My new therapist and I recently had a discussion I’d like to label “The Golden Rule does not truly exist.” It was, if I might be frank, mind blowing. I never realized before how much I adhered to it. I never gave the rule any thought at all. but the discussion stemmed from a single question:
Can you tell me what you think a friend is?
I couldn’t answer solidly. A friend could be too many things. A person who shares your interests. A person who writes just to check in. A person who offers one time to cut your hair because you took care of her ferret.
I don’t know how to share my interests without being annoying or too excited—I don’t know how to tell if I’m too much or if I’m boring someone, so I’ve trained myself to say nothing at all. If I don’t hear from a friend, I assume they don’t want to hear from me because or be friends because I would check in without being prompted. I don’t know how to interpret if niceness means someone wants to be my friend or if they’re just being nice. So I share everyone else’s interests, and if people do not ask I won’t share mine—and if they DO ask, I try and contain it. (Do NOT ask about my ferrets!!!). If I don’t hear from a friend, I can’t interpret if nudging them is annoying—I often feel like I am always the initiator, and it feels like I am Too Much. I pick the wrong people to try and befriend—someone I’m close to recently said that perhaps people recognize that I’m a bit different and take advantage. They aren’t wrong about that.
But I can’t define a friend. I want to treat others the way I want to be treated, but it frustrates me when they don’t treat me the same way. And I stop, because I don’t want to push.
My therapist did not like this answer. And I got an official autism assessment. It is now apparent that a lot of things I thought were PTSD are actually traits on the autism spectrum, and I had zero clue these things could go hand in hand. I never thought that would be my diagnosis; I had too many stereotypes of what I thought autism was, and I did not fit those things.
I grew up being too much. Too loud. Too excited. Always doing something musical. I loved performing, but I didn’t want to be around people. they exhausted me. Still do. I had to teach myself to be small. Quiet. Less excited. (Example, there is a new expansion for the video game I am obsessed with, and we have agreed in my group that I will not post anything in chat while playing so I don’t spoil things for others-I cannot be trusted to not explode in excitement). I don’t sing anymore—too many people told me to shut up, that I was too annoying. I’ll play a good game but I struggle to tell anyone—I can’t find the line between too excited and rude. I even struggle with something as simple as being excited about a book. What if the person I’m talking with doesn’t want to hear this?? What if I’m too annoying??
And lord. I’m old now. I’m too old to discover something so new and different about myself. To realize that if I’d known this sooner, maybe things could be different. Maybe I could be different. There are so many things I do like about my brain. But there’s so much I would change if I could. So many years I have wasted because I didn’t understand how to connect with people. So many years I could continue to waste because I’m not sure I can learn this at my age.
I don’t usually know the right or appropriate things to say. I can be sarcastic, but I don’t understand your sarcasm if I can’t see you. I take most statements as literal black and white, and they imprint forever. Especially if it’s something I’ve done wrong. I will go out of my way to not inconvenience you. I will eat the same foods every single day and leave the house at the same time and play the same games and work on the same projects. But I can write. I can create beautiful pictures with words. And I can art as well. I can you anything you want to know about any small animal, especially ferrets and cats, and some stuff you probably don’t want to know. I’m fairly certain I can recall every pet I’ve ever met, though I may not remember their owners. I can feel others’ pain incredibly deeply, even as I lack the right things to say many a time.
But today, as I ride the subway home with my noise cancelling headphones (because I have always hated loud sounds), I am sad. It feels like no matter how hard I try, I can’t fit in. The only place I ever felt I did was undergrad, because we all had common interests and there was always a topic to share and discuss. No matter how hard I try now, it feels like I’m still lacking understanding of how and who I’m supposed to be. Be it work, video game groups, writers group, socially. I am sad, and I am scared that I am too old. That I will never be, for lack of a better word, normal enough to have a family, to have babies if I so choose. To have friends, and to really understand what that means. My birthday came, my birthday went, and so many people close to me forgot. (Shout out to those who remembered!) I’m feeling like I’m important to no one, and at a time when I am already sensitive and everything is feeling new.
Who’s going to want me around now? Ever heard the metaphor about the used fruit…..?
My brain is trauma and ptsd; my brain is autism; my brain is worried there is no more room. I won’t stop trying. But I am. Tired.
Girl, Interrupted 