I have so many regrets, in so many different situations. Situations I didn’t read properly, or where I missed certain social cues. Situations where I said something really inappropriate, offending someone in the process. Or the exact opposite — not saying or doing something when I absolutely should have. Again letting people down.
Memories
I remember all of those moments deeply. Where I was. What the weather was like at that exact moment. My age (to a certain extent). Who was there. What I said. What I did. What I didn’t do. The reactions. All of it.
The whole scene is etched into my mind forever. Or — as I call it — my -2 level: The Emotionally Loaded Index. Level -1 is my “normal” memory, for what it’s worth. There’s not much difference between the two. The way memories are stored is identical.
Triggers
Those situations can be triggered by anything, at any time. A moment at work, something someone says, or simply out of nowhere — when I sink into thoughts and somehow the memory resurfaces. And it still feels as painful as the moment itself.
Or worse: sometimes the pain comes years later, because only now do I truly understand what went wrong. I could slap myself hard. With more experience, I finally see why it was inappropriate. Or wrong. Or hurtful. Or all of the above.
Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and tell my earlier self what I know now. And honestly, it’s simple: The laws of physics say time travel is impossible. For now at least :-).
But if I could… I’d teach myself what kind of social situation is coming up — and stop it before it happens.
There are so many of those regrets, saved as full recordings. Scene, dialogue, reactions — everything. Archived permanently on -2. Whether I want it or not.
And here’s the other issue: I have no tools to soften the feelings that come back with those recordings. No way to delete, rewrite them, or simply accept them for what they are.
And there’s another reason they feel like a lump of concrete.
One that sinks. And stays.
Some of these memories go back four — yes, that’s a 4 — decades.
And I can almost hear you yelling through the screen: “Four decades ago? That’s water under the bridge!”
Maybe. For you.
I still remember.
But what are the odds that the other party remembers the exact same thing — after 10, 20, 30, or even 40 years? I’ve learned that my brain works very differently from most people’s. Mine works like a recorder. Saving the moment. Saving the context.
I can already imagine how that conversation would go: “Hey… I wanted to say sorry about something that happened when we were about 12 years old…” And then:
“Ehhhh… What?! When?! Why??”
Yeah. Exactly.
Can you see the problem?
Etched in Regret #1: The very inappropriate joke
I must have been 10, 11, or maybe just 12. We didn’t have our first personal computer yet. Two female friends were over at our place — one of them was in my class back then — and we were playing games on our MSX computer.
And for some reason — I said I knew a joke. A joke that was really, really, and I mean REALLY inappropriate.
And yet… I told it. Out of nowhere.
No context. No reason. Just me, blurting it out.
The only one who laughed was me. Both friends were just shocked.
And they almost left immediately after that. Both of them told me I was really, really rude.
In hindsight…
I honestly don’t know what I was thinking.
Why just why.
I don’t know if either of them still remembers that day.
But I do. Every word. Even the bad joke itself.
And if either of you recognizes this moment…
I’m really, really sorry. I wish I had done it differently.
Etched in Regret #2: The Gym Incident
I must have been around 12. It was gym class — Group 8 in the Dutch school system.
The game was a strange form of basketball. Two kids stood on an elevated platform near the hoop. The rest of us had to pass the ball around and then throw it up to the person above, so they could score.
The same female friend I mentioned before was on the elevated platform. She had missed a couple of times.
And then it happened. The insanely rude remark I made — out of nowhere. It was just a game. Nothing more.
But the way I said it… You’d think it was life or death.
She started crying. And I knew I had fucked up.
I wanted to say sorry. Immediately.
But I didn’t. I just stood there.
Doubled down on the rude remark front.
Even thinking to myself — (and yes, I can still remember that exact moment on the field) — “What the fuck is wrong with me?”
I’m 48 now. It has been 36 years — almost four decades!
And I can still remember this moment like it was yesterday. I even remember which side the elevated platform was on, compared to the hoop.
And also where I stood, compared to the platform.
Yes.
That detailed.
And again…
If the person in this story recognizes this — I am truly sorry. I wish I never said those things.
Sigh
These are just two of the many. There are dozens — maybe even hundreds — of moments like this. All those moments are stored on -2, The Emotionally Loaded Index.
And what stands out most to me now: So many of the worst memories involved the same person.
The one I probably hurt the most.
How do you say sorry to someone you no longer see — for things that happened decades ago? Things they might not even remember. And even if they do remember… Even if they accept the apology…
Will that make the painful memory go away?
Does a true apology still have value when the pain never left me — but the moment left everyone else?
I honestly don’t know.
All I know is — it still hurts.
CPTSD?
Someone who read this draft said: “This reads like CPTSD.” And I get that.
But here’s the strange part: I remember everything this way. Not just the painful stuff. Also the fun, the joy, the excitement — complete with emotion, detail, context. My brain doesn’t filter by importance or emotional weight. It just… archives. Normal memories are stored at -1, the really bad ones go down a level — to -2.
So no, this may not be trauma. It’s just memory. My kind of memory.
I’m curious though — am I the only one with this insane recording capabilities?
Last words
I’m having difficulties blaming my autism for all of this pain and grief I caused.
I did it. I own it. Period.
But it sure as hell doesn’t make it any easier.
Brain out..