By age 20, I’d reached the apex of my swearing potential.
Blame a combination of salty YouTube videos, blue comedy, and hair-trigger temper points, but either way: after lambasting my brother in a ten-minute, breathless, cussive screed in which I machined expletive combinations unique enough to be patented, I realized “Wow, I’ve gotten foul. I don’t think I’ll ever top this.”
But even in that maelstrom of profane malevolence, in which I found all manner of expression boundless, there’s been one word I’ve never mustered up the comfort to say:
We autistic folk, we’re so literal.
We are as literal as we are not social.
So when it comes to relationships, social stuff, there’s this extra layer of ambiguity and awkwardness mixed in with extreme precision.
And golly is it embarrassing sometimes.
It is hard for us to define, much less make friends.
Are friends people you talk to each day? Are they those with whom you have a good, stirring conversation every now and then? Is it someone you know where share some mutual, intentional enjoyment? Is it different from buddy, pal, dude?
It’s always been hard for me to connect with people beyond just the surface. I feel like many who’d be a friend to others would just be an acquaintance to me.
But it’s not you. It’s me.
I don’t navigate this well, and I’m afraid to call people friends, thinking that I should be committing more, being more involved, closer.
It’s part of The Life Autistic – we do genuinely appreciate the people in our lives, those more invested, and in those whom we enjoy the more everyday banter and passing conversation. To be an acquaintance, pal, bud — that’s really good for us.
For all the words we use, good and bad, the F-word is one of the toughest to say.