More on Asperger's; a "Genius" thing

I’m still thinking about Asperger’s Syndrome, so tonight I phoned my mum. After the over-enthusiastic “Hellos!” were out of the way, I asked her how old I was was my IQ was tested, and what the result was (I wanted to confirm--can't always rely on memory).

“You were in fourth grade, and you hit 159. Why?”**

So I told her about my investigations into Asperger’s. Supersmart kids, inadequate social skills, obsessions about arcane/obscure subject matter, etc. As soon as she heard me out, she rushed to tell me she’d experienced social isolation too. She admitted that she’d always felt superior to others (like that was a bombshell), that she didn’t always get along with people, and that she has problems with logic (whatever that means; when I asked her for an example she avoided answering).

I wonder though.

I realize that the whole IQ thing is approached with some trepidation--too many environmental factors and so on. But I’m just realizing that, at eight years of age, I was considered “genius.” Nobel Laureate type genius (five point below Mozart’s theoretical quotient), and one point below the minimal Einstein guesstimate [although Einstein wrote that he was “145” Ha! The ‘umble AE]).

But is the IQ thing all bullocks? Might I have "lost" my “genius” by not "using" it? Is it dormant, or is that "genius" still “at hand”?

I fear thinking of it; if I begin to believe in the IQ thing, I may very well be setting myself for some hubristic comeuppance. It's easier to play dumb.

**After I was tested, I was placed in an experimental class for "gifted” kids. I’ve written about that experience in an earlier blog.

Storythinking

After several months of lethargy and procrastination, I’m (at last!) making progress with my work. Well, largely anyways. I’m plagued by a drifting mind; I’ll be typing along quite happily, then my mind will float off and I begin to daydream. These daydreams aren’t unpleasant, but, clearly, they are a distraction. I’m wondering if I’m (unconsciously) somehow trying to undermine myself; I’ve stopped the obvious attempts at self-sabotage--watching bad television, staying abed until late morning, drinking while working, etc, so I’m finding fresh ways to escape. Because these daydreams are all about escapism.

Like most children, I had a habit of daydreaming. I would obsess over my little fantasies--I would go into great detail, fine-tuning each story until it would play as smoothly as a film in my mind. I would drift off into my stories while sitting at school, walking anywhere, or watching television. If something pulled me away from my daydream (being called on by a teacher, for example, or being told by my mother to get out of the house--to get outside and play “like normal kids”) I would think carefully about where I was in my story and place a virtual bookmark there. When I was able to return to the fantasy, I would “open” at the scene last played.

I expect the daydreaming was a means of maintaining sanity, of self protection, of backing away from the life I dreaded and placing myself in a world where I was in control.

I was seldom “in the moment” as a child, I think. I am a bit more so know, but I reclaim that daydreaming tendency periodically. And now it’s while I’m trying to work. And I’m working on something I love. Go figure.

The Child in Nevada

Like everyone else, I was concerned for the little child whose rape was filmed by her attacker; thank God she was found safe. I hope the media leaves her alone now, and that her mother gets the little child some psychological help pronto.

When the police in Pahrump, Nevada released photos of the abused child, they gave her age as five. I knew, immediately, that she was three. Instinct, I suppose, or perhaps I was projecting something--after all, I was three when my experiences began. When I looked at that photo of the chubby, sweet, child, I saw myself. Again, I hope her family gets the child any necessary help immediately to limit the emotional damage.