u/Cautious_Outcome7122

I’m in my mid-20s, and I only recently learned that I’m AuDHD, on top of struggling with clinical depression for most of my life. Looking back, so many pieces finally click into place, but the picture they form is painfully lonely.

Growing up, I never had a large circle of friends, in fact, I could count them on one hand. Every friendship I’ve ever had was seasonal: tied to a specific school, city, or life chapter. Once I moved on to the next environment, those connections quietly faded, as if they never existed. I’ve also realized that I seem to have the capacity – emotionally and mentally – for one close friend at a time. Juggling multiple friendships at once feels overwhelming, almost impossible. I genuinely don’t have the energy or bandwidth to spread myself across several people, and honestly, I resist even trying.

Another thing: I’ve rarely clicked with people my own age. My closest companions over the years have almost all been decades older – in their 40s, 50s, even 60s. I know now that I was unconsciously looking for maternal warmth I never got at home. My family was chaotic, neglectful, and painful, so I poured all my unmet needs into these older friends, treating them almost like surrogate mothers.

And for a while, it worked. At the start of each new phase, they were kind, patient, and understanding about my depression. But over time, my neediness would grow, I leaned on them too heavily, and my emotional instability would flare up more often than anyone could reasonably absorb. One by one, they pulled away. Each time, I told myself I’d do better next time, but the pattern repeated.

Now? I have zero friends. Not a single person I can text just to say "hi." And I feel like a complete failure at human connection.

It’s not even that starting a friendship is easy for me – it’s not. With autism, social cues are a minefield. I often say things that come out wrong, unintentionally confuse people, or accidentally offend them. I try so hard to be clear and warm, but my words seem to backfire more often than not.

Worst of all, I’ve lost all courage to try again. Because deep down, I’m convinced that no matter how beautiful the early days are – the late-night talks, the shared laughs, the feeling of finally being seen, it will always end the same way: with me driving them away. It feels like a curse, or worse, a flaw in my very core.

So now I find myself stuck. I want connection more than anything, but I’m terrified of repeating the cycle. Whenever I catch myself smiling at a fond memory of a friend who’s no longer here, the joy curdles into grief. Those happy moments are real, but they’re also evidence of what I’ve lost, and what I can’t seem to keep.

I don’t know what to do. How do you break a pattern that feels baked into your neurology and your trauma? How do you learn to trust yourself with others when every past relationship has collapsed under your own weight?

If anyone out there has been through something similar, especially with AuDHD, depression, or attachment wounds, I’d really appreciate hearing your story. How did you start over? Did you find a way to build healthier friendships without draining yourself or the other person?

Thanks for reading. 

I’m in my mid-20s, and I only recently learned that I’m AuDHD, on top of struggling with clinical depression for most of my life. Looking back, so many pieces finally click into place, but the picture they form is painfully lonely.

Growing up, I never had a large circle of friends, in fact, I could count them on one hand. Every friendship I’ve ever had was seasonal: tied to a specific school, city, or life chapter. Once I moved on to the next environment, those connections quietly faded, as if they never existed. I’ve also realized that I seem to have the capacity – emotionally and mentally – for one close friend at a time. Juggling multiple friendships at once feels overwhelming, almost impossible. I genuinely don’t have the energy or bandwidth to spread myself across several people, and honestly, I resist even trying.

Another thing: I’ve rarely clicked with people my own age. My closest companions over the years have almost all been decades older – in their 40s, 50s, even 60s. I know now that I was unconsciously looking for maternal warmth I never got at home. My family was chaotic, neglectful, and painful, so I poured all my unmet needs into these older friends, treating them almost like surrogate mothers.

And for a while, it worked. At the start of each new phase, they were kind, patient, and understanding about my depression. But over time, my neediness would grow, I leaned on them too heavily, and my emotional instability would flare up more often than anyone could reasonably absorb. One by one, they pulled away. Each time, I told myself I’d do better next time, but the pattern repeated.

Now? I have zero friends. Not a single person I can text just to say "hi." And I feel like a complete failure at human connection.

It’s not even that starting a friendship is easy for me – it’s not. With autism, social cues are a minefield. I often say things that come out wrong, unintentionally confuse people, or accidentally offend them. I try so hard to be clear and warm, but my words seem to backfire more often than not.

Worst of all, I’ve lost all courage to try again. Because deep down, I’m convinced that no matter how beautiful the early days are – the late-night talks, the shared laughs, the feeling of finally being seen, it will always end the same way: with me driving them away. It feels like a curse, or worse, a flaw in my very core.

So now I find myself stuck. I want connection more than anything, but I’m terrified of repeating the cycle. Whenever I catch myself smiling at a fond memory of a friend who’s no longer here, the joy curdles into grief. Those happy moments are real, but they’re also evidence of what I’ve lost, and what I can’t seem to keep.

I don’t know what to do. How do you break a pattern that feels baked into your neurology and your trauma? How do you learn to trust yourself with others when every past relationship has collapsed under your own weight?

If anyone out there has been through something similar, especially with AuDHD, depression, or attachment wounds, I’d really appreciate hearing your story. How did you start over? Did you find a way to build healthier friendships without draining yourself or the other person?

Thanks for reading. 

I’m an ABC who moved to HK for work two years ago. Soon after arriving, I made a wonderful friend, a local HKer. However, we recently had a conflict over something, and in the heat of anger, she said to me: "I know you're American and care deeply about privacy, but I'm not a HKer, and I'm not Chinese." Hearing this left me completely lost for words.

To give some context: she is an older woman born in HK who spent 13 years in Canada for college and work, earning Canadian citizenship. She moved back in 1997, worked as a civil servant, and retired a few years ago. I struggle to understand how she doesn't consider herself a HKer, given that she was born here, has spent over five decades of her life here, and relies on a pension funded by the HK government.

Lately, due to HK's new talent schemes, she has befriended many mainland immigrants through her church, a dynamic she really enjoys. Meanwhile, because my parents emigrated to the US in the '80s and I grew up there, I occasionally voice my own biases against China. She gets quite upset when I criticize China and sometimes she'll even air her own grievances about the US, making it clear she has zero desire to ever move there.

Both she and her husband love visiting Shenzhen and traveling around mainland China, and they frequently use Simplified Chinese. Her husband is especially anti-American and pro-China, he even declared he’ll never set foot in the US again, despite having studied in the UK.

I’m really curious: is this kind of mindset and background common among locals in HK?

​Edit: It was not my intention to bring personal political affiliations into this. I listed those details solely to illustrate the contradiction between their background, identity, life experiences, and behavior.

​I posted this out of genuine confusion over the gap between identity and real-world behavior, aiming to understand the underlying rationale behind such a mindset. In fact, this isn't something she developed from a single conflict, her husband has mentioned on several occasions that she frequently insists she is Canadian, not a HKer.

​Personally, nationality isn't a big deal to me because we can't choose our place of birth or our citizenship. Due to HK's unique circumstances, dual nationality is common here, making people's sense of identity far more nuanced and multifaceted.