Page 1 of 1 [ 14 posts ]
10 Jul 2011, 9:05 am
I've started a blog mostly about Asperger's Syndrome which I'm still working on and I thought about posting anonymous stories of people with AS who are diagnosed or believe they have AS on there.
Of course you don't have to if you're not comfortable with it, but would anybody be okay with me posting their story on an AS blog? (completely anonymously) It's a blog all about Asperger's Syndrome, with lots of information on (well, not yet, but it's going to have!)
http://individualexistence.blogspot.com/
I understand that it doesn't have much information on it yet, but I've only just created it, so bear with me 
10 Jul 2011, 9:16 am
10 Jul 2011, 9:46 am
Thank you
So, does anybody care to share their story? x
10 Jul 2011, 12:31 pm
10 Jul 2011, 1:34 pm
Kingtrey wrote:
I will, I was diagnosed with AS in early childhood. In elementry school I was always known as the smart but eccentric kid but socializing was fairly easy because I was in class with the same group of people through 5th grade. My life took a very dark turn when I went to middle school, I was constantly bullied for three full years by pretty much everyone, people I thought were my friends, my cousins, and just random people. By 8th grade I pretty much withdrew from any kind of social interactions and remained afraid to connect with others during the first two years of high school. But that changed at the end of my sophomore year when I was diagnosed with a chronic illness. I reflected on how shy I had been and vowed to change it. When I came back to school, I realized I had very little idea how to interact with others so I just learned as I went. I think doing so well in my US history class helped others accept me more, history is my special intrest. All of the hard work in 11th grade paid off. My senior year was incredible, I joined several student organizations such as the academic challenge team where I put my knowledge of history to use, I joined the fellowship of Christian Athletes and gave a speech on how important it is to accept those who are different from you, and once I learned how to socialize, I was voted by my senior class as most friendly. Now Im 18, Im about to go to the University of North Carolina at Greensboro and I hope to become a history professor. Unfortunatly I have not had a girlfriend yet, that is probably my biggest failure in high school but other then that my life has been great in the past couple of years.
Thank you for posting the story, I've posted it on the blog
It's great that you have overcome difficulties and that the past couple of years have been good for you, keep going and good luck with everything
Keep 'em coming!
10 Jul 2011, 2:30 pm
10 Jul 2011, 2:49 pm
MathGirl wrote:
This one.
http://fractalcurves.livejournal.com/27475.html
Didn't finish writing it as I was planning to, though. Maybe later.
http://fractalcurves.livejournal.com/27475.html
Didn't finish writing it as I was planning to, though. Maybe later.
I've read it and it's really good, do you mind if I post it on the blog with a link to yours?
feel free not to let me, though 
10 Jul 2011, 3:10 pm
ForestRose wrote:
MathGirl wrote:
This one.
http://fractalcurves.livejournal.com/27475.html
Didn't finish writing it as I was planning to, though. Maybe later.
I've read it and it's really good, do you mind if I post it on the blog with a link to yours? http://fractalcurves.livejournal.com/27475.html
Didn't finish writing it as I was planning to, though. Maybe later.
feel free not to let me, though 
10 Jul 2011, 3:31 pm
Thank you It's been posted!
12 Jul 2011, 8:55 am
12 Jul 2011, 12:47 pm
Todesking wrote:
You can use this version instead of the one I sent via PM I left in too much personal data this is more censored but please list my real name I encluded in the PM. Please also post my copyright.
My First Interactions with People
Copyright 2011 <Todesking>
I remember my first friend growing up was this weird kid who grew up down the street from me. He lived in this rundown looking apartment complex on a hill down the street from my duplex. The apartments were known for the near do wells that lived there. Alcoholics, petty thieves, and welfare cheats at least that is what my neighbors would say about the apartment complex inhabitants. His name was John he was the same age as me we spent most of our time tearing around the neighborhood on our big wheels. John loved to go down the big hill his apartment was on with our big wheels due to the speed we would get shooting down right into the sometimes busy street doing our best to keep from getting hit by passing motorists. We only do this when my dad was working third shift so he would be asleep and my mom was busy doing housework and taking care of my two-year-old brother. We would take turns going down the hill while the other would look out for cars because of these pine trees that created a blind spot. I looked out for John so he would not get run over like a road kill raccoon. He managed to make it down the hill without any collisions with passing cars or even a near miss. When it was my turn to shoot down the hill John was giggling his little head off. He yelled get ready, set, go! On his command I went flying down hill just in time to see a red station wagon chugging down the street right in front of the hill I was going down. I remember screaming and jerking the handlebars to the side just barely avoiding hitting the car. The driver stopped to scream at me calling me a little ret*d as John stood there laughing hysterically at me as I still was peddling for all I was worth to get away from that driver. He was always doing that to me just about every other time I went down the hill I almost was hit by a passing vehicle I never seemed to learn not to trust him.
My first day of kindergarten was my first real interaction with groups of people. It also showed me just how different I was compared to kids the same age as me. When my mom dropped me off in the classroom the teacher told her to sit me where my name was on the table. My mom noticed that John was going to be sitting at the table with me so she told the teacher to keep us separated otherwise I would be getting in trouble with him. So he was in the room with me at least I knew someone there. He did not show up for the first day his mother forgot to wake up so I sat there by myself trying to figure out why all these kids were screaming and crying as their mothers' left the room. My mom said it was a big relief to her that I was not crying when she left. I just sat there looking out the window I had never been in a building that high before we could see the top of the tree outside the window and this amazed me we must have been three stories up. The other kids who were at the table with me kept doing their best to push me away from the table. All they would say to me was “Your weird” or “Your crazy”. They did their best to exclude me from any activity they even asked me to take off my shoes one time when we were getting ready for the bus so they could hide them. The little s**ts told the teacher I hid them so she began running around the room in panic mode tearing the place apart so she would not send me home in the Western New York winter in just my socks. I know she did this not because she worried I might get frostbite but she might get into trouble for letting a weird kid go home barefoot in the middle of winter. The teacher kept yelling at me “why do you keep doing things like this?” I did not do anything it was those little maladjusted brats they stuck me with. She never would listen to me when I tried to explain what had happened. When we had to play with one another the other kids took great delight in taking toys from me telling “You can’t play with that!” they would snatch the toy from me and hand me this naked badly mauled baby doll and say “This is yours, play with this!” While every other boys were building with blocks or playing with toy cars I would be staring out the window and the teacher would be staring at me and taking notes. I remember right before we were going to be going away for summer break a few of us were taken into this room. Each one of us sat at a table with a woman we never seen before, we spent the whole day talking to one of these women. I do not remember what was asked or what was said but half the people that were in that room with me made up the most of the special education classes I was put into from 1st to 10th grade. It pretty much was the same faces for ten years. I never was good at dealing with large groups of people or dealing with any type of change so in a way the special education classes I was put into made me more comfortable but they cheated me out of a proper education since we were there just to be warehoused to keep us from distracting the normal kids.
I attended kindergarten at A elementary it taught kids kindergarten to third grade but it did not teach special education classes. They housed all the special education classes 1st to 6th grade at B elementary. But at B they taught normal 4th to 6th grade classes. All the other students were five to seven years older than me my first year there so if I was caught in the bathroom by one of the normal kids it was pretty obvious I was a special education student by how much younger I was so they would beat the sh!t out of me because I was different and they were bigger than me. In second grade my teacher did not get along with me. I rocked back and forth due to stress I encountered in school. The teacher would ask my parents if I rocked at home and my parents would tell her no. I was not stressed out at home so I did not rock there. At home I was in my own little world playing with my Planet of the Apes action figures so what was going on around me was not even noticed. She told me my rocking made me look like a little mental patient and made her nervous. She first tried to stop me by tying me to my chair with a jump rope to my chair. That did not work I was still able to rock. Her next great idea was to put my desk right next to an open door so people could see my rocking at laugh at me I guess to humiliate me into stopping all that happened is that I got some strange looks but then again it was a special education class you expect the kids in that class to be a little strange. The teacher’s last attempt worked. She decided to take advantage of my daydreaming. She would creep up to me when she saw me rocking so she could slam this bid hardbound dictionary against the top of my desk causing me to jump and be startled. Right before we left for summer she broke me of the habit of rocking. But rocking was replaced with foot and knee tapping but mostly pacing. Third thru sixth grade went by pretty uneventfully the teachers were actually pretty good. In fourth grade they started a system where we had to report to a classrooms to wait for our busses. This was when I first noticed how much more desks were in the rooms. I mentioned this to a kid I played with on my street and he told all the classes were like this except mine. I asked why and he told me his parents told him not to say anything about it and I was as smart as he was. That’s when I finally realized why I was in smaller classes. They all think I am some kind of ret*d. I spent fourth grade thru tenth grade telling anyone who would listen I did not belong in those classes. I am as smart as all of my friends on my street. I am a better speller, I write well, I talk better, and do the same things they do as well as them I should not be in these classes.
Finally in tenth grade I threatened to drop out of school if I was not retested. I was just going in for something to do and see my friends who live to far to walk over to their houses. I figured why should I bother with school I am in second rate classes what chance would I have at college so I gave up and stopped studying. After I did the tests in tenth grade my junior year they told me I was going to be put in remedial classes to get me up to speed but when I graduated to twelfth grade I only had to take English I had enough credits to graduate so it was a little too late. They never told me if I was learning disabled or not they just booted me out of those classes. When I went for my evaluation for Aspergers syndrome at age 40 the psychologist said he saw no signs of learning disabilities. He told me I was robbed of a proper education I would have benefited from a proper science or English class I believe, who knows how my life would have turned out all my friends went to college while I bounced around from one low paying job to another.
My First Interactions with People
Copyright 2011 <Todesking>
I remember my first friend growing up was this weird kid who grew up down the street from me. He lived in this rundown looking apartment complex on a hill down the street from my duplex. The apartments were known for the near do wells that lived there. Alcoholics, petty thieves, and welfare cheats at least that is what my neighbors would say about the apartment complex inhabitants. His name was John he was the same age as me we spent most of our time tearing around the neighborhood on our big wheels. John loved to go down the big hill his apartment was on with our big wheels due to the speed we would get shooting down right into the sometimes busy street doing our best to keep from getting hit by passing motorists. We only do this when my dad was working third shift so he would be asleep and my mom was busy doing housework and taking care of my two-year-old brother. We would take turns going down the hill while the other would look out for cars because of these pine trees that created a blind spot. I looked out for John so he would not get run over like a road kill raccoon. He managed to make it down the hill without any collisions with passing cars or even a near miss. When it was my turn to shoot down the hill John was giggling his little head off. He yelled get ready, set, go! On his command I went flying down hill just in time to see a red station wagon chugging down the street right in front of the hill I was going down. I remember screaming and jerking the handlebars to the side just barely avoiding hitting the car. The driver stopped to scream at me calling me a little ret*d as John stood there laughing hysterically at me as I still was peddling for all I was worth to get away from that driver. He was always doing that to me just about every other time I went down the hill I almost was hit by a passing vehicle I never seemed to learn not to trust him.
My first day of kindergarten was my first real interaction with groups of people. It also showed me just how different I was compared to kids the same age as me. When my mom dropped me off in the classroom the teacher told her to sit me where my name was on the table. My mom noticed that John was going to be sitting at the table with me so she told the teacher to keep us separated otherwise I would be getting in trouble with him. So he was in the room with me at least I knew someone there. He did not show up for the first day his mother forgot to wake up so I sat there by myself trying to figure out why all these kids were screaming and crying as their mothers' left the room. My mom said it was a big relief to her that I was not crying when she left. I just sat there looking out the window I had never been in a building that high before we could see the top of the tree outside the window and this amazed me we must have been three stories up. The other kids who were at the table with me kept doing their best to push me away from the table. All they would say to me was “Your weird” or “Your crazy”. They did their best to exclude me from any activity they even asked me to take off my shoes one time when we were getting ready for the bus so they could hide them. The little s**ts told the teacher I hid them so she began running around the room in panic mode tearing the place apart so she would not send me home in the Western New York winter in just my socks. I know she did this not because she worried I might get frostbite but she might get into trouble for letting a weird kid go home barefoot in the middle of winter. The teacher kept yelling at me “why do you keep doing things like this?” I did not do anything it was those little maladjusted brats they stuck me with. She never would listen to me when I tried to explain what had happened. When we had to play with one another the other kids took great delight in taking toys from me telling “You can’t play with that!” they would snatch the toy from me and hand me this naked badly mauled baby doll and say “This is yours, play with this!” While every other boys were building with blocks or playing with toy cars I would be staring out the window and the teacher would be staring at me and taking notes. I remember right before we were going to be going away for summer break a few of us were taken into this room. Each one of us sat at a table with a woman we never seen before, we spent the whole day talking to one of these women. I do not remember what was asked or what was said but half the people that were in that room with me made up the most of the special education classes I was put into from 1st to 10th grade. It pretty much was the same faces for ten years. I never was good at dealing with large groups of people or dealing with any type of change so in a way the special education classes I was put into made me more comfortable but they cheated me out of a proper education since we were there just to be warehoused to keep us from distracting the normal kids.
I attended kindergarten at A elementary it taught kids kindergarten to third grade but it did not teach special education classes. They housed all the special education classes 1st to 6th grade at B elementary. But at B they taught normal 4th to 6th grade classes. All the other students were five to seven years older than me my first year there so if I was caught in the bathroom by one of the normal kids it was pretty obvious I was a special education student by how much younger I was so they would beat the sh!t out of me because I was different and they were bigger than me. In second grade my teacher did not get along with me. I rocked back and forth due to stress I encountered in school. The teacher would ask my parents if I rocked at home and my parents would tell her no. I was not stressed out at home so I did not rock there. At home I was in my own little world playing with my Planet of the Apes action figures so what was going on around me was not even noticed. She told me my rocking made me look like a little mental patient and made her nervous. She first tried to stop me by tying me to my chair with a jump rope to my chair. That did not work I was still able to rock. Her next great idea was to put my desk right next to an open door so people could see my rocking at laugh at me I guess to humiliate me into stopping all that happened is that I got some strange looks but then again it was a special education class you expect the kids in that class to be a little strange. The teacher’s last attempt worked. She decided to take advantage of my daydreaming. She would creep up to me when she saw me rocking so she could slam this bid hardbound dictionary against the top of my desk causing me to jump and be startled. Right before we left for summer she broke me of the habit of rocking. But rocking was replaced with foot and knee tapping but mostly pacing. Third thru sixth grade went by pretty uneventfully the teachers were actually pretty good. In fourth grade they started a system where we had to report to a classrooms to wait for our busses. This was when I first noticed how much more desks were in the rooms. I mentioned this to a kid I played with on my street and he told all the classes were like this except mine. I asked why and he told me his parents told him not to say anything about it and I was as smart as he was. That’s when I finally realized why I was in smaller classes. They all think I am some kind of ret*d. I spent fourth grade thru tenth grade telling anyone who would listen I did not belong in those classes. I am as smart as all of my friends on my street. I am a better speller, I write well, I talk better, and do the same things they do as well as them I should not be in these classes.
Finally in tenth grade I threatened to drop out of school if I was not retested. I was just going in for something to do and see my friends who live to far to walk over to their houses. I figured why should I bother with school I am in second rate classes what chance would I have at college so I gave up and stopped studying. After I did the tests in tenth grade my junior year they told me I was going to be put in remedial classes to get me up to speed but when I graduated to twelfth grade I only had to take English I had enough credits to graduate so it was a little too late. They never told me if I was learning disabled or not they just booted me out of those classes. When I went for my evaluation for Aspergers syndrome at age 40 the psychologist said he saw no signs of learning disabilities. He told me I was robbed of a proper education I would have benefited from a proper science or English class I believe, who knows how my life would have turned out all my friends went to college while I bounced around from one low paying job to another.
Thanks for the story
I posted this one instead of the one you sent in PM but I included your real name and copyright. It's a really good story by the way, thank you for sharing it and I hope you're doing alright now.
12 Jul 2011, 1:27 pm
13 Jul 2011, 12:03 pm
SammichEater wrote:
I put this in the other thread, but I guess I'll put it here too.
Quote:
Even as a young child, I wasn't anything like a normal person. Perhaps my first memory of this was when I was about 3 years old. I was at some unfamiliar place, there were lots of people, including children my age (at the time), and it was loud. It was probably some sort of party. I remember walking across the room with the adults talking, and some guy and asked me "how do you feel?" I stopped and looked at him, not knowing what to say. He then asked me "do you feel sad?" I realized it was a dumb question because, first of all, he doesn't need to know, and he shouldn't care, and secondly, I knew that I didn't want to talk about it. I turned away and proceeded to walk out of the room. What happened after that is a blurry memory, but I know for a fact that my mom saw what happened and needless to say, she was very upset. If I'm not mistaken, I was forced to apologize, and then I ran off and cried.
But my weirdness is a double edged sword. While I was crippled in terms of social interactions, when I started school, I excelled at everything I did. Learning basic arithmetic and reading skills came natural to me. In kindergarten, I was going to be put in a gifted program, but my teacher thought I wouldn't maintain my intellectual advantage. My first grade teacher was clueless. It took only a few weeks before my second grade teacher realized my potential and put me in the gifted program. I remember being told thousands of times just how smart I was. It almost seemed as if I was some sort of prophet or something.
Then, because my dad is in the military, we moved to Arizona. I started going to a new school, and I hated it. The rest of that year, the second grade, was hell for me. My parents insisted that I should have been put in a gifted program, but because I didn't pass the test (by one question), I was locked out. Most students passed it at earlier grade levels, when it was easier. For the most part, I was stuck learning stuff I already knew, and it was really boring.
Also, that same year was when I remembered talking to my dad about friends. He was disappointed in me for not making any. To me, making friends wasn't on my mind. I never once complained about being lonely. I don't remember what exactly he said, but when the conversation was over, I decided that I did want friends, and that I would have to work for it. That's what I did, and I guess it payed off alright.
For the years after I was somewhat like any ordinary kid. I had made a few friends, and I continued to do well in school. Still, my weirdness made itself visible in other ways. I became obsessed with NASCAR racing. Unlike normal kids, I never really played with my toys. My idea of playing was building exact replicas of NASCAR courses in my bedroom floor out of whatever materials that I could find. When I had friends over to "play," all I did was bore them, and I didn't care.
In the fifth grade, I was forced to move back across the country once again, to Florida. I was quickly befriended by a nice boy, and he helped me to get back on my feet. By the sixth grade, I was still in elementary school; I became comfortable with my new surroundings, and up until recently, I referred back to this year as the best one I've had. In this time of my life, I could almost convince myself that I was normal.
Then it was off to junior high, and the fecal matter hit the fan. My relationships with my friends thinned out. I saw people being made fun of for being different, and it took me only a few hours before I realized that I needed to keep my mouth shut. So that's what I did, and it backfired. I became known as "that kid who never talks." Deep down inside, I started to develop a narcissistic hatred for society. I began to think that I had majorly screwed up somewhere. I knew my parent's wouldn't want me to tell them how I was really doing, so I made up friends just to make them happy. Not only that, but I became aware of my awkwardly flat facial expressions, and I started to develop an aversion to eye contact, only to add fuel to the fire.
But, in reality, I was happy. I had discovered the awesomeness of the internet. While people had no respect for me in real life, I could go online and I was usually met with friendly and helpful people. The whole saying that people are always meaner on the internet is a complete lie. Nobody I met playing games online knew who I was, besides a skilled and experienced player, which I earned respect for. It was because of the internet that I managed to maintain my sanity.
Then high school happened. I continued to follow the same path, talking to very few people and making friends through the computer. But, after moving to California, and spending freshman year at what I call a pre-ivy-league school, I fell flat on my face. I was not ready for the increase in responsibility and expectations. This brought about huge amounts of stress, and consequentially, depression. Once again, I felt as if I had failed somewhere. Not only was I a social failure, but I became an academic failure as well. I realized I was going to have to work harder, and I eventually started pulling myself back together.
A few weeks into my sophomore year it was time to move, yet again, but this time, we'd be staying for a while. To make a long story short, I once again regained my status as an excellent student, but I failed to make any friends. I remember thinking at the end of that year that something just wasn't right. I overheard something about "finding ones-self" during adolescence. I then thought about it. I had so little of an idea who I was or what I was doing on Earth that it about made me brown my pants.
Ironically, just a few months later, I found what I was looking for. I was accepted into the engineering academy at my school, and I started taking math and science intensive classes my junior year. On the first day I listened to the engineering teacher talk about how important social skills are for us, and how a lot of us engineers don't have them. I soon realized I was in the right place. It didn't take long before I found one of my classmates drawing a complex electrical circuit on his laptop computer. He was a total genius, but he lacked the basic social skills that my teacher was talking about. After a few weeks, I started to see him as a reflection of myself, with the only exception being that I'm much more shy than he was.
Then one Friday afternoon I came home from school, and my mom was telling me about this strange mental disorder that she thinks I have. I shrugged it off and continued on with my life, for a few hours. Then, I decided that maybe she is right. I mean, after all, it wouldn't hurt to look into it. I went to Google, and I tried to type in what I could remember from the word she used.
I started reading about it. I thought, "no way, this is insane, there's no way I have a mental disorder related to autism. That's for ret*d people." I was disgusted. But at the same time, I was also interested. I kept researching. Over the course of a few weeks, I began to assemble the bits and pieces of my life that I previously did not understand. It's like I had been walking around in a dark room all my life, and suddenly a light was turned on, and I could then see what it was that I tripped over.
I began to develop a sense of community for the first time. I started to call myself an aspie. To think that there actually was somewhere that I belong was euphoric. Not only did I begin to understand myself, but I also began to accept it. I discovered who and what I am, and that there's other people like me. Despite my initial feelings about it, the idea seemed to be rather comforting, in a way that's really difficult to describe.
But then theres the thought that I just want to feel special. Maybe I just want to have somewhere I belong. Maybe I'm just making this up. After all, I don't have an official diagnosis. But after several months, I just can't consider myself to be a neurotypical. There is so much evidence suggesting that I'm an aspie it's almost ridiculous. It just kinda sucks that not everyone on the internet knows this. When I tell people that I don't have an official diagnosis, it makes me some sort of wannabe, like I'm not really part of the club. Luckily, not everyone is a jerk like that.
But my weirdness is a double edged sword. While I was crippled in terms of social interactions, when I started school, I excelled at everything I did. Learning basic arithmetic and reading skills came natural to me. In kindergarten, I was going to be put in a gifted program, but my teacher thought I wouldn't maintain my intellectual advantage. My first grade teacher was clueless. It took only a few weeks before my second grade teacher realized my potential and put me in the gifted program. I remember being told thousands of times just how smart I was. It almost seemed as if I was some sort of prophet or something.
Then, because my dad is in the military, we moved to Arizona. I started going to a new school, and I hated it. The rest of that year, the second grade, was hell for me. My parents insisted that I should have been put in a gifted program, but because I didn't pass the test (by one question), I was locked out. Most students passed it at earlier grade levels, when it was easier. For the most part, I was stuck learning stuff I already knew, and it was really boring.
Also, that same year was when I remembered talking to my dad about friends. He was disappointed in me for not making any. To me, making friends wasn't on my mind. I never once complained about being lonely. I don't remember what exactly he said, but when the conversation was over, I decided that I did want friends, and that I would have to work for it. That's what I did, and I guess it payed off alright.
For the years after I was somewhat like any ordinary kid. I had made a few friends, and I continued to do well in school. Still, my weirdness made itself visible in other ways. I became obsessed with NASCAR racing. Unlike normal kids, I never really played with my toys. My idea of playing was building exact replicas of NASCAR courses in my bedroom floor out of whatever materials that I could find. When I had friends over to "play," all I did was bore them, and I didn't care.
In the fifth grade, I was forced to move back across the country once again, to Florida. I was quickly befriended by a nice boy, and he helped me to get back on my feet. By the sixth grade, I was still in elementary school; I became comfortable with my new surroundings, and up until recently, I referred back to this year as the best one I've had. In this time of my life, I could almost convince myself that I was normal.
Then it was off to junior high, and the fecal matter hit the fan. My relationships with my friends thinned out. I saw people being made fun of for being different, and it took me only a few hours before I realized that I needed to keep my mouth shut. So that's what I did, and it backfired. I became known as "that kid who never talks." Deep down inside, I started to develop a narcissistic hatred for society. I began to think that I had majorly screwed up somewhere. I knew my parent's wouldn't want me to tell them how I was really doing, so I made up friends just to make them happy. Not only that, but I became aware of my awkwardly flat facial expressions, and I started to develop an aversion to eye contact, only to add fuel to the fire.
But, in reality, I was happy. I had discovered the awesomeness of the internet. While people had no respect for me in real life, I could go online and I was usually met with friendly and helpful people. The whole saying that people are always meaner on the internet is a complete lie. Nobody I met playing games online knew who I was, besides a skilled and experienced player, which I earned respect for. It was because of the internet that I managed to maintain my sanity.
Then high school happened. I continued to follow the same path, talking to very few people and making friends through the computer. But, after moving to California, and spending freshman year at what I call a pre-ivy-league school, I fell flat on my face. I was not ready for the increase in responsibility and expectations. This brought about huge amounts of stress, and consequentially, depression. Once again, I felt as if I had failed somewhere. Not only was I a social failure, but I became an academic failure as well. I realized I was going to have to work harder, and I eventually started pulling myself back together.
A few weeks into my sophomore year it was time to move, yet again, but this time, we'd be staying for a while. To make a long story short, I once again regained my status as an excellent student, but I failed to make any friends. I remember thinking at the end of that year that something just wasn't right. I overheard something about "finding ones-self" during adolescence. I then thought about it. I had so little of an idea who I was or what I was doing on Earth that it about made me brown my pants.
Ironically, just a few months later, I found what I was looking for. I was accepted into the engineering academy at my school, and I started taking math and science intensive classes my junior year. On the first day I listened to the engineering teacher talk about how important social skills are for us, and how a lot of us engineers don't have them. I soon realized I was in the right place. It didn't take long before I found one of my classmates drawing a complex electrical circuit on his laptop computer. He was a total genius, but he lacked the basic social skills that my teacher was talking about. After a few weeks, I started to see him as a reflection of myself, with the only exception being that I'm much more shy than he was.
Then one Friday afternoon I came home from school, and my mom was telling me about this strange mental disorder that she thinks I have. I shrugged it off and continued on with my life, for a few hours. Then, I decided that maybe she is right. I mean, after all, it wouldn't hurt to look into it. I went to Google, and I tried to type in what I could remember from the word she used.
I started reading about it. I thought, "no way, this is insane, there's no way I have a mental disorder related to autism. That's for ret*d people." I was disgusted. But at the same time, I was also interested. I kept researching. Over the course of a few weeks, I began to assemble the bits and pieces of my life that I previously did not understand. It's like I had been walking around in a dark room all my life, and suddenly a light was turned on, and I could then see what it was that I tripped over.
I began to develop a sense of community for the first time. I started to call myself an aspie. To think that there actually was somewhere that I belong was euphoric. Not only did I begin to understand myself, but I also began to accept it. I discovered who and what I am, and that there's other people like me. Despite my initial feelings about it, the idea seemed to be rather comforting, in a way that's really difficult to describe.
But then theres the thought that I just want to feel special. Maybe I just want to have somewhere I belong. Maybe I'm just making this up. After all, I don't have an official diagnosis. But after several months, I just can't consider myself to be a neurotypical. There is so much evidence suggesting that I'm an aspie it's almost ridiculous. It just kinda sucks that not everyone on the internet knows this. When I tell people that I don't have an official diagnosis, it makes me some sort of wannabe, like I'm not really part of the club. Luckily, not everyone is a jerk like that.
Thank you for the story
I've posted it on the blog. There are so many good and interesting stories here!
I don't think that not having an official diagnosis makes you a wannabe at all. It can be hard to get an assessment for an official diagnosis, and anybody who considers themselves to have AS must have good reasons. It's not really the label that matters, anyway, it's what affects you in life and what helps you. If you can relate on this website and it helps you, and you enjoy spending time on here, it seems like a good place to come, diagnosed or not.
richardbenson
Xfractor Card #351
Joined: 30 Oct 2006
Gender: Male
Posts: 13,553
Location: Leave only a footprint behind
13 Jul 2011, 4:08 pm
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