Identity loss in A transparent lockbox

So much of my identity growing up was defined by being different. It wasn’t intentional. It was just because I lacked so much of the desire that others my age had. I despised all forms of parties and social events, and wasn’t a fan of holidays. No one ever talked to me about it when I was younger, but now that I am in my twenties, I hear anecdotes and stories and people who knew me then saying “You were always an interesting kid.” and honestly it was something that brought me some sort of comfort and pride. In high school, I got a bit of a superiority complex because while kids were becoming parents, getting arrested at parties, and diving into hard drugs, I was at home watching The Sopranos and Forensic Files. I was such a stable and fixed presence in my life, all that was to be known about me, I had explored. I was happy to be different, and to have different ideas and hobbies. The most joy I’ve ever felt and continue to feel is not when I am hanging out with friends but rather when I’m deep into an obsession. Usually, the obsession is with a specific person or concept. The most prominent ones have been Fleetwood Mac, Sylvia Plath, Greta Garbo, Medieval Literature, and unsolved disappearances. When I say obsession, I mean Ph.D.-level scholarly research about the backgrounds and details and all the annoying nitty gritty stuff, but it’s one thing I forever love.
When I got to college, I became more curious about the social world, wondering what everyone found to be so fascinating. So I slowly started to become interested in dating and partying, almost scientifically. In fact, I dated three men, talked to many many many more, went to clubs and bars, and smoked weed every day for 4 months. And I must say, from it all, each experience, each memory, I take nothing of it with me. There is no joy tied into any of it. I always heard people say “Don’t change to be like everyone else! Always be yourself!” and thought “Wow, what cliché bullshit.” But I never expected it to be so insidious. Never was I trying to fit in, I was just curious why everyone else seemed to enjoy these things. And it has partially rotted who I am. I don’t feel different anymore, I just feel like I’m boring, because that’s what I’m said to be when I don’t want to do those things anymore. There has never been more discontentment in my life than when I tried to do what my peers were doing and I feel resentful for the time I lost in that. Just now have I begun to find my way back to shore after years of meandering. No longer will I ever have to wonder about if I could enjoy it all too because now I know I wouldn’t.