Now what? My first impulse was to feel sorry for myself because I had concrete knowledge that something, indeed, was "wrong" with me. My second impulse was to start using it as an excuse or a crutch. Well, I thought, why try? I'm hard-wired this way, so I might as well quit trying to change anything.
Now I'm working on what the difference is between learning how to fit in, or blend in, or connect and being a fake person, acting out a role that is not me. Do I even know who I am? And who I think I am often doesn't jibe with what others are perceiving me as, because now and then, someone will tell me. So, am I rude, thoughtless, unfriendly, or am I sensitive, meek, caring? I've been told I'm all those thinks at different times by different people. When I stop to think, though, the people who have told me the latter actually knew me much better than the people who told me the former. Everyone agrees on one thing: I'm somehow different.
I'm blessed to have a husband of 33 years. He is somewhere above me on the spectrum. We compliment each other. I'm great at spelling and writing. I can spot an error in grammar or spelling on a page in an instant, but I've always cried over math. He's just the opposite. He was the first kid in our high school to have a calculator, but he struggles with spelling and writing.
I have few friends, though, and no one who I would call a 'best friend'. I don't think I ever have had a best friend. I wonder whether I'd recognize a close friend. It seems presumptuous on my part to identify someone as my 'close' friend.