I
know I look weird to outsiders. I get it. I've accepted it. Thing is,
my goal is to be able to help others accept and understand it what
its like to be me too.
I
went on a date the other day. A guy I met on a dating website. A guy
born and raised in another country. I was hesitant but I thought
maybe, by some strange chance, we would have that whole being
misunderstood thing in common.
Not
so much.
It
was scary. blind dates or internet dates usually are. You never know
what your gonna get. Like once I met this guy who was super cute in
pics, but I realized upon meeting face to face the wonders of the
cropping feature in editing apps . (picture sloth from the Goonies
from chin to eyebrows. ) He wasn't very happy when I told him I
wasn't interested. Most aren't. And as soon as you make them aware,
suddenly all your most hedonistic character traits come to surface.
So
between the frequency of these occurrences and then the kind of
dollar store trash bag types I meet and fall in love with in a week
(look good on the outside then fail to carry out their purpose by the
time you realize they are full of shit and its too late). I hardly
have luck. If I was left to my own devices, I would quit socializing
all together and sit in my room and read write and come out on pizza
night. But this causes a problem.
I
notice the pattern of isolation often puts me in a bad position with
my writing.
Meaning
if I'm not out in the world I lack material.
So
because my livelihood and sanity depend on my writing, I make meager
attempts at socializing.
Back
to what I was saying. This guy and I decide to meet at a local
Starbucks . Seemed kosher.
Anyway
my first impression was that I had misrepresented myself. He walked
in looked around and walked out. I didn't know what to do or say so I
stared over at the barista hoping he would send me some kind of
telepathic signal on what to do next .
Nope.
So
I did the only thing I thought I should. I sat and waited. He came
back and explained in his heavy accent and broken English that he
was confused, and at that point, so was I.
Great.
I
have no problem with people learning English. I think it's admirable,
as English is by far the most difficult language to master. What I'm
saying is that I have enough of an issue communicating with English
speakers and adding another barrier to say the least, concerned me .And since our communication was only in text up until that point, I wasn't expecting this.
Besides
some very defined cultural differences, I wondered how a person from
another country would be able to understand me .
For
example,I don't stim in public. But in the comfort of my own home my
neuro cape comes off.
I
don't wear pants. Or underwear most times. I frequently have
conversations with myself filled with high pitched laughter or
nervous repeat affirmations. Sometimes I repeat other people's
phrases in the middle of conversation. A lot of times I'm in my own
world and prefer to stay there regardless of who is around me.
The
fact that I had to find three different ways to explain why I didn't
want to hold this strange mans hand, let alone kiss him after a half
hour of knowing him , really made me think.
Would
he ever understand me? How much of myself would i have to censor and for how long?
Even
more frightening I thought to myself if this is what neuro typical
people think when they meet me and is this why they leave? Does
Aspergers make me look like an alien?
I
don't know. I may never know.
I
do know people come and go more often than not in my life . It's not
easy to get used to. I don't think I want to. But it's part of my reality.
I
contemplated just never speaking to the guy again but that turns out
to be rude. I texted and thanked him for a nice time and kindly
explained that I didn't think it would work.
I
never heard from him again. Thankfully .
To
be clear it wasn't just the language barrier that concerned me. I
have become adept at feeling people's energies over the years (since
all other aspects pose difficulties) and there was
a
kind of forced expectation. The way he insisted on holding my hand
when I kept my palm face open to deny the gesture, and how he leaned
in to hug and kiss anyway when I verbally declined.
There
was hygiene. All I smelled was armpits . A surefire hit to set my
sensory issues into satellite mode.
He
was a simple man who drank plain coffee, went to work,had salad and
brown rice for dinner and wasn't a fan of sweets .He had been taught
women have a place.
I
don't have a place. My place is where I am and where I want to be.
Nobody will tell me different. Well, they could try but slim chance
I'm even listening.
I'm
too complicated for all that nonsense. (In a good way.)
And
also, he wasn't all that cute .
More
than anything I want to be understood. I want to feel like somebody
gets me and I'm not so alone. (p.s. my phone just autocorrected
“alone” to “lame” to add insult to injury).
Once
I brought a date to a poetry show I was appearing in . That night I
read a piece I had written after I received my diagnosis . He was
very supportive saying how well I did that night. I remember
distinctly how he asked if all of the things I said in the poems
were true. I knew right away which poem he was asking about. I talked
around it. I was embarrassed that he was worried I was different. I
was was worried I was different and I don't want to worry about being different.
So
from now on, no more dating foreigners for me. This whole exchange of
feelings thing is hard enough without having to add any more
confusion into the mix. And sweaty armpits. Nobody likes sweaty
armpits.
Who
knows, maybe one day I'll get better at all this and fly away to some
distant country to find my forever snuggle buddy(who knows when to
give me space). But for now, I'll wrestle with attempting to
understand the members of my own country. Until next time. Stay
weird.
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