OK, I know this thread is gonna seriously call my "Aspie cred" into question, and in some people's opinions, may even disqualify me from being on the spectrum altogether. But ever since I was diagnosed in 5th grade and started researching this enigmatic condition more thoroughly, I've gravitated toward almost all traits that comprise Aspie-ness. The scientific community loves to slander people on the spectrum as being physically incapable of empathy, but in my case this couldn't be further from the truth. Recently, I've come to reconcile my identity as an autistic person with my own ambitions (and growing ability, I'd like to think) as an increasingly-independent and socially involved adult.
In other words: I crave contact with my existing friends and meeting new people, yet still consider myself an Aspie. I never asked to be "big man on campus", but nor do I think it's realistic (or even healthy) to be an absolute lone wolf. I certainly don't want to be considered part of mainstream society, but I don't necessarily want to shun it altogether. This twilight zone of my social life, somehow, coexists with me being an Aspie. How is all this possible? Can anyone else relate...?
Currently, I think it wouldn't be fair to ask for a better (distanced) social life, as an Autie or a neurotypical. It's definitely a quantity-vs.-quality sort of thing; as aforementioned, I'd prefer being just "one of the guys" than the BMoC any damn day. I stay in daily social media contact with my crew of like-minded degenerate comrades in my state, nationwide, and even internationally. We have similar senses of humor, can feel confident in venting to each other, and even sometimes engage in a little trash-talk in good fun. I'm also the vocalist for a death metal band with three other world-class fellow edgelords; we're finally beginning to record our first material (I met our drummer IRL at a summer job last year, and already consider him one of my closest friends). And perhaps most crucially, for almost two years now, I've been in a stable, passionate relationship with the most wholesome, adorable, generous, and naughty boy on Earth, after six-and-a-half years of cold, bitter singleness. I have the kind of people in my circle who I only daydreamed about as an angsty, hormonal teenager.
Feel free to skip ahead to the last paragraph if you want to. Let me give you all a bit more context. Throughout my early childhood, it was always pretty clear that I stood out from the rest of the kids, and not always for nice reasons. I was frog-marched down to the principal's office more times in elementary school alone than have had sex in my whole life. That turkey-necked, liver-spotted little frog-eater came to expect me as one of the "problem children" of my class. I saw my classmates out at recess playing touch football, or laughing over Wacky Web Tales in the computer lab, and I actually ached for that for myself, even while engrossed in my solitary passions and obsessions. But by then, I'd already alienated myself from them. And it was all my fault.
A long track record of butchered attempts at initiating friendships, and the intense, piercing shame that ensued (plus shell-shock from being rejected and reprimanded) were what drove me away from my peers. I did have individual positive interactions, even a precious few hang-outs (no more than five per year). But until I graduated high school, I never had any IRL relationship more intense than a vague acquaintance, plus literally two "girlfriends" that never got anywhere.
Look, I know I'm rambling enough as it is, but I think it's also necessary to give insight into my putridly toxic home life situation, and the socio-economic climates of the towns I grew up in. These factors always impact a person's adolescence, and trust me when I say, if you think it's any easier when you're on the spectrum then you've got another thing comin'...
For the most part, I was raised by the likes of Ed, Edd, 'n' Eddy, Tony Hawk's Pro Skater, Chef Boyardee, and what was then known as the information superhighway. My father was forbidden from being part of my life after around age 9, and I could only see him in supervised visitations until 18. There was a period where I had barely any contact with him whatsoever. In the meantime, I had a lovely experience being under the roof (more accurately roofs, as I spent three consecutive Christmases in three different homes) of "mommy dearest". She had a personality that alternated between Mother Teresa and that of Oskar Dirlewanger, sometimes switching between them mid-sentence. She just loooovved all the sympathy and sense of control she got from having a "bad" child. And she would never let therapists, social workers, and other family members forget about how she was just this tireless, selfless Florence Nightingale of an Autism Mom
. Yet behind closed doors, mommy dearest, the proto-Karen, ruled over her domain in a way that would make Frau Engel from the Wolfenstein reboot proud. We'll leave it at that...
It should be obvious that I "didn't get out much", not that I really wanted to anyway... I was one of the poorest kids in both of the boujee-ass towns I spent most of my public school years in. I was surrounded by the most pampered, self-righteous, and elitist trust fund kids you can imagine. They all wore nothing but Vineyard Vines and Abercrombie (even Hollister was deemed trashy), all just had to have the latest iPhones, all played lacrosse or Pop Warner, and were having hang-outs, dates, and parties left and right. Meanwhile, I walked the halls of my middle school in knockoff Chuck Taylors from Payless, draped in K-Mart brand rags, never getting my first smartphone until freshman year of college. I even spent 7th and 8th grade living with my Fox News-watching granny, the next town over from where I actually attended school, because of how poor mommy dearest and I were. And as you can imagine, this class divide only deepened my rejection of my peers, and was compounded by her manipulation and abuse...
Even the scene kids and emos thought I was an utter freak, unworthy of inclusion in their little subculture. I was envious of the fellow shoppers browsing the racks of merch and gewgaws at Spencer's or Hot Topic, but my awkwardness must have soured any hope for salvation from the thicc emo chick of my first fap fantasies. Having brought my in-person social isolation on myself through a couple obsessive schoolboy crushes, I retreated ever deeper into a digital teenage wasteland of brooding misanthropy, both as an escape from, and a means to process, the daily gauntlet of middle school walking in my bootleg Converses. In the meantime, my social life was entirely online, taking place mostly on obscure video game forums of dubious repute, or a deviantART account that a better mother would not have allowed me to create. On one board for a game I wanted but didn't actually own, I managed to make two close MSN Live Messenger penpals and confidants; both of these traitor scumbags were excommunicated many years ago, for reasons I'd rather not revisit.
The more I ruminate over this damned era, the more I wish I could go back in time and just shove my 7th grade self in a locker (plus leave him a list of recommendations for better tunes to get into), like a bully version of the Terminator. If I had the power, I'd expunge any and all records of my internet presence from 2007 to like, 2015 from the annals of history. As it was on the playground, I still yearned for empathy and camaraderie, and once again, I made a complete ass of myself, everywhere I went, to paraphrase the Hollywood Undead song. So I think we should wrap things up, because it's safe to assume that I've probably made an ass of myself. Again.
Fittingly, I think that is the dominant anxiety that plagues me prior to most social situations. Whether I'll be able to breathe a sigh of relief that I pulled it off, or live with the searing humiliation of stumbling like the klutz that I am, feeling the emotional manifestation of points subtracting from two Sims' friendship bar after a heated Simlish argument.
But it has gotten better for me over the years. Through all that abuse, betrayal, heartbreak, alienation, and times when I shot myself in the foot, my aunt would always re-assure me that I'd someday "find my peeps". Only in recent years have I finally found them. And from them, memories that I once felt I never deserved to make. The excitement of riding the subway out to the city to attend concerts, venting about past traumas over smoke seshes, Cards Against Humanity in the dorm common areas, CoD Zombies parties that go on to the wee hours of the morning, laughing until my sides hurt over the stupidest conversations, starting a metal band, holding hands with an actual goddamn partner... I, an autistic man of 24 years, have earned all these things. Somehow. I guess what I'm trying to say is - don't ever think for a second that you're unworthy of finding your own peeps. A few good peeps are infinitely better than a million limp, melty ones...
In other words: I crave contact with my existing friends and meeting new people, yet still consider myself an Aspie. I never asked to be "big man on campus", but nor do I think it's realistic (or even healthy) to be an absolute lone wolf. I certainly don't want to be considered part of mainstream society, but I don't necessarily want to shun it altogether. This twilight zone of my social life, somehow, coexists with me being an Aspie. How is all this possible? Can anyone else relate...?
Currently, I think it wouldn't be fair to ask for a better (distanced) social life, as an Autie or a neurotypical. It's definitely a quantity-vs.-quality sort of thing; as aforementioned, I'd prefer being just "one of the guys" than the BMoC any damn day. I stay in daily social media contact with my crew of like-minded degenerate comrades in my state, nationwide, and even internationally. We have similar senses of humor, can feel confident in venting to each other, and even sometimes engage in a little trash-talk in good fun. I'm also the vocalist for a death metal band with three other world-class fellow edgelords; we're finally beginning to record our first material (I met our drummer IRL at a summer job last year, and already consider him one of my closest friends). And perhaps most crucially, for almost two years now, I've been in a stable, passionate relationship with the most wholesome, adorable, generous, and naughty boy on Earth, after six-and-a-half years of cold, bitter singleness. I have the kind of people in my circle who I only daydreamed about as an angsty, hormonal teenager.
Feel free to skip ahead to the last paragraph if you want to. Let me give you all a bit more context. Throughout my early childhood, it was always pretty clear that I stood out from the rest of the kids, and not always for nice reasons. I was frog-marched down to the principal's office more times in elementary school alone than have had sex in my whole life. That turkey-necked, liver-spotted little frog-eater came to expect me as one of the "problem children" of my class. I saw my classmates out at recess playing touch football, or laughing over Wacky Web Tales in the computer lab, and I actually ached for that for myself, even while engrossed in my solitary passions and obsessions. But by then, I'd already alienated myself from them. And it was all my fault.
A long track record of butchered attempts at initiating friendships, and the intense, piercing shame that ensued (plus shell-shock from being rejected and reprimanded) were what drove me away from my peers. I did have individual positive interactions, even a precious few hang-outs (no more than five per year). But until I graduated high school, I never had any IRL relationship more intense than a vague acquaintance, plus literally two "girlfriends" that never got anywhere.
Look, I know I'm rambling enough as it is, but I think it's also necessary to give insight into my putridly toxic home life situation, and the socio-economic climates of the towns I grew up in. These factors always impact a person's adolescence, and trust me when I say, if you think it's any easier when you're on the spectrum then you've got another thing comin'...
For the most part, I was raised by the likes of Ed, Edd, 'n' Eddy, Tony Hawk's Pro Skater, Chef Boyardee, and what was then known as the information superhighway. My father was forbidden from being part of my life after around age 9, and I could only see him in supervised visitations until 18. There was a period where I had barely any contact with him whatsoever. In the meantime, I had a lovely experience being under the roof (more accurately roofs, as I spent three consecutive Christmases in three different homes) of "mommy dearest". She had a personality that alternated between Mother Teresa and that of Oskar Dirlewanger, sometimes switching between them mid-sentence. She just loooovved all the sympathy and sense of control she got from having a "bad" child. And she would never let therapists, social workers, and other family members forget about how she was just this tireless, selfless Florence Nightingale of an Autism Mom
. Yet behind closed doors, mommy dearest, the proto-Karen, ruled over her domain in a way that would make Frau Engel from the Wolfenstein reboot proud. We'll leave it at that...It should be obvious that I "didn't get out much", not that I really wanted to anyway... I was one of the poorest kids in both of the boujee-ass towns I spent most of my public school years in. I was surrounded by the most pampered, self-righteous, and elitist trust fund kids you can imagine. They all wore nothing but Vineyard Vines and Abercrombie (even Hollister was deemed trashy), all just had to have the latest iPhones, all played lacrosse or Pop Warner, and were having hang-outs, dates, and parties left and right. Meanwhile, I walked the halls of my middle school in knockoff Chuck Taylors from Payless, draped in K-Mart brand rags, never getting my first smartphone until freshman year of college. I even spent 7th and 8th grade living with my Fox News-watching granny, the next town over from where I actually attended school, because of how poor mommy dearest and I were. And as you can imagine, this class divide only deepened my rejection of my peers, and was compounded by her manipulation and abuse...
Even the scene kids and emos thought I was an utter freak, unworthy of inclusion in their little subculture. I was envious of the fellow shoppers browsing the racks of merch and gewgaws at Spencer's or Hot Topic, but my awkwardness must have soured any hope for salvation from the thicc emo chick of my first fap fantasies. Having brought my in-person social isolation on myself through a couple obsessive schoolboy crushes, I retreated ever deeper into a digital teenage wasteland of brooding misanthropy, both as an escape from, and a means to process, the daily gauntlet of middle school walking in my bootleg Converses. In the meantime, my social life was entirely online, taking place mostly on obscure video game forums of dubious repute, or a deviantART account that a better mother would not have allowed me to create. On one board for a game I wanted but didn't actually own, I managed to make two close MSN Live Messenger penpals and confidants; both of these traitor scumbags were excommunicated many years ago, for reasons I'd rather not revisit.
The more I ruminate over this damned era, the more I wish I could go back in time and just shove my 7th grade self in a locker (plus leave him a list of recommendations for better tunes to get into), like a bully version of the Terminator. If I had the power, I'd expunge any and all records of my internet presence from 2007 to like, 2015 from the annals of history. As it was on the playground, I still yearned for empathy and camaraderie, and once again, I made a complete ass of myself, everywhere I went, to paraphrase the Hollywood Undead song. So I think we should wrap things up, because it's safe to assume that I've probably made an ass of myself. Again.
Fittingly, I think that is the dominant anxiety that plagues me prior to most social situations. Whether I'll be able to breathe a sigh of relief that I pulled it off, or live with the searing humiliation of stumbling like the klutz that I am, feeling the emotional manifestation of points subtracting from two Sims' friendship bar after a heated Simlish argument.
But it has gotten better for me over the years. Through all that abuse, betrayal, heartbreak, alienation, and times when I shot myself in the foot, my aunt would always re-assure me that I'd someday "find my peeps". Only in recent years have I finally found them. And from them, memories that I once felt I never deserved to make. The excitement of riding the subway out to the city to attend concerts, venting about past traumas over smoke seshes, Cards Against Humanity in the dorm common areas, CoD Zombies parties that go on to the wee hours of the morning, laughing until my sides hurt over the stupidest conversations, starting a metal band, holding hands with an actual goddamn partner... I, an autistic man of 24 years, have earned all these things. Somehow. I guess what I'm trying to say is - don't ever think for a second that you're unworthy of finding your own peeps. A few good peeps are infinitely better than a million limp, melty ones...
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