Symbols are images, and images are visible, tangible (not always but mostly) objects/things.
I write the way I do, read the types of books I read, enjoy the kinds of movies I enjoy and notice physical features others might not BECAUSE of my Aspergers.
Now, what does that say about WHO I am? If within my mother’s womb I was set up for the kind of person I am now?
Personally I have no problem having such sensitive eyes (ooooh) and a vivid imagination, but the question of identity strikes me most profoundly just bellow my gut.
Who am I? Am I who I am? Or is who I am what I really am?
I do no want kids (is it I or is that my internal network of reasoning and logic-crunching?)
I do not want a “partner”, relationships do not interest me (despite my having fantasies of being with the “right” kind of person who matches me like a glove) … I am aware such fancies exist in the realm of television, so with my excessive reasoning I forego the wish to be with anyone. It is entirely logic based (and I like that)
Is THAT me? Or is that little infant suspended upside down in a bag of urine (just facts) already made?
Alas whatever the answer, it makes no difference, not to me at least.
With all of that said, this logic brain values friendships (despite having naught) over anything else because (theoretically speaking) they are choices we make to pick people who (should) be in our lives “till death do us part”, in the most true sense of the sentiment. No ring B.S, no ceremony, just mates (sings “I’ll be there with you”) ’till the end.
(Wait what was I saying about symbolism?) Argh!