On being asocial.

And wondering whether to pathologize it.

My name is Norm, and I have an extraordinarily hard time socializing.

Reflexively, I want to decline every invitation. I’m perpetually worried about when an invitation will come, and I’m often relieved when the natural logistics are such that I know one won’t.

I think the correct word for it is ‘asocial’, since ‘antisocial’ implies some sort of “misanthropy or antagonism.” I’m obviously introverted, but I don’t dislike people at all. In fact, my favorite things to read and listen to are all about people. I devour podcasts like Beautiful Stories From Anonymous People, This Is Actually Happening, Terrible, Thanks for Asking, and The Secret Room. Whatever you would call the media masterpiece that is Humans of New York, that’s my kind of candy. And back in the day, when I didn’t know I’d grow up to be someone Chic-Fil-A would frown upon, I absolutely adored (and read and re-read) those Children Just Like Me books that came in the kids’ meals.

So yeah. I think people are amazing. But I’m perpetually desperate to be by myself.

As a child, I genuinely don’t remember giving this a second thought. When they say that autistic kids exist in their own world, I was excellent anecdotal evidence. If you gave me some drawing paper, the family Compaq Presario, or the same three books, I was completely golden. Pleasant acquaintances, perfectly packaged into set school hours, were more than I ever seemed to need, and I hated lunchtime more than anything…