I don’t think that one thing came (or come) before the other I think they were somehow running alongside. I was “special” since I was two or three years old. My father reacted to this with irritation and aggressivenes and my mother, who was at odds with my father (they didn’t even sleep together after my birth, which was clearly not planned nor wanted) and forseeing life in older age in absolute loneliness, nurtured the idea that I should be with her like a kind of pet and servant. This is hard to relate, but there was no one who could have affection for my mother. Nor did I: I only wanted to flee but had no equipment for a real independent life. Moreover my father was very well known and, though I lived all my life at a good distance, also geographically from my family, there was no place where I was not my father's son and treated in consequence with “tolerance” and resignation, like a “case”.
Like Kafka said in his letter to father, “I envisaged the world on a map as something occupied nearly exclusively by you, the place reserved to me was very tiny and surely not corfortable”. Kafka was certainly mistaken in faulting his father as he did. But he lived his relationship with his father in a tragic way. An autistic needs a protective environement, and this he didn’ find at home.