I felt I had nowhere to go for help: my father was extremely impatient with me, with a little condescension and belittlement thrown in, and my teachers would only bark: “You’re just lazy and don’t apply yourself” (absolutely not true), so analyzing everything soon became my default mode.
I became compelled to find out how everything worked: my bike, conversations, how airplanes fly, why kids made fun of me, birds (yes I would autopsy dead birds that the cat brought home to see if they had the same organs we did [spoiler alert] they do), humor, art, sports, sarcasm, anything that made me uncomfortable, scared, confused, frustrated, or anxious I would try to break it down to its base components before I began the analysis.
I also found an interesting side-effect when you deconstruct something you’re afraid of: it’s no longer scary.
It’s like you break the magical hold fear has on you…
