I never talk much about my private life and feelings online. I try not to give people gossip to share in my workplace, even when I can block work people from my FB posts. That’s not to say I don’t give enough just being there.
I need to share my life because it’s killing me. I don’t get proper support from my aging parents, and I have only one person I can truly share my thoughts and feelings with outside my therapist. I feel like a volcano that is ready to erupt.
I have never fit in. From kindergarten to present, I will always be the kid that others children avoided, even at the bus stop. I could never participate in normal growing up activities except those thrust upon me like ballet and softball. I just followed along with what I had to do, in spite of consistent bullying and always feeling like I was on the outside looking in.
I was bullied in the home.
I born at a time when eating difficulties were blamed on the parents. My father in turn took it out on me. I was perpetually being blamed for my mother having to toil to create separate meals (hot dogs or mac & cheese, woo hard work) when I couldn’t handle the very adult food (salmon) they were eating to picking on my weight, which really does great things for a young girl’s self-esteem.
My mother just had no time for me. She carted me to her bed-ridden mother’s house everyday with one toy and I was left to my own devices for hours while she cleaned, then went home to clean her own, make dinner, and spend time with my father. There was no time for me. I was in the way. I was left to raise myself, mostly by tuning out to television.
I was bullied at school.
Anyone my age can remember the iconic bullying scene in Stand by Me. “Boom babba boom. Boom babba boom,” kids would chant behind me as I walked through the halls in middle school. This was a movie about teen suicide that came out when I was a preteen, and kids had already gotten the idea to try it out on me. At that age I was naivé enough to believe I must have deserved it because everyone tells the truth and makes accurate assessments of others, right?
The abuse continued all throughout my school years, but now it was both from school and home. I felt safe nowhere. When no one wants you anywhere and you are too old to died from lack of touch like an infant, how could one as sensitive as a raw nerve not consider taking themselves out of the equation at least once or twice.
This lack of social interaction and abuse I’m sure created maladaptive behaviors my aspie brain needed to cope. I am still in the process of unpacking all that and fighting the demons that keeping me from pursuing the career path I really want. With all my adversity, I am still fighting to be a better me, even though I know now I will always be unable to be part of any group.