This wonderful guest post is by Charli Devnet, a woman with Asperger’s, who wrote the piece for Autistics Speaking Day. I am honored to repost it here.
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Three weeks ago, I attended a series of lectures in Albany, New York by Dr. Tony Attwood on high-functioning autism and Asperger’s Syndrome. Among the many insights I gained, one observation really struck a chord. Dr. Attwood commented that Aspies are like prey animals. I had been pondering that very issue myself.
Last summer, I was riding Silverado out on the trails when the thought first occurred to me. I adopted Silverado two years ago after my parents died, when the loneliness became unbearable. He is an undocumented immigrant, a former worker on a Mexican cattle ranch. At 14.1 hands, the vet calls him a large pony. Everyone else refers to him as the small grey horse.
Despite the stories you hear, there was no instant bonding between us. I had ridden most of my life, yet I had no idea of the responsibility and the cost involved in actually owning a horse. There are board fees and vet fees and farrier fees and, of course, all that tack that must be purchased. We’ve also had trouble finding a barn where we fit in. In little more than two years, we’ve been at three barns, and now I’m looking for a fourth. There have been many times when I wondered what I was thinking, acquiring a horse. Yet, as time has gone by, we have bonded, and Silverado has taught me many things that are as true of myself as they are of him.
You see, a horse really is a prey animal. He spooks at the least little thing — a thunderstorm, a backfire, an animal as innocuous as a deer. A deer will run across his path, and he’ll spook and, if I were not there to pull on the reins, he would turn and run away.
At first I would reprimand him. “Silly horse, to be frightened by a deer!” Then I began to see things from his point of view. Silverado catastrophizes. “Sure,” he thinks, “it looks like a deer, but what if she’s a mountain lion in disguise, trying to lure me into a false sense of security, and all the while planning to lap on my back and devour me? Better flee now and ask questions later.”
Haven’t I become just the same way? There was a time when I did not act like a prey animal. As a child, I was strong and spunky and high-functioning. I had troubles enough, to be sure: schoolyard bullies who chased me down the street, classmates who mocked and taunted me, teachers who treated me with undue harshness in the belief that so bright a child — so bright a girl — should know better than to misbehave as consistently as I did. But I did not think of myself as a victim. Whatever problems I had, I was tough enough to confront them.
Of course, as a child, I had what experts now refer to as a support system. Although I did not fit in with many of the other kids, I had my circle of playmates and, indeed, a best friend just next door. If my parents were not the best of nurturers, it did not matter. In my hometown, I had a plethora of aunts and uncles and grandparents who took up the slack. Further, like most children in the sixties, I was accorded a measure of freedom that few kids enjoy today. If I left home in the morning and came back for dinner, it was not thought amiss. I spent my free time carousing with my playmates, in the library pursuing my favorite subjects, just exploring on my bike or perusing the latest comic books in the What-Not Shop. (My favorite was Superboy. Like me, he came from the planet Krypton).
The summer I turned thirteen, I lost all that. My parents sold our house and moved to a crumbling estate in the country. Suddenly, I had no one to play with, no one to talk to, and nothing to do. I still had my bike, but there was nowhere to go. From that time on, loneliness began to track me and would never let me out of its icy clutches.
Loneliness made me vulnerable. It disabled me. If I were a male, I would say it emasculated me. It was then that I began to think of myself as a victim and, internalizing that notion, acted as a victim.
How else to explain why, despite several advanced degrees, I have been unemployed much of my adult life, or settled for a series of part-time jobs, for all of which I was overqualified and underpaid? How else to explain a life of unwanted solitude or uneasy celibacy? The only skill a prey animal has to master is how to sniff out danger and run away. Of all the skills I had as a child, the one I honed was that. Other people thought I lacked suitable work or relationships because I was lazy, too picky, or simply did not try hard enough. In reality, it was the highly tuned instinct of a prey animal frightened of living in captivity.
Although I excelled at being a prey animal, I was not a happy one, and I suspect that most Aspies are unhappy in the victim role to which the world has relegated them. True prey animals in the wild have the solace of the herd, and that is the one comfort that autistics most sorely lack. We are usually loners and not always by choice. The true loners of the animal kingdom — the cat, the owl, the wolf — are hunters, not prey. I wonder if that is the reason behind the rapport that most Aspies have with felines. We like cats because they embody qualities we wish we could incorporate into ourselves: that overwhelming self-confidence, that devil-may-care insouciance, the cat’s security in its ability to take care of itself, its wit to design a plan and the patience to pursue it.
When I was younger, I alleviated some of my sense of victimization by engaging in some cat-like behavior. I became what other people might call a “stalker.” Now, I never meant to harm anyone; I had no bad intentions. I was excited by the thrill of the chase. Lying in wait or following stealthily empowered me. It provided the temporary illusion that I was the one in control, the decision-maker; in other words, the person I had been before I realized that I was a prey animal. On the contrary, when a man approached me, I reverted to form and ran away. In the end, I turned St. Paul’s admonition on its head. I decided it was better to burn than to marry. At least burning made me feel alive and free.
My mother, who might well have been an Aspie herself, had a similar concept. She rarely ate and, as a consequence, was amazingly slender. I asked her how she kept so thin. She replied that she liked “that hungry feeling.” It took me a long time to understand the theory, but now I do. I guess it made her feel alive in a world of strangers, one aspect of life that she alone could control. Of course, in order to retain “that hungry feeling” and refrain from doing what comes naturally, something must be sacrificed. My mother sacrificed her physical health. She smoked to suppress her appetite. When she developed lung cancer at the age of 74, she had no strength to fight and succumbed very quickly.
As for me, I gave up all that I might have had in life had I not surrendered myself to the flight instinct of a prey, had I had the courage or the pride in myself to stand up to trouble instead of spooking and running away.
Wow.
You just about described my life, the chronic joblessness, friendlessness, and loneliness with the side order of self hatred for being “crazy” and “dumb”. And this in spite of having a college degree and being in the process of earning a master’s all the while watching my NT peers who were far less qualified, even lacking high school diplomas, succeed.
I also heard of Temple Grandin describing autistics as being “prey animals” and I think that it quite fits us a lot of times. I think this is exacerbated by years of being attacked for who we are while the people who were supposed to protect us stood by or sometimes joined in on dishing out the pain. We learned that we had no allies in this world so we had no choice but to turn inward and run as fast as we could at the slightest sign of danger to protect ourselves. After all, if we attempted to fight back, we were branded as having “aggression” issues and locked away…or worse.
As for the “victim” attitude? Well, people need to stop victimizing us,then.
I LOVE this article!!! I grew up around horses and relate to animals far better than humans. I’ve always thought of myself as a prey animal and feel intrinsically connected to horses and other prey animals such as rabbits and deer, I know how they think and feel. Often I am like a cornered terrified animal, attuned to the sensory world and always on the lookout for danger.
A very well written essay.
I have sometimes been around people blind from birth, and I’ve noticed a subtle similarity to their behaviour around other people, as to that of Autistics.
A certain wariness, sometimes, an uneasiness. I think that when some sense is missing, such as the social perceptions in Autism, a person can become chronically uncomfortable, suffering from a certain vulnerability, without even being aware of what sense they are deficient in- having never experienced life with it. Or, if aware of it, only aware in an intellectual sense, not in an experiental sense- as in, a person who is blind can understand that some people have sight and what it entails, to a certain degree, or an Autistic can understand that some people just know what to do and say socially, as is by some natural understanding or perception that is beyond us. Physical blindness can leave one obviously vulnerable, and Autism less so in some ways, more so in others, but I believe that both are similar in that they leave one disadvantaged and less able to identify sources of danger. Since most Autistics have felt the sting of their social deficiencies in one way or the other (social ostracisation,victimisation, joblessness or job loss, relationship problems) we become fearful of our environments, leading to chronic stress, which can lead to depression, and especially in women, anxiety. It is believed that approximately 80% of women who are Autistic have been the victim of a sexual assault. This is far above the average. If this information is correct, it does much to show what happens to those who are vulnerable, especially if female.
This essay is a very good description of what happens when one lives without the natural defenses that others have.
This is why I believe all spectrum people experience the consequences of PTSD. A constant life of flight robs one of the ability to be at peace.
Also, I believe that this may be the source of much of the depression and anxiety and resistance to change common to folks on the spectrum. A life where you constantly have to be on the run (literally and figuratively) and maintain a constant lookout for danger, breeds stress and mistrust of anything new or unusual, just as my horse freaks out if he sees a strange animal cross his path–be it as innocuous a creature as a squirrel or rabbit. Today its a squirrel, tomorrow its a tiger. We never develop confidence in our abilties to cope with the vagaries of life because we can never let down our guard.
“How else to explain a life of unwanted solitude or uneasy celibacy? The only skill a prey animal has to master is how to sniff out danger and run away. Of all the skills I had as a child, the one I honed was that. Other people thought I lacked suitable work or relationships because I was lazy, too picky, or simply did not try hard enough. In reality, it was the highly tuned instinct of a prey animal frightened of living in captivity.”
^^^THIS^^^
I’m speechless. You nailed it.
An excellent article; and I can definitely relate to what was said. Up until about the age of 8 I felt like neither prey nor predator. After that I was prey, although it took me a few years to realize it. Now I am constantly on the lookout for danger almost to the point of paranoia; always looking for the quickest and easiest route of escape. I second guess myself and explore every possible scenario, like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, paralyzed and afraid to move. I think my main prey defense is to switch off and play dead; although I’m also quite good at camouflaging myself so as not to be noticed. But I have not always been very comfortable with my role as prey. I remember watching the 1994 film Wolf starring Jack Nicholson, in which after a bite from a wolf, Will Randall (Jack Nicholson) turns from prey to predator. I thought at the time how wonderful it would be if I could do that too. Not going to happen of course.
We must cultivate courage. That is the solution to being a “prey animal.”
I refuse to live as a “prey animal” whether I am naturally one or not.
This article by Charli Devnet encouraged me to defend myself and stand firmly against injustice. It described the feelings of vulnerability that accompany mild autism so succinctly that it forced me to revise my defense mechanisms. Prior to reading this, I followed a policy of tightening up procedures of personal security whenever I encountered persecution. I simply removed myself from environments where bullies, liars, and sexual predators prowled around looking for victims. I actually believed that all I had to do was identify danger, review my own deficits, admit that I was in danger, and sidestep these situations. It didn’t work. New difficulties kept popping up, and because all I ever did was run I missed each opportunity to hone the skills I needed to deal with cruel, predatory liars. All this policy has done is narrow my confidence and deepen my fear.
Now I’m going back out into the world and facing whatever comes. I’ve been forced to in order to resume my career as an R.N., something I’m just not willing to give up out of fear. Not only is being a nurse facinating, it is lucrative. I want the money! In order to get that money, I have toughen up and stop being timid.
I take my inspiration from a song lyric by the rap artist Notorious B.I.G – “I’d rather go toe to toe with ya’ll cuz runnin’ ain’t in my protocol”.
(Okay…running is actually my entire protocol but sometimes it helps to pretend to be someone else for awhile while you gather strength.)
People who victimize others are vulnerable too. They are parasitic by nature, slaves to peer pressure, and crippled by an irrational sense of entitlement. The hell with them.
I have superior intelligence and I’m going to spend the rest of my life living up to that gift.
Thanks, Charli, for these inspiring words. You have deepened my resolve to reach my potential.
I never felt necessarily like a prey animal, but I felt for a long time, even long before I seriously suspected I was autistic, that I’d developed the instincts of a wild animal from never being able to trust people or my surroundings. I’ve identified with different animals over the years, even predators, but always in terms of having to have lightning instincts or survival intuition.
“People who victimize others are vulnerable too. They are parasitic by nature, slaves to peer pressure, and crippled by an irrational sense of entitlement.”
Also, people who have never had any reason to have to question their own entitlement or dominance are surprisingly weak. If they’ve never had to shore up their defenses…they don’t actually have any. They can often be bowled over by the slightest show of confidence or defiance.
Thank yuou to everyone who has commented on my essay. As a postcript, on this Veterans’ Daay, I am eminded of an experience my father had. He was a Marine during World War II –quit high school at seventeen and joined up; he was just a boy at war–and he saw combat at all the famous Pacific battles such as Iwo Jima and Okinawa. At the end of his life, he told me that the scariest part of being a Marine came when he was assigned duty as a sourt to search out Japanese positions. Cut off from his unit, crawling on his belly through the underbrush in a foreign land, afraid to fire his rifle should it give his position away, aware that danger might lie on any side of him, he was more frightened than he had ever been. It was comparatively easy to be brave, even under fire, when you are surrounded by comrades, there are buddies to the left and to the right of you, and someone to guard your back, but facing hidden danger all by himself–that was something else.A lot of us spend our lives like that, scouts in a foreign land, never knowing where peril might lie and always afraid to lay down our arms and rest.