“The plastic bag is like a pen name for my face.”

Podcaster and author Blindboy Boatclub tells Marie Kelly in his own words about his early school trauma, adult autism diagnosis and how a plastic bag protects his privacy.

What I remember most about growing up in Limerick is its beauty. Limerick city is very aesthetically pleasing. Newtown Pery in the centre of the city was built in the Georgian period and designed around a grid system. This was revolutionary at the time. It was designed by an engineer called Christopher Colles in the 1790s. He was later involved in the planning of Manhattan. The grid system gives Limerick a unique feel among Irish cities; you get this clash of modern and old as the grid tangles into the snaky mediaeval lanes. As a youngfella I’d notice the bang of slanty peach evening sun on the buildings down by the Shannon and get a tremendous wave of peace over me.

I was diagnosed as neurodivergent in adulthood; that means autistic, adhd, dyslexic. As an autistic person, I’d find it very stressful to be recognised in the street so the plastic bag mask gives me  privacy. It’s like a pen name for my face so that I can lead a calm life and spend most of it in quiet solitude. I love writing and making art, but I don’t want to be recognised. I don’t understand why anybody would want that. 

Receiving a diagnosis wasn’t much use to me as an adult. All my needs are met now; my job is to literally focus on my art and my creativity, so I’m grand. But it would have been life-changing at school. I would have been taken seriously rather than labelled disruptive. The social setting of the classroom was stressful for me from a young age. On my very first day – I was maybe four  – I cried so much that I had an anxiety attack and vomited all over myself. I had to leave early. 

My older brother came to collect me that day and I remember him pleading with my teacher, who was a nun, to play me a tape he had of T Rex. He told her that I loved them and that if I heard the song Ride a White Swan, I’d be calm and happy. The nun wouldn’t play the tape because it wasn’t children’s music. I left my first day of school early, feeling great shame, covered in stress puke and feeling like an incapable failure. The pain of that still rises up in me and I’m still learning to hug that child. 

I didn’t grow up religious. If ever I arrived home from school talking about Christ or about sin in particular, my mother would always intervene and tell me that this stuff was just fairytales from the nuns. She’d tell me that there was no such thing as sin and that God couldn’t read my thoughts. “Auld Piseógs” she’d call it. She’d focus instead on letting me know that I was worthy of love no matter what, and that no aspect of my behaviour was bad or sinful or in need of confessing to a priest. If ever I had anything to confess, I could confess it to her, because she loved me no matter what. I’m very glad that she did that for me.

I left my first day of school early, feeling great shame, covered in stress puke and feeling like an incapable failure. The pain of that still rises up in me and I’m still learning to hug that child. 

Painting, writing stories and music were cherished in my childhood home, but art was also considered dangerous by my parents. It wasn’t seen as something you might get a job out of. 

I got into art college via a PLC course. I’d failed my Leaving Cert but that didn’t matter because I got 600 points in my art college portfolio. I adored college. I could do everything I wasn’t allowed to do in school. I could listen to music on headphones while I worked. I was allowed to follow my curiosity and to research and teach myself without the stress of being in a classroom and feeling overwhelmed by social interaction. I could spend days, weeks, by myself, working alone, focusing on goals, building my confidence and exploring my passions. Everything I needed from secondary school, I got from college, because college allows for self-directed learning. Self-directed, autodidactic learning is what suits me as a neurodivergent person. I know this now.

I think as a country we’re very receptive to difference. Ireland is not conservative or rules based. Just look at the fluid way we speak English. We are very open to change, to ambiguity, to humour and playfulness. It’s in our culture, it’s reflected in our art. It’s why you have Flann O’Brien inventing postmodernism or Enya inventing a genre of music that can only be described as Enya. It’s why a single yellow line means don’t park and a double yellow line means definitely don’t park. Fluidity, ambiguity and change is our culture.

I don’t really socialise and I don’t have hobbies because I don’t experience boredom. My curiosity is my work and I don’t need or want a break from it. This might seem weird or joyless or even exhausting to some people. For me, it’s deeply meaningful and joyful. This is what I want from life. Art, for me, is an outlet to realise the things I’m curious about. I happen to be curious about society, politics and history so that is reflected in my writing. 

Podcasting is the medium that excites me most right now. I write with my mouth for people to read with their ears. I don’t write out the words and then read from a script; the writing and recording process are one. This is a new way to interrogate and explore literature and the novelty of that excites and drives me. My podcast is a gigantic, neverending auto-fictional novel about the curiosity of a man called Blindboy who wears a plastic bag on his head. I want it to be like a gigantic The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman. 

This article was originally published in The Irish Times Magazine, November  2024