I recently realized that the past few years I had been trying too hard to mingle with people, with the result of loosing the sense of self, struggling to find a meaning to my life, and feeling like an utter, total, misfit. Plus, well, the failure of the Mission itself, of course.
Why did I even try so hard? Because I’m human – or so I’m told. Humans are a herd animal, and I’m no exception : I wanted friends. No – I needed friends.
By “people”, I really mean allistic (= non-autistic) people.
Not because I’m keeping away from autistic people, quite the contrary, but…
Just do the maths : around 99% of the population (1/126 to 1/68 depending on the studies) is allistic.
And autistic people have a much harder time than the others making friends – myself included.
So when I try to make friends, chances are I’m gonna be successful with allistic people, not because I’m aiming for it, just because … statistics.
Let’s even be bold and say I’ll succeed most often with allistic extraverts, since they’re the easiest to talk to : my social impairment doesn’t get so much in the way from the start.
Thing is, allistic extraverts are the very ones that are least likely to understand me (= emphatise with me), thus the most likely to misinterpret my actions, body language and verbal language.
Add to that that they are so used to being over-adapted to people’s communication set that they don’t easily doubt their interpretation, taking their “theory of the mind” for absolute truth about what has happened. They end up very often being mad at me for a reason I can’t beggin to fathom let alone pre-counter (= express myself in such a way that at least they feel something is not what their natural reaction makes them feel it is; at best carries my exact intentions though to them).
As a consequence of these social maths, I’ve had my heart crushed by very important, very close friends, regularly for the past few years. With very looooong preliminaries of trying again an again to defend myself from their false – and hurtful, need I say it – negative opinion of me, all the while feeling more like some unworthy-to-live dog shit than a nice-to-be-around human being.
But when it’s so terribly hard for you to make close friends, you ought to forgive a great deal more than most people would, because, well, you simply don’t have a choice. You’re already much too lonely as it is.
And recently I realised I couldn’t do this any more.
I needed to step back from frantic friendships, pull myself back together, and only allow close to me people who make me feel happy to be who I am, at least most of the time. And good luck finding them.
And subsequent “break-up” with 2 very close, very important friends in the same week, and intense grief – of said friendships and much more.
My mom came to visit in the mist of this storm. We’re quite good friends now, and we talk about everything.
I told her about that. The realisation, the re-orientation, the braking up. One of the 2 friends is the only one I have in the town I live in. (As I said, terribly hard to make friends.)
Mom : “I think you’re really very brave [to cut yourself from those friends and go even deeper in loneliness].”
Me : “I don’t know that I am. Is it still bravery when you don’t have a choice?”
Mom : “You probably know this already, and I don’t know if you want to hear it now… I am very scared for you. I know you can’t do it any other way, but how are you gonna do when I’m [dead]?” Cries.
I know mom. I’m scared too.