This Is Me...

Ever wonder what it's like to grow up with autism? Here's something I wrote as if an autistic adult were writing to you, my readers:


This is me.

When I was little I tried making friends. Sometimes it worked and other times it didn't. Some kids just never really liked me, or thought I was "weird." Sometimes I was even laughed at, just because I said something that didn't quite make sense. I did my best to fit in though. I'd even laugh at their jokes, even though I didn't understand why it was funny. Is that weird?

When I was a little older, making friends became a little easier. By now, most kids were into sports, and I knew I could make friends if I learned to play a few. I wasn't very good at most of them. They were just too complicated to understand. People thought it was strange that I just couldn't get it. But there was one sport I could do that was really simple: running. I loved running and I could run fast! People always picked me to be on their racing team and that made me happy. To make sure I didn't accidentally trip on my feet, I always counted in my head, "Left, right, left, right, left, right!" Is that odd?

When I reached high school, even though sports were still around, most kids didn't like hanging out with me very much. I mostly kept to myself and I studied a lot. I always got A's in all my classes and the teachers liked me a lot. But the kids didn't like me because I was smart. I spent a lot of time listening to music. It was always the best way to escape for me. Other kids didn't know what to think of me, except to say I was different: "You're just different. You're not like the rest of us." I just wanted acceptance, friendship, someone to laugh with. Is that different?

I'm an adult now. I'm married. I even have a couple of kids. We live in a house and I love my family. Making friends is much simpler now, though I only have a very small handful I interact with on a regular basis. I keep my other "friends" at a distance; that way they won't really see the real me.

The real me stumbles over my own thoughts. I say one word when I really mean another.

The real me is super picky about the foods I'll eat. A lot of people think it's "funny" that I don't like salt.

The real me sees other people in pain or in need and can't handle it. I either shut down or I feel like my heart is breaking.

The real me has a hard time with sarcasm. I really, truly, just don't get it.

But the real me is just like you. I feel, I think, and I try every day to do better. I try every day to be a good spouse and parent. I try to be a good friend. I try to be nice and respectful to everyone, even though a lot of people aren't very nice or respectful of me. A lot of them like to poke fun and laugh at me for my eccentricities. But it's okay; I can't fault them for what they don't understand.

What's my point with all this? I've heard a lot of naysayers in my lifetime. I've heard a lot of people tell me things like, "You're too naive;" "you can't do that, it's too hard for you;" "quit trying, accept reality." For whatever reason, some people believe it is their place to tell you not to try something new, or that something is too hard, or that you need to be more realistic with your expectations. To everyone trying something new, trying something that's hard, or trying to reach their dreams: keep trying, keep going. Never give up believing. Never give up hope.

I may not be "perfect" by other people's standards. I may not always say the "right" things and act the "right" ways, but I accept myself for who I am. I love myself for who I am.

This is me.