Saying I'm Sorry (*Again*): Part III (Ant)

Cover of: I love you, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I love you, by Kevin Farran

I love you, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I love you. It's a beautiful book title and an apt summary of all my more intimate relationships. If we remove the second comma, my entire love life suddenly falls neatly into one of these two categories. Either I'm apologising to those I love because my love is simply never enough or I'm deeply sorry to someone for ever loving them in the first place. I suppose many of us are often sorry for loving someone when it goes wrong and wish with all our souls we could go back to intercede at some fateful moment past, but for me, the guilt comes for the havoc my loving seems to wreak on others. I feel I'm a tornado in a trailer park: unleashing calamities upon the most vulnerable, innocent and unsuspecting victims of all.

In Part I & II of this series, I explored two formative relationships gone awry because their unresolved questions refuse to release my mind from purgatory. I classify these two intersections under the "I'm sorry I love you" heading. I believe my affections were more burdensome to the recipients than they were worth and generated chaos where there was calm. But now I want to explore a relationship of the "I love you, I'm sorry" variety.

Before I do, however, I need to lapse into a brief interlude to discuss the twined beauty and beast of neurodiverse relationships. As always, I must emphasise that my experience is certainly not universal, but these paired traits I am about to discuss are incredibly common among those on the Autism spectrum. We seem to be given to express most things in extremes, in this case oscillating wildly from unwavering loyalty to suddenly and unapologetically severing ties. It certainly sounds paradoxical and I imagine is the emotional equivalent of a swift kick to the head. 

Loyalty is an oft cited positive Autistic trait. It is a wonderful thing not to be fickle, to be willing to lay down your life or sanity for a cause, an institution, or a friend, but it can also be extraordinarily costly, personally, emotionally, mentally, and physically. Autistics are very vulnerable to manipulative people who learn to use this trait (often conveniently coupled with naïvety) to their advantage. While I haven't discussed this particular topic with many Autistic men, the female identifying portion of the population would resoundingly prefer support and coaching on safety skills in this arena over being "trained" to conform to NT social norms. However, when that loyalty is appropriately bestowed upon a deserving recipient, it is a grand and noble thing.

The flip side of this coin is as insidious on its face and protective in the long run as loyalty is the other way around. While not a diagnostic criteria for ASD, a tendency to abruptly sever ties with little or no explanation is a common question on Autism screening tests. It is often chalked up to black and white thinking, and this is the only explanation that makes it make any sense to me. Otherwise, I have no idea why a switch suddenly flips in my head, telling me to walk away from someone I had deep affections for a moment before and never look back. Even when it hurts so unbearably much I'd rather be hit by a train, only forced proximity and outside intervention can unfurl the clenched fist of rejection once I've made up my mind. It's a pattern I've repeated far more times than I care to remember. I feel deeply sorry in retrospect for every time I've done it, but I had my reasons, they were logical, and I had to stick to them regardless of the consequences. I know this doesn't mean shit to the people I hurt.

I can only see in hindsight that I mattered enough to someone for my hasty departure to cause them suffering. It was only ever after I made up my mind to tarry no longer that their affections became clear enough to register. This has been a brutal source of confusion and misery throughout my life, but I now finally understand from whence this idiosyncrasy springs. I suppose this is why I now feel an ever more intense impulse to go out and say I'm sorry to everyone I ever did this to. Now I can explain it. Now that I understand the thing, I feel like my apology has more weight, is more sincere free from entanglement within my own self confusion. But I'm almost certain no one else gives a flying leap at a rolling donut.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, this unrelenting need to apologise for these transgressions haunts my dreams. While I find myself occasionally wending through my unwaking world to seek forgiveness from some of the minor players in my life, there is one refrain that dominates: seeking absolution from Ant. I beg for it in my dreams because I cannot grant it to myself in the light of day.

My dreams are always intense. Wild and fantastical worlds, complete with colour, sound, and even smells light up my nights and sometimes leave me feeling exhausted when I awake. I don't know whether it's sad, ironic, or just an early red flag I missed that one of the first presents Ant gave me was a dream journal. I thought it was a wonderful present initially, but when he added that I no longer needed to regale him with my nightly adventures as I could enter them in it instead, I was deflated. He was the first and last person to whom I ever tried to fully describe the magical realms of my dream world. So, it is certainly with more than a hint of irony that I now chase him through the hallways of my mind, endlessly trying to explain my actions and beg to resume our friendship.

I want to explain why I couldn't stand having face-to-face conversations to talk about our relationship problems, especially not when he insisted I make so much eye contact. I want to explain why I was so "embarrassingly" over the top at parties and incapable of making respectable small talk. I want to explain why I would invariably blow up and become a raging mess after every social occasion, why I just wanted to stay in bed sometimes even when the sun was shining, why I wanted to be alone with him and not out interacting with others so much of the time it drove him crazy.

I wish I could tell him that I didn't know I was worthy of love and therefore I didn't think I really mattered to him at all. I wish I could tell him that his insistence we share a tightly coupled schedule that allowed me no breathing room when I was completely overwhelmed by people and responsibilities fuelled the deepest burning resentment I'd ever experienced. I wish I could tell him that my suicidal ideation and adulterous fantasies were born out of an overwhelming and very real need for solitude. 

Through the lens of Autism, I can see all these stumbling blocks, inconsequential things to most people, but insurmountable obstacles to me. I am now able to look back and see how the mask I was forced to wear, a mask I'd only just started to don in the year before we met and welded into place with the guidance, tutelage and admonishments of those who "loved me most" during those years we were together, was slowly, silently strangling me. I had to get out to save my life.

I didn't leave because I stopped loving. I didn't leave because I wanted to be with someone else. I didn't leave because I needed something more convenient. I only left a little because I really wanted a cat… I left because I didn't know what I needed and even if I had, I sure as hell didn't know how to ask for it.

So, even though I've said I'm sorry before, and you've professed to forgive me even though it seemed disingenuous, here it is again, flung out into the ether because I don't want to disrupt your life again. As much as it would buoy my heart to count you among my friends in the world again, I sense that is not your wish at all. To you, the past is the past, what's done is done. I wish my brain could work that way too.

The Promise

A friend once asked me, as such friends are want to do sometime just before dawn after spending the preceding 18 or so hours together just wandering, pondering and occasionally snogging, to promise to visit Paris with him some day. Initially I just laughed it off as a ridiculous, sleep-deprivation-induced deluded demand, but he persisted. I told him I couldn't possibly make such a promise because I had no idea how I could be sure to keep it. Whether or not I could actually make good on my promise seemed immaterial to him, it was just the making of said promise he desired. This absolutely didn't compute within my literal, black and white brain, so I continually tried to dodge the request and ask that he reframe it so I could keep it. I quite doubt he has any recollection of receiving this promise today, but 25 years on, it still haunts me knowing there isn't a snowball's chance in hell I'll ever be able to fulfil it.

That's just how I am with promises. To me, they are a moral imperative, an unwritten social contract, an unbreakable oath. I thought deeply and extensively when writing my wedding vows to ensure I didn't say anything that I couldn't legitimately keep up, often including the word "try", because then if I tried but failed at something, I still kept my promise. I don't know if this is an Aspie trait or just me, but so many people seem to throw promises around willy-nilly with very little regard for their ability to fulfil them and I find this quite mortifying.

A few months ago, someone central to my life needed me to make a promise. They needed me to do something I was most unwilling to do, but it was a deal breaker. I could see quite plainly that the damage I would inflict to this person's sense of safety and security by not making the promise was too substantial for us to weather. They were also trying desperately to protect me from myself and my children with this promise, so it wasn't entirely self-serving. Finally I said, OK, I promise.

I have fought every instinct and some scathing criticism and personal attacks to uphold this promise as best as I can. Yes, I have looked for loopholes and had some minor transgressions (which I admitted to when queried), but for the most part, I have been resolute in holding to my principles. Unfortunately, there is another person suffering on the other side of this equation.

Initially, my steadfast convictions were admirable, lauded even, but now they are turned against me. Rather than possessing an unwavering moral compass, I am a "chickenshit" "heartless" succubus. It is a whiplash-inducing change in reception.

I find myself now in limbo. Toying with the edges of the loopholes leaves me anxious and guilt-ridden, filling my limited sleep with frightening dreams and clouding my waking thoughts. Strictly upholding my promise, on the other hand, brings ridicule, insults and personal attacks raining down, which fills me with animosity. I do not much care whether or not people like me out of hand, but I cannot abide being falsely accused of treacherous thoughts or acts. I never intentionally hurt anyone. I am simply trying to be as honest and true to my course as tractable.

In walks a stranger…

A glance and I'm cold to my core. Spine blazing with the intuition that something simply isn't right. The face, the name, all the same, but the eyes are burning with something unknown; a daemon within them, a psychosis resurfaced? These are not the true colours I thought once shone through.

Pulse quickening, I double check all doors are locked. Not that doors can keep this out, but just the same there's the false sense of security provided by the 'thunking' deadbolts. Wondering why I looked back into those eyes, I dim the lights and retreat to a shadowy corner, questioning my sanity, intuition, gut, heart, head, logic all over again for the eight thousandth time.

"Little Pig, Little Pig, let me in!" "Not by the skin of my brainy brain brain!!" "Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll weave you the most beautiful, beguiling and fantastical farce you've ever heard that will have you begging me to come in over and over and over again!" "Why, yes, please Mr. Wolf, you are ever so dashing and charming, do come in and would you like a cup of tea?"

I know I'm not stupid, but am I really so gullible? How can I think I knew someone so intimately, so deeply, so far beyond the realm of heretofore known reality and not have seen that steely glint in their eyes? Cold-bloodedness has usurped joyous warmth. Was it there all along, or did I put it there? Did I blow those dark and evil clouds away with my presence only for them to return redoubled when I vanished?

I don't know. I have no right to know. But I'm haunted.

All I ever wanted was to know the whole truth, the unadulterated, bald-faced, staggering, make you weep with agony, and nothing but the truth. Instead I staggered into the most twisted web of lies ever conceived. Why is 'honesty' such a lonely word?

False Narratives

The flip side of my unflinching, innate bent for absolute honesty (discussed in an earlier post) is that my bullshit detector is completely busted. Hence, with the exception of children's obviously tall tales and the espousing of patent falsehoods, which I know unreservedly to be untrue, I cannot see through the murky waters of half truths, misconceptions, manipulations, false fronts, and general smoke and mirrors that pervades most adult interactions. Therefore, my default position (learned from being burned oh, so many times) with new people is to presume that most of what they say is complete and utter horse shit, until they manage to earn my trust.

When I am in the initial frame of mind with someone, their exaggerations, omissions and false statements don't really bother me. I expect it. I find it mildly amusing to marvel at how anyone can spin so many stories and why they might choose to do so. I don't take it personally and I don't place any import or credence on much of anything they say.

But the tide turns completely once I allow them through my carapace of disbelief. Once they are on the inside I am wholly splayed out and vulnerable to whatever false narratives they may weave. As I cannot discern the untrue subtleties of a carefully crafted story based on real events, no matter how implausible the embellishments I will swallow them whole. My trust in another becomes so complete and resolute, regardless of almost any evidence to the contrary, I continue to believe their every word until something definite shatters the illusion.

The effect of this treachery is akin to the unreservedly loved and trusted master of a faithful puppy kicking the shit out the poor animal when it bounds up for an outstretched treat. Gutted. Utter disbelief and disorientation. Terror. Horror. Confusion.

What to do with that kind of befuddlement? What to do with the love that disintegrates in such a perplexing moment? Where to turn in the disarray of swirling thoughts and pain when the trusted master is the one inflicting the pain?

Someone more skilled at decoding the typical spectrum of "truth" and "lies" in normal everyday adult human interactions would be less likely to suffer such a blow, I presume. A fully functioning B.S. detector would register the half-truths, the exaggerations, the subtle manipulations, and omissions and place them correctly in their designated boxes, allowing the relationship to progress at an appropriate level of trust. But without that critical tool at my disposal, everything gets lumped in its entirety either in the TRUTH or LIE pile. The entire relationship or friendship and everything that was ever said gets thrown in the same heap.

There's a small part of my brain that is capable of reasoning that every human interaction sits somewhere on a sliding scale between true and false. But the overwhelming majority of my brain screams its rejection of this possibility. The allowance of a spectrum of truth is a completely learned construct for me, not my default mode. Hence, when I feel someone I trust has been at all insincere with me, I sever the tie immediately and completely. I cannot bear the heart ache of having my deeply trusting nature taken advantage of. I hate that I am an easy mark for the unscrupulous deceiver who manages to make it through my front line. I am saddened that another round of broken trust undoubtedly means I close myself off even more to the possibility of new friendships around the corner because I cannot trust my judgement of character.

Honesty - It's such a lonely word

One of the most fundamental things to who I am and who I have always been is my deep-seated honesty. I find it physically reviling to lie and feel deeply wounded when it becomes clear I have been deceived by others. I have learned, through nearly 40 years of many hard and sometimes painful lessons, that "little white lies" are the social lubricant that protects other's feelings and keeps society generally flowing along.

I have learned, for instance, not to tell people that I don't like the gift they've given me and to encourage them to take it back (although I still think this is ridiculous). I know I am supposed to respond to the seemingly innocuous question from strangers or acquaintances of, "how are you today?" with "great!" or "fine, thanks!" regardless of how horribly I'm actually falling apart at that moment.  I have learned that no one wants, or honestly really needs, me to tell them that they're overweight/have unhealthy eating habits, that their breath stinks/they're wearing far too much perfume/cologne, etc. These situations make me very uncomfortable both because of the assault to my senses and because I feel an overwhelming need to express this 'truth'. I know now that it's best just to get away from the other person as quickly as possible to alleviate both my sensory overload and the mental grating of omitting the truth. Neither option makes me a particularly gregarious individual, but I've learned it's preferable to be seen as rather awkward and a bit scatter brained than outright rude or 'bitchy'.

But where is the line between protecting the feelings of others and weaving a web of lies? When does an exaggeration become a falsehood? Is it a lie if the purveyor believes what s/he says even if that doesn't line up with actual facts that unfolded?

What about the lies children learn to tell themselves, and by extension others, to protect themselves from harm inflicted by those to whom biology dictates they trust? Can these stories ever be completely picked apart, every Rashomonian angle observed, to weave a complete tapestry of what truly unfolded? And when lying becomes a reflex, a cascade of little lies growing into a deluge of larger ones, because the child is instinctively burying a horrifying, terrible truth deep inside him/herself with the lies as the only means of survival, can that child grow into an adult who speaks the truth? Can s/he be blamed or really held responsible if that's not possible?

The constructs of the mind, especially the gifted and brilliant minds capable of so remarkably much, so are powerful that they may not be able to be opened at all, even by the mind that created it. Unfortunately, these minds can wreak havoc on others they encounter. Society labels these minds "manipulative", "deceitful", "crazy", "sociopathic", and perhaps they are. But perhaps too these are the most desperate cries for help. The trapped child begging to finally speak the truth and be held safely.

I end this post with a poignant quote from Alain de Botton's The Course of Love:

Few in this world are ever simply nasty; those who hurt us are themselves in pain. The appropriate response is hence never cynicism or aggression but, at the rare moments one can manage it, always love.