Friends

I don’t like people.

It’s a thing that grows more and more every day. Even when I have a good, natural time with someone, I understand that it won’t happen again. In the back of my head, laughter squinching my eyes, I understand that I’d rather be at home and I will be at home. This doesn’t go away. It’s hovering in every interaction – shit, even in online interactions.

Some part of me understands that I am very typical, but in a way that’s abnormal. Don’t ask me to explain that. And, no, it’s not in a ‘I’m a bit better than people’ type of way. I’m just a normal bitch that’s fucking odd. An odd woman in a sea of normality. Standing outside of the glass all the time, trying slightly to figure out where the door is.

I don’t dress well. I’m not conventionally pretty but I find myself to be gorgeous. I’m a huge talker but I get very bored listening these days. I am bi-sexual, I am agnostic, I am a lot of in-betweens.

Ambiguous, as a worthless ex put it.

There are ways to define me and my relationships with others but I don’t know how to fix my mouth to say them. It’s borderline Autism, but I expect I only think that because I have an autistic son. It’s amazing how someone else’s condition can paint your experiences. Everything looks like autism now.

I was told by a lovely group of women who provided me an escape I haven’t had in over ten years that I need friends. I need a tribe. I need to know other women who have autistic children. Who write. Who read. Who compliment me and my dry sarcasm. That’s such a specific subset that the very thought is depressing.

Part of me wishes I could turn all my long ass day dreams into reality. That I could make my own West World and disappear into it and never invite anyone else in. Fuck, could you IMAGINE the chaos that world would be? The vicious detail and all that fucking hair?

I don’t know about friends. I don’t know about relationships. I don’t know about casual interaction or even keeping up with old friends and making new ones.

I know I like it here, inside my house. I know I love it when it’s me and Urijah here, laughing and running around. I know I love lazing about in bed thinking up stories, taking Astrid on this adventure or that one.

 

I know it’s kinda better being alone.