What does it feel like? How to describe. Lonely is an apt word, but it only skirts the surface. It plays with the inevitable; it tickles the possibilities that lie not so dormant under the reality. Desolate covers the feeling, the sense that no matter where we are, we are deserted in the middle of the invisible. What about forsaken? Given up on? Disregarded? Pick and choose, mix and match. Each feeling equals one certainty- there are moments and memories filled with nothingness, well, except for sadness and tears. And this is when the spin zone starts. The conversations that start like this…
“I like you, I do. But well, gee, you should understand I have other obligations, too.”
“It’s not like I don’t want to hang out with you or answer your calls. I just can’t. I’m busy you know.”
“Why are you so angry I didn’t stop everything and tend to your needs?”
The sentences slash deep and permanently. The scars from rejection, the very stuff that turns the world into quick sand, are deep and dark. The recovery, if it ever comes, s slow and painful.
I laugh on the outside. I joke I’m the weird one. I pretend I’m cool and awesome in my understanding of other people’s position. But on the inside, I’m lost. The common denominator is I. I’m the person in my relationships that is always and always and forever more, the last person considered. The last person protected.
Is this a product of ASD? Maybe. Actually, I believe it’s a contradiction that resonates so deeply because people with ASD tend to be far more dependable, reliable and generous with their support. Because we put friendships first and foremost at the top of our ‘must have and love’ list, we expect others will do the same. It’s a theory of mind thing. We think others should feel about us like we feel about them.
I don’t think NTs have our sense of loyalty. I have to learn to deal with that. I hope you do, too.
Quoting my dad, a wise Aspie ~ “Take care of yourself, because in the end, you’re the only person who can.” ~ John T. Holliday, Jr.
“I like you, I do. But well, gee, you should understand I have other obligations, too.”
“It’s not like I don’t want to hang out with you or answer your calls. I just can’t. I’m busy you know.”
“Why are you so angry I didn’t stop everything and tend to your needs?”
The sentences slash deep and permanently. The scars from rejection, the very stuff that turns the world into quick sand, are deep and dark. The recovery, if it ever comes, s slow and painful.
I laugh on the outside. I joke I’m the weird one. I pretend I’m cool and awesome in my understanding of other people’s position. But on the inside, I’m lost. The common denominator is I. I’m the person in my relationships that is always and always and forever more, the last person considered. The last person protected.
Is this a product of ASD? Maybe. Actually, I believe it’s a contradiction that resonates so deeply because people with ASD tend to be far more dependable, reliable and generous with their support. Because we put friendships first and foremost at the top of our ‘must have and love’ list, we expect others will do the same. It’s a theory of mind thing. We think others should feel about us like we feel about them.
I don’t think NTs have our sense of loyalty. I have to learn to deal with that. I hope you do, too.
Quoting my dad, a wise Aspie ~ “Take care of yourself, because in the end, you’re the only person who can.” ~ John T. Holliday, Jr.
RSS Feed
