It’s not
on a very regular basis that I give a serious thought to how
differently my life would’ve worked out if I were the polar
opposite of my real self. Then again, I’m not much of a fan of
speculation either.
One thing I can say for certain is that I wouldn’t have been born with Asperger’s Syndrome. To be honest, I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it. Sometimes I’m completely fine with it, other times I’m a whole lot less fine with it.
I do feel as though I’ve blamed certain things about myself too much on my Asperger’s. Namely, I used to blame my never having had a girlfriend on it. Believe me when I say this, though: it’s not even among the stupidest forms of self-deprecation I’ve practiced.
I know I already addressed the topic once, but I feel the need to return to it, if only for self-reflective purposes. Luckily for myself, I’ve learned to stop thinking back to past mistakes. Well, I’ve learned to stop doing so dangerously often anyway. Nonetheless, whenever I do think back to a past mistake, I often ask myself what I was thinking and call myself an idiot. That, I dare say, is not the nicest thing to do to yourself.
On the other hand, that form of self-deprecation has taught me not to repeat those mistakes, if only because I remind myself of how stupid I was. I strive to do, if not the exact opposite, at least something else than what I did when I fucked up. In a very morbid sense, you could call it self-taught ethics. I can only imagine what professional psychologists would think about my ways of self-education.
While it has worked in its own way, I can’t say it’s been entirely healthy to the rest of my psyche. I can’t even recall the last time I felt genuine joy. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m even completely sane. My mind is a haze of indifference, balancing precariously between happiness and self-loathing, the two spinning around each other like Yin and Yang.
At least my mind manages to keep itself afloat, even with all the chaos it has to put up with.