Ununderstood

All my life, I learned to be understood. To mould myself into a being of integrity, with values and ways that make my fellow humans happy and even make them feel safe with me around.

I learned that some things weren’t understood right away and some well-meant actions or things I said needed either extensive explanation or being not said, nor done at all.

I learned that if I understood myself and learn to reflect more, I could explain better and shape my actions to be more palpable to others.

I learned that my behaviour had names.
Saving on steps of a process to get to the desired outcome would be lazy, explaining my train of thought would be rambling, mentioning no-no-topics because there were no rules against it beknownst to me would be crass, my ability to connect hidden dots in language or situations would be clowning, giving 110% would be the right way, calling in sick at work is an inconvenience, pointing out details I notice would be astonishing, sharing a unique view would be being high, organising information and sharing the results would be a tremendous gift, spending time alone inside my room would be reclusive.

So, while no-one asked why I was doing these things, I still felt that I could explain them, resulting in rambling and short-lived astonishment.
Also, I couldn’t help but notice and worry about the contradicting nature of my behaviour.

And who should have told me the reasons why I was doing those things, really, including my self?
I seemed to be lazy, rambling, crass, clowning, doing things the right way still, while being astonishing and also an inconvenience, coming across as high, producing tremendous gifts, though a recluse.

Ununderstood even by myself, I went to discover the actual reasons behind it.
But my own reasons this time, closer to the human behind the mask than all the names I had learned from the outside up to now.

Only through the resulting diagnosis, I had the chance to have another angle on myself than what my surrounding walls had echoed back constantly. Access to a world that started to make sense. A discovery of what has been there all along, heavily masked and altered into something oh-so-nice and oh-so-destructive.

Now I start to understand why I was perceived in certain ways in certain places.

A spicy detail: Not every place did have unfortunate names for me to begin with. Some places changed their names after learning the reasons, but some places don’t still.
Should I keep trying to convince those places, that there is a good, productive, useful way to see the things I embody, or is it on me to let those places be?

Understanding anyone requires an understanding of their reasons and trust in the integrity of their values. After that, any healthy action comes naturally.

The penguin likes his water and the donkey doesn’t like to be called a horse, even though he can act like one at first glance.