The Blanket Man
Liars have to be very good at paying attention to people, whilst also not making it clear that they are doing so. This is somewhat of a problem, but I am sure I am not the only person with autism who figured out that you can watch people much better from the corner of your eye than with the intense stare that normally comes with those socialising with the disorder. The peripheral vision is very sensitive to sudden changes which can cue you in to pay attention, make eye contact or give an expression, and verify a reaction. When you are practicing watching people this closely, you can also tell when others are lying. When they are conflicted. When there might be more to what they've said than they're letting on.
Or when they are so self-deluded that they have no idea anymore that they are lying to themselves, despite forcing their lie through their teeth.
It wasn't intake night, but there was someone new at the group. They sat on the floor towards the back corner of their room with pillows and a blanket instead of the chairs in a circle. Their skin was unwashed, oily like their hair, their eyes fixed to the opposite wall with a vacant look. Long hair, or at least long for a man in this age, draped their shoulders. It was not nice hair. It looked like it had been brushed, then attacked with a pair of scissors, then brushed again. I thought of the hair on a barbie doll that had been brushed compulsively until it was ruined.
As we filed into the room, their eyes snapped to us, and they wrapped themselves tighter in their blanket. "Hiiii!" They called, with cheer and energy that didn't reach any of the important body language. There was a limp wave of the hand beneath the blanket. "Don't mind me over here. I'm autistic and proud!"
Even taking autism into account, I got the immediate feeling that this person had never been proud of themselves for a second in their life, let alone their autism that they were born with. I also wasn't entirely sure if they were being ironic. Our 'kind' tend to have a bit of a sense of humour as we get older, even if no one else is about to pick up on the joke. The amount of times I have laughed myself to tears at something only I think is funny or makes sense to me outnumbers the times I've genuinely cried in the last 5 years.
No one seemed to recognise them, but this wasn't the kind of group you could waltz into, and even if you could, you had to go through at least one intake night. After that you could come and go mostly as you pleased. The longest running member and co-ordinator, A, didn't express any kind of recognition, nor did any of the others. That means they must have been here years ago, or at least longer than the 3 years I've been going, as my attendance has been inconsistent. I think you'll probably gather why from this entry, but I'll discuss it in full another time.
The founder of the group joined us this evening. Dr. R was a busy man who rarely attended outside of significant events, which worried me.
Group began. We took turns giving a brief statement on how our week had been. The blanket man made a sob that he tried to disguise as a sigh after saying he wanted to kill himself. As usual after that, no one offered a topic, so the floor was opened to whoever was willing to speak.
The Blanket Man talked about their life. First, they talked about the present. They were effectively a sex worker, living in an absurdly large, homosexual poly relationship with a basis of anarchism. They didn't have sex for money, they said. They had sex for a meal, or drugs, or a car ride. Sometimes they had it for fun, too. They had realised the power sex had very young, though I can only assume they were taught it through their sexual abuse. They said at the age of 5 they had sex with or molested their younger brother. By 7, they were having sex with all of their friends, and their brother's friends. They went on and on about their acts molesting others, being raped, raping others, getting into drugs. Their entire life until 30 was a never ending cycle of being destroyed and destroying others. This entire time they used words of pride and positivity, even as they slumped over themselves with their face buried in a blanket, sobbing. Sex was a superpower, they said. They had it, and they wanted to show it to everyone they could.
I gripped my chair so hard and suddenly at this statement that I ripped one of my nails in half.
I pitied this person, to some extent. But at that moment I wanted nothing more than to strangle them with their own blanket. I wanted to scream at them. They thought sex was a superpower, but it was also a superweapon. One that had obliterated them as a child, and the radiation of which had spread to every aspect of their life in terminal dosages. And they wanted to use this superweapon on others, share it. Despite seeing the consequences of their actions, on themselves, on others, they had been convinced that sex was only something that had positive connotations. I say this pointedly and directly as a criticism of the pride and free love movements. In flowery language they proclaimed the power of sex, the joy, the pleasure, the connection it had brought them and others, and that they were proud of what they did. As they continued to relate their life story it seemed that the only crime they hadn't committed was murder.
It was clear they were quite possibly one of the unhappiest people in the world. One of the most despoiled, guilty, degenerate, and ill person that could possibly exist at the time. They thought that if they believed the lie they told themselves, of happiness and pride, that everyone else would believe it.
Dr. R obviously knew this already: he had a duty to protect, and he'd stated as much before. Thus, The Blanket Man had either already served their punishment, or their crimes had taken place outside of the statute of limitations. I still felt that no punishment currently offered by the criminal system could come close to justice. If there is a hell outside of this life, they are certainly going to spend eternity there.
I was so affected by their accounts of depravity that I knew if I opened my mouth or moved I would do or say things that could not be undone. I wanted to say, without a shred of insincerity: "Who do you think you are fooling?"
But I couldn't even do that. When group ended I practically sprinted out of the room, unable to look. Even silence felt like it would condone his actions.
I didn't return to group for over a year.