Childhood with Aspergers: Being Too Open
When is a strength
really a weakness? Let me count the ways. Public confessions aren't usually my thing but I am in an odd mood and I feel like laughing at myself which thought doesn't occur to me as favorable very often.
When people hear me speak they often come to the wrong conclusions and even accuse me of faults in nature that aren't mine. I have been called cold, heartless, callus, proud, arrogant and many other things of recent. It might surprise you to know that as a child I was accused of being too open to the point of being thought clingy, gutless, overly apologetic, weak, and cowardly.
I remember a time when a group of kids were so hungry to know what I was made of that their ring leader dared me to hit him and even swore that there would be no retribution if I complied. After considering the kid for a fool I complied and he lost two teeth in the process. The look of shock on his face was priceless but that is beside the point. If I have a flaw it is for overcorrection.
I got tired as a child of being the person that everyone though would be fun to use as a bating animal in their various cruel sports so I became a nightmare that caused those same kids to give me a wide birth. I however never felt the substance of their fears within me as it was an affectation meant to give myself the space needed to grow into the person I wanted to be.
Most of my life I had the fear of speaking my mind least anyone laugh at my mode of expression or the lack of elegance in my address. I therefore taught myself every word that was delicious to my tongue and a wit that could cut any critique to ribbons if I cared to and still felt as empty as I was before. My true desires have always been to be at peace with myself and the world in general and to know others as I am know. The world however is cruel to the innocent. And I have never found an in-between that I felt safe in becoming.
I have met men older and wiser then I who could find the best in all men without considering any slight to their own character as being worthy of mention. These men I always felt to be the strongest of all. I have never been that strong and I have to admit that a part of me has no desire for that strength. I, like any ogre, have layers and my over corrections amuse me now that I see that my layers have given me everything I wanted and yet nothing I needed.
And that is what I call ironic.