I remember taking myself down the alleyways and misted halls of memory, trying to trace a core feeling I’ve walked around with for a long while:
Why does everyone seem to disappear?
I have no lifelong friends.
The ones close once are now far.
Everyone exits my orbit.
People fade.
I am stupidly fortunate to have a wife and daughters who mostly enjoy me on most days, but I can’t shake the feeling that they too will be just . . . gone.
The Life Autistic is a great exercise in deep self-awareness, and I found one element of the whole “people disappearing” act.
Growing up a Navy brat, life itself and the others around me – they were all in transition.
No one remained for long.
What few friends I had, they’d be stationed elsewhere within months. Years, if I were lucky.
I wasn’t fast on friendship then, and I’m not all that quick about them today.
But here we are today, and still I ask:
Is everyone going to disappear again?
It’s an innate concern that has me looking without, within.
I am a difficult person in person.
The Life Autistic, y’all, it tires people.
And we know it.
It’s hard dealing with someone who can whip from mad/sad/glad in an instant.
Who vanishes at a moment’s notice to recover.
Who turns ice cold when the empathy tank runs out.
Who can offer only a shoulder blade of steel to cry on.
Who tries hard to be human, but — just isn’t.
It’s why I enjoy working from home. Writing. Tweeting.
I don’t keep a distance because I need it from you.
It’s because you need it from me.
The Life Autistic 