“You don’t look like you’re Autistic”, says every person that learns about my disability. It is
certainly ok to call the above quote a cliché, because it is. Just about any article that details the
experiences of someone with Autism has this phrase encoded somewhere in the text. That is for
good reason, because from first-hand experience, it's one of the only things that people could
muster up when they learn that someone has Autism. Although I absolutely HATE when people
tell me this, I sort of have an internal dopamine rush whenever someone tells me this. It lets me
know that I can control my disability to a point where it is no longer visible to the untrained public
eye. To get to this point means a lot not only for me, but also for my family and supports, who
put up with my, shall we say, difficult antics for the past 17 years. It took a lot to get to this point,
but I realize that it is important for me to transcribe some of the things that I went through. It’s
going to be somewhat embarrassing for me to relive moments that I would rather purge out of
my mind, but for the sake of advocacy and knowledge, I would get them out of the dark and dust
them off for you readers.
In sixth-grade, the desire to make friends started to manifest in me. Rather than make a nice,
modest set of friends, I decided that it would be better to become the class clown. So I decided
to pull a stunt that STILL makes me cringe to this day. This stunt was that I fell off of a chair in
front of the class. Nothing like physical comedy to rile up those crowds. Needless to say the
stunt didn’t work and only served to embarrass myself. Other antics include saying mindless
stuff in front of class, and telling stupid stories. Soon after middle-school and into freshman year
of high-school, this behavior started to stop. I became antisocial and absolutely mortified of
conversation. I thought that the moment I opened my mouth, I would become absolutely
despised. Whenever socialization would force itself on me, I would become overwhelmed, as if
socializing with someone isn’t supposed to happen to an autist like me. As the years of high
school elapsed, the desire to learn how to socialize became stronger. Although I continued to
avoid interaction, the urge to try it became harder to ignore. Finally, during my senior year, I
started to put in efforts to satisfy this desire. However, these efforts were somewhat menial, and
while I DID socialize with a few individuals, I definitely had more opportunities to make progress.
I would rarely take on opportunities to converse. I just wasn’t far enough from my comfort zone
to do so.
When I went to college, I was scared. I thought of college as this harsh place where professors
find joy in overwhelming their students with Stanford-level homework and tests. However, this
couldn’t be further from the truth. My professors were all relaxed and down-to-earth, and the
students there were nice. It was after attending my first ever college class where I finally
escaped the shell that has debilitated my ability to socialize. I not only began conversing more
frequently, but I actually began to ENJOY talking to people. No longer did I turn off people after
conversations.
Now, as I am writing this blog and shuddering from the remembrance of
embarrassing stories, I feel as though I have found the recipe to enjoy life while incorporating
my disability into my personality. I used to absolutely ABHOR my disability, and scrutinize ways
to completely eradicate it from my persona. But now, with the help of LEND and social
acceptance, I grew to not only let it be, but also to accept it as a part of me. Although I continue
to struggle with sensory overload and hyperactivity, I know that all of the fascinations and
manifestations are a part of me. I hope you took my experience to heart, and use it to educate
yourself and the public about Autism.
