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How Have You Developed Throughout Life?

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  #1  
Old 08-17-2018, 04:41 PM
DwayneA (Offline)
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Default How Have You Developed Throughout Life?


Probably life itself is a story itself and we are the protagonist's of our own lives. We are all characters in this never ending story still writing itself. Since I have much to learn still about character growth, change, and development, I'd like to use this thread to learn how real life people grow, change, and develop.

And since I started this thread, I'll be the first to write my self arc.

Growing up, I had no friends, and spent most of my free time from school on the computer, reading, or playing video games, whereas all siblings hung out with friends. I was never invited to any of those teen parties whereas all my siblings were. Due to focusing on my schoolwork, I always got good grades and was on the honor roll some years. Most years, I had perfect attendance. My social life was non-existant. My classmates hated me, some even bullied me, and not even the teachers could stop them with repeated disciplinary actions.

When I was sixteen years old, I was diagnosed with Aseprger Syndrome. And that's when everything changed. Since I had now been labelled "mentally disabled", my academic future went up in smoke. The school actually hired a private tutor for me, but the truth was, it was all just to remove me from the classroom as if all my academic achievements no longer mattered. The tutor didn't educate me at all in any subject. Eventually, I stopped going to school and dropped out. The guy who had expected to graduate with honors and maybe even go to college found his future going down the drain, all because of being "labelled".

Because of Asperger's, I was denied a chance to resume my education at another school. Aspergers was used against me and the school decided that I was not welcome there, all because people didn't know what Asperger's was.

The family wouldn't get off my back. Nothing else mattered to them about me other than Asperger's Syndrome. Dad was always going on and on about how pathetic I was and how I was an embarrassment to him. In fact, dad had no problem saying how proud he was of this young woman he started trying to help because she appeared to be someone down on her luck, but in reality, she was a ruthless gold digger who used him for her own selfish gain. Because of her, our relationship further soured due to him believing me to be someone whom she was afraid of, even in spite of the fact that she put me through stuff I never deserved. Because of her, I have become bitter and misanthrophic towards people and distrust people I don't know.

Over the years, I've become more and more bitter and cynical about my life. While my younger brother and sisters all have it so good, with good jobs, owning a house, and even forming families of their own, my life is nothing but non-stop hardship and misfortune. I still can't land a full-time job, can't get a girlfriend, and still live on financial assistance in an apartment.

Other than dad, I no longer want anything to do with my family. Ever since dad had his stroke and now lives in an assisted living home, our relationship has been a lot better than it used to be. He is no longer trying to help that crazy girl as he realizes that what I and everyone else tried to tell him was true all along and that she basically abandoned him after his stroke, probably due to no longer having power of attorney over his finances. Still, the damage to his life, and everything he sacrificed for her is gone, things that he'll never get back.

After nearly a decade of moving out and living on my own, my life has still not changed for the better and neither has my life situation. How can I make something of myself when society just wants to segregate me, all because I am "different"? I have become depressed, considered suicide, and have basically given up all hope of a better life. Even though I no longer tolerate crap from people and the way I am treated by others, I believe my life is a complete waste. People like me no matter how hard we work or try or struggle will never lead anything more or less than a miserable, wreched life. Some people are just not fit for redemption.

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Old 08-17-2018, 06:03 PM
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Well, I for one think you are worth redemption. And more than that, you donít need to be redeemed because youíve done nothing of your own volition thatís put you in the place you are now. Yeah, weíve all made mistakes, and Iím sure youíve made your share, but Aspergers (now ASD) is not something you have ďdoneĒ to anyone. Itís also not a mental disorder, but a different way of thinking. The idea that there is someone or something out there doling out punishments for unworthy humans is equally as daft to believe.

So, you really donít need redemption. What you need is to play your situation as it is. The little white ball is ďthereĒ and from that we will make our next shot. Itís a golf metaphor. My son was diagnosed with Tourette Syndrome at age 8 after several years of just thinking he was kinda weird. He is very bright, but canít translate that intelligence into a socially acceptable situation. At least not yet. TS comes with OCD and ADHD like symptoms (what those are really, I donít know), and itís difficult for him to maintain or gain friendships. He sometimes gets depressed and feels hopeless (heís 15 now), but I have always, and still tell him: ďeven a man with no legs has to get up every morning and go to work. Yes, itís harder for him, but that doesnít mean he doesnít have to do it anyway.Ē Iím not really talking about a job, but just being productive and proactive in some way. Use what you can do and keep learning. Learning to be great at one thing teaches you about so many other things, and dedicating your life to constant learning is a fantastic way to know many things. The Book of Five Rings by Musashi provides an excellent understanding of these principles. My son has read it a couple of times, and has gained something from it.

The idea is to be mindful of your life and push forward no matter what. Yes, sometimes its daunting. Sometimes it seems hopeless, but the movement is whatís important. Keep moving.




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Old 08-17-2018, 07:16 PM
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Exercise, get laid, eat right; don't do a lot of pot, drugs, or booze; be nice to people and IGNORE their foibles, quit worrying about the past. Are you objective when you're around other people or are you centered-on-self? Lighten up! If you want to be a good writer study the craft of writing. Figure out what makes other writers successful, and use the tools they use. Set some concrete goals. Good luck.
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Old 08-18-2018, 08:05 PM
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In the summer of 1975 I was eight years old. My sister S. was seven. I never paid attention to her, she was off my radar completely. We were a blended family, and our parents left the kids on their own a lot so they could go to the bars, or Vegas, or Laughlin. We were poor mostly because our parents spent the money partying. The older ones watched the younger ones (loosely), and everyone did pretty much as they pleased. This was a normal life as far as I knew. I was in my own head mostly. When I look back it felt like a big world up there, but it wasnít. My interests were narrow and I didnít care about others in any meaningful way. I fixated on things, they grew, and I pursued them until I got bored or they just ended.

What I was interested in at first, first I remember, was ďarmy men.Ē These were the little people, pilots, troops, sailors, and commandos, from the model airplanes and ships our older brother built. He was ten years older than us and nothing but an antagonist. We never asked him for anything lest we wanted to get hit or tied in a knot. He wasnít really abusive, never hit us too hard or actually hurt us, but he would humiliate a kid without remorse.

Anyway, one night I woke up before the sun and peeled a few sailors from the deck of his model of the USS Arizona. I thought he wouldnít notice. I stashed them in the corner of my closet behind a pile of clothes, and cherished them, the fact that they were there. I couldnít play with them because he would see, but I loved that they were there.

I remember him noticing and there being a melee, but I donít remember the details. I just remember knowing I had to get my ďarmy menĒ from somewhere else. So, having no money, I began a campaign of shoplifting.

There was a Kmart store on the corner of my neighborhood. It was a five minute walk from my doorstep, and I started going there everyday and casing the toy section for model sets with ďarmy menĒ in them. I would find a target, walk by once and remove the plastic from the box and then walk away and pretend to look at something else for a while. Then I would come back and open the box, identify the figure, and walk away again. Eventually I would twist off the little figure and put it in my pocket, then start the whole process all over again. Of course I would close up the previous box and push it back behind others so as not to draw attention to the area.

In a day I could get ten or twelve figures. I hid them in my closet or out in our shed which was full of unused lawn equipment and forgotten toys and junk. After a while I moved on to action figures, and then to candy, batteries, clothes, and even bicycles and skateboards. Anything I wanted, really.

Hereís how you steal a bicycle in 1975 from Kmart:

There was a register in the garden area. I would spend a while perusing garbage cans at the front of the store until I found a clean receipt. Then I would pull a bike off the rack, wrap the receipt around the handlebars and wait for a customer to occupy the associate at the outside garden register. Then Iíd push the bike out the door, flashing the receipt at the clerk (if he even looked up), and keep going. I knew once I got the bike out, even if someone were to shout at me to come back, I could outrun them.

One day I was at my friend Dougsí house, up in his tree fort with a load of candy, sharing it with everyone. My sister S. Was there with Dougís sister and on our walk home asked me where I got the money for the candy. I told her everything. At first she said stealing was wrong and I shouldnít do it, but I saw the look in her eye. I made her promise not to tell, and she didnít.

I remember it was the end of the summer, school about to start, when there was a big uproar in our house. My sister S. Had been caught shoplifting a candy bar from Walgreens, held in the office by the manager, and then confronted by the cops, and eventually our mother. The store manager threatened to press charges and send her to juvenile hall for her crime, but I think the cops talked him out of it. Our mom made her apologize and took her to an old folks home to do community service as penance. It was a big deal. She never told where sheíd gotten the idea to shoplift, and to this day we have a secret bond of respect for each otherís imperfections.

After that event I never shoplifted again. I moved onto other things Iíd get fascinated with, grow bored of, and move on.






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