Let's describe our bubble!

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Mostly when my parents where were not home, my room had much to do with my bubble. It was a relatively sure place. There were also two rooms a store above, and, further above there was a terrace, and the roof. I could walk on the roof, which was a little dangerous (fourth floor), but physical danger was not what frightened me.

What frightened me was that my parents, especially my mother, could penetrate my bubble. Once I was punished at school (put behind the blackboard). I came home for dinner rather downtrodden. I didn’t say anything about my punishment at school, but my mother asked “what happened?”, I was scared to death, not because I might be scolded, but because I thought that that my mother had, perhaps, the power to enter my mind and explore my bubble.
So, for now, I know that, when I was a child, my bubble had something to do a) with my room b) with the secrets of my mind.

A safe, cosy haven with sound-proofed walls and nobody else inside. A warm room with boarded-up walls. When you go outside, its ice cold and windy.

Thinking of the nice picture of the-over-analyzed, why not launching a friendly competition of graphic images of our bubbles, past and present?

I feel oppressed from the outside.

steelmaiden thats exactly how i feel

Hehehe, right! I've had a few ideas, might take a few days to put it all together.

SteelMaiden, I really like yours. If that were mine, I'd have the arrows pointing the other way though, in self-defence, like a 'keep out' thing.

I have these idea that there are strategies to reveal our needs, if not our secrets, in very oblique ways: I would venture that the great literature (fiction) is mostly this: the attempt to communicate our interior life in disguised fashion. Some examples. J.D.Salinger expressed many of his deepest secrets in The Catcher . Then he felt that he had exposed too much of himself and chose reclusion. Patricia Highsmith revealed much of her autism in her novels in very subtle ways: I think for example that in Edith’s Diary she narrates the life of a teacher, abandoned by her companion, and left to take care of his sick uncle, who is a terrible weight for her and ends up dying mysteriously probably by Edith’s son administering him an overdose of cocaine. Now the novel is devoted, at fist sight, to Edith’s ordeal. But she is not Patricia. Patricia is in reality Edith’s son, difficult, heavy drinker, loner, unhappy and living an edgy life nearing him to crime. Patricia was not Edith, but Edith’s son, introduced in the novel as a secondary character and disguised further in a male.

Steel-maiden’s drawing reminds me of Kafka telling her lover of one day, Milena: “look it’s like we are both surrounded by bodyguards armed with spears, but while your guards have their spears directed against me, my bodyguards have their spears directed, not against you, but… against me.

In a way. novels are the writer's bubbles.

I made a collage of my bubble. The inner bubble, with the arrows pointing outwards is the 'complete Aspie Mode' bubble. I hope there are no psychiatrists here, lol, I'm not sure what I am revealing!

I like the idea of depicting your bubble through art.

MY BUBBLES!! !

AHayes, your cat seems to get more cute every time I see her.

I always imagined myself as a multi-layered "onion" or Russian Nesting-Doll. My outer layers are what
I call my social boundaries my inner layers make up my personal zone or space. Then there is the
Impenetrable Core, where I reside. None may enter!

I completely understand what you mean about the bubble. I'm obsessive about my living space and I get unmanageable when something or someone upsets it. I don't like it when my stuff is disturbed in anyway. I'm having a real tough time this week cause I had to move out of my dorm house for the summer and even though I'm at my house, the place that I had made in it is gone and I don't know what to do with myself.

This is such an interesting thread, the way we see our bubbles. Richie, the 'onion layers' make a lot of sense to me, the layers between the 'inner core' and the outer layers.
I'm wondering where the persona would fit in here, in the bubble descriptions. In my collage I feel that the woman in grey, in the suit of armour, maybe she is the persona, or rather, her armour is that.

Stupidcat, I think this is a thing with a lot of us, that we feel bad when we have not got our usual things around us, arranged in the order we are used to. It is very unsettling. I hope you manage to get a feeling of security with your surroundings soon. I don't know about you, but if I have certain things around me, a picture, a plant, my tea mug, I start to feel a bit more like it's 'my space'.

My bubble is in the form of a Routemaster and walking into it, is like walking into 1977 London.



Every Aspie needs a safe place of their own.