Tired of Being Misread

By Ryan, AWRYTE

I’ve been called intense, cold, fake, shy, oversensitive, oblivious, dramatic—and that’s just by people who claimed to care about me.

It’s not that they were cruel. It’s that they were wrong.

My entire life, I’ve been misread. People think they’re seeing the real me, but they’re only getting the version I’ve rehearsed well enough to survive the moment.

What they don’t see is that everything I say, do, wear, or hold back is calculated. Not in a manipulative way—but in a self-protective way. Masking isn’t about being fake. It’s about staying safe.

I learned young that certain facial expressions were expected. That pauses in conversation made people uncomfortable.

That not laughing at the right time could get you labeled weird—or worse, rude.

So I studied.

I mirrored.

I picked up patterns and memorized phrases.

I read the room like a script.

And I got damn good at it.

Too good.

Because when you’re “high-functioning” (don’t get me started on that term), people assume you’re fine.

They don’t see the effort.

The constant buffering.

The exhaustion that hits the second the door closes and you’re alone.

They think the performance is the person.

And anything outside of that?

Inconvenient.

Inexplicable.

Ungrateful.

Broken.

Here’s the thing: I never wanted to lie.

I didn’t start masking because I was ashamed.

I started because being honest didn’t work.

Being honest got me punished, corrected, ignored.

I said what I thought, and it was “too blunt.”

I moved how I moved, and it was “too much.”

I paused before answering, and it was “too slow.”

I laughed too loud. Cried too easily. Asked too many questions.

So I stopped.

I started answering how I thought they wanted me to answer. Smiling when I didn’t feel like it. Pretending to understand when I was actually lost. Faking comfort so I wouldn’t get labeled difficult.

And they liked that version of me better.

They praised it. Rewarded it. Promoted it. Fell in love with it.

But it wasn’t me. Not really.

It was the version I had to create to survive being misunderstood.

Eventually, I didn’t just lose other people’s understanding—I started losing my own.

That’s what no one tells you about masking. You don’t just hide from others. You start hiding from yourself.

You question your instincts.

Your feelings.

Your memories.

You rewrite moments in your head, trying to figure out how you could’ve made it easier for everyone else.

You stop asking what you need.

Because the priority becomes what they expect.

And that’s where the damage really happens.

Not in one big blow—but in the erosion of trust. In the slow leak of identity.

In the daily choice to contort instead of exist.

By the time I got diagnosed, I had a lifetime of misinterpretation built up.

I carried it like evidence: every conversation where I said the “wrong” thing, every friendship that faded without explanation, every meltdown I swallowed so it wouldn’t make anyone uncomfortable.

The diagnosis didn’t erase any of it.

But it did explain why none of it made sense before.

I wasn’t broken. I was just being seen through the wrong lens.

I’m not cold. I’m processing.

I’m not intense. I’m honest.

I’m not fake. I’m surviving.

And yeah—I’m tired.

Tired of decoding everyone else while being expected to make myself easier to read.

Tired of the double standard—where I’m supposed to know what they meant, but they never bother to ask what I meant.

Tired of being told I’m “too sensitive” one day and “too distant” the next.

Tired of apologizing for my brain.

Because this is my brain. This is how it works. And I’m done performing for clarity that never comes.

I want to be known in real time—not just understood in hindsight.

I want connection without translation.

I want space to pause without being punished.

I want to exist without having to explain why.

And if you’ve ever felt this way—like your entire personality was an apology, like your needs were too complicated, like your silence was louder than your words—you’re not alone.

It’s not about fixing anything. It’s about finally being allowed to show up as-is. AWRYTE is for us.