Actually Autistic (Yes you can tell)

Origins. They're complicated, especially when there is this deep rooted desire to have The Answer. Not just to the question of myself, but of the world as well. To me they are one and the same. My life has always been guided by a curiosity and a hunger for experience, and the knowledge that comes with it. Alongside my exploration of the outside world, my exploration of my inner world fights for the upper hand. My inner self has always felt like an unfinished mosaic. I know all of the pieces intimately, I made them myself, picked them out of the world and smashed them to smithereens, to rearrange the shards into an image that I can recognize, and love. I know in my body and my soul what the finished creation will look like, but that image is just out of reach of my conscious mind. I get flashes of it here and there, zoomed in and out, the ringing in my body when I'm pulled in one direction by the universe, the hum in the pit of my stomach when I let myself feel the overwhelming love for the people in my life, the quiet whispers of the earth when I remember that I am part of the universe, and never alone. I know who I am supposed to be. I always have. It's simply a matter of fighting against the constant demands of our society to forget, to change, to comply.

When I started to realize that I was autistic, I was overwhelmed by a deep sense of panic and fear. All of my life, I've known that I was different. I had many explanations for my differences, as did the people around me.

I was traumatized. Brainwashed. Homeschooled. Hyper. Annoying. Loud. Weird. Antisocial. Awkward. Klutzy. Spazzy. Sensitive. Air-headed. Impulsive. Thoughtless. Rude. Blunt. Aggressive. Bossy. Obsessive. An Old Soul. Immature. Articulate. Nerdy. Quirky. Artistic. Intelligent. Retarded. Too much. Not enough.

All of my life, the people around me, friends, family, teachers, bullies, myself, have been telling me how different I am from everyone else. I knew that they were right, but I also knew that they were very wrong. Why was I punished for being myself, when being myself was what felt right? Was I wrong, was I broken, if my reality and sense of the world was so different than what everyone else expected? Maybe they were right, and I was all of the things they thought I was, maybe who I was, was bad. After all, if everyone in your life is telling you one thing, and you believe another, you must be the one who is wrong. Maybe, I needed to be less.

So, slowly, painfully, unnoticeably, I changed. I talked quieter, slower. I moved less, I took the joy out of my voice unless I knew it was shared. I ate my words until I choked on them, and then I swallowed them and they sat like a stone in the pit of my stomach, that rolled around each time I made a mistake. The world had punished me for being myself, until I caught on and started doing it for them. I gave up looking for people who would accept me for who I was, and started to accept who they wanted me to be. I researched, I practiced, I pretended. I would like to say that I was good at it, because I take a sycophantic pride in being good at things, even harming myself. But my performance was never good enough. It was enough to exist on the sidelines, looking in at everyone who was so much better at everything than I was. But I was never truly accepted. Always not quite right, nice, but there's just something off about her. She's trying too hard. She's desperate. She's clingy.

She is autistic.

Once I knew, and accepted what the world has been trying to tell me my whole life, it was like everything came into focus. Suddenly, I had control of the zoom lens, and the big picture made sense for the first time. It wasn't The Answer, but it was a start. The fear, and denial, was me fighting against what I had known. I didn't want to be autistic, because I know how the world treats us. To accept, that you'll never be fully accepted, never fully understood, to accept that they in some way were right, was one of the most painful and isolating realizations I've ever had. But it was also the most freeing. I don't have to pretend anymore, I don't have to wonder. I don't have to perform, and in fact I shouldn't, as it was slowly killing me from the inside out. I'm still learning what it looks like to live as my autistic self. It is going to take a while, to strip away the layers of my mask, and it is going to be surprising, and uncomfortable for myself and those around me. But I wouldn't change it for anything, because for the first time in my life I can truly say that I love myself, as I am.