Science, these days, tells us the brain is malleable, which puts me squarely in the minority camp because mine doesn't seem to have any plastic qualities. It hates change of any sort: big leaps into the unknown, the medium-sized still daunting but not so terrifying, the small stepping stone blips and the microscopic which nobody else appears to bat an eye at.
people remain untroubled whilst I spot all the intricacies; my brain
busily computing what this means and what I will have to do to make
it sit easily with me. There are instances where I cannot and so then
the idea gets dropped regardless of whether I think I should or could
take myself out of my comfort zone. Other times I just need a bit of
familiarity or some sort of reassuring presence whether that be a
person or a landmark. And then there are occasions when the rug gets
pulled out from under me. It hasn't you understand, at least not in
the context that phrase is generally used, but a triviality can upset
my carefully thought-out day and the frustration will stay. And stay,
carry on into the next twenty-four hours.
can't be like that, people say, but I am, I tell them. I'm a fixed
to be honest, I don't attempt to explain that to many. It's not
something you can anyway as to those who conduct their lives flexibly
it sounds ridiculous. No, my immoveable preferences are as
unmentionable as undergarments used to be. The only person they're
able to accommodate is me and they don't even do that sometimes. The
fabric holding me in often seeming too tight, too well-fitting, so
snug it digs into my lean flesh and leaves dents, ridges and grid
patterns. There's no extra room to comfortably slouch and release the
I hide it well, not the uprightness but the constant nipping unless
it gives me a pinched expression I'm unaware of, along with my
so-I've-been-told tendency to frown and draw my shoulders inwards
when encumbered. I'm oblivious to these specialities which I'm
guessing aren't admired as you might a person's dimples or
unconscious gestures, rather a fault to be corrected.
such attributes are distancing: keeps me quarantined and holds others
away, just how I like it. Is that true? Well, there might be some
truth in that but there are other contributing factors which have
absolutely nothing to do with my in-elasticity. Factors I was born
with and those I gathered to shape my now faceted personality, which
I hasten to add is not peculiar to me nor to a subdivision of beings
like me. We're in this together, it's just the majority learn to
adapt better. Use this happen-stance of nature and nurture to their
those that don't are at a disadvantage. Fluidness is valued, whereas
an entrenched position depreciates your worth, regardless of what
other merchantable traits you might own.
is my ruination, except I dispute its implied deliberateness, as do
others who place themselves in this stationary category. It's not
premeditated, as in to be purposely unhelpful or unwilling, it's a
automated response whereby doing anything contradictory to it goes
against every fibre of our being, everything that the wires in our
brains and nerves in our bodies are telling us to do, even if a very
small part wants to, at times, disagree. To challenge it results in a
struggle; a struggle which I'm always surprised others can't see as
it manifests at large, annihilating anything in its path until an
executable solution or compromise is found, and then, only then, can
any normality, as we know it, resume. Equilibrium returns until the
next time, which in my case comes all too soon.
so much that has the potential to perplex me, particularly social
events and occasions where I have to present and represent myself.
The thorny issues that circulate then are paramount, even weeks
before attendance, and then if I go my attention once there is
distracted. More attentive to my internalising and the environment
than to those I'm sharing it with. It takes an incredible amount of
concentrated focus to keep myself in the room, with whomever I'm
with. The eyes glaze, the energies flag, and most, if not all,
cognitive sense departs. I have no idea of what my companion is
speaking or of what I'm saying in reply.
the only course that's wise: retreat and repent my uncultured mores.
Picture credit: For instance now, there's the King's Messenger, from Illustrations To Through the Looking Glass, 1970, Peter Blake