#Thread

You won’t *always* find me in the kitchen at parties.

Reminiscences about socialising, from a personal autistic perspective.

#autism
#autistic
#AllAutistics
#ActuallyAutistic

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I loved some of the parties I went to as a child.

For a start there were the birthday parties my mum organised for me and my siblings.

The familiarity of home, fantastic food, and sensory party games made them so much fun.

If I got upset it was usually “over excitement”.

2/

My mum always organised really good party games.

There would be cotton bags with mystery objects to identify by touch, and a huge pass the parcel with lots of different layers.

We did some games wearing blindfolds, like pin the tail on the donkey and squeak piggy squeak.

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These party games were predictable and structured but also really exciting.

Looking back I can see how they suited my sensory seeking profile.

So much stimulation in a short space of time always risked being overwhelming though. I’d sometimes end up in tears by the end.

4/

An annual event was the children’s Christmas party my Dad’s employer held in a local ballroom.

My main recollection is of getting dressed up. I had silver sparkly shoes, a white organza dress with embroidered pink dots and a pink satin sash.

My first taste of glamour!

5/

The venue itself seemed impressive to me, even though by the 1960s it was getting a little run down.

Being among so many children I didn’t know was overwhelming, but I coped with this by sticking close to my siblings.

I didn’t like being in a crush when we left though.

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My first teenage ‘dance’ was at a local boys school. Because I was so immersed in Angela Brazil stories I somehow imagined we’d have dance cards and would be doing the foxtrot.

Instead we hung about on the edges of a rather dreary school hall looking awkwardly at each other.

7/

After a lot of standing around a really tall boy asked me to dance, which meant shuffling around to some music.

We were beginning to have a conversation when a teacher came over and took the tall boy away to dance with a tall girl.

Back to more awkward standing about.

8/

Then a boy asked me if I’d like to go outside and look at the swimming pool.

It was hot and noisy in the hall so this seemed like a good idea. It would be quieter outside, and we’d be able to have a proper conversation.

Some of you may have worked out where this is going...

9/

Much to my surprise going to look at the swimming pool turned out to be a euphemism for what we called “having a snog”.

I really wasn’t prepared to be pounced on like this, so it was a good thing we were discovered by teachers patrolling the grounds and ushered back in.

10/

I must have got to know a boy at one of these school dances, because we had a date at a Berni Inn.

I was experimenting with fashion at the time and I don’t think he appreciated my look.

It didn’t put him off trying to snog me though, but this time a waitress rescued me.

11/

This date summed up what socialising was often like for me.

Nervous anticipation beforehand, awkwardness at the time, and embarrassment afterwards.

A big part of the problem was lack of harmony between me and those I socialised with, resulting in confused communication.

12/

When I met my first soulmate socialising suddenly became easy. We were both overwhelmed by crowded places packed with lots of people.

As we lay on the grass one summer night looking up at the sky with distant fireworks exploding the whole world seemed to stop for a moment.

13/

I suppose what I discovered then was that socialising and making relationships became relatively easy for me, once I found the right people.

But if I went against my natural instincts I often ended up feeling isolated and adrift, even if I was technically part of a group.

14/

I’ve always been happiest socialising with other “mis-fits” like me. People on the edge of mainstream socialising. The people you tend to find in the kitchen at parties.

I liked excitement too. The club my gay cinema colleagues took me to was edgy and different, not bland.

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Although I often think of myself as someone who doesn’t really need the company of other people this isn’t actually true.

When I lived completely on my own I would often go along to obscure public talks in the evening, just to be among a group of people for a while.

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The most extraordinary phase in my social life was when I accidentally became part of a Norfolk ‘set’.

I was surrounded by people who saw themselves as ‘elite’ because of land ownership, wealth or some other kind of ‘success’.

I didn’t fit.
I was like an ethnographer.

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I ended up being part of this world because of the vagaries of online dating. Living in Norfolk meant there were relatively few local matches.

My chameleon like ability to blend into any situation came into its own as I was transported into this unfamiliar social whirl.

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It was like being in a film with save the date, dress codes, seating arrangements and carriages at midnight. Being served food, passing the port to the left, considered conversation.

From a sensory point of view it was stunning; life sized ice statues, spectacular flowers.

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I passed in this environment partly because I’d been to the right kind of school (though on a ‘free place’). They saw me as one of their own.

And I masked consciously and constantly to fit in socially, while protesting to my partner in private I didn’t belong in his world.

20/

Getting dressed up in charity shop evening dresses was fun, and seemed a bit subversive, especially when I told people how much they cost.

But I grew weary of constant socialising. Spectacles like the Red Devils dropping into a birthday party started to seem commonplace.

21/

Although some people were kind and genuine, there was a lot of status-consciousness and social game-playing going on.

Adapting too easily to this inhospitable social environment was probably a consequence of being autistic. I camouflaged myself really heavily to fit in.

22/

At a pre-Christmas party I realised I had to take a different path.

My partner was keen on shooting and on the way there I saw an injured game bird by the side of the road.

Later in the evening an Elvis Presley impersonator asked me to elope with him, and I was tempted.

23/

That set me on a different path. I thought I was just in search of a partner, but it turned out I was in search of myself too.

The kind of socialising I do now doesn’t require masking and social performance. It’s based on my interests like art, gardening and classic cars.

24/

I really dislike competitive socialising. It’s not just things like friendly tennis tournaments that involve competition. So many social events are full of it too.

Judgements are made about what you’re wearing and there’s the classic conversation starter “what do you do?”

25/

One of the things that made me think I couldn’t possibly be autistic was that I socialised quite a lot. I found it exhausting, but I didn’t know why.
After attending a party where I’d been the driver and drunk no alcohol I’d end up with a social hangover.
It makes sense now.

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