Persistent and Convincing

In some contexts, if we can make statements about X that can be said to be true, we can make statements about X that can be said to be false.

For instance: if "Orangutans are arboreal" can be said to be true, then "Orangutans are nonarboreal" can be said to be false.

"Orangutans have orange fur" is a statement about anatomy. "Some orangutans live in Borneo" is a statement about geography. "Orangutans are arboreal" is a statement about behavior, thus it goes to essence.

Here, I'm using "essence" to refer to the way a being tends to be. It's physically possible for orangutans to be more nonarboreal, but they aren't. Arboreality is in their nature. It's essential to orangutanity, so to speak.

I've claimed that I am not a modern human (H. s. sapiens).  This claim is based on my belief that there are aspects of being that are essential to humanity. These aspects are not anatomical or geographical. They are aspects of behavior. I identify sociality as chief among these essential aspects. Humans need to socialize in order to be healthy just as orangutans need to be mainly arboreal in order to find the most food.  

The health necessity of socializing constrains humans to sociality, even though it's physically possible for them to be nonsocial. Sociality is an evolutionary adaptation. The human brain is wired to seek interpersonal connection. I assert that my brain is wired for solitude, that my social needs are diametrically opposed to those of humans, and that I need to be alone to be healthy.  This is apparent from my lived experience, but, as careful as I always am to make sense, I may be wrong about what's real here.

Other essential aspects of humanity are tribalism and violence, which may not be aspects on their own but could be considered subaspects of sociality.  I feel that I lack these traits as well.

My thesis is that, whatever anatomical aspects are present, a person that can be said to lack essential human aspects can be considered essentially nonhuman. Here are some arguments against that idea.  

Anatomically, it's reasonable to consider me human. Neither blood tests, nor MRIs, nor x-rays have ever shown me to be anything else. I've never had my genes sequenced, but the saliva sample my father submitted to a personal genomics company showed nothing abnormal to attest to his nonhumanity. If my parents are H. s. sapiens, it can be assumed that I am, too.

Anatomy aside, it's not clear what "essence" even is.  Humanness is a vague idea. Even if good philosophy could support the concept, it's not certain there's a place in science for considerations of essence when talking about what makes a person a human.

Lastly, it's not clear what I mean when I say that I'm not H. s. sapiens, as it's not clear that "H. s. sapiens" means anything important. In order to claim that I'm not a modern human, I should be able to show what a modern human definitely is, and I can't.

Philosophy arrives at no consensus about what makes someone human.  It might not mean anything to say that I'm nonhuman in essence.  I'm not willing to consider the supernatural.  Even if it can't say anything definitive, biology offers sufficient enough stability for a discussion about what a human is that one need not indulge magic. 

Though essence is a meaningful idea to me and I believe that I lack every essential trait that makes humans what they are, it's not unreasonable to say that I'm just a human with big mental health challenges and a neurodevelopmental disorder. I know for sure that I feel hopelessly different and that I have no impulse to socialize whatsoever. As I child, I endured severe psychological abuse from nearly every adult responsible for my care. It's likely this abuse stunted my enculturation. I believe that my disability is such that I have no hope of connecting with anyone and that I trigger other-isolating responses in people. I call my assessment of these subjective experiences nonhumanity, but this may be problematic.  

I don't see any of myself in anyone else. The feeling that I'm not human is persistent and convincing, but I insist that it isn't a delusion. I'm willing to accept that I'm wrong. Perhaps the inhumanity of the treatment I experienced as a child and the general disregard I continue to endure as an adult, in concert with the profound disability my autism entails, has left me feeling wild and alien. It could be as simple as that.