Queens of Geek

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: TAYLOR

I have to meet Josie.

I just have to.

I'm sitting here in the front row of The Rising panel, grinning like I've found a soul sister.

I make a mental note to buy every issue of her comic.

I wonder if she'll be able to tell that I'm on the spectrum, too, like there's some kind of Spidey sense or Aspie radar.

After the panel ends, Jamie and I stay behind to congratulate Charlie on a job well done, and I work up the courage to introduce myself to Josie. I approach her as she's saying goodbye to another fan, kneading my thumb into my palm nervously.

"Josie?"

"Yes, hi!" She gives me a friendly wave.

"Hi. I'm Taylor. I'm friends with Charlie." I point behind me to where Charlie and Jamie are chatting enthusiastically.

"Oh, hi!" Josie holds a hand out and I shake it.

"Um," I start, dragging my nails down my arm gently. "I have Autism Spectrum Condition, too."

Her eyes light up. "Oh, really? You're an Aspie girl?"

I nod and look down at the floor. "Yes. I've never met another Aspie girl before ... I mean, that I know of. I guess I probably have, just not another girl who knew she was on the spectrum." I'm rambling, so I stop myself. "Does that make sense?"

She giggles a little. "Yes, it makes perfect sense. When did you realise you're on the spectrum?"

"Only about six months ago. So it's still very new to me. I'm a bit confused by it all."

She seems to know exactly what I mean. "Yep, it can be an adjustment. I found out about two years ago and I'm still learning. I was misdiagnosed with bipolar first, then my therapist suggested Asperger's, and it all just kind of clicked."

"Yeah, it was similar with me," I say. "I started seeing a psychologist to help with my anxiety, and she figured it out."

She purses her lips into a knowing smile. "I've got anxiety, too. Social. Generalized. OCD. Even PTSD from being bullied as a kid."

"Really?" I ask. "But you just did the panel in front of all those people—"

She lets a sigh out through her teeth and nods. "I know. I almost puked before we came out."

I must be staring at her with a panicked expression, because she laughs. "It's okay. As hard as it is, every time I do something like this, I feel so good afterwards. Exhausted, but good."

I shake my head. "I could never do anything like that."

"I used to think the same thing. But when you really love something, when you're really passionate about it and it gets you excited, you can use that as fuel to get you through the hard parts. I adore the hell out of my work. I'm passionate about this movie—and I freaking love SupaCon and feel welcome here—so it was something I really wanted to do. My excitement won, and it makes the anxiety something I'm willing to put up with for today. But on other days, the anxiety, the meltdowns, the PTSD, they'll win. But not today. I just try to focus on that, and take good care of myself, especially after. Social hangovers suck."

"Social what?"

"Social hangovers. It's like a normal hangover, but instead of being caused by too much alcohol, it's caused by too much social exposure and overstimulation of the senses."

I gasp. "I totally get those!"

She giggles. "Yeah, I think it's pretty normal for people on the spectrum or with anxiety."

"How do you cope with it?"

"Well, I've tried everything. Medication and therapy are great. I tried natural therapies too. Yoga, acupuncture, meditation, aromatherapy. And a lot of it helped me relax. But it wasn't until I joined a few fandoms online and started taking illustration seriously that my anxiety really started to become easier to manage. It sounds so cliched, but once I started doing more things that made me happy, it made everything else a little easier to deal with."

I hold my palms up. "Wait ... Are you saying that geeking out helps you cope?"

She nods. "Like nothing else."

I shuffle side to side for a moment, trying to think of what to say next. I want to keep talking to her, there's so much I want to ask, and then it all just surges out of me. "At first, I hated it. I felt like there was no hope, that no matter how hard I try, I'll never fit in and everything would always be hard for me." My bottom lip starts to quiver, but I keep going. "I fight like hell every day and too many times it's just not enough and the fear wins. I'm so fucking weak and everything is so fucking intense and sometimes I really hate it."

I gasp, covering my mouth with my hands as the tears pour out of me.

I didn't mean to say all that.

I feel exposed.

Tears fill her eyes. "Can I hug you?"

I nod, unable to speak. She steps forward and hugs me. "I get it. Believe me, I know exactly how you feel." She lets go and steps back, wiping her eyes. "But please, please don't say that you're weak. You are not weak. People like us," she pauses to clear her throat as more tears spill from her eyes.

"We're the bravest people. We're the ones who get up and face our worst fears every day. We keep fighting." She crosses her arms and glances away. She's getting frazzled, and it's my fault.

"I mean," she says, looking back at me. "Let's say someone is terrified of heights, and in order to get out of the house every day she has to walk across a tightrope. Every one would say, 'Oh, she's so brave. She faces heights every day.' That's what we do. We walk a tightrope every day. Getting out the door is a tightrope. Going grocery shopping is a tightrope. Socialising is a tightrope. Things that most people consider to be normal, daily parts of life are the very things we fear and struggle with the most, and yet here we are, moving forward anyway. That's not weak." She reaches out and takes my hands. "We are the brave ones."

I don't know what to say, and even if I did I don't think I'd be able to say it.

Her words have changed me, sparked something in me that wasn't there before.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

I nod and try to smile to reassure her.

"Listen," she says. "Everyday things can be harder for us, but that doesn't make us wrong or less than others. It took me a long time and a lot of self-loathing to learn that. Everyone has their strengths. And everyone has their kryptonite."

After a few minutes, we wipe our tears and start to leave the panel room. "Thank you so much for listening to me," I say. "I'm sorry I vomited all my insecurities onto you."

She laughs. "Please, it's fine. I just hope I was able to help."

"You really did. You've inspired me."

Her smile reaches her eyes. "That makes me so happy." She reaches into her handbag and pulls out a card. "Here, this has all my deets on it. Email, twitter, tumblr, insta, et cetera. Stay in touch."

"I will."