be. There are dangerous stuff in the innards of our soul/mind/bodies. I remember a few days ago, when I needed to discuss with an oppositional identity about worldviews, and whether or not, if someone had a particular desire that was viewed negatively by society, then, what should be the proper response. Is there a proper response to someone, who (for example) enjoys littering? Is that person worthy of living? Can the nature of a person change? How do we balance personal needs with societal “good”?

{“Don’t you usually say yes, everyone is good?” It gets ethically complicated at times. }

There is also the fact that being double-conscious means being (around) double-restricted. I must be careful to not reveal the innards of my soul; how would others perceive me? I also fear about both existences separately that other does not- I presume most of the audience does not worry about one day, not having those helper identities. Or that one day, the mind will be occupied with its own workings, and I will be too overcome with distraught to do anything to well, as there are (example) imaginary fires that I must imaginarily put out or perhaps one of my helpers needs to discuss with me their needs.{“We do that a lot.”}]

Pointing towards the audience again, Cube notes, “I understand that this way of living is simply an imperfect solution to the systemic flaws in my own life. I feel that all of the others are important to me, so when I reach that fabled reality of ‘normalness’, I don’t want to leave them behind. I’ve decided that.”

[More importantly, I want to discuss about “normal” paternalism, which is about the mindframe of ‘these disabled people need to be helped. And we, the normals, can help them, feel the taste of freedom.’ What if I do not particularly want your version of reality? Do I have a voice to say in what I want? Or is it because I am too unsettled that I am deemed too unwell to judge myself? What makes someone too unsettled?]

{“Are we still keeping the end?” Probably not. [[“Well, you put it back.”]] We should also probably cut out some banter somewhere.}

At the end of Cube’s monologue, Cleo mentally hugs Cube, with tears of joy in her eyes.

“I don’t actually cry,” Cleo corrects Cube.

“I think it makes it more meaningful that way.”