A Tour Of The Subconscious - My Affair With Google Maps

Are you Neurodivergent? Good, then let's begin. Sike- we're Neurodivergent folk: we never stop, baybee! Not for social events, not for baptisms, bat mitzvahs, or sleep! Got it? Good!

So that's out of the way, I wanna talk to you all today about how we mask anxiety through that most ancient and proud traditions - topography. Stay with me neurotypicals that haven't clicked off yet; sure you know Google maps, but do you know it like us? I fully doubt that. The truth is, the neurodivergent community have a secret, scorching, spicy, often under the covers affair with digital maps that would make the likes of Jilly Cooper blush - we more than need, we yearn for its display, its dips and valleys, its search features and its coup de grace, the street view. Ah, sweet street view: so giving, such a kind mistress that she elicits Donneian-level proclamations: 'If any beauty I did see, which desired, and got, 'twas a dream of thee.'

And what did we desire? To banish the unknown. More: to take control of it. I will, from here on out speak about my own tiny corner of the spectrum in detail here, but know that amongst my friends and contemporaries that are autistic, have ADHD or learning disabilities, upon finally deciding to speak up on that of which we do not speak: the clandestine relationship with Google Maps, we all enacted the famous 'Spiderman pointing at each other' meme to perfection. So I speak with the seal of Neurodivergent approval.

I have NVLD, A Non Verbal Learning Disorder that manifested as a child with a lack of understanding of tasks and learning that, if not explained either in detail, or written down, is very hard for me to grasp. At the time of my diagnosis in the late 90s very little was known about the learning disorder, and is still mistaken for autistic tendencies, due to how it presents. To me, this made mathematics and reading sheet music for example, two ways of learning and reading that resolutely do not use characters or words, extremely challenging.

As I've grown older, NVLD has manifested in many surprising and unusual ways: a mismanaging of a change of plans, not being able to cope with spontaneity, and a high level of social anxiety. The ol' white matter, however, not content with one diagnosis, decided to throw in OCD, too, and the two work together in a glorious pull back and punch that can really cause a bit of bruising, and in need of a telling-off if not watched, with their uncanny abiloty to mimic a creche of twenty mad children running off in different directions, jabbing toys in each others eyes and setting fire to the curtains.

What does all that have to do with Google Maps, I hear you cry? Well, to be honest, I reckon we of the Neurodivergent community cannot claim Google Maps as our controversial, yet captivating other half, as many use it for what its for - a way to check where they're going to be later that day, or how to get to their job interview.

Oh how I wish it were that simple! Doesn't matter what it is - a place mates are meeting for a drink, going to a flat warming for the first time, first day of a new job, a cafe round the corner from where someone lives to drop off their keys - it will always be, to me, new, scary and unknown and I must, on pain of death (and to avoid sleepless nights) find out absolutely everything I can about the location. Starting big - what end of London, what zone its in, nearest Tube - that's level one, basic stuff. We're barely FBI-ing here, lads.

Stage two; an overview, much like the above, a map, perhaps dragging the image to trace the journey over the map from the station to the location. Still fairly normal. Next, we zoom in: is there a Tescos nearby? Any kind of chain shop? A Boots Pharmacy, A McDonalds - aka is it known to a community, making it safe?

This, I'm aware, stinks of snobbery and a desire to not find myself somewhere I feel vulnerable - whilst of course knowing, it's all London, there's nowhere I'm not vulnerable - but in my warped mind the presence of a place to buy a Big Mac, or Aloe Vera spot cream = I most likely won't be killed.

Pictured: a hamburger - the ultimate weapon - if hot, throw it at the would be attacker, if predictably cold, use it as the doorstop it inevitably is, and cause some damage there, too. And I'm vegan. That's how seriously I would take this.

But no, here slouched in front of my laptop three nights before the event, I go further, and test my lover to tell me the route from the station to the location, taking my hands off the keyboard to let Google roll out the metaphorical red carpet in my honour and tell me a route by foot and how ling it may take. Ah - a veritable bouquet of options! A twelve minuter! A thirteen! Ooh, a nine; Google you shouldn't have!

Once the excitement has worn off - and it is brief - its time to employ the little man to do what he does best, dropped and dragged into a location just like a brave little solider being choppered into dense jungle behind enemy lines. This is the make or break; what does my gut, much more trusting and rational than my brain, the Cain to my Abel, the Alfred to my Batman - have to say about the look of the place? Of course, by this point the on the ground photos of the are taken by the ever faithful Google-mobile are at least three years out of date (I nag about this often, but Google often tunes me out, laid out on the sofa and turning up the sound on the game, sigh)

Of course, my anxiety would have me believe that the image of the local high street I'm about to see is going to be bloodstained, ransacked, windows smashed and I MUST CANCEL ALL PLANS ON PAIN OF DEATH, for my safety, because I'll die if I go, I know I will, because the probability, people, of me being there and not at home, where I should be, safe, means I will of course, somehow make it happen and I will end.

But, its never so. The location is just a part of London I'm not familiar with, and has been gentrified at least ten years in advance, already halfway through a high street glow up: pedestrianised, flowers in big plant pots, colourful benches with only two or three boarded up shops on the row. Short of it: it's no warzone. I can technically go. Dammnit.

It's at this point I get mistrustful of my old fashioned bf/gf and start checking other routes, spending at least another hour making sure there's not a quicker, better lit, on a bus route path - and erk, not trying to put you on blast, Google, babe, but I often find it- even if it takes me hours going round and round roundabouts and leisure centres, with the never ending click of that white arrow that only moves you like a centimetre down a road at the time. But that's part of it too - that and the carpal tunnel- and then and only then does the urge to cancel end, because a: I feel crazy enough, b: my OCD, which has after all pushed me to this action, is somewhat sated by over an hour of obsessive clicking, full and distended as it is with my sacrifice, lets go of my neck. And lookee here: I have me a perfectly safe, well lit, by the road route Google crucially hasn't managed to find, coming in strong at eight minutes. (It will, by the time I've power walked the route, be six; but Google does not need to know this, it will hurt their feelings.)

This has been a five day process at this point - two days for the initial invitation/start date that has thrown me into a glass case of emotion due to the fact that it will mean I have to be outside and something bad will happen (thanks OCD, always so concerned with my safety, aren't you babe) and then, after traversing that hill, Google takes over, and that's two more days - now we're in the 'okay I'm going, but I don't have to like it' phase and I'm so mentally exhausted, seeing maps and little men in my sleep that death seems preferable, so I just commit to the action and RSVP late to the event, acutely aware no-one has and will ever know just what it takes for me to to have even got to that point - beating devils left right and centre - putting my long term tryst with Google maps on the rocks, sacrificing sleep - but you know, I get there. And that's what counts, right?

Right?

Look, I'll get better over time. People will invite me to things, and I will start to feel grateful they have as the first feeling I will feel, not crippling worry or a self-critical voice telling me I'd be no use to anyone or fun to be around when I get there. It sounds so Hallmark card of me - but the real tool that should be at your disposal if you're Neurodivegent, have anxiety or any of the above is to be brave and go - live the exprience of nothing bad happening, the fear not being realised and those expriences, the real ones you can taste and feel and remember will become the dominant ones over the apocalyptic fantasy. In all seriousness, I promise you, it gets better.

It's a long road, but I feel, more than ever, hopeful of traversing it in my own, crazy way. And with Pink Floyd in my earphones? Pfft. I can do anything.

All best to my Neurodivergents and Normatives, keep it real,

Jx