Look at me spin around barefoot on the grass. Adults don’t do that,
and yet, I am. Isn’t it so tragic? Look at me flap my hands to express
myself. Isn’t it tragic? Look at me perseverate on math and four leaf
clovers and anything pattern related. Isn’t it tragic? Look at how I
can’t handle loud noises or strobe lights, at how I can’t wear leggings,
stockings, tights. Isn’t it just so tragic? Isn’t it such a tragedy that I
have very few friends, that I rock, that I will listen to the same song
50+ times in a row?
Except… that’s an outside perspective, one that has already decided that I must be tragic, because I am autistic. Mine? Try this:
Look at me spin around barefoot on the grass. I don’t care that “adults don’t do that” because it’s FUN. Look at me flap my hands to express myself. It’s a whole other language, in a sense. Look at me perseverate on math and four leaf clovers and anything pattern related. It’s why I have trophies from math competitions, why I’m studying math and engineering now. Look at how I can’t handle loud noises or strobe lights, at how I can’t wear leggings, stockings, tights. I guess that means clubbing is out, but then, I’d rather do more math. I guess it means I need to dress comfortably, too, but then, don’t you wish you could? Isn’t it AWESOME that I have a very few close friends who accept me for who I am, that I rock, that I will listen to the same song 50+ times in a row and not get sick of it?
What I’m doing, what I can’t do, what I think is interesting, is the same for both of these. It’s just that one is an outside perspective that is determined to find me tragic (perhaps to get more money or to make it seem OK to end my life) and the other is the inside perspective, the one that says “Yeah, you guys don’t make sense, so I’m gonna do my own thing and have fun doing it.” Let me do so, and we’re cool.
Except… that’s an outside perspective, one that has already decided that I must be tragic, because I am autistic. Mine? Try this:
Look at me spin around barefoot on the grass. I don’t care that “adults don’t do that” because it’s FUN. Look at me flap my hands to express myself. It’s a whole other language, in a sense. Look at me perseverate on math and four leaf clovers and anything pattern related. It’s why I have trophies from math competitions, why I’m studying math and engineering now. Look at how I can’t handle loud noises or strobe lights, at how I can’t wear leggings, stockings, tights. I guess that means clubbing is out, but then, I’d rather do more math. I guess it means I need to dress comfortably, too, but then, don’t you wish you could? Isn’t it AWESOME that I have a very few close friends who accept me for who I am, that I rock, that I will listen to the same song 50+ times in a row and not get sick of it?
What I’m doing, what I can’t do, what I think is interesting, is the same for both of these. It’s just that one is an outside perspective that is determined to find me tragic (perhaps to get more money or to make it seem OK to end my life) and the other is the inside perspective, the one that says “Yeah, you guys don’t make sense, so I’m gonna do my own thing and have fun doing it.” Let me do so, and we’re cool.
<3 Love it!
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