I spent the rest of the day planning how everything should function, practicing expressions, and reviewing what people considered safe, acceptable, and pleasant. I analyzed patterns, adjusting every detail to reduce the chance of error.
The last time I tried to be "myself," I was called cold, insensitive, and macabre. After that, people distanced themselves.
The result was not only social. It was practical.
Isolation reduces access. Reduces opportunities. Reduces interaction with the system.
Within that logic, being excluded was not just uncomfortable — it was inefficient and harmful.
Since then, adaptation became necessary.
A mask not as a choice, but as a method.
Inducing expressions, simulating reactions, reproducing what was expected… all of it required energy, but still remained more functional than the alternative.
Spontaneity, the way others practiced it, seemed to demand more than it resolved.
A friendship, for example, was not a fixed state. It was a continuous maintenance system. Without maintenance, it ceased to exist.
I spent the holiday preparing for everything to unfold in the most predictable way possible.
Planning was not just a habit. It was a necessary support structure for functioning.
Without it, execution became unstable.
And instability always resulted in discomfort.
And so the day arrived. I put on the new uniform, more aesthetically pleasing than the one from my previous school.
When I arrived, my mask was already active. I smiled appropriately, projecting confidence and approachability.
In my own assessment, I was aesthetically attractive, although this had never translated into success with girls.
They were difficult to interpret, highly emotional, unnecessarily complex when it came to determining trustworthiness. Perhaps that was because, at the time, I still did not fully understand how human behavior worked.
I had improved since then, but never to the point of perfection. Some humans remain inconsistent in ways that are difficult to predict, creating conflicts without logic or necessity — situations that offer no real benefit.
I entered the classroom and sat near the window. When they saw me, some girls smiled, their expressions suggesting visual approval.
In the seat next to mine was a boy with black hair and green eyes.
He smiled energetically and began speaking to me naturally, asking questions.
I responded in kind — lightly, friendly, apparently effortless.
On the outside.
On the inside, I was exhausted.
One of the things I learned was how to simulate emotions. In some cases, this triggers physiological responses, making the experience closer to what others define as "real."
But it does not function the same way for me. My processing does not follow that structure.
It is possible to simulate, but it is like trying to read a book while running at full speed, attempting to follow instructions while processing everything at once. It overloads the system, making everything slower, heavier, and eventually draining.
Sometimes I become so immersed in the role that the boundary between simulation and perception becomes less distinct. Even so, it never becomes natural — only more exhausting, because this is not how I function.
The teacher entered shortly after and asked for introductions.
I stood up and walked to the front of the class.
I adjusted my expression: correct smile, controlled brightness in the eyes, open posture.
"Hello, good morning. My name is Liam Withery. I am 16 years old and I will be attending this school until graduation. I hope to get along well with everyone."
The reactions came immediately.
Approval. Sympathy. Acceptance.
The environment responded exactly as expected.
Success… for now.