I'm coming out as an Aspie. I have Aspergers syndrome. I am not inferior to anyone, nor am I superior to anyone. I DO have emotions even though I have trouble expressing them. I had lived for over 22 years before I was diagnosed. In that time I knew I was different, but I didn't understand why. This diagnosis last month finally gives me a name for my differences. A normal person could never fully understand what is was like for me, but I will try to explain.
A person with Aspergers is likely to be the brunt of every joke, because he/she is just different. A person with Aspergers is usually very sensitive to light, loud and/or sudden noises. I have difficulty communicating with "normal"people. I have a hard time discerning facial expressions, body posture, and often voice tones meant to convey a meaning or emotion. I also have difficulty displaying these things. I often take things literally, and I have a hard time understanding figures of speech. I can't help but see and hear everything going on around me, and it gets overwhelming. The way that I can deal with this is by pacing and isolation. I don't think I can explain this well, but if you could imagine being alone, and never being able to connect with anyone, then you have some inkling of what it is like to be me. I cannot multi-task, at all. I have to write things down so I can remember to do them. I am always direct and honest, to a fault at times, but people constantly read more into what I'm saying than what I'm saying (I know that sounds stupid.) Because I am intelligent and articulate, it is not readily apparent to many people that I am different, so they think that I am an as*hole, aloof, or one of many things.
I want to talk to people for the most part, and I want to feel understood like any human being, but I just haven't been dealt that hand it seems. Growing up was a challenge for me. None of my peers could overlook my differences and befriend me. Instead, I was the target for more sick humor, wanton cruelty, and emotional abuse than you could possibly think of. My stories are so real that they sound fake. I was sent to several different schools, many of which had children of say, diminished mental capacity. Their curriculum was my own. I had already been acting out in school due both to my "disability" and my boredom in school. For some reason learning has always been easy for me. Anyways, having to sit through class where they were learning hooked on phonic, while I had college level reading comprehension and vocabulary led to more trouble. I was suspended from school 9 times in fifth grade alone. I was not what I would call lucid when I was younger, and I was very impulsive. This got me into a lot of trouble. Nobody understood why I acted out in school, so I guess they thought I was doing it on purpose. So I was punished. I knew why I was getting punished, but I couldn't change my behavior. I tried, lord knows I tried, but nothing I did was of any use. Nothing anybody did could help me, if they happened to think of trying to help at all. I felt abandoned, not just by my drug addict father, but by the world as a whole.
Nobody understood me, and it's likely they never will, because I think differently than they do. It's proven, my brain is wired differently from a neurotypical brain. I lived through my own personal hell of rejection and misunderstanding. It's no wonder why I developed depression at an early age. Compassion, that's to be reserved for people who aren't annoying, and for people who can show others how they feel. Children can be cruel they say, and I can attest to this. Looking bad, my life sounds like something from a comic book. I mean, how many people can say that they've had rotten fruit thrown at them, bikes thrown at them, large rocks thrown at them, tied to a skateboard and pushed down a hill, and don't forget the things that they say. For two whole years at one alternative school I had to listen to the same jibe. Gayness coming from Paul's anus. It's likely hard to imagine how this made me feel. For a while, I thought that I might be gay. And to this day, I still hear the jibes, and that wasn't the only one. I fail to understand how a teacher could let this go on for so long. The only way I had to deal with my anger was to punch a wall. And the principal had the audacity to suggest that I should pay for the repairs when I left that school. I just don't understand you "normal" people. I never fit in, and I likely never will; I'm coming to terms with that. What I can't come to terms with is how evil people can be. Sure, I'm different, but does everyone have to point it out all of the time? I don't tell someone, you're fat, I don't want to be seen with you, but for some reason it's acceptable when everyone feels the same way. Childhood was hell. It's funny, before my diagnosis I said a few times, those columbine shooters weren't outcasts, they had each other. I had no one and if anybody had a reason to shoot up a school it was me. I still firmly believe that. But would I do it? No, never. Nor would I intentionally make someone else feel bad, because pain is nothing compared to emotional anguish. People always yelled at me, because they didn't think I listened, the yelling just made things 10 times worse. And people wonder why I'm cynical, well now you don't have to.
This has been very taxing to write, and I have brought a lot of traumatic memories to mind; just be thankful I didn't share it all, because it would make even the toughest man cry in sympathy. Now that I know why I can't keep a job, a friend, or a lover, I can at least console myself in the fact that it is likely to never change. I will always be me, and the world will never understand. At least I know it wasn't my fault (still trying to convince myself of this.) A lesser man than I would have ended this long ago, but ever since I can remember, I knew I had a purpose, I knew I came to this sick world for a reason. I came here to fix it, and I won't leave until I do. If that entails a lifetime of isolation, then so be it. Still, I can't help but to wish for something better. The fact is, I'm not content with having no friends, I'm not content with being disabled, and I'm not content with never being able to communicate the way you all do. Will the rest of my life be like my past? If so I might reconsider how important my purpose is to me, lord knows I have before. So, in conclusion, you don't understand, and you couldn't unless you have lived my life. I have left out even more than I have been left out, but I have included enough for a glimpse, a glimpse into my person struggle. Not that anyone actually cares, but it's nice to share.
10 Aug 2011, 5:28 am
