This week if we were discussing our lives over a cup of coffee, I’d tell you that it is really confusing to me why some people would read my blog if they don’t like what I have to say. I’d also tell you that I suppose that’s not surprising since I don’t always understand people.
Hell, for that matter, I rarely understand myself!
And that’s one of the reasons why I started this blog. I started it the first year that I found myself becoming too overwhelmed by work in order to function entirely properly, and had hoped this could be an anonymous outlet for relieving stress from work. Instead, it became a place where I could work on figuring out what was wrong with my interactions with guys. I could write out, using a bit of a persona, my findings about the guys I’d dated, allowing me to both hone my writing skills and figure out what made me damaged.
The end result was that I learned that I had Asperger’s Syndrome, and while, yes, I was originally self-diagnosed, I have since had more than one trained specialist confirm my diagnosis.
But knowing what’s “wrong” with me doesn’t automatically fix anything. It doesn’t just magically make my relationship problems go away. It doesn’t teach me how to not panic when my routine gets disrupted. It doesn’t automatically make me aware of the things that I am doing that are not neurotypical. It doesn’t make people just understand or give me a pass for anything.
I know this.
And contrary to some people, I don’t bring it up just for sympathy.
Since this is my safe place, I use this blog to work out certain things. Recently, it’s been to figure out my feelings about the Pirate. In the past, it’s been to figure out my feelings about the Boy or the Bartender, or to share info about my interactions with the variety of Tinderfellas in between.
Speaking of, I promise I’ll get to the Transcendentalist in a moment. First, I feel I should respond to the Pirate’s Mouthpiece who likes to interject herself into my blog and speak for the Pirate, though he swore he didn’t know who she was, and that she was just someone messing with me. If that’s the case, then I do owe him a small apology for getting so irate. I don’t think that’s the case, though, because every time I tried to let him correct the misinformation that she may or may not have presented me with, he refused to say anything.
So, whether or not she’s speaking for him or just being a rude, meddlesome busybody, either way she’s made a comment (the aforementioned one about me talking about being Aspie just to get sympathy) that perhaps others feel the same way and so now I need to address it.
If this blog had taken place ten years ago, you would never have seen the term Asperger’s Syndrome in it. I’d never heard of it.
You also wouldn’t be hearing about any guys I actually went out with because there were none. I was in a small town, had recently graduated college, and was trying to do marketing stuff for a small architectural design firm where the owner was paying me a measly $10/hour to be his entire copywriting staff and to be a project manager. All as contract labor, meaning I had taxes to pay that year.
You’d have heard plenty about my relationships with my friends, one of which we’ve discussed on here because he sent me a message quite some time later telling me that there were things that I did that he didn’t like, and even when he was telling me about it, I still hadn’t confirmed the Asperger’s diagnosis and so didn’t immediately think to tell him that the very things he was upset about were tied to my Asperger’s Syndrome.
Things like waiting until the last minute to RSVP, which he assumed was because I was waiting for a better offer, when in reality I was dealing with the social anxiety that often comes along with Asperger’s Syndrome and I hadn’t made up my mind whether or not I could face the people who would be there that I didn’t know. It takes a lot of energy out of me when I have to wear my mask, the happy, bubbly version of myself that I learned to be while I was in high school.
In high school, though, it was pure sugar high.
I had found that when I had copious amounts of sugar in my system (usually in the form of a Snickers or Whatchamacallit), I didn’t feel what everyone else was feeling.
One of the things that I said to the newest therapist was that in high school, as weird as it sounds, I felt like I could feel the emotions of everyone around me, and that I knew that sounded crazy, but I didn’t know how else to explain it. I started self medicating with chocolate. It worked, but did a number on my teeth and my waistline.
When I told that to my therapist, even though I told her I knew it sounded crazy, she said no it sounded like other stories she’d heard from female Aspies.
Meanwhile, I’ve since stopped using chocolate to create a bubbly version of myself because it’s not exactly the healthiest way to handle things. Like I said, it ruined my teeth and I gained a ton of weight.
But I do still suffer from intense stress from the most basic of social interactions if I don’t feel like I have some sort of thing to make me comfortable.
As I said yesterday, I’ve found that my shapewear acts somewhat like armor, which makes sense. They’ve started making “hug vests” to help people on the spectrum and my shapewear is just snug enough to serve the same basic function.
I could list probably another twenty things that I do that are not neurotypical without thinking too terribly hard about it, but I don’t want to dwell too much on that, lest she come back and tell me I’m still just looking for sympathy.
My point was that I wouldn’t have spoken about the Asperger’s at all before, but would have still been talking about relationships, and about how to deal with them. You can see it in the early stages of this blog! I tried a handful of different styles of writing and different topics before I naturally settled on dealing with how the way I grew up made me see things differently.
Like, I talked about how being adopted helped me to not see things like race, and well, frankly I don’t distinguish between gender that much. I kept explaining them different ways trying to establish why it was that I was so different in my way of thinking about certain things, or in the way I interacted with people.
I would have told you, for instance, that it was because I was adopted and am a different race from my family, and that my parents were stricter on me than on my brothers. Both of which probably have something to do with it, but it’s also listed as one of the possible traits of Asperger’s Syndrome: not distinguishing the difference between different gender roles or different races. Aspies see a person, not gender or race.
I think that makes me somewhat evolved…
The Transcendentalist said something to that effect when we were talking before it became all sexual… or rather, he said my inherent sexuality was a symptom of my evolved status… Though that didn’t translate into last night’s date.
If we were having coffee, this would be the point where I told you that the date did not go well. I wouldn’t say it went awful; I’ve definitely had worse dates. This one just didn’t live up to expectations. I was very late, even though I finished yesterday’s post in time to make it on time, things kept going wrong. Even my body didn’t want to cooperate with me. I usually take that as a sign that things aren’t going to go well, and sure enough…
I got there as she was finishing the instructions. Seems I was the first person to sign up for this class, as my seat was right at the front, but he took my spot (I know because they put your name in front of your easel). That was fine, better for me actually. It put him on my good side… if it could be said that I have a good side.
Then he spent the rest of the night so focused on his painting that we hardly spoke. So I ended up striking up a conversation with the woman next to me, and then we got into a competition with the young Indian girls on the other side of the table.
They kept pointing out to us that they were Indian, hence why I mention it.
I think maybe he said 10 words during the whole painting class. Never even looked over at me. He walked me to my car, and when I asked him, “well, now what should we do?” He told me that the painting had wiped him out because he’d never done anything like that before. Though he went to the High School for Performing and Visual Arts, he was into the Performing Arts section of it, and not the Visual side of things.
He commented more than once that now he understood how difficult it was. Said the painting wore him out so much that he was going to just go home and pass out…
Then continued to talk to me for over an hour until the security guard came and told us we had to go home. Then he went to his car without so much as a hug.
I think the entirety of our physical contact was when we bumped into each other about 3 times because I was trying to figure out how to make physical contact.
So, was he not interested, like with what happened with the Marine? Or was he really so nervous about the painting that he was just super focused on that? I don’t know. I haven’t heard from him yet, and I didn’t feel a spark, so maybe that’s a good thing.
For one thing, he was very short. I know technically we were supposed to be the same height, but he carries himself shorter. I don’t know if I can explain that any better. The Pirate and I were the same height, but I never felt that he was too short except a couple of times during intimate moments when he would position himself in a way that made it difficult to kiss him, which was my favorite part of that whole situation.
Kissing the Pirate would send sparks shooting through my entire body! I miss that sensation. And truth be told, I probably put up with all the rest just to have those moments when I would feel those sparks. I think in my head it suggested that there was more to it. That there was some sort of amazing thing to be had if we could just break through the surface stuff and actually get to the deep stuff.
His Mouthpiece is adamant that he doesn’t like me like that, and that me talking about myself was somehow insulting. Yet she also tells me that he seems to miss me because of a sketch he did on his Instagram. I can’t see them because we’ve blocked each other, but it’s cute that the Mouthpiece thinks that he misses me, since her meddling is part of what caused us to completely quit talking to each other.
So, that’s it. That’s the update. Thanks for sticking with me and reading about my dating woes. I hope we’ve cleared up the Asperger’s “issue,” once and for all.
And if you don’t like reading about it, then I suppose I’ll be sad to see you go. I’m still figuring out what being diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome means, and still learning what things about me aren’t neurotypical. It means I may get some of it wrong, but I am not just self-diagnosed.
For what it’s worth, if the Pirate had told me he felt that way (assuming his Mouthpiece isn’t just some adoring fan of his), then we could have discussed it like adults and I’d have explained it to him. Instead, he told me that he didn’t ask me questions about myself because it always ended in one of three topics, the Asperger’s being one of them.
But I never gave him hell about talking for hours about the topics that interested him, even though it meant that I didn’t get to speak much! It would have been rude of me to say such things, though I did finally have to.
Meanwhile, his reaction to me talking about being an Aspie made me shut down further, and that was not fun for me.
If I’d felt that he cared about me as a person, things would be different right now, but sending someone I don’t know to speak for him, or conversely not correcting the misinformation she’s giving me because she is NOT speaking for him, proves that he doesn’t know anything about me, nor does he care to.
If he misses me, it’s on HIM to say something because I’d still listen. I don’t think it would do any good at this point, but I’d still listen.
And who knows? I gave the Boy way more chances than he probably deserved, especially seeing as he also wasn’t interested in me… It’ll be like deja vu.