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I have heard from some that I am too verbose, too wordy, write letters that are too long, talk too much. Then again, I hear quite the opposite from other people – that I am too quiet, don’t talk much, they forget I am there. Maybe that is the best – for them to forget I am here.

I don’t want to bother people, but I am afraid that I do. I am afraid that I talk too much to them, share too much, ask too many questions, explain too extensively. I can’t tell if they are interested, bored, or what.

Today my AS seems bigger than I am. It overwhelms me. I never wanted to bother anyone, never wanted to bore anyone, never wanted anyone to think that I talk too much or write too much.

My world, this world inside me where I am safe, is probably the best place for me to be. It doesn’t extend to the world “out there” where most people are, the world that is confusing and loud and doesn’t understand me – and doesn’t want me. Sometimes I venture out, but each time I am convinced even more that I don’t belong.

I am tired of trying to fit in. Tired of trying to have friends and forge relationships with people who don’t want me. I am tired of extending my “social circle” beyond my husband. And sometime I think even he is disappointed in me, frustrated with me and even at times wishes I was normal (whatever that is) or would just go away.

I am tired of trying to communicate with people; who don’t want to communicate with me, don’t want to hear me or exchange ideas. I am tired of bothering people and being afraid I am bothering people. Everyone is so busy, no one has time to just stop and listen.

I try to stop and listen to people because you never know what is going on inside them. You never know who you will touch, whose life you will make a difference in by just stopping and giving them your attention – listening to them.

But listening is a dying art. I don’t think anyone really does it anymore.

I do believe that there is an unspoken hierarchy in our society. There are people who matter and people who don’t. There are people who are noticed and those who are ignored. People who are valued and people who are forgotten. I have tried to make myself valuable in this world, but it just doesn’t happen. I do everything I can to help people, volunteer to do things, but I can’t get beyond my status. I am in the group of people who are ignored, forgotten and don’t matter. It is probably easier for most people that way because they don’t know what to do with me. I am too different. I have no value in this world.

No matter what you do for people, you can’t buy friends. My only value here lies in what I can offer – and I can’t offer much.

But do I really want “friends” who are only my friends when I have something they want, something to offer and benefit them?

My world may be lonely at times, but it is safe. No one can reach me here. I don’t have to have people, don’t have to have friends. I think I prefer this place. Here people can’t tell me that I talk too much (because I am not talking to anyone) or write letters and emails that are too long (because I am not writing to anyone). They don’t have to acknowledge me; that I even exist. I can go back to being invisible. That way they have no pressure to reach out to me, talk to me, befriend me and I don’t get hurt.

So, my resolutions:

1.  Speak only when spoken to

2.  Only nod and/or smile in greeting (in this world that is sufficient, most people don’t really want you to do more than that – I can do that)

3.  Limit my written communication (email and letters) to one or two words, if absolutely necessary, one sentence (5 or 6 words) but never more than two sentences

4.  When I have questions, only ask the question, do not offer the explanation to provide context. If more information is needed, the person answering the question can ask – limit answers to 5 or 6 words.

5.  Be invisible (this means be quiet and stop bothering people)

Today, December 10, is a very painful day for me. 20 years ago today I lost my baby. The day started out normal, happy (was four months along and very excited), but by the afternoon, my happy day had turned tragic. I was slammed into a wall. A short while later, I was taken to the hospital and told that my baby had died.

My writing here will be my outlet. That way, if someone thinks I am writing too much or saying too much, they can click on the little red X in the top right hand corner of the page – and I am not bothering them any longer.

I know that God created me, but I don’t think I was meant for this world – not the way that it is.

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