Duality

It seems that there are two sides to me: gentle and hard. You could also call them nice and mean, loving and hateful, open and closed. I would explain further, but I think that, as well as what I will write next, is sufficient to give you an idea of what each side is like.

For the past few months, I've been gentle. I wanted to be part of the world, instead of hiding away from it inside my room. I tried to reconnect with people, and succeeded a few times. I tried to make new friends, and I did. But whatever I accomplished, the most important part was that I was trying. I removed the wall around my self, brick by brick, letting people in.

For the past few days, I've been hard. Doesn't quite sound right, does it? I've been an asshole, basically. Not to anyone's face, but I've been an asshole inside. I've been angry and upset, and I've wanted to see the whole world go up in flames. I've cursed people for the slightest thing; I've cursed people simply for being alive. I built the wall back up and even made it taller, though admittedly it is weaker due to my haste.

For anyone that may not know, this "wall" business is a reference to Pink Floyd's album The Wall. If you've ever wondered what "the wall" was in the songs, it's pretty much what I've been talking about, a wall inside the main character's heart separating him from other people.

What caused the switch? I know what did it, though it's not worth discussing. It was a single thing, but it hurt my pride and my belief in a meaningful universe, where signs exist and you have a fated path you walk down. The gentle me, that is delicate and easily wounded, couldn't take it. So I hardened, donning the form better suited to handling pain. Wounded pride is a terrible thing, especially for me. Add to it the sadness and fear I'd been feeling from worrying that I had wasted years of my life and that nothing awaits me in the future, and, well - here I am, bitter and seething with contempt, hoping to freeze my heart for good and never have to deal with this sort of shit again.

But my desires for the future are too strong, and I lived as a frozen shell for too many years. I can already feel myself slipping back to that gentle side. How many more times will I play this game?

I don't know if this is an Aspie thing, and I dare not assume that it is, but maybe other people do this, too, or have in the past. I know that I feel things too much sometimes, that they cut through me and leave me bleeding  and crying for help, when other people would simply moan for a day or so and then be over it. I can't help that, and I don't know how I'd ever be able to keep it from happening. That's part of life, part of Asperger's. How do other Aspies deal with being wounded?

The ocean waves come,
and they go, splash and recede.
Is that comforting?