I’ve probably mentioned it before, but I don’t have any friends—and to be clear, I mean, I have no one within fifty miles of me who calls me up on a Friday afternoon asking me if I’d like to out for drinks or a movie. I have cats. A lot of cats. And a wife. And a fair amount of people I know on social media, some of them of whom I consider friends, but rarely, if ever see. And in many respects I’ve come to accept this. I mean, you don’t exactly attract people into your life (or have the energy for them) when you spent the better part of the last decade and a half focused on your health, and most people don’t tend to have a lot of patience for those of us who do. And to be fair, after a lifetime as an autistic being forced to play neurotypical reindeer games just to get the time of day, I kinda got (fucking) sick of it.
That’s not to say I didn’t wish I had friends, at least a couple. And indeed, on thinking about it, I wouldn’t mind reconnecting with countless people throughout my life (with certain limitations, of course), some for more meaningful connections, others just to say hello and ask, “How did life treat you? What did you achieve? What do you want to do next?” And so on.
I wish most of the people I’ve ever met all the health and happiness one can magically bestow on another person, even to those who I didn’t get along with, didn’t get along with me, or whatever the case may be. There are a couple of exceptions however. The woman who used my time, energy, and money for seven years to help raise a child who she promised to allow me to adopt—but then reneged the moment the legal paperwork went through—then worse, turned the girl I considered my daughter against me for life. And the one x-girlfriend who, for two years, regularly engaged in emotional abuse and on at least two occasions, physical abuse. The two of them can rot in hell. There’s a good chance I wouldn’t have gotten as sick as I did back in the late 2000’s if both of these two bitches weren’t taking pot shots at me from both sides at nearly the same time. And for the record, it’s perfectly okay to never forgive people like this because people like this never apologize (and they certainly never take the time to find out what they need to do to rectify the damage they’ve done).
But yeah, as for everyone else, kids I went to school with, colleagues from previous jobs, x-girlfriends and old lovers, I’ve always been pretty open. I guess what’s changed now is I’m straight up without the masking, I’ll say what I need, what I’m able to give, what I’m about. I mean, I feel I’ve always been less bullshit, less mask, than most people, but it’s become especially true now that I don’t give a flying fuck whether an encounter turns into something more or not. Sorta funny how that changes when you’re not lonely and anxious and scared all the time—also sorta funny how that life long angst seems to suddenly go out the window with a couple courses of Amoxicillin.
Strange that.
No, seriously, there’s a long way to go in my health struggles, but in general, I feel like this “fight or flight” trigger I’ve had all my life, this one that felt stronger than the gravity of Jupiter, suddenly isn’t there at all. I can purposely think about something that would ordinarily scare the shit out of me, say, loosing my job or my mom dying, and—nothing. It’s almost as if my amygdala says, “I don’t give a fuck anymore”–and certainly, on a conscious level it has that intellectual feeling to it. It’s like a flip switched and I’m not freaking out. Did I neurologically become a psychopath, maybe because of a series of minor strokes? Actually, it’s quite scary. How would I relate to one of these previous folks in my life if they showed up if all the normal feeling of anxiety and dread and fear of abandonment didn’t come up? Worse, how could I have a conversation with anyone if I’ve, in many respects, become easily bored by people (who don’t know themselves, are repetitive, or don’t have a deep interest in meeting half way in conversations).
Anyway, enough rambling for the night. Going to finish my cuppa noodle, my last meal before the upcoming colonoscopy, then throw in some VHS tapes.
Cheers,
Aslynn