I just realized that I wasn’t an angry child in my youth. I was just often overstimulated and acted out due to it.

It wasn’t anger. It was me being overwhelmed. It wasn’t me being unreasonable. It was me being unable to cope. It explains why I barely had friends. And also why not having friends never really bothered me all that much.

I did want friends. But I couldn’t connect. I spent so much time in my own head, trying to not think of how disconnected I felt. Or, did I just prefer to spend time with myself more?

Perhaps I’m just trying to reason my current situation away. But, I do admit to being a lonely child trying to make friends.

I’m not against communication. I just have problems vocalising. It wasn’t until I discovered I could make friends online that I finally grasped that connections can also be made in that way. It felt easier. More fluent.

Just because I have a hard time judging peoples intentions doesn’t mean I can’t see the subtleties in their writing. Or that time doesn’t teach me a person’s habits and won’t let me see inconsistencies.

I’m not a social person. But I do feel like I can be communicative. I might not sound like I care but I do tend to do little things for those I care for. I might not get jokes but I still have a sense of humour.

I don’t care much for my childhood. Most of it is pretty vague anyway. But I guess I do care about the younger me who needed help but didn’t receive it. Maybe that’s why I spent most of my time inside my own head.

There isn’t much room for regret. I don’t remember much anyway. But perhaps I miss the accumulation of happy memories. Of receiving the right care. Maybe the blank patches of my childhood are what should be grieved instead.