Last night, Death to Shakespeare and I were chatting on the phone and she asked me what I had coming up for my birthday on next Saturday.

"Oh, I don't know…maybe take myself out to dinner or something. Nothing fancy," I said.

"Well what about your friends…do you have anything planned with them?"

I let out a deep sigh. Here we go on this crap again of me not having friends and keeping to myself and all that jazz. I didn't even want to play that game again, so I quickly changed the subject.

"So did you hear about…"

"Boy, answer my question." Then she sighed. "I'm worried you are never going to have any friends. You had this same problem as a child — always with your nose stuck in some book. I'm telling you Karsh, you need to fix that."

Yeah…fix it.

Over the years, there have been several attempts to "fix it", most often ending in complete embarassment or utter shame. Other times, I've been successful in procuring a "friend" (confidant, acquaintance, etc.) only to commit some social faux pas and lose them. Or they just get tired of me. Look back through this blog from the beginning up until now and count the folks who have magically dropped off from contributing. That's no coincidence. But sometimes, I just get tired of them…tired of being the enabler or being involved in a one-sided friendship where I'm doing all the "work".

Except it shouldn't have to be "work", should it? Or at least it shouldn't be as hard as it is for me. Add romantic feelings to the mix and it's no wonder I don't live in a cave somewhere. For me, it's very difficult. Over the years, I've gotten better at trying to be more friendly and accomodating…it's not that I'm an evil person (well, sometimes…), but being rational often outweighs being "friendly", so I come off as mean and cold.

I could fake it, but not forever. It's too damn taxing.

So where is this whole post going? Well, a little less than a year ago after "the incident", I enlisted the help of a shrink. That's right…THERAPY. Karsh has issues, y'all.

Oh, like you don't too.

I've been going now on and off for a year and it's been so-so. Some sessions are better than others, but overall it's been probably one of the better decisions I've made in my adult life with a lot of breakthroughs and learning about myself, why things happen as they do, and just as an overall sounding board.

I suppose you normies would call that "friendship". Meh.

At first, the shrink thought my "condition" might just be a social anxiety disorder, but with more talks, tests and a finger walk through the DSM-IV, the shrink was convinced that I had Asperger's syndrome.

"What?"

"Asperger's syndrome."

"And what makes you think that? Just because crowds freak me out sometimes?"

"Karsh, if you want me to give it to you straight, I will. I picked you out as classic AS after our first session."

Picture me trying to remain nonplussed — the only diseases/syndromes/maladies I'd ever been diagnosed with were chicken pox, food poisoning and the common cold. Now I'm fucking syndromic?

"So what does that mean?"

The skeptic in me was not believing this. The shrink gave me some pamphlets and said I should do some research to find out more about it. I discovered that many children and adults have AS without ever being diagnosed. It's more prevalent among males than females, and while there is a lot of information of AS with kids, there is little as it relates to adults because they learn to "figure it out".

So…when is my ass going to figure it out? I'm waiting…

Perhaps the most amazing thing from doing this research is seeing how as a kid I was a textbook case of AS. Very much into languages, writing and was a very good student in grade school. Hell, I picked up the trombone in under three months like it was nothing. I wonder how my life would've been knowing then I was like this as opposed to dredging through years of social awkwardness and depression with no idea why I was like this. Even moreso, I wonder how life will be now that I know this. Different? Definitely! I'm not saying I can get away with murder, but I can definitely learn to give myself a break over things that would normally stress me the hell out.

Honestly, I didn't even want to blog about it. Hell, the only person that knows is Opportunity (of all folks, right?). I'm usually not shy about sharing stuff, but some things you want to keep close to the vest. Why should this be one of them? I don't know — a small level of shame, I guess. I'm dealing with it though, but I'm not exactly wearing an AS t-shirt on the weekends either. I'm coming to terms with it slowly.

I've thought about how best to tell Death to Shakespeare, but honestly, I have no idea. How do you break the news to a parent that you have a mental condition that may socially impair you for the rest of your life? A postcard? An e-mail? A quick admission, then hang up the phone? I don't even really know where to begin. Hell, I thought this would be the easy part.

I do know this though: none of us are perfect. We all have some kind of flaw, be it physical or mental. The real test of character, at least from what I've discovered, is turning that into something that can work for you. Play the hand you're dealt, to refer to it colloquially.

There may not be a need to "fix it" after all, you know. We'll see.