I haven’t told my close friends that I have Asperger’s. I probably should, but I don’t know if I can emotionally, yet or ever.
They already think I’m an odd quirky writer, I’m not ready for them to look at me different, as someone with a disablity and not me as their friend.
My mom has told many of her friends and neighbors, and I can see a change in the way they treat me. Mom tells me some (I doubt all) of the things they say about me when she visits, and it hurts. It hurts because I know what they used to say about me and how they used to treat me. Then, as soon as they find out, it’s as if I’m not the same person anymore. Somehow I suddenly transformed to a broken burden that my poor family has to deal with. A problem for society, and they must tell mom all their answers on how to “handle” me.
Because of that, I constantly am overachieving to proof to them – and maybe myself – that I’m the same person. But no matter how hard I try, I see pity and judgment in their eyes, that I’m impaired or lesser than before.
This may be a weird comparison, but it’s as if they knew me as a human, then one day they found out that on full moons I turn into a werewolf. Now, every time they see me, all they see is the werewolf, never the human. Yet, they don’t really know anything about werewolves, only things the y do known are what they’ve heard about them, and from those things they now see me. (Unrelated: there is a full moon coming up and its called the Flower Moon.)
I want to scream to them: it’s still me. I’m the same as I was yesterday before you knew, back when you were talking and laughing with me. Back when you saw me as a human being, not something lesser.
(I might write more about this later because this post is turning out to be quite long already.)
*featured image credit unknown