Are Friends Imaginary?

 Welcome back to the Shores of the Night, or welcome if you're new. My name is Grim, and I talk about more things on this blog than I probably should. 

Today I'm thinking about friends. Specifically, the issues I have making them. One of my earliest memories is being shunned on the playground because I didn't watch He-Man after school. It didn't improve. Most of my childhood was spent learning that people I liked tolerated or downright disliked me, and that's also been a feature of my adult years. In most social settings, I feel locked out, either because my interests don't align with most people's or because the environment's too loud, too bright, or too crowded. I find myself more comfortable in quiet spaces, libraries, book clubs, roleplaying games, that sort of thing. The worst thing I can imagine is going to a nightclub or something like that - which isn't to say that I never went to nightclubs when I was younger and I didn't know I was autistic, but it was never an easy experience. But in general, my basic discovery has been that I simply don't fit.

That sounds dramatic, the sort of thing someone might say to manipulate people into saying how beloved they are. In my case, it's just an acceptance based on years of experience. 

I realise my place isn't in the heart of things but at the edge, where someone will probably tell me their problems, and mine simply won't arise. If I try to talk about that sort of thing, I find people seldom listen, and if they do, they don't have any advice. I learned a long time ago that I was largely on my own, and while I chafe at that, I assume that nothing's going to have changed. 

My suspicion is that it's an autistic thing. Evidence shows that most neurotypical people can clock that you're an autist pretty fast - even if they don't have the language that supports the feeling of unease they get. In those seconds, your position within the group is established, and you're either in or out... As you may imagine, I'm mostly out. I tend to leave events with the fears that I said the wrong thing, or didn't talk enough... or I was too loud, or whatever. Basically, my anxiety will latch onto something and decide I was too much or not enough. Or both. And if you're wondering what that has to do with autism... Well, most late-diagnosed autistic people have a soupcon of anxiety, mostly from trying to pretend to fit in without access to the manual it appears all the neurotypical people got when they were born. Mostly I just have to tell my mind to shut up and leave it, accepting that nobody's going to be beating a path to my door. 

In some ways it's a relief. I often find interactions with neurotypical people tiring. Their interests often appear surface-level and ephemeral, likely to change as soon as the next fad comes along. I don't really understand that. Surely if you're interested in something, that doesn't fade just because it's no longer fashionable? The other thing is that for me, it often feels like many of them only seem to be interested in people - not in an anthropological sense, but in the sense of who's up or down in a social hierarchy I can't perceive, or who might be doing things with whom. My place at the edge of things feels more peaceful in contrast.

I was only diagnosed in 2024, so I still have a lot of pent-up anxiety in this area. Based on my history, if I'm honest, I assume that I'm fundamentally unlikable and that nobody wants to spend much time with me. Given that I've spent most of my life on my own, that feels natural in some respects, even though it's annoying in others. That may not be objectively true, but my experiences have created it as a base assumption for dealing with other humans. Hell, I even expect it these days. 

Despite this, probably out of a mixture of foolish hope - and at the urging of my therapist - I do keep trying. I know we aren't a species that's meant to be alone, and even if at times it feels like I get my fill of humans at work, I'm trying not to become a complete recluse. I'd love to say that that's mostly out of spite, but it's really out of stubbornness, a need for connection and to feel heard.