Mismatch
A lovely older couple from my church invited me, my parents, and a couple other, older church folks, to brunch. They were unfailingly polite and kind, making sure there would be plenty to eat for me and my mother, despite our different (but very strict) dietary requirements. I’m honestly grateful for the invitation and experience.
The whole event cost me maybe 3 hours. The food was very good, fresh, clean, and plentiful. They even labeled it to be very sure everyone could eat safely. The home was clean, well put-together, coordinated, spacious. Reminded me of family get-togethers in the past. The hosts and company were polite, good natured, fair-spoken, social. The conversation flowed, lightly touching on beliefs, current events, and personal experiences without me needing to help it along or even contribute much.
Which was good, because I was a fish out of water. I was underdressed: these were older people, dressed up in nice Sunday clothes. Uncomfortable clothes, to my recollection. I wore shorts and a soft T-shirt, and my blue-dyed hair in stark contrast to the natural colors represented in the room. I needed to tone down my words, my cursing, my emotional expression, to fit in.
I started out more myself, being on my phone with a new game I’d picked up the previous day. But as I looked around the room at the behavior of everyone else, I realized how poorly I was fitting in.
My socialization kicked in. I put away my phone and schooled myself to stillness and listened in a way that looked more attentive but was actually less so. Without something to occupy my fingers and part of my attention, I quickly became miserable thinking about all the things I could have been doing instead.
And it occurred to me during all this… this situation was representative of a lot of my childhood. I genuinely did not like being there. The niceties, the restraint, the delicate passing of the conversation from person to person without delving too deeply into any feelings or beliefs. That last bit, the lack of depth, might not be fair, honestly. But when I think on the conversations I’ve had with people I consider friends… they looked nothing like this.
My friends are typically direct, at least somewhat. They’re honest, and they often don’t flinch from uncomfortable subjects. The conversations provoke thought as well as laughter. Their humor is similar, tending into the absurd, occasionally bawdy, loud, and with clever wordplay.
In short, they’re a very far cry from what I experienced at this brunch. And it wasn’t like they were judging me, really, or that they said anything. They seemed honest and genuine. I just… couldn’t get comfortable. I couldn’t feel that I belonged, or that it was okay for me to be myself.
Socialization
In truth, it probably would have been fine for me to just be myself. Gotten out my phone, played my weirdass dinosaur Pokemon GO clone that my work friend showed me. Hummed to myself if I felt like it. Sat with one leg under me, asked for a blanket so I could be comfortable in the chilliness of the house. It would have been abnormal. Uncomfortable for everyone involved, but probably fine.
I just… couldn’t.
I know what my therapist would say: be yourself anyway. There weren’t going to be consequences besides not being invited back. Maybe some looks, uncomfortable body language, comments if people decided it really bothered them. Would have been really indirect, polite comments, judging by history. The kind that hurt the most because of all that’s not said. But frankly, I think I’m being unfair to these folks again. I think they genuinely were as nice and kind as they appeared, and I’m just letting bitterness from my past creep into my experience of the present.
So I should have just sucked it up and been myself.
When I talked to my mom about it afterwards, she thanked me for just…dealing with it. Which is how I was raised. That is exactly how I was raised. Don’t be too you, conform to social expectations regardless of how poorly they suit you, sit still, smile.
Be miserable.
Be miserable, and pretend you aren’t.
I live in a world that doesn’t comprehend how different I am. Those niceties and social norms work for a lot of people, without making them miserable. But not for me. And all too often, when it does, it reacts negatively. And that shit hurts. Especially when I was younger, it hurt a lot.
I’m not young anymore, but part of me is still 6 and fidgety and wanting to be reading a book or playing a game or folding origami rather than listening in miserable boredom as people talk on and on about subjects that don’t interest me enough to keep my full focus.
Match
About a week ago, I came back from a vacation. The first “just for me” vacation in like a decade. I visited people that accepted me for who I am, where I was, and however I wanted to be. I didn’t feel pressured to live up to some kind of set of expectations. It was amazing. It touched me in ways I couldn’t have believed or understood. Ways I’m still trying to sort out, even as my normal life, with my misery-inducing job, sinks its black claws into my soul.
And you know… they were just people, all of them. Flawed. Not really that different from random people on the street… except… except the shared experiences. Except the similar mentalities. The personality quirks, the tendencies. They’re like me. They like me. At worst they tolerate me.
I had no idea that was even possible. A single match here and there, with years between finding people like that, sure, maybe. A whole group? Madness. Logical, since “birds of a feather flock together.” But emotionally a non-reality to me. Until now.
There’s such a huge disconnect between the life I experienced while on vacation and the life I have right now. It’s so massive, it feels insurmountable. I could take more vacation, spend more time out there among these soul-kin I’ve found. But I’d run out of money eventually. I have responsibilities. A life, such as it is. A job, a house. Family.
I don’t know what to do. I’m so grateful to have found these people, these soul-kin. And so lost now that I have. So much of life is strongly affected by your perceptions and mental state. Like stripping colors from the world itself, misery changes the experience of life. It’s so much easier to be kind and good when you’re not miserable. So much easier to love yourself. To love others.
I’m tired of being miserable, though. I know that now. Isn’t 30 years of misery enough?
realisticautistic 