A story of an autistic man.

Task #24) A story of an autistic hyperthymesitic prodigious savant.

I have discovered something very strange about myself. The knowledge that I have attained from reading up documents on my psychological state really makes me feel quite liberated. I shall start by quoting from my blog the very first suspicions I had that I was autistic. “I conjectured whether I had the psychological principles when my cousins were talking about an ambiguously overheard dilemma that I was autistic.” I did not let it kick into me because I thought that harping on information like these will lead to negative emotions. But there was a comment on that blog entry, saying, “Thanks for the info, friend.” That blogger’s URL suddenly linked to a vast array of information concerning autism. I read it with absolute delight.

This is quoted from Wikipedia. Autism is a disorder of neural development that is characterized by impaired social interaction and communication, and by restricted and repetitive behavior. These signs all begin before a child is three years old. The prevalence of autism is about 1–2 per 1,000 people; the prevalence of ASD (Autism spectrum disorders) is about 6 per 1,000, with about four times as many males as females.  Now, according to my mum, I never spoke until I was three. When I spoke I spoke in sentences. I had almost everything that autistic children have. I had compulsive behavior, which is intended and appears to follow rules, such as arranging objects in stacks or lines. I had a great degree of sameness which means resistance to change; for example, insisting that my lego construction cannot be moved or refusing to be interrupted. I had ritualistic behavior and restricted behavior. Autism’s symptoms result from maturation-related changes in various systems of the brain. If you need further proof I think have a stubby dendritic spine. At one time my urine test to attain permanent residence has shown a lack of protein. And I have a little theory that I have an abnormal formation of synapses resulting in poorly regulated synthesis of synaptic protein. That one’s just a theory.

“Noted autistic Temple Grandin described her inability to understand the social communication of neurotypicals, or people with normal neural development, as leaving her feeling “like an anthropologist on Mars””. I’d say, “Yes Grandin, I see what you see. But I had a more complex explanation of why we are so different from the world. I thought I was living in a matrix of simulated facades. In other words, people and experiences are a figment of my imagination. So if I punch someone in the face, he is going to feel the consequence physically and emotionally- but only metaphorically.”

So, now, great, all of this makes sense to me, I meant Isaac having autism part. But concerning autism’s prognosis, there is no known cure. A 2004 British study of 68 adults who were diagnosed before 1980 as autistic children with IQ above 50 found that only 12% achieved a high level of independence as adults, 10% had some friends and were generally in work but required some support. But, I knew that the puzzle is not solved. See, I always knew I was some sort of a genius. When I was young, my mother brought me to an interview in Cosmotots, a quite prestigious educational consultant of the time which I survived in for a short time. The address is Jalan SS 21/60, Damansara Utama, Petaling Jaya 47400 Selangor. I was around 5 years old at that time. I avoided eye contact with the interviewer obviously, not once looking into his or her eyes when he asked a question. My mum told me he let me into the school. I said, “How did I do it?” And apparently I found out that I hypnotized him! My mum asked me to show him what I can do, and I did sign language from a-z. And he was so impressed he let me in.

In trying to fastforward my contention, Basically, I always knew I had an exceptional memory. I always told people I was good at telling stories. My ESL (English as a Second Language) teacher always told me how impressed she was at my essays. But I was not impressed with myself. I always had a gut instinct that wanted to unite this so called “talents” and link it with a disorder. I am a great advocate of the possibility of the dichotomy of interdependent talent-deficit syndromes. I think I was right. Darold Treffert describes Savant syndrome as a rare condition in which persons with developmental disorders (including autism spectrum disorders) have one or more areas of expertise, ability, or brilliance that are in contrast with the individual’s overall limitations.

Forgive me, audiences, if I make a theoretical leap here. I think I am a prodigious savant. The most common trait of these prodigious savants is their seemingly limitless mnemonic skills, with many having eidetic or photographic memories. Indeed, prodigious savants are extremely rare, with fewer than one hundred noted in more than a century of literature on the subject. Treffert, the leading researcher in the study of savant syndrome, estimates that fewer than fifty or so such individuals are believed to be alive in the world today.

You must notice how the equation of this rarity comes about. 0.001 percent of people are autistic, they are usually males. Only one in ten have Savant syndrome, and note that without autism, it is even more unlikely that a person can exhibit symptoms of that syndrome per se. And prodigious savants are even rarer. Now, the reason I say that I think I am a prodigious savant, which I am quite certain, is because I have something quite prominent in the discourse of exceptional memory, namely open quotation brackets, hyperthymesia or hyperthymesitic syndrome which refers to superior autobiographical memory. It is the type of memory that forms people’s own life story. The term “thymesia” is derived from the Greek word “thymesis,” meaning memory ^[1]. Close quotation brackets. Wikipedia. I am not making this up.

The capabilities of the affected individuals are not limited to the ability to recall specific events from their personal experience. Hyperthymesia has both enhanced autobiographical and episodic memory, as it was first described by Parker, Cahill, & McGaugh (2006) in “A case of unusual autobiographical remembering.”^[1] They explained that there are two important characteristics of hyperthymesia:

1. Individuals with the syndrome spend huge amount of time thinking about their past.
2. Individuals have an unusual and amazing capacity to remember as well as recall any specific personal events or trivial details, including a date, the weather, what people wear on that day, from their past.

My Special Place

Task #23) Everyone needs a special place.

I conjectured that I create this new category of “Folio of Creative Writing.” It is not just a topic I am keen to pursue. I always had a flair I think. And I hate to also call it writing with words per se. I believe writing is the essence to many types of art. And illustrations that accompany writing in today’s modern world are what bring the love of abstraction and progress back to our often stagnant society. I believe that even from the Renaissance to the present, in this train halt, the world is going to get, so they say – out of the box.

I was sitting on a comfortable black-coloured office chair in my room. The eccentric arrangement of keys on the laptop upon the table anticipates to be used to create words stemming from a spontaneous train of thought. I was trying to put together a plan for my essay. I saw the familiar appearance of attractively placed variations of objects in my room, each having a particular world of itself. If any object was misplaced, I would immediately know which piece was missing. Each world stands tall like mounds of beauty once decomposed, but now brought together and so possess greater meaning. I had a coherent map of my room rooted in my head. The subjects in the cupboard demonstrated their relativity to one another when I visualized each world intersecting one another in a complex deficient manner like an incomplete puzzle. There was one jigsaw puzzle I had enjoyed completing – my journal. I brought together all the pieces of my experiences, memories and impulsively put them on paper.

I began to feel strange. When I went beyond the planned technique of journaling ideal impersonal thoughts, my soul felt like I was leaving my map. Playing with uncertainties of sensation meant that I had to pour my individuality onto the page. In my head, callous, impetuous and honest writing will lead to a disturbing outcome; that I might unfold the secret blemishes of my spirit that my head had hidden in its pompous sensibility. Before this room, there was a deep senseless sea. I remember the time where I fell into a fish pond leading to a fear of fish, the time where I was afraid to ask for help when I was lost in the supermarket; or the time when I conjectured whether I had the psychological principles when my cousins were talking about an ambiguously overheard dilemma that I was autistic. These unwanted hopeless secrets I possessed that do not mound up to any particular beauty began creeping in my head until I decided to establish my fort in the room where everything makes sense, where everything feels safe. On finding this favorite room, the bottomless sea turned into mini-citadels by the coast which expectantly cannot be dazed by the increasing sea levels. I was afraid that the memory of falling in the pond had not really left me, that there was a time my pride would be washed away.

Something felt missing. I never thought that that hole could be filled by something I was already afraid of. In the novel Fly Away Peter written by David Malouf, I never really understood why a peculiar sort of satisfaction came upon the main character when he recognized his Achilles’ heel. He did not heal it, just recognize it. Perhaps that is how he realized just how extraordinary he really is; that he was part of a unique world of elegance which he could never totally encompass in his talented map. I shifted to a new school recently. No multitude of journaling could bring me calm on the first day. On some occasions, the continuous inner voice said, “just ride the wave, and take pleasure in it.” The predicament is that when I gaped down, I saw the depths of the capricious sea; when I gazed towards the scope ahead, I saw the bloodcurdling endlessness. It felt like the time when I was unsure whether I was meant to swim ahead or retreat, because I was caught in the merciless waves that made you an element of no man’s land. In school, I realized that the obstacles I saw were not really there. This made me question whether my mini-citadels were mirages or just sand castles in comparison to what lay ahead.

It was the time when I had to admit that I just did not know it all. I figured that we have to trust in the good of our neighbours, that we have to explore territories that widen our internal map. The truth is that when I looked down and ahead while riding the sea waves, I had to look up at the vast sky. I then realized that my special place and this foreign province was under the same sky. Some like to surf on the waves, some like to float and some just observe; but we are in one world. I realized that we are in a world, with other sub worlds, all intersecting one another in a complex deficient manner, like an incomplete puzzle. My map suddenly found its borders. Though there were still unknowns, my map now had the borders of the complete human form. I could be now enjoying the breeze at my mini-citadels the whole day, and feel the depths of the sea through reading about it and knowing that all humanity have a common awe at the ever churning mystical sky, which a supreme being has made to unite the planet.