I had one of those strange lucid moments today. They seem to be happening quite often here at college. It is only the first week and I have had two. Or maybe it is the nootropics increasing my mental faculties. Or maybe it is part of a decline that I am not fully aware of, and my reasoning is declining, causing me to come to false realizations.

So, in this instructional complex, there are 4 levels, and in each level there is a lounge for people to sit. I think the original idea was to be able to sit at the level of your class if you show up a bit early, but it seems like that is unlikely what it is really used for considering what I have observed.

Basically, the first 3 levels are always full of people, or at least full enough that you can't sit anywhere without sitting by anyone. The 4th level, however, is almost empty. Indeed, there have been times I have been there and I have been the only one.

Even with the people being as nice as they are at my college, I am still afraid to sit on the lower levels. But it is not just fear. I get an overwhelming type of bad excitement around that many people. It is kinda difficult to explain, but there are people everywhere, and they are all talking, and in a room like that, I feel like I am constantly trying to decipher voices from the mass of people, and everything seems to be "swimmy" with my attention. I can't even concentrate at all, because there are so many inputs, and my processing speed admittedly isn't good enough to keep up.

I don't really have any real friends yet, so I just go to the 4th floor, and it is really nice, actually. Sometimes there are other people up there, people who remind me of people I have been brief friends with in the past(like just in a tech class or something, then we never see each other again), normally people who you can tell obviously have asperger's or some type of ASD that impairs social sensing ability.

I honestly don't mind these types of people, often I prefer them because they seem to be much nicer in a passive sort of way even though they can get annoying since they don't know when to stop talking. But I normally find their obsessions to be interesting. I think if anyone can obsess over something, there is obviously something interesting about it, and if you actually listen to them, you can pick up what it is, and then you can see the object in a new light.

Anyway, I was sitting up here on the 4th floor for a one hour interlude between my classes, reading random wikipedia articles on my phone and observing the people around me from my perefrial vision. I know a decent amount about autism and asperger's both from friends and from researching it. I do kinda have some ASD traits, and I can become more obsessed with things than the average person, but my obsessions are not as strong as anyone with asperger's, and asperger's behavior is markedly different from my sort of social dysfunction. I am odd and misfitting, but in a different way.

There had always been a running thought of "do I actually have asperger's?", but I never really confirmed or denied it. I don't read the symptoms and think "Yeah, that is me" like so many people with it see to do.

So, as I sat up here, I saw quite a few people who ACTUALLY have these sorts of social impairments, and it was obvious that I am not one of them. I don't think I share the same type of air about me. Theirs comes across as almost robotic or innocent. Mine comes off as cold, hesitant, insecure, skeptical, and observant in a paranoid type of way (although I am not so paranoid any more, the air remains, I feel).

For the first time, it dawned upon me that I definitely do not have asperger's, and I probably do not have an ASD unless it is some really obscure point on the spectrum.

Yet I still feel so far removed from society, almost inhuman, and I think that was a tough realization: that somewhere beneath this avoidant behavior is the me that built it, and that me is not normal, was not normal, and is not like the other people who have an ASD.

It was sort of a bittersweet realization.

In a way, it was liberating from the question "am I on the autism spectrum". The calmness of being alone also made me remember that I am who I am, and it is okay to like to be alone sometimes, and it is okay to find peace in being alone.

But it was also painful in that I realize I will never like the things that normal people like, and I will never be like them. Even though I may be able to find a way to function with them, and enjoy being around them, I will always be misfitting in some way, I will always be the miscolored duck in the group. Integration can only get me functioning with them. I cannot enjoy things like parties, nor do I really have a desire to enjoy them other than for the sake of interacting with people who I like. But this wasn't an entirely painful experience. Sobering is more the word, I think.

I feel like I am standing on the side of the train tracks, and the world is the train that is constantly going along the tracks. And every now and then, a hand will reach out and grab me, and they will be leaning off the side of the train car, half in, and half out. I will be holding onto their hand, and we will be talking with them holding me to the train while to speeds along. Maybe with some work, we could pull me into the cart, but I will never be able to stay there long or really enjoy it because the tables and chairs are on the ceiling, and I lack the ability to hang upside down for long without extreme discomfort. I have to get off the train before long because just wandering its halls is awkward, and I really don't belong on it anyway. I still respect the people who pulled me aboard, but I tell them I have to leave. They think it is okay although a lot of the people on the train don't see how I could possibly want to sit on the floor instead of the ceiling. So, I go back off the tracks and work on my shelter to their side, growing some food, and reading some books. Meanwhile, everyone on the train thinks "that must be so boring" or "he is so strange". Sometimes, I go closer to the tracks and exchange food with the people on the train who will sometimes pull me aboard. I always see the train going by, and we exchange items some times, but there is not much of a connection. Sometimes I invite the hand-handers from the train to my little shack, and we have a meal at my place, but it makes them uncomfortable- the seats on the floor and the lack of constant motion.

I really like your comparison to the train, it is an eloquent way to describe what I have often experienced as well. I always feel like I am the outsider even when I do participate in social situations, leaning off the side of the train car.

And an unrelated comment, it is interesting how the design of the building influenced all of the people with difficulties relating socially to congregate in one place that was more peaceful for them. In terms of making friends it gives you a major clue about people's personalities and how you would mesh with them.