Chapter 22 #2
“Remi,” I tell her, offering Mouse my fingernail to chew on. She gets bored after a while and heads off to explore the room. “He’s so…openly affectionate. He never hides his happiness from me. I’m scared…”
Steph gives me a moment before prompting me gently. “Scared of what?”
“If I pick him…truly pick him, there won’t be any going back.”
I’m afraid I’m already past that point. Remi isn’t like any of my previous partners. My heart has been telling me that for weeks now, even if I’ve tried my best not to listen too closely.
My therapist hums. “The problem?”
“What if he leaves me?”
“Why would he?” she counters. “Very first thought that enters your head.”
“I’m not worth it.”
Steph’s response is calm. “Whose voice is that, Benson? Your own? Or someone else’s?”
My breath shudders.
“I want to explain something about your personal autistic experience that I’m sure, inside, you already know. There’s a cost that comes with high-functioning autism.”
“I really hate that term,” I admit. “High-functioning. It places an importance on being as close to neurotypical as possible, like someone given that label should feel proud for passing instead of being themself.”
“I know,” Steph says calmly, a hint of apology in her voice.
“Let’s call it high-masking instead because that’s really what it is.
As an individual who’s masked heavily, you’ve had a veritable lifetime where your struggles went unseen.
You learned to get by in a way that was functional for others because when you were distressed, you weren’t disruptive.
You didn’t only hide your joy. You hid all of it.
You learned to cope by disappearing and were rewarded for that.
As you know, that’s not healthy in the long term.
It leads to chronic exhaustion, pain, anxiety, burnout like what you experienced.
That’s what they’ve coined ‘high-functioning.’”
“Are you supposed to be admitting to your patient that you think it’s a bad term?”
Steph chuckles. “I’ve been where you are, Benson.
And I know there’s a lot of work we still need to do in this system.
But the point I’m trying to make is that it takes time to rewire what you’ve been taught by the outside world.
Those voices? The ones telling you to keep your joy quiet?
Or to keep your pain invisible? The voices saying you’re too much trouble?
That you’re not worth it? They’re not yours. You are valuable, Benson, as you are.”
“Logically, I know you’re right,” I tell her, a lump in my throat. “But it’s hard to convince myself of it.”
“You said Remi is open with his happiness, right? Why do you think he’s so happy around you?”
I groan. “I see what you’re getting at.”
“And who was it who just told me that importance shouldn’t be placed on being neurotypical? Because it sounds to me like that person thinks everyone has equal value. No?”
I sigh. “You’re not sneaky.”
“You don’t need to scare away your happiness, Benson. Let yourself feel it without worrying about it being taken away. It doesn’t need justification. It doesn’t need to be quiet. You’re allowed to feel.”
“You said something about, uh, rewiring impulses.”
“That’s right. Part of unmasking is not disguising your natural responses from yourself or others.”
I poke at the bag on the floor in front of me, the sound prompting Mouse to run my way for more sunflower seeds. “Sometimes I think Remi is helping me with that.”
Steph looks curious when I glance at my screen. “How so?”
“He, uh…has this way of rewarding me that I’m fairly certain he doesn’t even think about. It’s pretty standard operant conditioning.”
There’s a pause. “Benson,” Steph says, sounding amused now. “Are you saying he’s using positive reinforcement?”
I scrub a hand along my neck as my skin flushes.
“Yes. But not on purpose. He, uh…praises me a lot. When I tell him how I feel, or…perhaps when he senses I’m nervous.
It makes it easier to be…” Heaving a breath, I drop a few seeds for Mouse.
“To be vulnerable with him. Because he only ever reacts positively.”
Steph’s hum is soft. “It sounds to me like you’ve found natural support.”
“Is it…okay? To rely on him for that?”
There’s a chuckle from my phone, one I know Steph only allowed herself because she’s well aware I appreciate our casual rapport. “Benson. Why do you think they call it ‘partners?’”
By the time I hang up the call, my stomach is grumbling. There’s some noise coming from downstairs now, likely August since I don’t hear our mother’s singing. I push off from the floor, deciding my shower can wait until after I’ve fed myself.
August is at the island when I step into the kitchen, a buffet laid out in front of him made of meats, cheeses, olives, and bread.
“Did you raid the shop?” I ask.
He huffs, amused, whereas in years past he may have taken my comment as criticism. “According to the expiration dates, all of this must be eaten by midnight or it’ll burst into flames. Sit.”
I accept the invitation, pulling out a stool across from him. I pile some cheese and mustard on top of a crusty chunk of bread as August grabs me a soda from the fridge. “Thanks.”
“Mhm. So…what’s with the smile?”
For once, I don’t brush it off or tuck it away. I let myself feel the fizzing warmth still running through my veins. Let myself get excited about seeing Remi again in the morning.
I let my joy occupy the space it deserves.
“I’m…happy,” I tell my brother.
He peers at me, his own smile twisting down as he groans. “You got laid.”
“Not just because of that,” I defend.
“No! No, no,” August says, waving his hands wildly in front of his face. “You just confirmed it. Ack. I don’t need to know.”
“You brought it up.”
“Oh my God,” he moans, grabbing his phone. “I can’t believe Remi didn’t tell me. That little shit.”
I snort as my brother proceeds to text his friend for details he surely doesn’t wish to hear, my happiness keeping me company all the while.