This anecdote is already having a somewhat strong emotional kick to me. Your vulnerability about this is pretty quickly defusing my usual outrage about this sort of thing. I'm loathe to attribute everything about me to being on the spectrum, but in this case, speaking can feel like juggling — even the weight of a butterfly can be enough to smack one of the objects away and make the siteswap of ideas fumble into dysphoria. There are at least two kinds of loneliness; being absent of people, and being absent of connection. I think being interrupted makes a person feel unusually alone in the presence of another person. That being said, your essay has a lot to teach me, and I'll try to listen carefully.