Empathy No. 168

Roderick's journal

06/15/02

My life is entering a phase of transformation and I want to get a record of every painful moment of it. I've never kept a journal because I already remember everything anyway, and there's not much I'd like to remember better. This is different. It's more like an experiment and I can't trust my own thoughts and memories on something like that. I need something real that I can read later and analyze.

So this is an experiment, what are the variables? Experimental variable - Mom's getting married, and we're moving into his house with his three children. Dependent variable - what happens next.

Everyone's going to tell me that this is a good change. I know that. I KNOW that living in this little apartment, going to that awful school, watching Mom stress herself out isn't good. No one needs to tell me this.

But all I can imagine is what's going to change. It won't just be me anymore, in a nice quiet place. There will people around me all the time - people judging me. It was always like that at school, and now I won't have an escape. Voices talking all the time, eyes watching all the time. That's what the future is going to look like, no matter what.

And I'm afraid that the worst things are constant. I'm really afraid that people won't stop hurting me, except now I have no place to run.

07/13/02

A strange room, a noisy room, one infiltrated by strange voices. I guess this is going to be my life for a while. I'm not sure I'll make it all the way to the end.

I'm already missing the old apartment. Most people would say I'm crazy - it was so tiny, and we barely had furniture for the place, and there was always something going wrong. That's true. The one thing we did have was quiet. Mom's like me, she likes it peaceful when it gets late. Not like here. There's always some minor struggle going on out there because there are just too many people around.

Right now they're fighting over the bathroom. I expected that based on what I've heard from other people, but I never thought it would be a serious argument, with shouting and outrage. Is this just because the wedding is tomorrow? Surely it's not like this every night, is it? I guess I'll be hiding in here until the battle ends and going in last. A cold shower is a small price to pay for the solitude.

And while I'm waiting, I'm sitting in my strange and noisy room, and I'm thinking about Mom and how she's trying to convince me that this is all for the best. At least one of us can be happy, I guess. I haven't really seen her smile in a long time, and if this is what it takes to change that, then maybe I can try to deal with it.

07/25/02

Maybe they don't start off hating me. Maybe they start off just confused because I make them uncomfortable and they don't know why. They get frustrated, and that turns into hate.

The Levitts are being nice but I can sense the truth behind that happy family routine. There's anger there because I don't fit in here any better than I did anywhere. They're all waiting for me to just go with the crowd, to be normal and to make the whole situation normal. But I can't do it, so they get mad. They know I'm not doing this on purpose, and that makes them mad at themselves, and then they get even angrier at me for making them feel that way. It's how it always goes. The only one who seems to actually like me is Jason and that will change one day.

Mom's telling me I have to talk to some therapist now. What's that going to do? Does she think I'm going to talk to someone for a while and after that I'll just be different? Does she think I haven't tried? I've tried so hard to force myself to be like everyone else, I did it every day I was in school and now I have to do it every single day. There's no trick here, I would have found one if it existed.

I hate being like this. I wish I wasn't here at all.

08/15/02

And so it begins, the first day at Redgrove High. This is where I will spend the next two years, and this day sets the pace.

The principal calls me in for a chat - owing to my "special circumstances," I think he said. He's trying to recruit me to a bunch of clubs, or maybe just warn me that other people are going to try to recruit me.

First class, math. Mr. Greene wants to have a word with me about Math Olympiads. I guess I should have seen this coming.

Second class, writing. Ms. Collier tells the whole class about my writing credits. Everyone is clearly impressed. Then they stay at arm's length for the rest of the period.

Third class, history. I've never been in a paper for anything history related so I get a pass.

I eat lunch alone. That's what I wanted anyway, but I notice people glancing at me a lot. Some of them know me already, or they know of me. No one talks to me - they just talk to each other, maybe ABOUT me, I don't know.

Fourth class, French. Allison's friend Carlie voluntarily sits by me. It's probably just because Allison asked her to but I appreciate the favor.

Fifth class, mythology. I used to really like this subject, and maybe I will again. Some of them are still looking at me but they're trying to hide it.

Sixth class, physics. Mr. Gibbons wants me to join up with some other team. I say I'll think about it so he'll leave me alone.

Last class, psychology. This is the one I get to skip so I can talk about my problems. I'm sure the others will think I'm lucky. Sure.

When Mom and Lloyd ask about Redgrove, I'll tell them it's okay. I'll tell them that it's better than where I was, and it's probably true. I don't think any of the teachers will try and twist my arm out of the socket, and I didn't run into any students who seemed like they'd strangle someone. But they still know I'm different and they don't hide it. They look at me, and the ones who know me are impressed. Sometimes they make a nice comment. Then they move away quickly.

I'm always on the outside. At least it's only for two years.

08/28/02

I think I finally found someone who understands me. Carlie is the only person I've met since I came here to talks to me like I'm a regular person. She's the only one who doesn't want anything. She's the only one who treats me normal. She's also just so beautiful.

Dr. Brawney asked me if I was interested in dating her - as though that's the issue here.

Hypothesis: Carlie Anderson is interested in me and wants to be my girlfriend.

Null hypothesis: My entire life repeats itself.

Now I know that Allison doesn't want me to have anything to do with Carlie. There are all these filthy stories about her floating around - but who says they're true? I know how people are. It's not acceptable to beat up a girl the way they beat me up so they just slander her instead. The boys do it because it's their fantasy and girls do it just out of spite. Does Allison really believe all of that?

But it doesn't matter because there's no way that the hypothesis is accurate. The boys lie about Carlie because they want her, because she has a perfect figure and they all want to sleep with her and they'll say that they have even if they haven't. Someone like that gets her pick. What are the odds that she'd pick me?

I'm just so tired of feeling isolated. All I can do is try not to scare her off, but I'm not sure how to do that. I'll ruin this eventually.

09/17/02

A fair day. A fair walk to school, sunlight crying in the distance. Everything normal, everything calm.

Today, more people know my name and my face. They don't say anything to me most of the time, but I know. It's in the glances that last a little bit longer. It's in the way they get a little more quiet when they think I'm listening. The ones who do say something only stay long enough to tell me how smart and wonderful I am. They never say anything else because they don't know anything else about me.

So the day goes.

I went to Carlie's house today. She says I should be more comfortable about just dropping by. Is Mom right? Does she actually want me to be her boyfriend? It's not like there was anything all that romantic about it. Mostly we sat around and talked about the day, what problems we had, and we looked over each other's homework. That's it - nothing strange.

That was the best part, how normal it all was. Maybe Carlie has been through a crisis herself, because it's like she understands me better than anyone else. When I was over there, I felt like a normal person for the first time in a long time.

Maybe I'll go over again tomorrow.

09/25/02

I'm so goddamn pathetic.

All that Carlie did was come over and sit next to me, but closer this time. She was right up against me, almost in my lap, and my arms closed around her like they weren't in my control. We're cuddled up on the couch and she looks at me, and there's some kind of emotion in her eyes, and I know she's waiting for me to take some action. Instead, I just leave, and my head is so bent that I can't even think of a proper excuse. I just say I have to go and I'm gone.

She contacted me later on chat and said she understood. But she said a lot more than that. She told me - between the lines maybe, but she absolutely told me - that she considers me her boyfriend. And she wants to keep seeing me. And this can't be real, it can't be my actual life.

I wanted to say so much more to her. I wanted to tell her that when I had my arms around her, feeling that gentle warmth and her delicate little movements, it was the happiest I've been in a long time. I wanted to tell her that when she looked at me, with our faces so close, I hoped that she would kiss me because I know I couldn't get my body and my brain to agree for long enough to make that move. I wanted to tell her that if I was strong enough to make that first move, it wouldn't have stopped with a kiss, because I would have torn both our clothes off and taken her right there on the couch.

How can I think this was about someone who's been so kind to me? I'm just like the rest of them - can't see Carlie past her body. And I know on a deeper level that the only reason I'm going back to that house tomorrow is that I'm hoping that we end up on that couch again and things end differently this time. I'm as bad as any of them.

10/13/02

I made love to Carlie again last night and I don't hate myself as much as I thought I would. Even though I had no self-control. Even though I swore I'd never do it again. Even though, somewhere inside me, I was hoping we'd do it again when she came over.

She said that it just means I'm human after all. I know that it's normal but after sixteen years of everyone telling me I'm more than normal, I don't even know what "normal" means.

It's all just this flash in my head. Carlie was sitting with me, we were talking about what we had together - there's the irony, we were talking about how we couldn't do this anymore. And then I just couldn't wait for her to make a move. I took her and I kissed her, started to undress her...it was just like the first time, seeing her without her clothes and trying to figure out why someone like that would want anything to do with me. Carlie could do better, ANYONE would want her. She doesn't need my awkwardness and my baggage and my bullshit.

But it's not just that this beautiful, sexy girl wants to be with me, it's that she tells me I'm special - and she doesn't mean it like everyone else, where they want something from me. She just wants me.

I think I might really love this girl, and I even know why. She understands me because she's wounded too.

10/24/02

Another day gone, leaving me to wonder.

I wish I wasn't such a coward. All of this would be so much simpler if I could just open my mouth and ask those questions. If I could just ask her about my father.

It's because I know too much. I KNOW that Mom doesn't want me to meet him, and that makes the conversation too painful. The words are knives and I don't know how to handle them without cutting myself to the bone. So instead we have some stupid fight about that goddamn therapist, and I know it's a fight I'll lose, but it's less bloody that way.

So I go the long way around. I hide what I'm doing, I sneak around at night and I get others to do the dirtiest work. I know it's not right but there's no other way. She wants me to be so proud of my heritage and all of these people who died a hundred years ago, but not the man who made me sixteen years ago.

I don't want to be angry with her but I am. Maybe there really is something wrong with me. How can I be mad after everything she's done for me?

11/05/02

Sometimes this curiosity of mine is a real burden. Why do I need to know everything? Why can't I just pass through life like everyone else? There are so many things that I don't benefit from knowing, and trying to unearth them can hurt me, and I still can't control myself.

Mom wanted to give me away. That's what I unearthed this time.

I can be as rational as anyone here. I don't know the whole story, including the reason she didn't go through with it. But I know why she considered it. She was alone and it seemed like the best choice, and I'm sure it wasn't easy for her. And whatever decision she made, it was based on love.

That's what I'm supposed to think. But what I'm really thinking is "She never wanted me."

I spent last night and all day in school rolling this around in my head. I couldn't concentrate because all I could think about was how my differently my life could have turned out. What if she had gone through with it? What kind of existence would I have had with this new family? Could it have been better?

It's one thing I can't test. There's no hypothesis here, just the one experiment that is my life.

11/14/02

Everyone cares about you, Roderick. I've heard that enough times.

There was this story that I wrote in my head when I was a kid but I never wrote it down. It was like this: In a distant country, there are people who are Sames and people who are Differents. If you are a Same, it is your greatest pleasure in life, and even your obligation, to terrorize Differents. You can humiliate them, you can torture them, you can even kill them, and it is never a crime. But if you are a Different, you must never even speak against a Same, or defend yourself against their actions. The greatest among crimes in this country is not killing, but rather ruining the good time of a Same.

I tried to explain it to them so many times. They were always full of reasons why I was wrong, why I didn't understand. As a matter of fact, I don't understand. I don't understand why "normal" people like causing pain so much.

The worst part was watching those adults react. Sometimes, they would watch as the other kids were torturing me and do nothing. Maybe they enjoyed it - maybe it made them think back to when they were kids, beating someone else. And when I would beg them for help, they would criticize ME. Lighten up, Roderick. You should be happy that someone wants to play with you.

The only thing Toby did wrong was that he looked angry. That's why they stopped him, because he had committed a crime with his face. If he'd had acted like he did all the other times, if he had smiled and laughed as he choked me, they wouldn't have done anything. It's just roughhousing, they'd say. Let's let boys be boys. And then they'd stand by as he killed me. Would they feel bad afterwards? Probably not. After all, it was my own fault for making myself a target.

12/08/02

Everyone wants to know what I want, and I can't be mad at them for asking. But they aren't going to get it, even if I spilled out every word in my head. Sometimes I don't even understand it myself.

They're all trying to do so many things for me. Is it that they're guilty? Do they feel bad about what they said and thought? I know that's why Allison is acting like this. Lloyd, I'm not so sure - something else there. But I don't WANT any of this. I can't have people sacrificing for me, it just isn't right.

And that's the problem here. Of course I should be happy, the darkness is gone and I'm getting so many things I never had, but no one can give me what I really need.

What do I want? I want this to be over and done with. I want to be NORMAL.

12/25/02

I appreciate what they've done for me because I know it's all true. I know that there are people who have my back, I didn't even need anyone to prove that.

I know that things are better now. Life is more comfortable, more pleasant, and I have more opportunities. The people here are more likely to lift me up than knock me down. I'm not afraid like I used to be.

So why am I still not happy?

I sat there last night for a hour looking at that tree all lit up, and it was a magical sight but really I just wanted to feel something and it wasn't there. And when Allison brought that box down? I've never really had nice things like they gave me, but all I could feel was guilt for getting something that cost so much money and their pity for me.

The notebook and pen are still in their box. I can't bring myself to even touch them because I don't want to ruin them. And I can already hear everyone asking me why I'm not using them - so I'll have to fake it. Just like I have to fake my way through everything I do here. Even when I'm honestly enjoying myself, I still feel like a liar.

And here I am on Christmas day writing about sadness. This isn't right.

01/17/03

Two hours ago, I was on stage in front of a handful of people I know. It could have been frightening. It wasn't. If anything, it was the first time I've felt normal in a while.

But I've been on stage before, many times. People keep asking and asking how I could do it so easily all those other times, why it's a challenge now. To them, that's all it is - one stage is like another, one audience is like another. They don't get it.

I've been performing all my life. I can still remember the first time - five years old, some junior spelling bee. It never felt like it was my choice, someone told my mother that I should do it and she went along, and I complied. It wasn't frightening, though. It was just me doing what I've always done, only with more eyes on me. But even when I was on my own, there were people watching. There's always someone watching you, and I learned that many times.

But this was my choice. I chose to let these people look at me. And yes, it's undeniably scary because this isn't something I'm used to doing, but it has a different feel.

At moments like this, I think of something that I wouldn't have even imagined before. Maybe I can be a freak and still be loved. That's my new hypothesis.

02/15/03

I don't want to make these decisions any more. The pressure will break me one day. Maybe it already has. Maybe that's why I'm this way.

But I know what they'll all say even before I raise the point. You should do it, Roderick. You should sign the papers. It just means you'll have to change your name and you aren't attached to it. It will make your mother happy. It will make everyone happy.

Do what you have to do to make everyone happy, just like you always have.

In my heart I know I'll do it, but I don't know if I want to. I don't know what I want. But really, what I want is a life without these dilemmas. I just want to live from day to day.

I wish my father was here.

02/27/03

The whole time I was the experiment. I should have guessed that, it makes too much sense. They never arranged those sessions with Dr. Brawney to help me "adjust." They wanted to study the freak, open my head, root around.

Their hypothesis: Roderick Butler is not normal.

Outcome: Roderick Butler is autistic. His brain isn't typical. Except they didn't follow proper protocol. They had this fixed from the start.

I know what's going to come next, or at least I can make a reasonable guess. They're going to start to badger me to accept this as the truth. My mother will start, but everyone else will jump in sooner or later. They'll sell this as though it's for my benefit. They'll make me confess to my original sin. And once I do, then they'll give me the penance. Pills, therapies, whatever great idea they have to make me normal.

I'm so tired of this life. I only got this existence by accident and it's been such a hassle. And every time I find something that looks like a way out, it's a lie. I keep tricking myself over and over again.

03/10/03

I don't know what to do. I have this number and I don't think I have the strength to call it. God, I'm so weak, I tried a few days ago and I couldn't even touch the buttons. My hand was shaking. It was so pathetic. And I just want to talk to Carlie and get some goddamn support but she's gone. She's left me behind, gotten sick of me. I can understand, it's not like I ever deserved her. And I've still got this adoption thing and they all know about it by now and they're all waiting and my head is going to explode.

Someone help me.

04/30/03

Haven't touched this journal in a while. I suppose this means that the "experiment" is over. Did I learn anything from this? That's hard to say.

It feels strange reading back over the old entries. It's been less than a year, but a lot happened in that time, more than I ever figured I could cope with. But it's funny, time feels bent in many ways. There are things that happened in September that I could have lived through an hour ago, and things from March that are faded like they happened when I was a child. Maybe it's just the emotion in these things. The most powerful moments just fade, and you can close your eyes and go back to those moments any time. But I suppose I won't know if that's true for many years to come. I'll be thirty or so and looking at these notes and have some kind of clarity.

Never mind all that nonsense. I came into this place ready to endure, to handle problems like I always have - willpower and tolerance. It's a sort of hope, when you hate where you are but think there might be a better place. But looking back at my notes, I wonder if this was for the best. I wonder if there was something I could have done that would have gotten me farther, made things better. But I shouldn't think about things like that. In the end, only what I did counts, whatever I could have done doesn't even matter.

Undated

If you're reading this, it means that you found my log. I knew it would happen eventually, no one's perfect and I had a close call not long ago. This is here just so you understand.

People have thought I was a monster since I was a child. I'm sure this won't help. Maybe I am really a monster, and all those people who hurt me were right - I just don't know. All I can keep saying is that I wasn't trying to hurt anyone, not a single time. And I didn't do this to hurt anyone, it was self defense.

People have been lying to me for a long, long time. I'm sure you think you're helping me, that you're protecting me from something. Maybe you think you're being nice. I've seen under the hood, though. I've seen and heard all of those awful things people say when they don't think I'm around, and they hurt more because I had to learn about them on my own. That's what's in this log, your honest opinions about me. It's the raw truth you've never given me to my face.

In a sick way I hope you do find this, even though I know I'll be punished far beyond what is just. I hope you find it because I want you to feel how I've felt all these years. I'm not really a part of this world, or at least that's how people make me feel. They watch me, they study me, they talk about me and sometimes AT me but never TO me. I'm the one who doesn't belong, and everyone is looking at me, trying to understand why.

I want you to remember how you feel right now, knowing that someone's been watching you. Knowing that someone's been formulating hypotheses about you without ever asking to hear your side. That's how I feel every day. And I had to do this, not to hurt you, but to make you understand. Normal people insist that I don't have empathy. They insist on it even as their children hurt me for fun. But I do feel bad for you when you feel pain. The problem runs the other way. I submit that it's you who suffers from issues with empathy.

But I will admit to one thing: I did manipulate you. I forced you to feel. The question is, will you care?