Hating Autism
Somedays I love my autism as it helps me hyperfocus on things I want to get done. I love the other autistic people in my life. But also, sometimes I hate being autistic.
At work, being autistic means that I choose a desk as far away from other people as I can possibly manage. This isn’t because I hate other people. It’s because I will end up with a migraine at the end of the day if I ingest too much noise, force my brain to parse too many facial expressions or body language, or end up spending too much time wondering what is wrong with me and why I find social interaction so difficult.
I have a lot of routines, and I have no idea how much of that is the feedback loop of enjoying routines and how much is the learned experience of what happens if I don’t follow certain rules in order to make the world more livable.
Sometimes I want to be able to go to loud concerts with friends or dance to the radio or stand in a big crowd. But the cost is just really high and I don’t really get to do that like other people do. And it does sometimes make me sad.
I would like to learn to love myself. I really would. But I don’t think the world love autists. I’m one hundred percent certain that the world is telling me every minute of every day that I should try just a little harder to be normal, because that’s easier for everyone else. And the world doesn’t seem to care what works for me or how I might be able to enjoy all the things that other people enjoy regularly.
Simple things. Like a movie in a theater. Dancing with other people. Going shopping during the holidays.