Too Honest

Sometimes I think the only difference between an autistic person and a neurotypical person is how honest they are, about the world, about other people, about their knowledge, and about themselves.

It can be funny and it can be excruciating.

Some people lean in.

Some people laugh.

Some people run away with their hands clapped over their ears.

You can say it’s having no filter. I guess that’s what it is, although I often get confused about why I am supposed to have a filter. I am actually a kind person and I don’t like to hurt people, which means that I have learned to think before I speak and I don’t say things that I think might hurt other people.

The problem is often that what I think will hurt other people (because it would or wouldn’t hurt me) is incorrect. Other people have weird (in my opinion) needs to be told they look a certain way or that they haven’t aged a bit or that their opinion is extremely unique and interesting.

I genuinely don’t have very much of that. I’m not likely to be hurt if you tell me I look fat (because I either am or am not fat regardless of your opinion of the matter and I already have this information from other sources, including the mirror or a scale). I am honestly rarely hurt by people telling me rudely that I am stupid or uneducated. I already have the test scored and the PHD diploma (in Latin) from Princeton that would make me doubt this. Not that I believe in such things as IQ or that having a degree actually makes you educated. It doesn’t. I’ve met too many people who are brilliant who don’t have such things. It does make me more resistant to doubting myself in this area.

There are plenty of things that hurt me. Being told that I am rude or lack empathy are some of them. I suppose this is because everything I know about autism and myself does make me doubt myself on this point. I’m not impervious to criticism. Far from it. But it’s just that I often predict badly what will hurt other people based on what would hurt me or what I think is logical for them to be hurt by.

I think I am honest with myself at an excruciating level. I see my flaws and strengths rather clearly. I know that I would prefer not to know the date I am going to die. I have no interest in immorality or most of its avatars (though writing is one of the ones I do care about). I know that I fear that I caused my daughter’s death and I don’t particularly like it when people try to wave that guilt away with some magic wand. I know that me doing Ironman competitions doesn’t make me tougher or stronger or more courageous than other people. It’s just the way my particular blend of strengths and weaknesses has emerged to help me deal with a difficult world.

One of the things I hate most about being autistic is that I was told over and over again as a child that the most important rule of being human is to be honest. But it isn’t. Not at all. And I will die on this hill. No one wants my honesty. It’s not just because I am misunderstanding what “hnesty” means to neurotypical people. It’s just a thing that people say to hide their own inability and unwillingness to be honest about themselves. And I undertand that, weirdly. Even as an autistic person. There are lots of things I would rather not know about myself. I just can’t unknow them.