Aspie planet

A few years back, I wrote a piece about how I see the world - or rather, how I function and how I kept getting hurt because the world doesn't work that way. I thought I'd share it here.

On my planet, people say what they mean and mean what they say, they don't pretend to be someone they're not. When they promise you something, they stick to it, and when they say and do kind things, it's not because they want something from you. On my planet, people don't try and use you.

On my planet, when you're nice to people, they're nice back to you; they don't take advantage of your kindness and they don't walk all over you.

On my planet, it doesn't matter if you're black or white or blue, because everyone sees beauty in everyone else's difference. People accept one another as they are and rejoice at diversity.

On my planet, there are things that are actually more important than money and power. Serious meetings are cancelled when the sun is shining so everyone can go outside and enjoy it. Parents never prioritise their career over quality time with their kids, and business men sit down on the grass in their suit to share a chocolate ice cream with their daughters.

On my planet, it's OK to cry if you're sad, even in public; it's OK to dance, jump up and down, run, or laugh loudly if you're happy. It's OK to be happy-clappy or happy-flappy! It's OK to talk excitedly about the things that you're passionate about, as long as you also let others share their passion.

On my planet, when you notice something pretty or beautiful, like a flower, a shiny bug, a butterfly, an interestingly-shaped cloud or a rainbow, it's good manners to point it out to the people around you.

On my planet, when men smile at you a sweet smile and take you in their arms, it is because they love you very much; and when they make love to you, they give you their heart as well as their skin. When they look at you like you are the most amazing thing they've ever seen, it is because that's exactly how they feel... not just because they want to take advantage of your naivety.

Unfortunately, my ship crashed on earth.

Whatever you did (not do) for one of the least of these...

It's been a while since my last blog post, and I'm sorry I've let you people down. My head's been buzzing with ideas, but I have lacked the time and energy to put them down in writing. Now that life is getting a little calmer - hopefully - I'll have time to write again, and just today something struck me enough to post about it.

This draws from two different contexts, obviously. Malala Yousafzai just won the Nobel Peace Prize for her action for the education of children - girls, especially. At the same time, the Ebola virus is spreading, and more cases are being detected in Europe now, triggering understandable fear in most Westerners.

Of course, the point they attempted to make in this caption is unsound, because Malala didn't have a life-threatening disease: she was shot by an Islamic extremist. 

That being said, I strongly disagree with Nigel Farage's statement (unsurprisingly).

If foreigners arrive to another country with any kind of disease, should simple human compassion not move us to help, regardless of where they're coming from and what the disease is? Of course, I am not naive enough to think doing so is necessarily straightforward. For a start, there is the issue of limited resources to provide for unlimited needs. When people use the argument that "we cannot welcome everyone", I understand that indeed, we do not have the material resources to shelter, feed, and care for every immigrant to comes to our doors. I am also very much aware of the risk that a disease such as Ebola has a greater chance to spread within our borders if we decided to let sufferers into our country to care for them.

However, we musn't forget a few things. First, as Westerners, we are more fortunate than most of the world's inhabitants. The simple fact that you can read this makes you luckier than a vast proportion of your fellow human beings. What did we do to deserve access to food, clean water, shelter, healthcare and education? Nothing. Rien. Nichts. Nada. We were born in the right place, with the resources to provide for ourselves reasonably well once we were old enough. Granted, we work in order to pay for these things - but we can afford them because we grew up somewhere we could have education, get jobs, etc. If I had been born in a slum in Calcutta, I wouldn't have started with the same chances and opportunities, would I?

Secondly, people who want to live here, among us, usually have very good reasons. Whether they're fleeing war, persecution, death, torture, or famine, seeking a place where they can (or think they can) be safe and provide for themselves is more than understandable. Sure, some *may* want to come and take advantage of the benefit system, but I can assure you that many citizens who were born here do exactly that. Trying to take advantage of a system, or of other people, is part of the dark side of the human heart - it is not the prerogative of one group of people.

Thirdly, even if, sadly, we need to somehow draw a line somewhere, surely the neediest people are those whose life is threatened, either by a disease or by war, and should be the first ones we reach out to.

I admit it. I am a reckless idealist. I feel compassion towards those who suffer. You see, the man I strive to follow, Jesus, said this:

"Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world.  For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in,  I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was ill and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.” 

 ‘Then the righteous will answer him, “Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you?  When did we see you ill or in prison and go to visit you?”

 ‘The King will reply, “Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.” - Matthew 34-40.

The God I believe in has compassion on those who suffer. To me, that is the bottom line, and that it why I believe in compassion, in welcoming those in need, in caring for those who suffer.

The day I set off

In my very first post, I mentioned being a Christian. So today, I thought I'd share with you how that journey started...

I was raised vaguely Catholic. I say vaguely because it was more of a tradition than anything else. Babies were born and Christened, we'd go to mass at Christmas, weddings and funerals; children would receive their First Communion and later be confirmed - this would be the occasion for a big family party, a large meal, and plenty of presents. It was just what people did where I grew up - I was no different and never questioned it.

I always believed in the existence of God - someone up there looking down on us - but it wasn't particularly clear to me who or what God was. Catechism talked a lot about the life of Bible characters and saints, but it didn't mean much more to me than school: it was just stuff you were supposed to know about, that's all.

When I was 18, I went to London for a year to study English. While I was there, I attended an Anglican church that some friends had recommended. I guess what struck me most about those people is how seriously they took their faith. This was rather new to me and intrigued me: it must have been something important. They ran something similar to the Alpha Course and I decided to take part.

The course addressed issues such the reliability of the New Testament, the identity of Jesus as God's Son incarnate, sin, and God’s plan of salvation through Jesus. This is when I really understood the phrase “Jesus died for our sins”- a phrase I had heard in the Catholic church before. I had never realised what sin was - rejection of God, and any action that demonstrates that rejection; how we fall short of what we were meant to be. I had never realised either that what Jesus did was take upon himself the guilt and consequence of human sin when He died on the cross. He received what we deserve, so we could be forgiven and receive God's love once more - the love we have a natural tendency to reject.

I realised then that if a Christian was simply someone who trusted in Jesus and in what He had done for us, then I wasn’t one.

At about the same time, I met a Muslim. We discussed God and religion, and I read some booklets about Islam. As a result, some of my beliefs were challenged. Indeed, I had always thought that all religions all led to God. However, in Islam you had to obey lots of rules and do good deeds, and then maybe, if you were found good enough, God would accept you. On the other hand, I was being told in Church that as a sinner, there was nothing I could do to make myself acceptable to a perfect, absolutely good God, and that all I could do was accept what Jesus had done for me and commit my life to Him. That wasn’t the same thing at all – one belief system told me I had to work hard to deserve God’s acceptance, and the other told me there was nothing I could do and nothing I needed to do, because God had already done it all for me… all I had to do was receive His gift.

I was extremely confused. I could see both beliefs couldn’t be true at the same time, because in all logic they were self-excluding. But I had no idea which one was right. Both seemed to make sense. I knew I had to choose one or the other, and I did want to please God and do what He required, but I simply didn’t know which way was the right one.

I was more attracted to Islam because it fitted my views about God and religion: God wanted us to obey a certain set of rules and be good, and when we'd die He would weigh our good and bad deeds on a pair of scales and see which way it tipped. But I could not dismiss Christianity, because it could make sense too.

One day as I was walking through Regent’s Park pondering all these things, a woman I came up to me and asked me “Do you know if you’re going to heaven when you die?” She gave me a little booklet explaining the same things I had been told in church about Jesus and salvation. That woman didn’t know me and had no way of knowing I was precisely wondering about Christianity at the time she asked me that question. I do believe it was a sign from God. But even then I couldn’t make up my mind, because I still felt attracted to Islam. I spent days thinking about it, but I couldn’t decide. Then one day I decided that the only person who could make it clear was God Himself. So I started praying, asking Him to reveal Himself to me and to show me which way was the right way, Christianity or Islam. One night as I was praying…it suddenly became clear. It struck me that Christianity didn’t only make sense, but that it was true. It felt as if I had been in a dark room and suddenly someone had turned on the light. I could trust Jesus for my forgiveness and salvation.

And this is how my Christian journey started. It has given my life a sense of purpose and value, knowing that I was loved by God. It hasn't made me perfect, but is has given me the drive to constantly improve out of love for him, and the desire to know him better.

My journey is not over, and I am currently re-assessing a lot of the peripheral beliefs I have been taught for years. I will definitely share more about it at some point.

Life is easier in stories.

I don't know about you, but as a person with Asperger's syndrome, I think life would be much easier if I could work out people's intentions - if little subtitles could appear and tell me what a person really wants or means. So many times I have misread what people meant, or been deceived because I took things at face value.

Maybe this is why I love stories so much.

When you read a book, a lot of the time characters' intentions are made explicit. You get insights into their thoughts and motives. Working out why they act the way they do is therefore easy, and you can understand them better and predict what is likely to happen. When you watch a film and a bad guy comes on, there is often some clue: the music, the way they look or their mannerisms.

Not so in real life. I have absolutely no idea what people truly mean, truly want. I can only go with what they tell me. I take them at face value.

When someone speaks nicely to me, I just assume they're nice. If they bitch about me behind my back or stab me in the back, I have absolutely no idea. And if someone is a bit harsh or abrupt or doesn't smile, I just think they're not friendly or they don't like me; yet sometimes they end up being the ones sticking up for me.

When someone does me a favour or does something thoughtful, I never think they might have ulterior motives: I just think they're being genuinely kind. And this may very well be the case... or not.

It would be much easier if life was like stories; if there were obvious clues about people's real intentions.

Being ethical implies sacrifice.

Guess what. I love clothes. I love choosing something beautiful from my wardrobe, getting dressed and feeling pretty and feminine. Many of my clothes are colourful because it makes me feel cheerful, but I also own more classic, elegant items. And I do love shopping - I love the thrill of hunting for that gorgeous item, finding it, trying it on and looking like myself, yet different and new because my garment is new!

Lately, though, I have become aware of how our clothes are mostly made in developing countries by people whose salaries don't even come close to enabling them to support themselves. This in turn led me to question the way I shop, and I recently wrote a blog about ethical clothing. I decided that I would strive to buy my clothes from second-hand shops or jumble sales whenever possible.

Countless times, I have glanced at fashion shop windows at something pretty, then thought, "no".

Until yesterday.

Nicholas and I went groceries shopping and we passed a clothes shop on the way. A dress caught my eye: colourful, pretty, sporting cats (I love cats!!!). As if inexorably drawn towards it, I walked into the shop, found the dress on a rail... wanting to try it on.

Then I checked the label. I had to.

"Made in China".

In China, the minimum wage only actually covers 46% of a person's living wage (the wage needed to support oneself and afford things like food, accommodation, healthcare, etc). And if you think that's bad, the minimal wage in Bangladesh only covers 11% of the living wage. That's right.

I really, really wanted that dress. It was so me. But ethically, I just couldn't buy it. So I put the dress down and got ready to leave. Then I had a thought.

I walked up to a shop assistant and politely enquired about the shop's policy on working conditions for those who made the clothes. She looked at me like I was an alien (well, maybe I am).

And today, I tracked down the website of the brand who made that dress and emailed them the same question. Because if enough of us start doing this, things might change. As customers, we don't need to be victims. We have power. Let us try and use it.

That being said, I am still tempted to buy it. Will I be consistent with my own view, or give in to my selfish desire? The battle rages within. 

------------------------------------------

Update:

I never received a reply from the brand in question. However, I found another of their dresses, similar in style (cats too, but a different colour scheme) on a second-hand website.

(Picture from http://www.fgtb.be/web/guest/news-fr/-/article/2457832/ , no copyright infringement intended)

Dawkins and disabilities: what makes a life worthwhile?

Unless you've been living under a rock, or - like my mother - are blissfully unaware of what's going on in social media, you've probably heard about Richard Dawkins' infamous advice on Twitter to people expecting a child with Down's syndrome: abort it and try again. He later qualified his statement, but still insists that bringing such a child into the world is immoral, " based upon his own moral philosophy which in turn is based on a desire to increase happiness and reduce suffering."

This story strikes a nerve with me for two reasons.

For a start, I have a disability myself. I have Asperger's syndrome, which is an autistic spectrum disorder. Yes, it does make my life more difficult or even more painful at times. Does that mean I would rather not be alive? Of course not. Besides, happiness is not necessarily the absence of suffering. Of course, circumstances affect our happiness, but they do not necessarily crush it: if it were the case, people who are poor or ill would never be happy, yet this is simply not true (I'm not going to discuss how the pursuit of pleasure can actually impair our capacity for happiness today, though). And I know my parents love me just as I am, despite the difficulties they've had with me over the years.

Actually, I'm not the only person with an autistic spectrum disorder who's responded to Dawkins. The lady who mentioned the dilemma posed by learning your unborn child has Down's syndrome asked him where he'd draw the line, since she has an ASD. He replied "People on that spectrum have a great deal to contribute, Maybe even an enhanced ability in some respects."

I think that argument is flawed. Firstly, someone's contribution to society does not determine the worth of their lives, and that is very fortunate. How do you decide whose contribution is worth keeping? Besides, you cannot possibly know what contribution a child will make (or not) before they're even born. This guy has Down's syndrome and his contribution is pretty amazing, and he is only one example of the many things people like him are capable of. Moreover, people with ASD do not necessarily have enhanced skills. Some of us are highly intelligent, other of average intelligence, and other stills have severe developmental delay. Some have incredible intelligence but their autism is so severe that they cannot unlock their potential. None of this, however, is a criteria for the worth of our lives.

Which brings me to my second point. I used to work with children and teenagers who had various learning disabilities, including Down's syndrome - and some disabilities that are a lot more profound. Many of them had severe and complex developmental disabilities. They could not feed themselves, they could not talk, they could not walk. Does this mean their lives were not worth living?

Each one of them had a personality and a smile. A smile, do you understand what that means? A smile that says "I am happy to be here with you", "I am happy to see you". They had their likes and dislikes; they responded to people and situations in different ways. They felt the same emotions you and I do.They expressed happiness, fear, or frustration and cause people around them happiness, sadness, or frustration, just like we do. Who are we to say that their lives are not worth living? Since they can show enjoyment of certain things, dislike or distress of others, it demonstrates they feel the same emotions we do, even if they can't articulate them like we can.

Let me tell you about Gary (named changed). Gary was one of those children. I was blessed to be his key worker for 4 weeks. I got to know him and Gary had the happiest, liveliest personality you could imagine. When he smiled, it looks like the sun was radiating through his face. He would clap his hands in mine and laugh quietly. I could tell he was happy to see me. Gary passed away when he was 15. I miss him. I loved that boy very much. He was a human being and he had just as much a right to live as anyone else.

Mr Dawkins' statement leans towards eugenism, and that's evil in my books. I don't think we have the right to decide for another human being whether their life is worth living or not.

Robin Williams, suicide, and choice

Since the news of Robin William's death came yesterday, a lot has been written over the internet about depression and suicide.

Most people expressed sadness and compassion. Many shared their own struggle with depression. But some simplistic-minded people expressed opinions that left the rest of us reeling with disbelief and anger. Matt Walsh's blog is one example: he basically implies that suicide is a wilful choice, and offers joy as "the only thing that defeats depression". Although I do not know the man, I think it unlikely that he has any personal knowledge of the issue, given how simplistic his assessment is.

While I am no doctor or psychiatrist, I suffered from depression for many years. It started in my early teens and followed me long into adulthood. At certain times, it was a burden so heavy that I simply could not function. At others times, it was like a ball and chain I was dragging around, slowing me down. It often wrecked havoc in my sleep patterns and appetite.

Depression can also trigger destructive behaviour, which can be a cry for help, or the result of self-loathing, or being so far gone that you no longer care - or a bit of all three. As a teenager, I cut my forearm with a knife. As a thirty-something, I drank too much. And I did contemplate suicide several times - in fact, I had a failed attempt at the age of 15 (and very thankful it was a failure, too).

Is suicide a choice? In a way, yes, but that is only part of the picture. Depression can choke you up in such a way that you feel like there are no other alternatives. None at all.

My mother is a nurse and we once discussed euthanasia. She told me that in many cases, what patients really want is for the pain to stop. When they're given medication that relieves their suffering, those people usually no longer wish to die. Depression can be just the same - it's not so much that you want to die, it's that you want to stop hurting, and you feel like nothing else can make the pain stop, ever. You feel trapped, crushed, all hope extinguished - the light at the end of the tunnel has been switched off.

I’ve been in that place where death feels like the only way to stop the pain and the anguish. I chose, time and again, to say “no” to suicide. But if you've never been in that place, you have no right to condemn someone who has, because you do not know what such hopelessness feels like.

Suicide may be a choice, but it's one you make when you feel trapped and cornered; when you feel all other options have been taken away from you. Maybe not such a wilful choice after all!

It's true that only you have the power to get better; but at the same time, you whole being feels empty of any power. And in those times, you need support - not easy answers. I once was told the following by a counsellor: "You're making yourself depressed. Keep yourself busy and you'll forget to feel sad. Smile and people will smile back at you." Oh, if only it were so simple! Depression is not a choice. I did not want to be depressed. I wanted to be happy and full of life, but I couldn't. I simply couldn't. Telling me it was my fault added guilt to the deep emotional distress I was feeling. It did not help.

It is true that depression is more than a chemical imbalance – there are many other factors, including spiritual ones. Yet it is a disease, a very real disease that can cause immense pain and grief. There are no easy answers, even for the Christian. I have heard well-meaning Christians say that "Depression isn't from God". That may well be, but neither is cancer - and we ought to aknowledge the battle of those who fight it, not belittle it or burden them with the guilt of lacking faith or lacking joy.

So how do you get better? I don't know. Everyone is different.

How did I get better? I never let depression define me. I often felt that there was a happy woman inside me, eager to come out, and come out she did. Many things helped. Friends and family. Counselling (with a better counsellor than the one I discussed earlier!). My faith. Writing. Long walks. Learning to savour little joys such as the feeling of rain on my face, tasting a favourite dish, enjoying someone's company, listening to music. Happiness crept back on me and I clung to it.

How can you get better? I don't know how you can. I'm not you. But I know you can. Keep trying - don't give up.

Stephen Fry is an English comedian, actor and writer who suffers from depression.

One final word: the best book I have ever read about depression is Michael Rosen's Sad Book. Look it up.