on the spectrum!

i’ve spent much of my life moving between extremes. intensity and detachment. never the middle. even a minor misunderstanding can tilt the balance, reroute the entire conversation. there is no space for subtlety. no buffer. people call me intense. they say it like a diagnosis. but what else am i supposed to be? should i offer half of myself? should i listen without listening?

when someone speaks to me, i listen. completely. not because it’s a technique. not because i want anything in return. i do it because it feels like the only honest way to live. focus, in its clearest form, is just respect. but even respect gets misread. people confuse attention with interest. they see focus and think: pursuit. they see stillness and think: invitation.

i watch them respond to me in real time. the slight shift in posture. the glance to the side. the careful distance. they assume i’m interested. not in the conversation, but in them. it’s a familiar assumption, wrapped in condescension. as if focus signals naivety. as if directness is a mask for want.

there’s no flirtation. no agenda. i look at people directly. not because i expect something from them, but because i want to see who they are. that alone seems to unsettle. maybe it’s easier to build a narrative — a romantic one — than to accept the discomfort of being seen.

being perceived as attractive complicates things. beauty brings assumptions. assumptions that don’t belong to me. people expect charm. approachability. they expect warmth as default. if you are beautiful, they think, you owe them softness. you owe them ease.

there’s no room for contradiction. no space for reservation or scrutiny or distance. if i’m quiet, i’m cold. if i’m engaged, i’m too much. beauty becomes a box. something you’re placed into, not something you carry. it flattens. it strips away context. people stop looking for the person and start searching for their reflection in your face.

the result isn’t being ignored. it’s being misunderstood. entirely. people don’t respond to who i am. they respond to who they think i am. who they need me to be. i speak clearly, and still they miss the point. i make myself known, and still they guess. they simplify what’s complex, replace nuance with assumption.

when i contradict the version they’ve built, they reach for labels. flirtatious. aloof. difficult. vain. anything to explain away the discomfort. anything to keep their version intact. once a narrative forms, it doesn’t dissolve. it calcifies.

sometimes i consider retreating. not a grand disappearance, just a quiet exit. less exposure. less static. the idea of the periphery is appealing. but retreat feels like defeat. and i’ve never been good at surrender.

so i stay. i keep moving forward. i absorb what i can. the distance. the projections. the weight of being seen but not recognized.

it isn’t that i’m too much. and it isn’t that i’m not enough. it’s that i don’t know how to live halfway. i don’t know how to dilute.

i give everything or i give nothing. there’s no in-between. maybe that changes someday. maybe it doesn’t.

for now, i remain exactly as i am. steady. unblinking. a beam of light that does not dim, even when it’s too bright to bear.

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