I had a thought this morning as I tried to establish a timeline of my moments of awareness that I was somehow different from other people. I had begun a period of my life in which I expected to suddenly feel like I belonged, and that sense of belonging would allow me to finally understand other people and be able to interact with them and become part of something.
This is where it happened, right in the attic room on the corner of this building where I lived when I was an art student. It was here that I kept a journal (which I later destroyed). I used to climb out onto the roof and look over the city and write each day.
My expectations at that time was that I would finally feel complete and would understand how I fit into the world around me and engage with the people in my circle, because we all decided to pursue further education, we all wanted to make art and continue to learn. I expected that this was the missinlg link in my life; I just needed like minded people around me for me to feel part of something.
Something quite different happened instead. I recall the journal entry where I described my feelings, or lack thereof, quite accurately. I noted that on the outside I appeared to be laughing and chatting, drinking and going to parties and being part of the art scene in the city, but inside I felt absolutely nothing. I was numb and was merely acting and copying the behaviour of others. I tried so hard to belong and I think I faked it very well, but it was exhausting and I became very depressed.
Realising that the context and the people that I had around me at the time could not help me, and that I still felt isolated and somehow separate from their unfathomable world, was very difficult to accept.
All I had left was art, so I immersed myself in it and pushed myself creatively and graduated with a first class honours degree. Following graduation, I was unable to maintain any contact with my fellow students and eventually, I was alone again.
That journal entry was almost twenty-years ago and still I feel the same way, that I outwardly express certain emotions, but do not necessarily feel that way on the inside. I put it down to depression and battled all my life to change it, but now I realise that I cannot change this, it is a symptom of my autism. This is the way I am and I have to find a way to be okay with that and not let it sink me into episodes of depression.
