When I used to think about having Asperger’s Syndrom (I’m sure a shrink would have a field day with with this) I think that there’s me and then there’s the Asperger’s side of me. I was constantly trying to figure out what was me and what was the Asperger’s. I began to tire of pointing out that I did something because I had AS, like a seperate entity is controlling me. While I struggled with this, others who did not understand AS, just saw me as Asperger’s, and no me at all.
I finally came to believe this:
Source: If you could teach people one thing about autism, what would it be?
Last month I ran an autism survey, inviting anyone associated with autism to fill out: whether they were autistic, cared for someone with autism, or cared about someone with autism. It unexpectedly got 472 responses. I’m still going through the data, and it’s both arduous and eye-opening. But by far the most interesting part…
I don’t hug people too often. It’s not that I freak out if I hug, but I don’t like hugs like some people. I do it as an obligary jester when someone wants a hug.
So, why did I just write a random tidbit about me? I want to write a rant, and that was my preface.
I have a neighbor that knows I have asperger’s, but still treats me normal. In fact, I thought she had forgotten about it, until today. We were talking a while about important things happening in our lives. When we were all saying goodbye, everyone was doing their hugging and such, so I reached out to hug her. This is when it got awkward, and for once it wasn’t me.
She acted shocked, exclaiming how honored she was that I would hug her. She was so happy, like she was the first person I had ever hugged. We hugged, and because of her shock, it felt very odd. Like history was being made, like she was the special person that got the autistic girl to touch her. She hugged me long and hard, relishing the moment. And suddenly, I hated her hug. Her skin felt sticky and clingly, her body too hot for me (temperature), it was suffocating and I couldn’t pull back fast enough.
I hate it when people make a big deal out of things about me, especially normal thing.
I’m currently reading READY PLAYER ONE by Ernest Cline.
So far it seems to be a book about finding an Easter egg in a video game. What’s cool is the author actually wrote an Easter egg into the book itself.
However, I found my very own Easter egg that made my night:
I don’t know if I’ll marry.
I don’t really want kids.
This drives my Jewish mother crazy. She doesn’t believe me,
My heart races
I long to reach out.
I won’t let myself.
You reach out.
You pull back.
My skin tingles
From where we almost
Maybe next time.
via Pinterest, via Moore Minutes blog (which I haven’t actually read, but wanted to give credit).
To be honest, I thought having an anonymous blog would make it easier to write, but it doesn’t. It still feels like everyone reading knows who I am. I’m still feel vulnerable, exposed, broken. Being anonymous does not make writing any easier. Read More
Can you believe it? Me, who remembers every password I’ve ever had, all the passwords my mom and sister has ever had (in a non creepy way. They tell me their passwords so if the forget them, they can just ask me), lost her password and the password to the email linked to this blog.
Well, I’m back.