So, This Is Neurodivergence (1) - Want

Spectrumy. Not a word, but I understand that’s what I am.  Somewhere in the vast plain of neurodivergence, my brain chemistry lies. There is no earth-shattering reaction because I have known I was different since I could actually know things.  What has changed in the last couple of years is that I have limits that I did not comprehend. 

            My (adult) kids are neurodivergent, and my wife struggles to understand their behavior, just like she struggles to understand mine.  The difference is that I am fifty-two.  I somehow fumbled my way through life and made it this far, even with unexplainable decisions and unexpected reactions.  But there are some things that I will never have or understand and that’s where the spectrum kicks in.

            I wanted to write a few of these about my revelations because that is what I do.  I know I couldn’t do it all in one shot, so I’ll spread it out as more things come to mind.  This won’t be a complaint chamber or a list of gripes.  It’s just what it is and how I see the world through a different lens than other people. 

            My grandmother explained once that I was a perfectionist as a little boy.  I needed my brother and my cousins to play our kid games correctly or I would lose my shit and go to her in tears.  I guess that’s a sign.  I was catastrophically shy as a kid and a teenager.  Didn’t mind performing in front of class or being in a play or eventually doing stand-up, but talking to new people or girls in general was a non-starter.  In my head, I don’t know what to say.  Because of low self-esteem, I assumed I was behind already, and I had to catch up.  Meaning: there is nothing to like about me so I have to win you over.  So, I would wait until you said something.  Doesn’t make sense? No shit.

            I could go on and on about all the memories I have that now make a little more sense.  I could detail how these realizations are both comforting and kinda sad. But I wanted to start with limits.

            Want.  The simple humanlike yearning for something.  Anything from your next meal, to a million dollars.  A litter of friends or a house in the hills.  A sports car or respect from your peers.  It’s the things that get us out of bed and color our lives with splotches of purpose.  The foundation of goal setting and ambition.  The driver of success.

            I don’t want anything.

            With no exaggeration, I could sit and stare out a window until I keeled over from malnutrition and a lack of sleep.  That is exactly what my brain says to do.

I mean, I like a good meal and conversation with a friend.  I like time with my wife and looking at nature.  Those are things that I like.  But I don’t want shit. Like, nothing.  I’m not saying I follow an eastern philosophy, and I reject material possessions because desire leads to suffering. (Even if it does.). I don’t even want a philosophy.  I don’t want anything.  I don’t want to do anything or be anything or go anywhere or experience anything or achieve anything.  That is my default setting.  That is one of the founding principles of my particular flavor of neurodivergence. 

            Wanting is part of being human.  I don’t demonize it.  I wish I had it.  I wish I had the little spark of ego that made me want to be more.  I’m also not automatically satisfied with life as it is.  There is a gigantic hole, but I’ll get into that at another time.

            So, as a lot of people in my position have to do, I fake it.  I try to be humanlike. I needed a career.  I was smart and some of the people in my life were going to teach, so I went through eight years of struggling to get a degree and I found out that I never really liked teaching.  I didn’t like any job I ever had.  Didn’t want to be there.  Didn’t want to advance or make more money.  But I had to because kids need to eat, and you have to pay the mortgage. 

            Now I’m in my fifties and I still haven’t found anything.  I’ve been prepping for a coding/software engineering job but it isn’t anything yet.  (That’s an issue of patience.  Another blog.) I asked my therapist what I was supposed to want after I got a good-paying job.  I needed to be told about financial security and that new opportunities could open up after I entered a new field.  New relationships, maybe friends.  Maybe new things to do. I needed an adult professional to explain to me why it was a good reason to get a better job.

            Why?  Because my brain doesn’t tell me to want anything. 

            That could be why I’m not fun.  Maybe, right?  That takes the desire to enjoy yourself.  I have to be tricked into having fun.  It sucks.  I’m smart enough to know how much of a pill I really am.   If it wasn’t depression or anxiety, it’s this shit. 

            There must be gazillions of people out there on the spectrum in some fashion.  I think that’s what we are learning.  I don’t know the answer to how this should be handled, but I know that we need to reset our expectations for each other.  We are merely human beings and some of us were born with unusual factory settings. As advanced as we are, our minds have not caught up.  That’s evident.  But patience and empathy might be the two most important behaviors we have.  Those on the spectrum, or those just having a rough time in their lives, need it desperately.