I was sweet sixteen, I was lying on the top bunk of a bunkbed I shared with my brother, and it was the first day of sixth form. I was dreading going back. 

On the way to school, a friend asked me, "Are you looking forward to school?" and I replied, "No way!” He laughed at my hateful reaction. He LAUGHED - HE'D FOUND ME FUNNY! So I continued my non-caring, pessimistic, grumpy, sneering persona throughout the whole of sixth form. People said I had a very dry sense of humour. It was the only way I could get people to like me.

The highlight was Psychology class, when the teacher assigned me to sit next to the guy who'd bullied me for the previous two years. The first thing the bully asked me was why I'd chosen Psychology. I told him, "It was either this or English literature, and I couldn't stand another two years with Mrs. Shine" (our old English teacher). He laughed, and liked me from then on. I'd betrayed Mrs. Shine though, who I'd actually respected as a teacher.

Hate is a good motivator. I hated who I was. I think specifically I loathed my autism traits. By the way, I don't actually have autism or Asperger's, but my brother does, and I do reckon I have a fair few genes of it myself. There was a guy at school I'll never forget: David Cornery. I never spoke to him - I never even heard him speak - but his strange behaviours repulsed me. When walking, for example, he'd look straight down at the floor, perhaps lost in thought. He was often alone, yet he seemed happy in his own world. He probably had autism. I suspect my instinctual dislike of him was because I hated that very aspect of myself. I later learned that this is a psychological defense mechanism called "projection".

I remember overhearing someone ask, "Who do you think is the strangest person in the school?". Someone replied, "Paul is the definitely the weirdest kid in the sixth form". Really? Out of over 200 students? I was standing right next to him when he said that. Perhaps he knew I could hear him and he was being malicious, or maybe he hadn't noticed me and really did mean what he said. I wish I knew.

When I walked past groups of yobs, they would give me amused, bullying and dominating glares. But here's a tip: if you hold your head up high and stare straight ahead, you look tougher, so people pay less attention to you. It took me years of practise to keep my head up like that, scowling into the middle distance. The sun hurt my eyes, for one thing.

I've always prized myself on being able to control my emotions. I favour logic and composure over emotion and hysteria. But these days I see my stunted emotions not as a strength, but as a shortcoming. I'd like to feel joy, sadness, and excitement. This sounds like I'm depressed, but I'm not. And even if I am depressed, then it's only a low-level depression. I don't have anything to be depressed about. I'm living the life I dreamed about. I've accepted my defects and look forward to a life of hedonism.

It's kind of like being dead inside. Or like being a slave, accepting your fate. There's something liberating about being dead inside. You can do what the fuck you like, for the most part. The trouble is, there's not many things you enjoy doing.

I'm scared these days too. I feel like I'm losing who I am. Becoming a ghost. I just feel tired. My Dad has gone through the same thing, I believe. The intelligent person he used to be is gone; now he's just a two-dimensional image of his past self. I try not to think about it.

EDIT: Two weeks after writing this, I was diagnosed with hypothyroidism, thus explaining my fatigue and low-level depression.