For as long as I can remember I have known I was not normal. My story starts when I was first adopted into the Proctor family at the mere age of four after being in foster care for about a year. I don’t remember much before my adoption, but as I have gotten older, for some reason I have not really been curious about my past. I think this is something my adoptive parents, Sharron and Neil, are grateful for. They always seem extremely on edge when the subject of my adoption comes into conversation, so I have learned to not bring it up. My parents had biological daughter, Lacey, who is only a few months younger than me. Sharron and Neil always gave Lacey and I everything we could ever need. They were always supportive and caring, which is why I felt like they never deserved me as a son.
I was Diagnosed with Antisocial Personality Disorder during my freshman year of high school after years of struggling with the pressure to act like I felt emotion when I really didn’t. Dealing with my disruptive behavior for years, doctors, medications, and my outbursts, it has been a long journey for my family and to accept who I am. Acceptance of my diagnosis did not come easy to me or anyone else and consisted of many tough roads. One of the biggest troubles I faced in my lifetime was assimilating to a “normal” teenage existence. Establishing a social standing as a high schooler in 2018 is already harder than most people can fathom, but if you throw in a misinterpreted disease in the mix, making friends is almost impossible. In class I would look around, noticing that everyone fit into a group of similar characteristics. It seemed everyone had a place except for me. Lacey was the one person who made me feel like I belonged and always pointed out my strengths rather than focusing on my inability to conform due to my disease. This is the story of how I learned to feel like I belong, leading me to eventually live an average life that I felt was worth living.
Growing up in Mills River, North Carolina, there was not a whole lot of schools to choose from when my parents were deciding to enroll me in elementary school. I was never the little boy who was invited to birthday parties, I sat alone in the sandbox while everyone was swinging on the jungle gym, and always sat with my teachers during lunch at school. Even though I was little, I noticed that I did not particularly like anyone’s company except my sisters. Lacy was in the same grade as me, but she was loved by everyone and anyone who encountered her. Her blonde hair tied up in a little bright yellow bow and her abnormally large blue eyes coupled with her slight lisp and dimples made everyone melt. I was never jealous of her because I always knew that she was better than me. I was glad that everyone saw that too. Plus, I could not think of anything worse than then spending my time with the germ covered 4th grade heathens my sister called her friends. Though our lives were vastly different inside the school gates, every day when we came home from school I felt a sense of relief. Lacy never cared about the fact that she was my only friend, and although we didn’t agree on much, we never fought about anything because we both just kind of accepted the fact that we were different.
When middle school came around, my classmates grew increasingly infuriating. Sitting in class became a chore, especially when I was acing every single piece of paper being thrown at me without even paying attention to the slightest bit of material in class. Ever since I started school I’ve been good at math, which is why it has always been my favorite subject… excluding this particular year. Math quickly became the absolute bane of my existence as soon as I had the pleasure of meeting my sixth-grade algebra teacher, Mr. Bloom.
Mr. Bloom had to be in his mid-forties and had the most boring appearance of all time. He wore a different shade of blue polo shirt with khaki slacks and brown shoes with bright colored socks every day. His brown belt was always squeezed too hard around his waist, making his love handles and beer belly protrude over the belt making it almost invisible. The top button on his polo was always left undone, exposing his black and grey chest hairs to the world. His overly rosy-red cheeks, wiry and out of control eyebrows, and tiny circular spectacles haunted me at night, as well as the remaining hair on top of his head that he fails desperately to form into a comb over. Everything about his appearance made me squirm, and I remember wishing he could die just in order to be blessed with a new teacher. I sat at the back of class doing anything I could to distract myself from the monotone zombie that was Mr. Bloom, even if it meant distracting others too. It started small, just talking to others while he was lecturing which would almost always result in a monotone “Jason, stop that, or you will be sent to the office!” or, “Jason, do I have to email your mother again?” With action or authority rarely being taken against me, I decided to test the boundaries a little more each time. Starting with throwing paper airplanes at the whiteboard, to taking my food out of my lunchbox and chucking it at Mr. Blooms desk when his back was turned.
Eventually, Mr. Bloom had had enough of me and sent me to the principal’s office. I remember waiting outside the office doors looking at my reflection in the window across from me. I stared at my scrawny physique in the glass. My black hair draped almost completely over my eyes while my gigantic ears stuck out the sides. I was wearing one of my dad’s old Rolling Stones t-shirts even though I never listen to music. I dreaded my face that was full of freckles especially around my horribly crooked nose. The one thing I did like though, was my huge bright blue eyes that reminded me of my sister, even though we were not genetically related.
This pattern of increasingly concerning behavior of detentions, suspensions, and eventual expulsion from my middle school in the middle of 8th grade caught the attention of most of my teachers and principals. On the day of my expulsion, Sharon and Neil sat in the office where I had sat dozens of times before and stared at my headmistress in disbelief. My father ran his hands through his hair while my mother cried into her cupped palms. I didn’t feel guilty, to be honest, I was relieved that I was getting out of that hellhole. I never had any friends anyway. At the end of the meeting, I heard my wretched headmistress suggest I see a therapist, because of my “unusual” and “concerning” behavior. I chuckled in my seat, I didn’t think there was anything wrong with me, I simply was just too good to be institutionalized by the public-school system like the rest of these brainwashed losers I call my classmates, I thought. The reaction on my mom’s face was unreadable when my headmistress suggested this, which she paired with a sheepish and weak smile as she simply said, “Thank you” after walking out of the office and finding it hard to look me in the eye. I know I should have felt bad watching my parents go through that, but I wasn’t. I really could not have cared less, and I was relieved I did not have to try and fit in anymore. Though I convinced myself that I hated the entire Mills River Middle population, I really was just bitter due to my lack of acceptance by everyone my age I encountered except for Lacey.
I finished the remainder of my final year in middle school online, finishing all my modules well ahead of schedule and passing with flying colors. I ended up graduating a full month before Lacy. Though my behavior did not improve, Mom still did not believe I was bad enough to see a professional. She was convinced that I was just going through a phase, and that it would subside soon. Over the summer Mom and Dad started getting into arguments on what to do with me. Dad really thought I could benefit from the help of a psychiatrist, but Mom was persistent in her argument that it was simply a teenage boy phase.
Eventually Dad convinced her that it couldn’t hurt to have me seen by somebody. Dr. Fisher, Mills River’s most celebrated psychiatrist, was a professional looking skinny woman whose blonde pin straight hair barley came past her ears. There was always a little smudge of red lipstick on her tooth which vibrantly popped against her variety of dull colored pantsuits and black pointy pumps. It only took a few appointments along with some extensive testing over summer for her to officially diagnose me with Antisocial Personality Disorder. I knew a little bit about this disease, but always associated it with serial murderers and rapists. Even though Dr. Fisher assured me that I could live a completely normal life with this diagnosis, my parents were horrified as they had the very same stereotypes about the disease that I did. Dr. Fisher put me on medication that I have to take twice a day, and made me feel, well, drugged. My world grew increasingly numb, making it harder to communicate. This made my relationship with my parents even more distant because they could never really see past my ASPD. This made us both fell like we didn’t understand each other. Lacey was skeptical at first, but saw me for more than my diagnosis.
I spent most of my time with Lacy over the summer as well, most notoriously staying up late watching all of her favorite sappy romantic comedies until the early hours of the morning. I never really liked movies, but watching them with Lacy made them okay. At the end of every movie I would look over at the tears streaming from her eyes while I would simultaneously roll mine in disbelief that her tears were triggered by such an unrealistic portrayal of modern day romance. She giggled briefly in-between sobs yelling “It’s sad, Jason! Do you not have an emotional bone in your body?” I entertained the idea, and maybe I really didn’t have an emotional bone in my body, but I responded anyways saying “No, Lacy, I just don’t get caught up in such stupid stories where the ending is so predictable! I mean seriously, we all knew that they were going to end up moving away from each other”, as I cracked a smile and playfully pushed her shoulder. She laughed and took the couch pillow from behind her back and hit me over the head, beginning one of our infamous living room pillow fights. I was good at pretending to be playful and energetic around Lacey, she deserved a brother who could keep her entertained.
The night before my freshman year of high school started, I did everything I could to block it out of my head as much as possible. But Lacey, of course, would not shut up about how excited she was. “Mom! Should I wear my blue top with the ruffles or my white flowy tank top tomorrow with my jeans? Which will make me look older! I have to look perfect” she shouts across the kitchen in a panic. “Both are beautiful, Honey! Everyone will love you no matter what” my mom said while washing the dishes after dinner and cracking a smile at the same time. Lacey stormed off and grunted, shouting sarcastically “Thanks for the help, Mom!” from the laundry room. Mom laughed and looked at me with kind eyes “Girls, right?” I forced my lips to form a grin while I squeaked out a measly chuckle followed by a quiet “yeah”. Mom always watched me really closely. Though it has always been obvious that Lacey is the sparkling gem of the family, Mom in particular makes a real effort to get close to me. “What are you most excited for as you go into your first year of high school?”, she said with a grin? I am excited for absolutely nothing I thought to myself, but knew I had to say something. “Uhm, math class I guess” I said with a shrug. “You have always been a wizard with numbers. I hope you get a great teacher!” Her love for me is unwavering, and for that I will always be appreciative. “Do you want a little bit of ice cream before you go to bed, kiddo? We won’t tell Lacey” she said leaning on the countertop in front of me. “Thanks, but no thanks, mom. I’m super tired, I think I’ll just call it a night.” Her smiling expression fell, “Oh, um, alright Jase. Goodnight I love you!” I got up and walked to the staircase yelling “Yeah, uh, love you too!” as I thundered up the stairs.
I laid in bed and stared at my celling. “How on earth is it possible that I am going back to school tomorrow”, I thought to myself. Four more years of low-life teachers teaching my extraordinarily dumb generation pointless material that I will solemn use in my lifetime. Another four dreadful years of solidarity, dirty looks, and eating lunch with my teachers. My frustration kept me up into the early hours of the morning. I had never felt something that consuming in my life. The thought of walking through Mills River High’s doors to a cold hallway squirming with hundreds of North Carolina’s most heinous population of teenagers made me physically ill. The pit in my stomach kept building and building to an unbearable pressure as I lay in the dark at four o’clock in the morning. I covered my face in the neckline of my shirt, clenching the collar with my fists over my head so hard my knuckles turned white. A wave of angst shot from my abdomen straight to my head causing me to rip my shirt clean in half with one foul swoop. I sat in bed breathing heavily with the t-shirt scraps scattered around me.
I awoke later that morning to my Mother waking me up by sitting on my bed and scratching my head while whispering “Jase, get up honey, it’s time for school!” The words she spoke made me wince. As I awoke and she left the room, I walked to my bathroom. Positive I was going to throw up, I spent five minutes dry heaving over the toilet before I got in the shower. I took my meds and turned on the shower. As the scolding, hot water ran over the surface of my skin I closed my eyes and imagined punching any kid square in the face who looked at me funny as I walked into the halls for the first time. “Friends were overrated, I don’t need friends. Just get through these next four years”, I whispered to myself closing my eyes. I thought that Lacey was the only friend I needed. None of the Neanderthals Mills High consisted of were worth my time.
As mom dropped us off and we walked up the steps to hell, Lacey squealed in excitement when seeing a group of her very own miniature clones walk by. “Jase, is it okay if I go with them?” as she pointed her thumb behind her to the pack of also squealing Lacey look-alikes. “For sure.” I said, taking all I had to flash a smile her way, “Have a first day good day, loser.” She gave me one of her signature eye rolls as she turned away yelling “Yeah you too, loser. See you later!” We both chuckled and went our separate ways. Pretending to be someone normal for Lacey almost made me feel whole. Everything got worse when she left my side, and I was being forced to face the halls of Asheville High alone.
White walls, white floors, and florescent light that lit up the baby blue lockers lining each side of the halls burned my eyes as I walked through the threshold. I made my way to homeroom fast as humanly possible, capturing the attention of as few people as I could. I finally sat down in the back of my homeroom class. The bell rang when the clock turned eight fifteen and a small frail old woman walked into the room. She had fire engine red hair and wore a striking violet floor length dress that kind of just looked like she was wearing a purple bed spread. She wore large green earrings in the shape of teardrops, paired with matching green triangle eyeglasses that magnified her eyes ten-fold.
“Good morning class! I am Mrs. Wacker. I will be your freshman year English literature teacher. We will be starting this semester off with some good ole’ Shakespeare.”
She began on the introduction to Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet as her old shaky voice droned on into the distance. I looked out the window and felt a familiar pit in my stomach forming. My heart began to race as I looked around forming the familiar conclusion that everyone had a familiar face to talk to but me. I could feel the angst building as my face became increasingly hot. I tried to calm myself down by closing my eyes while telling myself that homeroom would only last an hour and that I could get through it. As long as I didn’t have to talk to anyone I was going to be fine.
“Now, Shakespeare uses some key literary devices in this play. I am going to begin by refreshing your sharp little brains on some literary devices we will encounter. Can anyone give me an example of a simile?” I looked around and no one raised their hand, first day jitters I guess. I responded internally “Want a simile? Here you go Mrs. Wacker! Your question is dumb, just like Mills high and everyone inside of it!” She raised her eyebrows looking across the room. “No one?” she said looking at the sea of desks I was drowning in. She then made direct eye contact with me. Looking down at her seating chart, “Ah, Mr. Jason Proctor” she said, “Can you give me an example of a simile?” You have got to be kidding I whispered to myself. I was dead silent with frustration. Who did she think she was? My anger kept building just like it had in my bed the night before. I was choked up and my entire body was on fire while I just stared at her bug eyes through her little green glasses. “Earth to Jason!” She said with a chuckle and gave me a little wave with her free hand. My was heart beating a million beats a minute with rage, I wanted to throw something directly at her head. “No” I finally said, crossing my arms leaning back in my chair. “No?” she said looking confused. “Nope” I stated giving my head a slight shake. Mrs. Wacker looked puzzled and her eyes widened. “It was not really an option, Mr. Proctor, I asked for an example.” She thought she was setting a good example to the class regarding the degree of her strictness, and I saw right through her. “I said I would take a pass on the question, you old bitch” It all came up like word vomit, my infuriation and embarrassment had taken over. I didn’t regret what I said, but I did, however, regret what the consequences would be. After all It was completely true, she was, in fact, an old bitch.
Anyway, the little stunt I pulled in English bought me a one-way ticket to the principal’s office resulting in my mother having to leave work to come pick me up. I could not look her in the eye on the ride home. Neither of us said a word, but the level of her disappointment needed no words in order to be communicated. As we pulled into the driveway I gave her a quick glance. Her expression was blank. I grabbed my backpack and ran upstairs as soon as I walked in the garage door.
I lay staring at the celling once again, thinking about homeroom. Though my door was closed, I could hear my mom sobbing on the phone with my dad. “I just don’t understand Neil, why does he act like this? Is this our fault? How did we let it get this bad? I give him his meds every morning! Do we need to call Dr. Fisher again?” I was numb. I felt nothing and there were no words running through my brain. I just laid there inhaling and exhaling and tuning my mother’s cries out, just existing and nothing else.
The next week of attending school, not speaking to anyone, not making any friends, eating lunch alone in the courtyard, and simply existing in a feeling less state while tooling through the halls of Mills High passed by painfully slow. The only thing that made me even slightly intrigued was my geometry class. Math made sense to me. There were no words, no confusion, no double meanings, just some numbers and shapes that had a definite solution. There was something so predictable about math. When I was doing math, I could almost block everything else out. My fourth period geometry teacher was an abnormally tall and skinny man. His name was Mr. Newman and he literally must have been almost seven feet tall and had an enormous pointy nose. He was bald on the top of his head but his hair was surprisingly pretty full on the sides. His remaining locks were not quite grey yet, but definitely getting there.
The Mills River school district made all of the freshman geometry students take a placement test, giving us questions of general knowledge we should have known by then. It was one of the easiest tests I had ever taken. Mr. Newman stopped me one day after class. I knew it was not going to end well, I was not in the mood to talk. “You really have a gift for math, Jason. Have you considered trying out for the Math team? We need another member!” I originally wanted to vomit. He handed me a slip of paper with a smile saying I should just “think about it” and I rolled my eyes as I grabbed it out of his hand. Me? Trying out for a math team? I would have rather choked myself to death.
Like usual, I came home and threw my book bag on the kitchen table and ran upstairs to lock myself in my room. An hour later, my mother called me downstairs. When I walked in the kitchen, she was standing over the island with the slip of paper Mr. Newman had handed me. “Jase! What a wonderful idea! You are trying out for the math team. I am so thrilled. This is exactly what you should be doing! Wait until Dr. Fisher hears about this, she will be so proud of you” I stood there in awe. I didn’t know what to say. “I am not trying out mom. That’s really not for me. I like math, but all that team stuff? That’s not my thing” Her face fell and her disappointment was crystal clear. “But it could be” she said staring at me with hope in her eyes. “You could make more friends, get involved, have something to look forward to every day!” I felt the rage starting again. “God damn it mom, I said I didn’t want to do it! Can you just let it go?” I shouted across the kitchen. I never mean to get angry with her, but she just doesn’t understand. The thought of being on a team and being a part of something scared me half to death, even though it was something I wanted deep down. I was physically unable to.
After the hostile evening had ended, I headed back up to my room and got ready for bed. I heard a little knock and knew lacy was behind my door. “Come in, loser” I said before she entered. “Hey” she squeaked, looking at the ground. “Hey” I said back, noticing she looked uneasy. “What’s wrong?” I asked, looking concerned. She was quiet for a while, but finally said “I hate it when you and mom fight” My heart dropped in my stomach, I couldn’t bear the feeling of Lacey being disappointed in me. I was silent and I had no idea what to say.
She sat on my floor and we existed together in silence for what felt like hours. Twiddling our thumbs and too saddened to speak to each other, we both just looked at the ground. Looking up at me, Lacey finally spoke. “She’s right you know”, she said in a meek and raspy voice. “Right about what” I said, talking at her. “Joining the math team, Jase. Ever since you have been diagnosed you have been distant, even more distant than before. You go to school, come home, and do nothing all day. You can make friends, anyone can. The only thing that’s getting in the way of that is you. Your disorder should not define who you are. To me, you are my best friend and most important person in my life. Sure, your ASPD might make some things harder for you so achieve, but not impossible. The one thing you have always been good at, despite your diagnosis, is math. So, join the team. Stop being afraid and just join, you have nothing to lose” She was out of breath after she finished her sentence. I stared at her for twenty minutes. She had never talked to me like that before in her entire life.
I considered the outcomes and decided to make a calculated risk by joining the team. If not for me, then for the sanity of my family and most importantly Lacey. I knew I was going to absolutely loathe every second of being a part of the team, being able to tell Lacey and my parents that I did it gave me a boost of confidence, even if I was planning to drop out of the team the following week.
The next day in Geometry I stayed to talk to Mr. Newman after class. I told him that I would join and he was ecstatic. He told me that the first practice would be today after school, and that I had to be in the gym at precisely 3:00. As the day went on I increasingly grew more anxious as the clock ticked closer to three. When the final bell rang my heart was beating like a drum in my ears and I couldn’t block it out. I walked into the gym and instantly saw a group of kids my age sitting in a circle. The pressure kept building until I wanted to vomit. I couldn’t do it i thought to myself, I just couldn’t. I turned around and began to walk out, planning on going home. Mr. Newman had apparently come out from behind the bleachers and saw that I was in the doorway. “Jason Proctor!” He yelled as my back was turned. Shit, now I had to stay. “Glad to have you here, kiddo!” he said walking up to me and eventually patting me on the shoulder. I flashed him the weakest smile. “C’mon now, come take a seat”.
In the circle were 4 other kids, three boys and a girl. The boys talked about photon radiators and algorithms as I watched the girl from the other end of the circle. She wasn’t saying anything, but when she looked up I was taken back by her big blue eyes. They looked just like Lacey’s. After introducing ourselves, discussing our schedule, and getting a head start on some key lessons, practice was over. It went by seemingly fast, and surprisingly I wasn’t miserable. As I walked out of the gym I felt a tap on the shoulder. It was the girl with the big blue eyes. Her hair was dark brown and pulled into two long braids that rested nicely on her shoulders. She was wearing overall jeans and red high tops with a white striped shirt. “Are you in Mr. Newman’s fourth period?” she asked with a soft smile. “Yeah, are you?” I said looking her in the eye. “Yeah I am! I usually sit in the back so no one distracts me though. I’m pretty sure you sit in my row! My name is Alyssa, by the way” “Jason” I said back to her with a slight grin. For some reason, I wasn’t nervous. She reminded me of Lacey so much that I felt like I was talking to her.
Weeks past and Alyssa and I walked from practice to our mom’s cars every day after school. I was comfortable around her, but was always afraid of what she would think if she ever found out about my ASPD. I hoped she would take it like Lacey did, but there was really no way to tell so I kept it a secret for months. Alyssa was becoming my friend, and telling her the truth about my diagnosis could have ruined my chances of having a friend that I actually enjoyed.
Second semester came around and things went on as usual. I would wake up, go to class, go to math team practice, and go home. The one thing I looked forward to every day was walking from the gym to my car with Alyssa, even if we only ever really talked about math. One day though, as we were walking across the Mills High courtyard she asked “Hey, where do you sit at lunch? There is always an open seat at my table that no one uses. You could come sit with my friends if you want.” This stopped me dead in my tracks. I felt it again, the pit in my stomach and the pressure rising to my head. More people? I didn’t want to go. I liked eating lunch alone. Plus, meeting Alyssa was stressful enough, a whole new group of people? Thinking about it made me nauseous. “Uhm, yeah okay. Uhm I’ll uh think about it” I said in a shaking, squirrely voice.
The next day at lunch when the bell rang I felt like crying. The world stopped as I entered the courtyard and my vision suddenly went blurry. My heart was thundering in my chest as I glanced at the place I unusually sit alone in solitude, keeping to myself. I walk towards my spot, knowing that I was not good enough to sit at a table with Alyssa. It was too much for me, and I knew I just wasn’t cut out for it. I sat down alone and I had made my decision.
As I unraveled my pb&j from the tin foil, an image of Lacey popped into my mind. I sat there, wondering what she would say if she could see me now and could see the opportunity I was passing up. The image of the disapproval on her face that night on my bedroom floor flashed through my mind, making every cell in my body ache. She would want me to go sit with Alyssa’s friends. She deserved a brother who tried, even if it was only for her.
I repacked my lunch and picked up my bag and headed to Alyssa’s table. After introducing me to the group, I knew that I was being watched. I was the new kid at the table, and the stares made every inch of my flesh crawl. I was miserable and silent, too nervous to even devour my pb&j. Alyssa knew me all too well, though. She knew the state of mind I was in, and knew how nervous I actually was. She started talking to me about how much she hated her English class, and eventually the rest of the table chimed in. My hatred for English class ran deep, so this was a topic I could get in on, and eventually, I did. Before I knew it, I was talking to the whole table just like I could talk to Lacey, and knew she would be proud of me in this moment.
High school is hard. Judgement, standards, social skills, and popularity are all the name of the game when it comes to your standing. My disorder made it entirely all too difficult for me to form close social bonds with anyone but Lacey, and I had no motivation to allow others to accept me because I did not accept myself. The only thing I saw in myself was my Antisocial Personality Disorder, but Lacey saw me for so much more than that. She pointed out my strengths and encouraged me to go after them, even if I failed. In the process I met Alyssa, who accepted me and gave me a chance, leading me to find a group of classmates I belong to. Sure, I still struggle with my outbursts and aggression, but I have learned to channel it to things I enjoy doing. I thought my Antisocial Personality Disorder was a death sentence, but it turns out that it is just a part of me. Though it makes some circumstances and relationships harder to pursue, learning to try and conquer my disease rather than let it conquer me is what I have learned to face, and it is all because Lacey believed in me when no one else could.