All my life I thought I was as normal as the next bloke. A little different, perhaps, but fundamentally the same.
Finished school at 16, moved on to university. Discovered music, poetry, theatre, dropped out. Wandered the land for a few years.
Learned computers - fantastic, thought I. Feels like I was born for this. Pays well too...
Cut code on three continents, married, raised children, but found no friends, no sense of belonging, no security. Studied - occultism, religion, self, leadership. Cut more code but gained little from it. Well, life wasn't meant to be easy. Decades passed
For my fiftieth birthday, I gained an MBA - just made it to tertiary qualification before my sons. For the fifty-first, I moved beyond the belief in god that had sustained me for half a century. For the fifty-second, I reached an aspergers diagnosis. A relief at the time, but that too slowly turned to torment. Everything I knew was wrong, and then some.
Now I'm fifty-four, stuck like a fly in amber, struggling for foundation. I guess there's a way forward, but the suspicion still lurks that I'm just an ox harnessed to a millstone. Is diagnosis without prognosis any better than a life sentence?