Why I Married Sheldon Cooper

Well, okay. Not literally. Sheldon Cooper is a fictional character, and while I myself am likely an illusion, my empirical husband almost certainly exists. The parallels between my darling homunculus (a pet name for him, which I posted online years before Penny used it for Leonard) and the character of Sheldon will be obvious to anyone who has watched the show and encountered Jonah Thomas online. Obvious at a glance -- to me suspiciously obvious, even eerie -- including details like Jonah's published plan to solve the conflict in the Middle East, which Sheldon also offers in "The Jerusalem Duality."

(As a person whose family history includes bipolar disorder and schizophrenia, I must take care when confronting coincidences. I don't have the luxury of the layman, whose magical thinking passes unnoticed, deemed harmless. My creativity is real and it has claws.)

Nevertheless. It doesn't take much of a mental leap to see similarities between "high-functioning" people on the Spectrum.

People like my husband -- people like Sheldon and Sherlock -- are almost always portrayed in fiction as outside the realm of normal human intercourse. Their relationships with others are characteristically few and atypical. There is a recurring motif of insensitivity, as if rationality is somehow incompatible with empathy. One cannot avoid the implication that such a person could never connect with someone who is emotionally vulnerable.

In my experience, the truth is utterly the opposite.

I was physically, emotionally, and sexually abused as a child. As a toddler I learned -- instinctively -- to trust no one. No one at all. As a naturally emotional individual, I secretly yearned to be appreciated and understood, but the extreme wariness I acquired from my dysfunctional parents prevented me from connecting with anyone -- until I encountered the internet.

For all its flaws, the internet is a place where strangers can meet safely. Strange people who would never have connected with one another in the course of ordinary "real" life. I was a mathematics student at Northwestern University when I first encountered the man I would marry: he was trolling the Usenet group alt.angst, a place I posted prose poetry.

(My children still can't overcome their incredulity that I married an internet troll.)

Why did I marry him? Why have I remained his partner for almost 18 years?

The answer lies embedded within the theme of this blog: "Reflections on the Myth of Sanity." Assertion: no modern human can claim sanity. On one level or another, we are all insane. Human intellectual achievement has eclipsed our biological evolution. Our brains can't cope with what we do to ourselves on a daily basis. Our brains lie to us all the time. My hypothesis is that people with "Asperger's syndrome" exhibit superior objective clarity to those who prefer self-delusion (which includes almost everyone, even myself).

Therefore I submit, as a pragmatic suggestion -- that persons who have been abused should seek out persons who fall within the Spectrum. These people can be trusted where others cannot. They will not soften their words to comfort you, which means you will have to be strong; nevertheless, they will not casually lie to you. They will not manipulate you. My Asperger's husband actually enjoys sex more than I do. Yet he is okay with my boundaries; he knows that my aversion to physical intimacy has nothing to do with him personally.

Sex & Self: Identity and the Illusion of Agency

For a long time now, I have puzzled over the question of why humans are so messed up about sex. Why is human sexuality everywhere so fraught with shame, denial, even loathing? Why do human societies impose so many rules on acts of procreation and/or pleasure? No other species on this planet behaves as  self-conflictedly, as weirdly, as we do when it comes to sex.

Our closest genetic relatives, chimpanzees, exist in two forms; two distinct subspecies of the genus Pan: "regular" chimpanzees and the bonobos. Separated by the formation of the Congo River around 2 million years ago, these subspecies are similar physically (99.6% identical DNA) but differ drastically in their social behavior. Especially when it comes to sex. Chimpanzees are led by an "alpha male" and maintain social order through aggression; bonobos are matriarchal, far less aggressive, and actively keep peace via sex.

Both chimpanzees and bonobos are highly intelligent social species. Both have evolved a functioning social structure. In terms of the physical manifestations of sexuality, humans are more similar to bonobos in that human female fertility is "hidden" -- there is no obvious physical change that signals a human female's fertility. Yet our behavior more closely resembles that of chimpanzees.

The discipline of evolutionary psychology is relatively new. And (for obvious reasons) subject to controversy. I am a mere amateur, a layperson curious about the human condition. Therefore my musings are offered freely, bearing no real weight.

Ancestral humans diverged from chimpanzees somewhere between 13 and 4 million years ago. Specifics are difficult to measure given that the fossil record is so scant. Nevertheless, it is manifest that modern human brains are ~3x larger than those of our earliest human-like ancestors. Our cognitive abilities, our capacity for reason, have eclipsed every other trait we possess.

(I have a personal theory that intelligence has evolved in almost every phyla -- from slime molds to plants to octopus to birds to elephants and dolphins. Which is neither here nor there, with respect to my point in this post.. yet I find it telling that our "efforts" to engage intellectually with other species mostly have involved great apes).

MY THEORY: our brilliant brains have, inadvertently, proved to be our downfall. Excessive self-awareness is too painful to contemplate for the vast majority of human beings. We fear our lack of free will, our helplessness in the face of who we are. We invent stories that grant us agency where none honestly exists.

I was sexually and emotionally abused as a child. Those experiences stripped from me a basic trust that most people take for granted. Like Cassandra, I see -- so clearly -- disturbing truths. Where others cannot. I see what we don't want to see.

For example: sexual attraction is not something we necessarily choose. I see it as being like breathing. A semi-autonomous reflex. You can control your breathing to an extent; you can even consciously stop breathing for a time. Yet ultimately, breathing will happen (if physically possible) regardless of your will.

My primary evidence for this is anecdotal. I think it bothers us. Seriously. That we do not actually choose our attractions. I have never been able to enjoy sexual intimacy. Even kissing leaves me cold. I have a libido but it is only useful in terms of fantasy; I simply can't enjoy normal sex, despite being partnered with someone I completely trust. I was imprinted wrong.

Despite my active dedication to self-awareness and logic, it's been difficult for me to accept the fact. That I am sexually broken, through no fault of my own. My schizophrenic brother believes a literal demon inhabited the house we grew up in. It's hard for me to deny his claims when I know his "madness" comes from the same place as my creativity. It's a matter of sensing patterns -- Starbuck's pebbles. I see my conscious, at-cause self as a person in the ocean: I have the power to swim, but the ocean is inevitably bigger than me. Its currents will pull against me. Things living in it will try to consume me. I am at an automatic disadvantage; claiming I'm not can only harm me.