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I don’t know if I am normal. I don’t know if my brain functions the same way as everyone else’s. I don’t know whether my emotional empathy is appropriate, or veers widely off course.

These thoughts stirred by another of those encounters, repeated throughout my life: a complete stranger yelling at me at the top of their voice, just when I thought I was minding my own business: “What you staring at?”

I’ve always put it down to them being obnoxious or uncouth, but in truth I don’t know if there’s something wrong with my social gaze. No idea if my social functioning is completely broken. Whether I give off vibes forever misunderstood.

Certainly, I am incompetent in social settings. Though the most hospitable host, I make a truly awful guest, always awkward amidst the glances of strangers. Thus do I frequently flee the company of all but my most trusted companions.

Indeed, prior to imposing exile on myself, I experienced so many episodes of conflict with others, despite often having only the best of intentions, that I could only conclude that the problem was me.

My worry is this: do I exhibit non-typical behaviour in social interactions which have an indelible impact on my relationships? Is it that, unbeknownst to me, my face or posture or natural gaze exude something which others find offensive?

All my life I have experienced what I can only describe as a numb fog in my mind, manifesting itself in slow speech, short-term memory problems and losing my train of thought. While it does me little harm while alone, in social settings my vacant mind becomes a burdensome obstacle, tripping me up.

Though a combination of regular injections, daily supplements and increased exercise seem to have helped clear the worst of the fog more recently, enabling me to communicate more lucidly, that perennial tendency to quickly lose focus remains.

So it is that as the festive period approaches, I’ve already submitted my apologies to the organisers of social gatherings. This isn’t some kind of puritanical zeal, boycotting participation on religious grounds. It’s that perpetual inner awkwardness rearing its head once more.

If I jokingly refer to myself as an anti-social git, excusing myself on the grounds that my voice is the exact same tone as background noise, that’s just my cover story. I think everyone needs a good cover story to help them cope with life. What’s yours?