SarahAnnAlien's Journal: An Alien?

People have been curious about why I say I'm an alien, or why I feel I'm an alien. Perhaps I should explain more.

My situation is, um, a little odd. It's complicated, and difficult to explain. The very first time I tried to explain it to someone, without leaving out any important details, it took about eight hours, and I still left out a lot of stuff. And things are way more complicated now than they were back then.

Clearly, a simpler explanation would be needed, particularly here in my journal. The whole alien thing provides a simplifying assumption, and lets people know that *something* is profoundly different, without getting into the annoying little details. It's shorthand. A metaphor for something fundamentally difficult to explain.

I didn't actually make up the alien thing... a lab tech was drawing blood for a test he didn't know anything about, and when I explained it to him, he said, "you mean, like an alien?" I thought it was kind of funny, but sort of appropriate too.

Now, let's talk about what it means for me to be an alien. What's it all about? Actually, let's start with what it's *not* about.

It's not the "oh, nobody understands me" angsty sort of thing. I think that's pretty common, and I have a little bit of that. But that's not what makes me an alien.

It's not that I don't fit into society easily. True, there are issues in the whole social-integration area, but that doesn't make me an alien. Lots of people have trouble fitting in.

It's not that I'm weird. Yes, I'm weird. But that's not what makes me an alien.

It's not a self-esteem thing. Quite the opposite; I'm astonished at what I've accomplished in the last couple of years. Not that I haven't made mistakes! But, all in all, I've done surprisingly well.

So, what makes me an alien?

I was born with a variety of... abnormalities. Things that doctors thought, at the time, were unimportant. I didn't realize how badly the doctors had botched things over the years until, after ten years of treatment for "depression", I discovered that the assortment of psychiatrists who had treated me for a decade did not, in general, know what the hell they were doing.

I did my own research. I did some experiments. I found something that seemed to fix my neurochemistry. This led me to find better doctors. Specialists. On the correct medication, depression abruptly became a thing of the past. It was an odd sensation to wake up every morning, sober, and not want to die, and to be able to look in the mirror and not hate myself. It was quite frightening when all of these changes happened, literally, overnight! Waking up one morning and seeing someone *else* in the mirror is very, very weird. Especially when that other person looks *exactly* like you, but is clearly someone else.

The specialists have been honest with me: they don't know what's wrong with me. My case is unusual, even among a group of patients who have been described as "typically atypical"!

We have found something that seems to fix my neurochemistry problem, but the fix has a variety of serious consequences. The next decision was up to me. I saw four basic options:

(1) Kill myself.

(2) Leave my brain broken for the rest of my life, and try to find ways to cope

(3) Partially fix my brain, and go to some effort to conceal any side effects that might be visible to society

(4) Fix my brain as best we can, and learn to deal with the consequences.

Initially, I went with choice (3), as it was the least disruptive.

But even with just a partial fix, my brain started to change. Or, from my perspective, the *world* started to change.

The most striking experience came as I was walking home from work one day. Some little pink flowers had bloomed on bushes along the sidewalk.

I stared at the little pink flowers. They were beautiful.

That was the weird part.

Flowers had never been beautiful before. Not to me, anyway. They were always just... there.

I had seen flowers a thousand times before. I had never seen the beauty. My neurochemistry had kept it hidden from me. For my entire life.

I stared at the flowers and cried.

I knew at that moment that I would have to switch from the smallest possible change to the best fix available for my brain. I had to take the chance, to learn what else had always been hidden from me.

For the rest of my life, people will label me. Some will champion my courage, and defend my right to self expression. Some will assume that I've always felt "trapped" and have finally decided to be "the way I want to be". Others will condemn my sinful "lifestyle choice".

But *all* of those people are wrong. This is simply about neurochemistry and it's consequences. Nothing more. The consequences, however, are profound and far-reaching, and few people truly understand that. People assume the world is a much simpler place than it actually is.

There are a lot of really weird things that can go wrong with babies before they are born. Many of them are poorly understood, or entirely undiscovered.

I typically accept one or more labels that people use for "people like me". Not because they are accurate, but because it's easier to accept a label than to teach a short course in hypothetical and applied neuroendocrinology every time I introduce myself to someone. ("Hi, I'm Sarah. Um... how much do you know about molecular biology?")

About a year ago, we began to gradually adjust my medication to find the best possible fix. Sure enough, before long, many things started to change. I'm struggling to learn to cope.

Now, absolutely everything has changed. There is no facet of my life that has not been profoundly affected by the changes of the past year.

But it's not just that everything is different. Almost everything is *new*. I'm experiencing the world, again, for the first time. Everything is strange and exciting! Even the most mundane things are new for me.

One funny example is the story about the pajama strings.

A couple years ago, I ordered some pajamas from a catalog. I hadn't had any since I was very little.

I examined my new jammies. Ok, legs go here. This string is for tying them around my waist. And this other string... oh, wait, there are two of them... these other strings are for... um... hmmm... what the heck *are* these other strings for?

I pondered the mystery. Let's see, you tie them together, and... no, that's not it, now my jammies don't fit anymore. Well, they must go like this then... oops, no, that's not right. Do they tie on to my panties? Well, let's see... hmm, no, that doesn't seem right either. Perhaps I'm supposed to attach, well, I don't know, some sort of feminine hygiene product to them? I don't think so... I can't even figure out how that might work!

What the heck are these other strings for?

I never did figure it out. I just left the other strings dangling. Every now and then, I'd glance at them, and wonder.

About a year later, I was on one of my first shopping expeditions. I happened to wander into the pajama section of the department store. I looked at the pajamas hanging on the rack. I looked closer. And I started to laugh.

The "other" strings are for hanging the pajamas on a hanger. They use them to hang the pajamas on a rack in the store.

I'm sure everyone on earth knows this. I did not.

I'm an alien. I have to learn all these things from scratch.

Some more examples, both profound and mundane:

I was quite awestruck when I realized that every single person seems to have their own different personality! *And* it appears to be necessary to take this into account when interacting with them! Before, people were... different, somehow. They weren't interesting in any particular way. They were just... there.

Movies have all changed, including the ones I've seen a hundred times before. Movies I always thought were "good" are no longer very interesting. Movies I would formerly have regarded as completely pointless now tend to leave me crying and giggling at the same time. A really good movie now requires a lot of kleenex.

Last week, I had a long conversation with someone about socks. Socks, and what kinds of earrings to take on a trip. It was an extremely helpful conversation. Apparently, I'll need more socks.

Did you know that hair is like The Force? It controls your actions, but it also obeys your commands! With a blow dryer, six hairbrushes, and a dozen or so magic potions, it's actually possible to get hair to sort of change its behavior in certain limited ways. I'm only in the early stages of learning this part. But I hardly ever whack myself in the head with the blow dryer anymore!

Speaking of hair, the next time I decide to make chocolate fudge, would someone please remind me to use one of those springy clip thingies to clip my hair behind my head *before* I try to taste the fudge? What a mess!

Today I went shopping, and saw a purse with a light in it. The light came on automatically when the purse was opened. I played with it for about ten minutes, trying to figure out how it decided when to turn the light on and off. Then I found the instructions! It turned out to be a magnetic sensor and a timer, not a motion sensor as I had first suspected. ("Mommy, mommy, why is that woman shaking that purse?" "Because she's an idiot, dear.")

The world has changed in a way that has left me with a childlike sense of wonder which is, quite frankly, really, really cool. My description does't really do it justice. It's... amazing. Simply amazing.

It is, however, a mixed blessing.

Not everything that's new is wonderful.

I've discovered new emotions. Emotions that I've never had before. Emotions that I've never had to learn how to deal with. The learning process is... painful.

I've also discovered new fears, and new ways to be afraid. New threats that I don't know how to protect myself from. New ways to be in danger. New ways to hurt. New ways to die.

The world is frequently scary enough to make me question whether or not I made the right decision.

When that happens, I do my best to remember the little pink flowers.