Skip to main content

The Ambivalent Exile

Sometimes I feel that my autism is very obvious.  Most of the time, it isn't.  I was diagnosed at 37.  Before my diagnosis, I was heavily invested in appearing normal.   I thought I was a neurotypical person with irritating quirks.  I worked hard to suppress what was different about me because I thought I was a failure as a person.  I believed I was just like everyone else, but it was obvious to me that I wasn't.  That contradiction hurt and it made me very confused and unhappy.  Since my diagnosis, I have started trying to look at myself with more understanding.  I'm not a neurotypical person with attitude problems I must necessarily correct through self-flagellation.  I'm not a failed person.  I've started trying to be myself more often - to accept myself more.  Of course, I should have been doing that all along, with or without a diagnosis .

Allowing my pretense to slip is difficult and scary.  I relied for so long on my mask of neurotypy.  Letting my real self show more now might make people think that I'm faking for sympathy.  If anyone has gotten that impression, they haven't said so, but I worry.  My diagnosis has been a double-edged sword, which is probably something many people say.

No one reacted when I revealed that I'd been diagnosed with an autism spectrum disorder.  I'm not sure what any of the members of my family think.  Some of them probably don't understand.  Others probably missed my announcement, as I made it on social media.  I didn't contact my family one member at a time to tell them.  It doesn't really matter what they think, but it would be nice for someone to be interested.

I want people to notice, and that fact is embarrassing.  I want to be under the radar but acknowledged and appreciated by people who love me.  Most of my family does not love me, though, and that's been apparent for a while.  I want to clarify: they don't dislike me, but they don't know me and they get along fine without me in their lives.  I'm weird, I've always been weird, and, to people who've already written me off anyway, it doesn't matter why.  That particular anonymity is a double-edged sword, too.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Man Is Not Great: The Evolution of Anthropocentrism

Why do humans care whether their species is special? Why are they so invested in their specialness that they're uncomfortable with the idea that they aren't? Why is it a bitter pill to swallow that humans aren't uniquely important in the universe, that they aren't the intended end of evolution, and that their wondrous and diverse subjective experiences emerge from the same physical processes observable in "lower" animals? I think that the maladaptive human tendency to insist upon their specialness in the universe is an extension of an adaptive tendency to self-advocate in their tribes. Consider fear. The predisposition to turn around when you feel like something might be behind you is likely to save you when there really is something there. Most of the time, when you can't help but turn around on the dark basement steps, there's no threat. From an evolutionary perspective, it’s better to turn unnecessarily than to do nothing in a moment of danger. That...

Threat and Opportunity

Humans see everything as either a threat or an opportunity. These are the only classifications they have. A threat could be a corporal threat, like a violent person, or it could be a threat to their attention, like a boring person or a waste of time.   You're not in control of whether something looks like a threat or an opportunity. You can certainly apply control to turn one into the other, but your first impressions of anything are unconscious. I'm a waste of time. There's nothing to be gained from socializing with me because I'm profoundly socially impaired. I have no status and no way to earn status, so I'm a threat to attention. People who choose to pay attention to me find the endeavor prohibitively expensive of their energy. Attending to me is necessarily a struggle against the Darwinian impulse to conserve energy.  We can call this a rejection response.   I've said that humans naturally have a psychological allergy to me, but that's not a good...

The Human Protocol

Humanity is a spectrum. Some people move through human society without ever belonging in it. I'm such a person. Every thought, every emotion, every sensation, everything your internal organs do, your balance, your muscle tone, your proprioception, every experience you have, from the big ones to the little ones, corresponds to something that happens in your brain: a neural event. Most neural events are beyond our direct control. Every neural event has a trigger. Someone says your name and you turn. You like a song, so you turn it up. What triggers neural events is determined by things like your genes, your upbringing, your culture, and your values. Many neural events are reserved for human-to-human interactions. If you encountered a mosquito that spoke English, you'd recategorize it, and you might change the way you went about trying to keep it from biting you. It would qualify for a kind of consideration that we don't usually offer mosquitoes. It would be more than just an ...