In Their Own Words: My Little Monster
By Margaret Dixon
Editor's notes: The opinions expressed herein are those of the author exclusively.
In this "In Their Own Words" essay, a 19-year-old with Asperger's Syndrome shares a paper that she wrote for one of her Berkshire Community College assignments.
By Margaret Dixon
Editor's notes: The opinions expressed herein are those of the author exclusively.
In this "In Their Own Words" essay, a 19-year-old with Asperger's Syndrome shares a paper that she wrote for one of her Berkshire Community College assignments.
I have Asperger's Syndrome, which is a form of high-functioning autism.
When I am interacting with people I barely know, I often feel that this little fact is magnified about a hundred times.
In a way, it's a little like an aggressive puppy nipping at my heels that I try in vain to shoo away so that I can act like a “normal” person for once. It can also be like a huge sign around my neck saying, “Hey everybody, I'm a socially awkward freak!”
I guess that is why I enjoy my alone time a little more that most people. When I'm alone with my computer, iPod, DVDs, graphic novels or art supplies, I don't have to worry about appearing awkward or clueless. Nobody is around to judge me.
Contrary to public belief, though, even autistic people get lonely. It's when I begin to crave the company of other people that “the little Asperger's puppy” becomes a problem. My struggle to maintain eye contact, bizarre rambling and fidgeting often seem to make an awkward impression.
I admit that I have become resentful of other people who are quick to deem me as “odd,” and after just one conversation with me, decide that I am not worth knowing. I know that people who are judgmental are not really worth my time anyway, but it still stings when it happens.
Sometimes my life seem to be a cycle of isolating myself, becoming lonely, seeking out other people, humiliating myself, and the self-imposed isolation again.
Still, it's not that bad. I have made some friends who are willing to ignore the “Rain Man” stereotype of autism and accept me despite my (sometimes irritating) quirks. I am very grateful for them.
I guess I don't really want my Asperger's Syndrome to just disappear, even if the only reason is that I don't know any other way of thinking, or existing. If I was suddenly “cured,” I'm not so sure my sanity would remain. People with autism often don't take too kindly to change and I can't really think of a more extreme change than rewiring my brain. I wouldn't even be the same person. Would I still have the same appreciation for bizarre humor? Would I still doodle weird creatures on my notes? Would I still have an obsession with comic books, Eddie Izzard quotes, musicals and all my other hobbies? Or would I change completely, a stranger to my family and friends, but most of all, to myself. This is one case where I am perfectly happy to remain “flawed” rather than have somebody “fix” my brain.
When I think, I almost always think in pictures. I have a seemingly random image to accompany every thought, even when I don't realize it. It's nearly impossible for me to think any other way.
In a way, the monster that is Asperger's Syndrome is my worst enemy but also my best friend. It gives me a unique and, I admit it, often strange way of looking at the world. It lets me see who my true friends in life are (most people find it is harder to be nice to the eccentric ones than it is to be nice to “normal” people). On the other hand, it is also one of the main reasons for my loneliness sometimes. But I'll just have to learn to live with that.
I'll have to learn to live with everything that comes with the whole “autism package,” because it's not the kind of package that comes with instructions. I can only imagine what they would say: “Step one: Get diagnosed. Step two: Sorry, you're on your own now.”
In the end, I can't entirely love or hate my little monster. I can only accept and live with the person it has turned me into over the years, because like it or not, I have no choice.
And yet, I'm surprisingly okay with that.
When I am interacting with people I barely know, I often feel that this little fact is magnified about a hundred times.
In a way, it's a little like an aggressive puppy nipping at my heels that I try in vain to shoo away so that I can act like a “normal” person for once. It can also be like a huge sign around my neck saying, “Hey everybody, I'm a socially awkward freak!”
I guess that is why I enjoy my alone time a little more that most people. When I'm alone with my computer, iPod, DVDs, graphic novels or art supplies, I don't have to worry about appearing awkward or clueless. Nobody is around to judge me.
Contrary to public belief, though, even autistic people get lonely. It's when I begin to crave the company of other people that “the little Asperger's puppy” becomes a problem. My struggle to maintain eye contact, bizarre rambling and fidgeting often seem to make an awkward impression.
I admit that I have become resentful of other people who are quick to deem me as “odd,” and after just one conversation with me, decide that I am not worth knowing. I know that people who are judgmental are not really worth my time anyway, but it still stings when it happens.
Sometimes my life seem to be a cycle of isolating myself, becoming lonely, seeking out other people, humiliating myself, and the self-imposed isolation again.
Still, it's not that bad. I have made some friends who are willing to ignore the “Rain Man” stereotype of autism and accept me despite my (sometimes irritating) quirks. I am very grateful for them.
I guess I don't really want my Asperger's Syndrome to just disappear, even if the only reason is that I don't know any other way of thinking, or existing. If I was suddenly “cured,” I'm not so sure my sanity would remain. People with autism often don't take too kindly to change and I can't really think of a more extreme change than rewiring my brain. I wouldn't even be the same person. Would I still have the same appreciation for bizarre humor? Would I still doodle weird creatures on my notes? Would I still have an obsession with comic books, Eddie Izzard quotes, musicals and all my other hobbies? Or would I change completely, a stranger to my family and friends, but most of all, to myself. This is one case where I am perfectly happy to remain “flawed” rather than have somebody “fix” my brain.
When I think, I almost always think in pictures. I have a seemingly random image to accompany every thought, even when I don't realize it. It's nearly impossible for me to think any other way.
In a way, the monster that is Asperger's Syndrome is my worst enemy but also my best friend. It gives me a unique and, I admit it, often strange way of looking at the world. It lets me see who my true friends in life are (most people find it is harder to be nice to the eccentric ones than it is to be nice to “normal” people). On the other hand, it is also one of the main reasons for my loneliness sometimes. But I'll just have to learn to live with that.
I'll have to learn to live with everything that comes with the whole “autism package,” because it's not the kind of package that comes with instructions. I can only imagine what they would say: “Step one: Get diagnosed. Step two: Sorry, you're on your own now.”
In the end, I can't entirely love or hate my little monster. I can only accept and live with the person it has turned me into over the years, because like it or not, I have no choice.
And yet, I'm surprisingly okay with that.
If you have a story you wish to share about your personal experience with autism, please send it to
editors@autismspeaks.org.
Autism Speaks reserves the right to edit contributions for space, style and content. Because of the volume of submissions, not all can be published on the site.
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