An Aspergian’s Thoughts On Loneliness

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This is one of the more challenging emotions of Aspergers. It’s the worthless, lifeless feeling that you can have when you’re the oddest, weirdest, and most unlike anyone else in the places that you frequent in your daily life. I don’t do the things most people do my age (My life occupation is a writer, despite being in an age group that sees writing as a waste of time), I don’t say the things most teens say (you won’t find me using text lingo, or using much profanity), and I don’t do what most teens do (writing poetry, reading classical literature, and tweeting about Aspergers). I am not ashamed of what I’ve chosen to fill my life, but it only compounds the loneliness I already suffer. I don’t relate to many teens, because I’m so different, and it makes it that much harder to make friends. To teens these days, who go out, have other friends, do “fun” things, and have endless things to talk about, my latest poem seems rather boring, and coming from someone like me, completely not worth their time. I don’t know how to make myself seem “cool”, so I recluse to the back of the room and wait to be called on. Maybe it’s not about being cool, I understand that, but it seems like I’m always forgotten. People don’t remember me, even if go the same places over and over. I know its the aspergers, and my very quiet demeanor makes me easy to forget, but that doesn’t lessen the pain. It’s a horrid feeling for someone to remember your family members, but forget you, even though you all went out together.

On to the poetry….

 

I wish they saw me

and I could stand out

I wish they heard me

above me my boiling doubt

I try to scream out

but I’m barely heard

above my broken heart

and those unshakable verbs

“Shy”, “depressed”, and “cold”

I can’t say my name

“You’re weird,” I’m told

and every day is the same

Have you ever been told

that you’re rude

for no other reason

than that they don’t understand you?

The pain is real

and it has no name

You will never feel

this burning rain

and thunderstorm of sadness

that I can’t escape

it leads to madness

and drives me to date

the loving curves of knives

and the beating heart

of a scared life

 

Walking

without stopping

Walking

without thinking

Walking

without knowing

Walking

without hoping

Walking

expecting

that the distance will change

the appearance

expecting the time to change

the supposed

and expecting you to change

them

I live more

when stopping

and letting others

walk by

I see what

they could never

(Note: I’m getting published on Spillwords (AGAIN) and I’ll be sharing it with you once it’s posted. Stay tuned!)

 

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26 Replies to “An Aspergian’s Thoughts On Loneliness”

  1. You’ve written several entries that remind me of myself in my teens. I was never a loner or antisocial. I just didn’t hang with them, unless it was in conjunction with music or sports. But I did write, a lot, and I made music. Music always made me feel rich. I’d play my flute all hours of the day and night. I also found great comfort in the natural world.

    You are reaching a lot of people and I hope that they are, in turn, reaching out to you. I’ve said it before, but your words are those of someone older, someone with, I don’t know, an innate intelligence, understanding, something. I find a kinship in them.

    Maybe we’re all just words on a monitor, but we’re real people expressing those words on a monitor. So I hope that makes you feel a little less lonely knowing that we are here to hear you.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I have experienced the same feelings as you many times through my life. Now I have my writing and photography and share them online and meet wonderful people like you so I don’t feel so lonely any more. You don’t have to be like them. Be brave and be yourself, you are a good person to know just as you are 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  3. This is a beautiful and heart felt piece!!
    I have two nephews that both have Aspergers. One now in his early twenties and working a job, thriving as he figures out more of how to cope socially. The other is 13 and he has such difficulty, as you mentioned, with school. The first nephew actually homeschooled most of his school years, then in high school he did half at school and half online. I found out that it is genetic on my husband’s side of the family. My two teens don’t have it, but both suffer with anxiety. I guess I say all this to let you know you are not alone. And although you may not find those near you understand, there are those you will find that do. I wish you the best 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I was homeschooled too, which, looking back, was probably the best thing that could’ve happened to me. I’ve also done work online, too.

      It’s always nice to hear you’re not alone, because it makes bearing the burden much easier. Not without its challenges, but wen you have someone on this side of the wall, the wall doesn’t seem so high.

      Thank you for the kind words. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks you Summer. Probably everybody I know would be surprised, because it’s not something I talk about in my daily life. I’m just not ready to come out like that. Then again, considering how weird I am, maybe I wouldn’t surprise anyone. I dunno. Thanks for following, and I enjoy reading your posts. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  4. One of my favorite poems that you may relate to.

    Identity
    by Julio Noboa Polanco
    Let them be as flowers,
    always watered, fed, guarded, admired,
    but harnessed to a pot of dirt.

    I’d rather be a tall, ugly weed,
    clinging on cliffs, like an eagle
    wind-wavering above high, jagged rocks.

    To have broken through the surface of stone,
    to live, to feel exposed to the madness
    of the vast, eternal sky.
    To be swayed by the breezes of an ancient sea,
    carrying my soul, my seed,
    beyond the mountains of time or into the abyss of the bizarre.

    I’d rather be unseen, and if
    then shunned by everyone,
    than to be a pleasant-smelling flower,
    growing in clusters in the fertile valley,
    where they’re praised, handled, and plucked
    by greedy, human hands.

    I’d rather smell of musty, green stench
    than of sweet, fragrant lilac.
    If I could stand alone, strong and free,
    I’d rather be a tall, ugly weed.

    Be a weed, my friend

    Liked by 2 people

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