Disability Blog Carnival Entry

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The Hardest Part

By ekie

            When I heard of this Carnival’s theme, the answer to the question, ‘What is the hardest part?’ came swiftly, unbidden.  The answer lay there in my mind and sank into my body, to settle into the solid rock of pain with which I am so familiar.

            The hardest part of having NLD is the loneliness.

            There, I’ve said it, it’s out.  I don’t know how I dare to be so personal on the internet, but I am, if only for the hope that the next time you have a conversation with someone with whom it’s a little bit difficult, you’ll maybe give them a second chance.

           

            “You have friends.”

            People say this, and it is true.  I do have friends.  Of a sort.  A colleague sort, a see-you-in-class sort.  Only now my classes have ended for good.  I’m the only person I know who came out of high school, college and graduate school without a single person who bothers to keep in touch with me.  I sent Christmas cards, letters, emails, phone calls, but they all go unanswered, and after awhile I took the hint and shut up.  Now I have a few acquaintances in the disability field, and one in particular I would call a definite friend, but all of them already have their own circle, their own best friends, and I know that they do not need me as I need them. 

            I understand that it is hard to be friends with me.  I really do.  Who wrote that book with the wonderful title, ‘It’s so hard to be your friend?’  I want to say Rick Lavoie, but I may be wrong.  Anyway, I read it, and I understand.  I veer off-topic, I say inane things, I don’t remember faces, and I can’t go anywhere with very loud music or thick crowds for a long period of time because of my sensory issues. 

            People say, but you are so wonderful, you have so much to offer.  And I know that this is true.  I am loyal, I care about people, I love an intelligent conversation and a good laugh.  They say, if you only tried harder, took a class, went out more, – but I’ve tried all that, and I just can’t summon the courage to dance alone. Everyone has an answer to all of my problems, but none of these people ever call me up on a Saturday night.

            I understand why all those people who signed my yearbook and promised to stay in touch never did.  When lives get busy, the complicated gets dropped, and being friends with me takes a little bit of effort because I am a little bit complicated, and so I get dropped.  I’m not angry at those people.  I just wish I could have known before I invested emotionally in a relationship.

            I’ve tried the internet and I’ve tried Aspie social groups.  The internet is fine, it filled my needs for a long time, but now I need more.  I need physical connection, someone to go on walks or to the beach with.  Aspie social groups don’t work either, because I do tend to have more social skills than the average Aspie and am more socially oriented than they are, and frankly, conversations tend to stall a lot when you have two people with poor social skills.  I like conversations to go fast, but although I do know how to compensate for my own deficits, I can’t quite figure out how to compensate for others, if that makes any sense. 

            I know that once I get a job, being in an office all day will totally exhaust me, yet give me more connections to others.  Once I move into the city, I’ll join a church or a social club.  Where I live now there are few opportunities, and being unemployed, sitting alone all day, does not exactly cause me to be in a better mood.  But I wonder – I had all those opportunities for four years of college, yet nothing worked out.  How do I know that any of my dreams will either?

            It’s such a simple thing.  I’m not asking for riches or world peace, or even a boyfriend, I won’t let my dreams go that far.  I just want somebody to be able to call up on a Saturday night to watch a movie with, go on a hike, go swimming with in summer, to tell about my cousin’s new baby or the book I’m reading.  Right now, I have my mother, who is wonderful, we get along great, but to be honest, I’m really looking for someone under the age of thirty.

           

            I could do with more fine and gross motor skills.  I’d like to be able to play sports.  My sensory system is so out of whack, I can’t drink from our new bathroom sink because I think it tastes so bad.  (It’s been 3 weeks, and nobody else thinks that the water tastes like pure metal.)  I wouldn’t mind being able to balance a checkbook or understand science more.  These things, though, are just annoyances.

            It is the loneliness that is hard.

            It is the loneliness that causes the pain, at random times of day, to cause tears to leak out of my eyes. 

            I can hold a conversation, make small talk and eye contact.  I learned everything I could about social skills, but apparently it wasn’t enough, and so really, I can only come to one conclusion.

            Loneliness cannot be the hardest part about NLD, because that would be saying that NLD is the cause of my loneliness.

            No.  It’s not the NLD, not the neurological quirks that make people steadily reject me, over and over.

            It’s just me.

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