I met him in Summer.
A proper gentleman. Old fashioned.
He held every door, clasped my hand at exactly the right times, was quiet, sensitive, but there was something about him... he was quirky and a little clumsy.
I met his friends.
They adored him, almost seemed to look out for him; his female friends almost mothered him.
He thought about every minor detail on our dates, made a considerable effort, seemed embarrassed whenever we got naked, I found it attractive. He was never about the sex. Not like other men.
We moved in together and minor frustrations began to set in... why was he so messy? Why did he hoard so much stuff? But, no relationship is perfect, right?
Then Marriage and a pregnancy....
I became ill throughout and remained at home due to high level vomiting and nausea. He Carried on as normal: his hobbies, his friends. One evening whilst out with friends I told him I had severe stomach cramps at 20 weeks, he took me home, I went to the bathroom and heard the door close and the key turn in the lock... he'd dropped me off at home and gone back out to his friends.
The friends who have always adored him.
Our baby was born; a beautiful baby boy and his mother closed in. Her awful criticisms and cruel comments went straight over his head; I cried every night. He put up no boundaries with her and she continued pushing her way into our lives against my wishes, demanding her grandson and my time, my new baby. He said it was me. I was too sensitive.
He continued his hobbies, his social life, his norms and argued that "everyone else I know does" whilst I became his housewife/maid. He stopped wanting sex, claiming to be too tired. He turned his nose up at my healthy meals, opting for the same unhealthy foods day in, day out. He never shouted or raised his voice, always spoke calmly but always resisted my ideas, any kind of change. I became aggressive and frustrated, I could not understand his lack of empathy, his lack of ability to relate.
Then there was his constant tapping, the following me around the house, the lack of spacial awareness when busy and hovering over me like a hawk, the constant insignificant questions, the failure to comprehend when I'm busy and it's not the right time for him to tell me about his friends neighbours uncles fathers car.
Then my father died and he threw himself into his business project whilst I grieved alone. He hugged me when I cried for a few minutes each time, then walked away, or rolled over in bed to continue what he had been doing before I'd gotten upset again.
I'd never felt so alone in my life. And so sad.
I began experiencing aches and pains, extreme fatigue, nausea, palpitations all through the stress of living with my lovely, calm, detached, rational husband.
Then I decided to seek help.
Does he really have ASD?
And after an old friend, also a professional MH worker met him they have confirmed to me that they believe he may be on the asd spectrum. A relief to me. But what now?
Do I really want to live a formulaic life where I have to teach him to pretend to empathise when I'm sad? What does this mean for my son who has a father with ASD? What does it mean for my own mental wellbeing?
Do I really want this?
And to everyone on the outside, he's still this quietly spoken gentleman who will do anything for anyone, but for me... this life is emotionally desolate and miserable.