I’m sure you’ve read all this, and have gathered an opinion
of how well I’m able to cope with the things life throws at me. Well, depends
how you define “cope”, really. If by
that you think I can get through it all without hanging myself or generally
massacring humanity, then fair enough, yes.
But if you think I’m able to stumble through the lot with complete equanimity
and indifference to what happens, then you’re wrong. Horribly wrong.
---
I am not well. I have
not been well for at least 30 years, if not my entire life. Other people, from
my parents, my teachers, my doctors, and my immediate superiors at work have
not realised or understood this. In many
ways, it’s not their fault. I’ve tried
my best to hide it. After all, how far
can you get in life if you say “I’m a fucking basket case, and can’t cope with
all this shit.”? My guess is not very,
so I don’t say anything.
Whereas I have Asperger Syndrome (look, I have an official
diagnosis and everything, from a REAL psychiatrist rather than an multiple
choice internet test), I don’t necessarily want people to know this. It would be wonderful if people had no
prejudices about others who were Neurologically Different, but no, people don’t
work like that. I’ve regularly heard
people, hopefully unknowingly about my status, talk disparagingly about people
who are “Aspergers” or “autistic”. I can’t say anything. Boat rockers not welcome.
And so, I try my best to fit in. Whether I do it well or not is not for me to
say. My sister-in-law describes me as
eccentric. Well, that’s what she
says. Who knows what she actually
means? As a defence mechanism, I always
say “I’m not eccentric. Everyone else
is.” Which cannot be disproved, but nobody would actually believe it.
I do try hard.
Despite what other people would say.
I go out, I talk to people. I
interact with them . Possibly not in the
way they’d want me to. I’ve found that
people would rather talk about utterly irrelevant subjects (football, reality
TV) and for that I can’t say
anything. I have a feeling I’m blamed
for this, because it’s my fault I have no interest in the “normal” things.
But nonetheless, I do try.
Eventually, if I can get the people conversed with down to two, or at
best one, I can get to subjects I can talk about. I’m sure I’ve bored many of the barstaff at
pubs with my alleged conversation.
Unfortunately for them, there are no drinks to pull, so they have to
appear to be interested in what I say. I
have no illusions about my own personal charisma. I just assume I’m slightly more interesting
than cleaning.
---
Alcohol is a harsh mistress. Better, I’ll admit, than a real
girlfriend. While it costs a lot and makes you miserable and ill, it only does
so for about a day. After which you can
choose whether you want to indulge again.
In a relationship, however, your significant other is at you all the
time. No matter how bad you feel.
I get drunk fairly regularly. There are many reasons for
this.
I’ll admit to liking the taste of beer, whisky and various
cocktails. I’m sure such knowledge is not news to anybody who knows me. But
that’s not the reason I go out. I have enough alcoholic drinks on my shelves as
home to kill me twenty times over. I
could get drunk at home for ages, and for free too. So why do I go down the pub?
In many ways, my regular life is very socially
disappointing. I work with a lot of people in retail, but I don’t have anything
in common with them. They are, I
hesitate to say, normal. They watch TV, they drink and fight and screw and
argue and make up and generally have what psychologists would term an
emotionally fulfilling life. I wouldn’t
be able to cope with that. My life is
based around ruthlessly cutting out emotions so I can whittle everything down
to a level I can cope with. If ever I go out with the people I work with, I
have to leave early before I get angry or upset. If they ask later, I just say I was tired.
My days off are Sunday and Monday. And, by god, am I grateful.
I’ve tried going out on Friday and Saturday, even in the places I normally
go. And I cannot cope. I cannot cope with the regular, normal
members of the human race being crass, crude, loud and drunk. I have to hide in
a corner and wait to go home. Sometimes
the barstaff who know me ask if everything is ok. I lie and say yes. Easier than explaining my emotional state in
a noisy and crowded bar.
Even when I go out on the quiet days, it never goes
right. It starts off ok. I can cope when they pub is empty, or only
has a couple of people in. But the more
crowded it gets, the more I have to drink to blot it out. I’m sure you’re saying now “Then why the
bloody hell do you go, if it’s that obviously distressing?”. It’s both simple
and sad to explain.
I can’t relate to real people, as described above. The people who work in the pub are the
closest I have to a family. Sure, I have
a real family, but the vast majority of them are simply carrying too much
baggage about me, are too far away, or too busy to deal with me. Whatever can be said about pub staff, they’re
always there. Whether they actually are
interested or just want to ensure my continued custom is not for me to
say.
I hope they do like me as a person though, despite the
obvious and massive flaws described above. As someone told me recently, I do
make it bloody hard for people to be friends with me.
No comments:
Post a Comment