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Reflections of a character with PDA
  • Hi, I'm Fringgy Fringe. I'm new here, and although I have Atypical Asperger Syndrome not PDA, the characteristics of people with this syndrome have intrigiued me...so much that I wrote a monologue of a character with these characteristics. This character is 11, and just venting at his 30 year old high school teacher/ forbidden soulmate. I'm wondering if it sounds like the thoughts of someone with PDA. Oh, and if anyone wants to make any comments about someone on the spetrum writing monologues featuring "other peoples thoughts and feelings and experieces", just remember I put the word atypical before AS. Ok?

    All right. Let me know what you think...

    Lunin:I’m just starting to realize that emotions, they’re not always big. Memories aren’t always the powerful portal to the inner-workings of nostalgia. “Deep” feelings can indeed be deep, in that, sometimes they barely surface to conciousness. For example, some of the deepest things I may feel, might very well just surface to conciousness. For example, some of the slight tension of facial or forehead muscles, then quickly plunge back int o the shimmering, murky depth of my subconcious, whic often dazzles as much as it dazes my senses. I thought this as I thought about what I was going to write about.

    You ever wonder if somebody could literally choke to death from keeping their feelings bottled up inside a vodka flask? What...I...do a lot of thinking , and yet it seems I don’t feel. I mean, last Thursday before spring break. I pointed this out to my English teacher and she said “Lunin, don’t ever say that about yourself. I could tell you, you were feeling, just by the expression on your face. Maybe I wrote that poem, I was just telling myself to feel, my cognition dictation to my idiot savant face to turn its eyes inward, now move the mouth 360 degree- angles, twitch the nose, twitch the, oh there, ok, synapse unit, get off your asses and clutch the jaw muscle and pull the lower part of the mouth 2 the side. Lift that upper lip, yep, we have successfully constructed a crooked smile. Yeah, great which that work of construction, that paper being scrawn or that crumpled up, drooled on, touched with bacteria-tinged sucking thumb notebook paper. It’s ability to express the authentic words of the scrawling, already fizzled, woops syntax overload, syntax overload, syntax overload, lapsing into spoken word, half Ass-Perjured rhyme mode, your ona cause this walking well of Mickey D’s Olive Oil and butter to explode. Anyway, I hope you get the idea, (You know, as I just wrote that, although, Sabrina is going to indite me for going Humbert Humbert on this I don’t know what to call it. Um...I lost my focus. Um, but anyway I smiled as I wrote that putrid pile of syntactic oi...syntax. It felt so good. Hate to be self-congradulatory, but anyway back to this idea of expression of feeling being just that. An outward expression of feeling. (Just want to get up, outta of my seat, and move around, but I can’t because Sabrina will tie me to an electrified chair...i.e. her vibrating lap...o.k...for real, I’m cool...yeah, sure I’m cool...well this expression of feelings buisness...there are times when I truly feel like I’m just putting a feeling on my face. I’ll look one way on the outside, and I’ll feel totally different on the inside. Sabrina, are you going...to kill me if I stop writing to think and scratch my right calve, are you going to cut me in half, all but for a good laugh? I wasn’t talking about my English teacher Sabrina, my imaginary therapist/girlfriend, Sabrina. See, she has lush forest tree-trunk brown hair, blue eyes which actually are blue-faced baby stars that she sucked away from the sky with her narsco-vision...I really do not want to write about my problem. It’s just that, I feel like, that they’re the kind that cause your teeth to grind, your breath to pant, your thighs to shake, when your sitting down, trying to relieve yourself of the pain of having such superty-duper hard shit trapped in your body...by the way, I’m talking about my feelings that my therapist Sabrina regards as shit...worthless...You know, psychologist and therapist are really required to have as much empathy as Iraqi prison officers, or the 1992 LAPD. I mean, they turn on their feelings for one patient, what
    with their gasps and sighs as his plight, and then they totally have to forget about that contestant, and pretend to cry for their next winner of temporary, bubble gum pity.
  • Hi.
    You do not say how old you personally are, but I presume you are in your mid teens or older??

    You obviously have a great imagination and I admire you for posting your thoughts .
    I wanted to say though that reading your text it does not seem like the thoughts of an 11yr old (with PDA or what some would deem neurotypical - although I do not know anyone diagnosed with AS of that age or older).

    I am not disagreeing with the fact that 11yr olds may have crushes on their teacher but think the use of language is a little beyond what most 11 yr olds (even with PDA) would be capable of.

    BUT that is my opinion though and I do not know the capabilities of everyone in the world! Indeed my PDA diagnosed child is only 8 1/2 but he does surprise me in how he expresses himself verbally quite often. He was late speaking but once he did start quite a number of people remark that he sounds like a little professor!

    Regards,
    D
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