An Introduction To This Blog

In High School, as in Middle School and College, I had sometimes tended to break down crying at the end of class. I would wait until all of my peers were gone, and it was either me alone or me and the teacher, and I would then let go of whatever I had pent up in the interim.

In one of these cases, it was senior year. This was when I was in my second high school, as I had left the first one due to depression and self-harm which the environment seemed to prompt. The same thing sometimes seemed at risk for happening at the second high school as well. I went to my teacher and told him how isolated I felt in class, how I felt like I was constantly struggling to push myself into the conversations of others, how I felt like I never truly related to them, and they never truly related to me. What he said to me afterwards tends to stick with me, even two years after it happened.

He took his hands, held both parallel to the floor. "The class is here." He said, holding one hand at chest height. "You're here." He held the other hand at about chin height.

I don't try to think of myself as somehow being superior to the people. I'm not. I just operate on a different wavelength. But often times I don't even think of that. Often times I think of myself as being not only not on the same wavelength, but that I'm on a lower level than the rest of my peers. That I'm deficient. Not unintelligent, but deficient. Incapable of socializing properly, of being a friendly or interesting person. I look at other people going to parties, going out with friends, then sitting and chatting with those same friends in class, and I feel sometimes like I'm looking at something I can never be a part of, and perhaps don't even deserve to be a part of. That I'm "lazy" or "cowardly" to not socialize like other people do.

So when I get someone who says I'm not just at the level of my classmates but above the level, that says to me not that I am superior to them, but that I have something unique to contribute.

So that's basically why I'm here.

I have Asperger's Syndrome. I've struggled with depression. Sometimes I've struggled with body-image issues. I've hurt myself in the past. Sometimes I've had suicidal thoughts. One time I contemplated acting on them.

I have few close friends, and many acquaintances that I'd like to be close friends that I can never seem to make close friends. I sometimes feel lonely, and hurt, and self-loathing.

I've wanted to be a genius. I've wanted to be a brilliant artist. I've wanted to be healthy. I've wanted to be normal.

I'm none of those things. I simply am. And I suppose that's as good a reason as any to write about just what "I" am.

So here I am.