#thaopow

1. I met one of you years ago, And that friendship has shed and grown, And then I met the rest - you see I felt my heart begin to beat

And after years of growth and time, And money that was not all mine, I was able to meet again In person those that I call friends

2. Two weeks was never going to be Enough time to let you see How much it all meant to me, Or more of you that I could see

Now the goal that’s in my heart Is to get there where you are And spend my life in the nest Where I can be at my best

3. One of you asked me, weeks ago, - When my desire to go there showed - “Are you sure you want to come? And not stay there, with everyone?”

I am not okay. This is not news. I have become used to not being okay. As I was growing up, my family got hit pretty bad in the recession. This happened when I became lucid in life, and constitutes many of my early memories. My parents, both artists in their own right, suddenly had no income. My father particularly, a photographer, was having a hard time. As it turns out, the social apathy that many Irish people have is not a good target audience for photography. 

Many people would see my father’s work, and claim they could “do it themselves”, or that it was “surely Photoshopped” (These people frustrate me the most, as they obviously have no idea that, in taking a picture, the camera cannot show the image as it actually is, so in every case, a little editing is needed to make the image look like what it was in reality).

Anyway, as I came to find out, he would be supported by my mother, a garden designer. However, soon before I started secondary school, she started getting less and less work too. So, while they never struggled to put food on the table, if something in the house broke, we would take a financial hit. (This changed, but still remained uncomfortable when my mother was diagnosed with fibromyalgia, and was unable to work in gardens. She now receives disability allowance, and is doing well as a seamstress.)

They always tried to keep me entertained, of course, and for that I am eternally grateful. They bought me various Nintendo consoles,  for Christmas and my birthdays, and ways to keep me entertained in the little house we had in the middle of the Irish countryside, as well as when they had to take me with them to work. I have memories of playing Pokemon in the car while my mother worked in a garden, and of games online behind the counter of my father’s gallery. 

Now, I was always a goody-two shoes. My parents were never strict, but this only made me want to do as they said more. Add to this the fact that I am the youngest of four, most of my formative years were spent entertaining myself, as any attempt to engage with my elder siblings was either met with laughter, annoyance, or disinterest. This probably affected my social skills too. 

Being in the Irish countryside, and being the kind of child who didn’t exactly adhere to gender norms, I had very few people I could call friends. Well, none who, in retrospect, seemed to feel similarly about me. 

I had one friend, though. My best friend growing up, Adam. He, however, lived too far away that my parents were always wary of the cost of fuel to get there and back. Now, I was still able to get there for birthdays and such. 

One of my earliest memories is of sitting on his lawn, after his birthday party, after everyone else had left, and after about twenty minutes, he came outside. We were very young, probably six or seven years of age, and he said “Oh, Matthew! I thought you’d left already.”

Through primary school, he was the friend I held on to. When he wasn’t there, I would simply sit and watch the other children play. Sometimes even when he was there, because he had other friends. 

After a few years, he became friends with a new boy in the school, a boy from England. Because Adam was hanging out with this new boy so much, I, by proxy, also began to hang out with him. His name was James.

James and I quickly became friends, and when Adam wasn’t in school, I would play with him. Now, he played sport, but I much preferred watching him play than watching the other children. I felt a part of it somehow. 

Unfortunately, due to my own mild autism, even at a young age I was unsuccessful with the opposite sex. Before I discovered my own bisexuality, my focus was on girls. The girls, and indeed many of the children in my school, knew I was different somehow. One of the reasons why I only had one or two friends for several years. 

I was always mildly envious of James, who, even back then, was a very athletic boy. He played rugby. I played computer games. Girls looked at him differently than they did me. I always laughed it off, knowing that I wasn’t one to be fancied. I was the comic relief. Even as a child, watching reruns of Friends, I understood my role as a “funny friend.” (This is a habit and mindset that continues today, unfortunately. It’s a difficult one to shake off.)

Another memory I have is of the last week of primary school. (I was aged 12.) The school decided to have a camp-out for the whole class. This was a day I got a hint of friendship, of camaraderie. This instilled me with a happiness that made me very excited. Towards the end of the evening, (Even after struggling to find a seat around the campfire because no one would make room) I was laughing so hard, I quite literally fell over. I was lying on my back, looking up at the sky, and I stopped laughing. The sky looked different. Fuller. Foreshadowing a better time that I’d never thought of, I imagined. 

My not-so-well-off family was at home, and I was with people I knew, and - as far as I was aware - enjoyed my company. 

The next day James told me, “You know they all think you’re really weird, right?”

I cannot fault James for his keen observations. He was trying to help, after all.

James was going to a different secondary school, and me, already interested in film, took a video camera to the “Final Day” Party at one of the kids’ houses. I’m not sure if the video still survives, but there is a part where James and I are being collected from the house afterward (we often carpooled, for obvious reasons,) and he looked at me, and gave me a sad smile. I knew he was sad he wouldn’t be with those people anymore. I was going to the same secondary school they were all going to, not to the one he was. (This showed me hints at a depression James is still dealing with today - This foreshadows a pattern in my life also.)

This was not by accident. James’ parents couldn’t fork out the cash needed to go to the private school my parents wanted me to attend, as it was the school my siblings had gone to, and was the best in the area. (For all the good it did me, but again, I have to thank them. Nothing extremely bad ever happened in my school, and given the circumstances, it really was the best school in the area.)

On the first day of secondary school, I walked in completely content, knowing things would probably be the same in my social life, where I would casually watch the other children play sports, keep my head down and study, and be avoided by many. This is what my life had always been, and was meant to be. I ended up befriending a boy with a locker adjacent to mine. (I say ‘befriended’ very loosely, which is explained below.)

I always made friends by finding people I thought were better than me, because people weren’t friends with me if they had another choice. I was always the beta, theta, omega even. It’s what I know. It’s what I have lived through. This brought a lot of problems, which I still feel today. Add to this the fact that most of the friends I had would just make fun of me, I was used to being the lowest in the hierarchy. 

It’s hard to say when my depression started to seep in. (Don’t misunderstand - this text is not about my mental illness, I just feel obligated to include it, as it was, unfortunately, a very large part of my teenage years.)

Whenever it was that I started to feel “wrong”, I happened to discover this website at the same time. I made many friends on here, as I saw many people who felt the same as me - Isolated, injured, damaged. Broken. I tried to help where I could, but a friendship with two broken people, as you know, is not a good or healthy one. (It didn’t help that my sister, two or three years my elder, was going through a similar experience, and tended to use me as a verbal punching bag. We have a good relationship, though I am still cautious of her.)

I saw many self-injuries. Many scars, both physical and mental. This did not help my own illness. If any of those people see this, and remember me, I apologise. I know your memories of me are probably not happy ones. 

However, I mention this period because it brought me to my current best friend, and, of all of them before, the one I felt actually had my interests at heart, rather than what society believed I should be. Her name is Becca and she lives in the U.S.

She, even then, felt like an incredibly Important part of my life, and even in our damaged, awful, unhealthy, toxic friendship such as it was, she taught me many lessons that I have used since. (Such as my love of music - specifically The Mountain Goats - and she is always helping me to be a better person.) 

However, as all toxic friendships must, it ended. (Only for a brief period. My depression peaked during this absence, and I remember lying in bed, at 4 in the afternoon, crying that I was alone once more. Then my illness plateaued, and allowed me the strength to seek help for it.) 

In her absence, I tried filling the void with other friendships (and many sexual encounters. Again, if one of those people sees this, I am truly sorry.) This is how I met another of my current best friends, Carisa, who lives in Canada. Then, Becca returned, apologising for her absence, asking forgiveness. I gave it to her, of course. Even though she had hurt me, she was still as important to me as ever.

An interesting point I should mention is that before Becca left, I had developed feelings for her. During her absence, these feelings changed, rotted, grew, and I had many crises, which ended in my feelings fading over a very long period. Before Becca, I had been infatuated with many girls, but due to my mild autism, I thought life progressed like the movies, and incessant pestering is what made girls fall in love. (It doesn’t.)

After Becca, I have yet to develop lasting romantic feelings for anyone else. I find this interesting, and difficult to interpret. Have I been damaged beyond repair by a depression-addled experience from when I was a preteen? Or have I just matured so that I am more careful about who I should fall for? I am unsure how this will develop. 

During Becca’s absence, Carisa helped me as best she could. Again, this was a friendship borne of mutual depression, and so had its pitfalls, but we dealt with them. These pitfalls turned out to be several experiences with Dissociative Identity Disorder (Otherwise known as Multiple Personality Disorder, which is exactly as scary as it sounds.)

The last few years of secondary school were different to primary. I had more friends, (The boy I had befriended in my first year turned out to be an asshole who - moments after hearing of my depression and suicidal thoughts from my own mouth - told me I was useless for the rest of the day. I thought, at the time, that this was fair, and actually kind of funny.) I had more opportunities to engage with what I wanted to do (acting), but ultimately, the routine was hard on me. Get up, make breakfast and lunch, go to school, come home, do homework, eat dinner, maybe skype my Internet friends, go to bed, repeat.

My solace was the skype calls. These were the friends I knew cared about me. I was certain that I would never be one hundred percent okay in life, I would always be afraid, or anxious, or affected by my past, but these friends made me feel happy. I even met some of Carisa’s friends, (and boyfriends) and later, some of Becca’s. I began to play Dungeons and Dragons via skype call with Becca, and her two friends Thao, and Avery. This started a year or two ago. 

Last year, I had the thought to visit Becca. I had always loved the idea of meeting Carisa or Becca in person, and running to them in the airport, hugging them, showing them how important their friendship is to me. How Real their friendships were to me, how they helped me through the hardest, worst, darkest periods of my life. But last year was different. Becca’s parents knew about me now (Thanks to my sending a letter to her address, invading a part of her privacy.) and after many conversations with Becca on the topic, even though she felt hesitant, her parents told her one day that I would be welcome to stay over. A visit was on the table.

After scavenging as much money together as I could through work, gifts, and borrowing (Thanks, Becca. It’s coming to you.) I was finally able to go over and visit. I booked my ticket, and several months and many anxieties later, I was on a plane. 

This is where the video comes in, and in it I mention how I cried on the way over to the States. There are many reasons for this. Tiredness, anxiety. But, undeniably, unarguably, one of them was the gravity of the situation. I was going to see someone who had shaped my life, one of the few Real Friends I have in this world. One of the few people that, because of my nature-and-nurture circumstances, I am able to trust. The trip ended up being the happiest experience in my life, not just because of this, but because while I was there, stuffed in a car with these friends I had made over the internet, I felt something new.

I finally felt okay. 

The worries, anxieties, the social ineptitude, the everythingness of the world that had made me feel not-okay growing up, it was gone. For two sweet weeks, it was gone. I felt the way I believe everyone does when they find The Thing That Sustains Them. I know that my life belongs with those people. I now also seem to understand that my messy life, in these unfortunate circumstances, has caused me to be a messy person. On the trip, I had a conversation with Becca, where I mentioned I wouldn’t be at all surprised if someone I was dating cheated on me. She was surprised by this statement. I explained that surely this was something that just happened to people, from what I understood it. This was a common pain. 

On that trip, I developed a deeper relationship with Avery and Thao. Avery and I mesh together very well, and I often imagine we would be good roommates. 

Now, I’m three weeks into college, and I am back to living with not being okay. This feeling is heightened by the fact that I know what Being Okay feels like. It is now a goal I cannot reach for at least another two years (Both for financial and technical reasons.)

My feelings are messy. I have yet to fall for someone since or other than Becca (The feelings occasionally do some rounds in my mind. Another interesting development that I’m unsure what to do with), so my friends are my world. 

Their distance pains me. I am used to pain. For a very long time, I just assumed it was how people lived. You can hopefully, by now, at least partly understand my confused, messy mind. I am not okay. Currently, I am a broke college student who has until the end of the month to find a place to stay or my sister is going to kick me out. Before that, I was with my parents in the middle of the countryside, swirling in a pit of inactivity, and before that, I was in secondary school. All times of discomfort, but discomfort that I assumed was normal. 

My life, my circumstances of growing up not-quite-broke and being afraid of spending money, my isolation from other children due to my own inability to make friends and their inability to accept me, my experiences with various mental illnesses, all of these things have contributed to the thoughts I have today. Many of these thoughts are anxious - How should I feel? Am I doing this correctly? Am I being a good friend? Do the people I care about most in this world think about me as much as I do them? Am I a source of money loss for my parents? Am I a burden? Do I overthink things too much? (The answer to that last question is most definitely a yes.)

My mother is enjoying her new work immensely, as she worked as a seamstress for many years before gardening. My father teaches photography workshops, and does the occasional wedding shoot. They are both becoming more comfortable. (I do wonder if my new absence has helped this.) However, this does not change my upbringing. 

I am learning, every day. My autistic tendencies are still there, and my anxiety is constant, but I am becoming comfortable again. It is a comfort in pain, and it is not ideal, but until I can go to the people I belong to, it is a comfort I must live with. This seems both extremely difficult, because I know how long it will take and what I am missing until then, but also fairly easy, since, as you may have guessed, I am used to being uncomfortable, and accepting that I cannot have what I want, or live the life I want. 

The product of this mess, of all of these years, (summarised here - I’ll give more details in my memoirs, no doubt) of all of these feelings of accepted pain and discomfort, is that I have messy thoughts. Messy thoughts that, like ghosts of my past or demons in my mind, will taunt me, mock me, or tell me that you too, find me as a burden. I will need comfort. 

For this, I apologise. I will not always be comfortable in my pain. I ask you all to be patient, as you have been until this point. If I could repay you all with gifts, I would give you everything I owned, and all the money I have. For now, I can only use words. 

But I want you to know, you beautiful, amazing people, that I am eternally grateful for everything you do, everything you have done, and everything you may do for me in the future. Words cannot express how grateful I am. 

I love you all. I hope one day I can show you how much.