Not the ones you're imagining, though.
It happens on the occasion, Iâll be talking to a close friend, or a co-worker, or a family member, and then a stray comment, something typically totally unimportant, wisps away and becomes a shadow. It whispers the comment over and over, I think only I can hear it. Itâs like an echo, a fragment. Itâs a ghost.
It reminds me that Iâm not the same. That, between where I stand, and where others stand, there is this impossible to cross barrier. And itâs not because Iâm all that different, or Iâm special or anything like that. Itâs because thereâs something wrong with me.
Broken is what first comes to mind to describe the error, but thatâs not quite right. See, broken implies two things. The first is that the came correctly in the box, but something broke it. The second is that it is repairable. Neither of these is true in my case.
See I came out of the box wrong. Like a line in my code was written incorrectly. Not so incorrectly to cease all function, mind you, just incorrectly enough to make it obvious that when I stand amongst others, my gears do not turn synchronized with theirs.
I donât generally believe in self-diagnosing, not that I think it doesnât have its uses. Some people just arenât in situations where they can get a proper, unbiased and scientifically supported diagnosis, and I believe that those people should do whatever is best for them in that situation. I, however, recognize that I do not have to authority to make a diagnosis regarding my own problems.Â
That being said, I have been told more than once that I resemble, in certain manners, others who are on the spectrum.Â
In my own research, and in my own questioning of people who are diagnosed, it seems painfully obvious. Still, I refuse to accept anything less than the diagnosis of someone who has the authority to do so properly.Â
But I still see the ghosts. And Iâve been seeing them a lot lately.Â
If I were diagnosed and I am what I think I might be, then I donât know how Iâll ever be able to look at myself again. Donât misunderstand me, I donât believe that there is anything wrong with being on the spectrum. Itâs just that... Iâve always been told that Iâm just like everyone else, right? That Iâm âright.â And then for everything to be broken? To realize that Iâm âwrong?â That thereâs an irreparable difference between the rest of the world and me? That thereâs a divide that I simply can not cross? What do I do with that besides loathe myself even more?
And what if Iâm not? What if thereâs absolutely nothing wrong with me? What of the ghosts? Surely they wonât disappear, if anything theyâll get louder, a reminder that there is something about me that isnât diagnosable. Maybe Iâm not broken, maybe I choose, subconsciously to be wrong.Â
I donât know what is worse.
So, I try to ignore it. Forget about it. Pretend there is no barrier, no divide. But every once in awhile, I see a ghost. Itâs sitting in the corner, watching me, eyes uncaring, unceasing, quiet, save for a whisper. It reminds me again. And it hurts. And worse, it makes me angry. So, incredibly angry.
I get mad at the people who the ghosts come from. I try to tamp it down, I know they donât deserve my wrath, theyâve done nothing. But they reminded me of how wrong I am. And sometimes I get to the point where I think I start to feel hate.Â
Sometimes I hate my best friend because the ghosts from her, too.
I hate myself for just thinking that about her, for thinking that about anyone, really.Â
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