I see my friendships as fluid, like standing at the center of a room while my “friends” whiz past me in a hazy blur. Growing up, I had some friends—maybe not a large circle, but I remember being friendly with my peers. Because I was quiet, I often faded into the background. The friends I did have eventually moved away or began to spend time with other groups, leaving me feeling excluded.
As I transitioned into middle and high school, cliques began to form, and my peers started developing their identities. While I maintained friendly relationships, I never truly identified with any particular group. School was challenging for me, and I sought escape through various means. I found myself skipping classes, experimenting with alcohol, and smoking my first cigarette. These escapades temporarily filled a void and made social situations feel more comfortable. However, substances like weed and alcohol often took center stage during hangouts, leading me to believe that these surface-level connections were genuine friendships.
Reflecting on this neurodivergent journey, I now question whether many of those friendships were indeed shallow. As groups splintered into smaller, tighter-knit circles, I was left feeling isolated, without a sense of belonging. This sense of loneliness fueled my resort to escapism and masking behaviors, such as drinking, drug use, and promiscuity.
Now, as I begin to understand the nuances of my neurodivergent mind, I realize that my difficulty in maintaining friendships or forming deeper connections is not my fault. I am learning to give myself grace and to appreciate the relationships I had, even if they didn’t last.
We have three types of friends in life: Friends for a reason, friends for a season, and friends for a lifetime.
As I get older and take off my mask, I appreciate my solitude and the few friendships I have. I hope that as I keep going on this journey, I’ll feel more comfortable with others seeing me in my neurodivergent self.