I would have been able to read a sociopath's non-verbal "I'm trustworthy" signals and been fooled by my stepfather's high degree of social skills, and would likely have been hurt worse than I was by their abuse.
I would not have learned to read early, and would not have learned to love books nearly as much as I did.
I would not be able to notice tiny details.
I would not have the skill at categorizing and organizing that I do.
I would not be as good a scientist.
I would not have a social perspective that lets me see and analyze society from the outside.
I would have kept my stereotypes about disabilities.
I would be dependent on social relationships for my sense of well-being
I would not have met several of the best friends I have ever had, who are also autistic or disabled in some other way.
I would not have been able to help parents with newly-diagnosed autistic children learn what autism looks like outside the "awareness" ads.
I would not have become a disability rights activist.
I would not have become aware of the problems inherent in the systems that exist in mental institutions, nursing homes, group homes, etc.
I would not have developed my skill at writing to the extent that I have.
I would not have been able to learn enough about psychology to self-diagnose depression at the age of fourteen, and understand enough about myself to survive three episodes of it.
I might actually be dead: My interest in medicine during my early teens caused me to study first aid; and I was able to use the Heimlich on myself when I was choking on a piece of ice. At the time, no one else was in the house, and without that knowledge my life would have been dependent on how fast ice melts...