Rewriting the Story

Rewriting the Story

 

I’ve started making a couple new friendships, and with these friendships I’ve started something new. With the first friendship, instead of deep-diving into my story of pain and suffering and suddenly becoming “that guy,” I let him talk. Two hours of him talking about whatever he wanted to talk about. No, it wasn’t a monologue; it was a conversation infodump with him at the helm, and I was so glad to listen to his passion about work and his family and comics and books! Those two hours flew by! For once, I got out of my head and into someone else’s. I got out of “feelings” and into something new… excitement!

The second one happened recently. I know I need work with boundaries, and this was a fellow who knew he was on the spectrum also, so I felt comfortable shooting straight with him: these are the boundaries. We aren’t going to make it about pain and suffering. It’s not going to be about tragedy. We are going to keep it lighthearted! You cool with that? It was so refreshing to have an honest conversation at the start of “here’s where we’re going” instead of being the open book that I usually am.

Don’t get me wrong. I love being an open book. But the same chapters have been read and reread and read until they are worn to shreds. I’m tired of being defined by the same few events in my life centered around pain. I want to find new memories stored in my noggin that are positive that will rewrite my story. Yes, I still am the same person. Yes, the pain still happened to me. But the suffering doesn’t have to continue.

I took my role as healer very seriously… but I don’t think I was equipped nor had the boundaries for it. I’m washing my hands of it. The open invitation to “vent to me when you want to” never went the way I expected it to, and why should it? I thought helping lead someone through pain led to connection, but it doesn’t. It was just a lame excuse to try to make me feel like I was of some use to people. And now I don’t know what use I am. And that is where I falter. I feel like I have to have some use, some purpose beyond just existing for people to think anything of me.

Who am I if I am not serving other people?

Wow! What a brain twister! I’ve been conditioned to serve my whole life to the point I never questioned it until this instant. Who am I if I am not serving other people? It’s a terrifying and freeing thought. What would I do if I didn’t have to worry about “serving the greater good.” Helping people genuinely makes me happy. But would I still do it if I hadn’t been conditioned at an early age to do it? I’m autistic. “People” are at the end of the spectrum of everything I am HORRIBLE at. So why do it?

Why do you do what you do? I mean, your job is to make money and provide for your household, obviously. But why do you do what you do?

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