My Date With Autism Live!

 I posted a comedy bit earlier and this show features some of the jokes -I think.

A Brief History of Autism

    We hear alot about autism but chances are most people have only a faint idea about it. It's history is littered with misconceptions, misdiagnosis and mistreatment of people so let's start at the beginning.

    The term autism ( meaning "the self" in Greek) was used in the 1940's by Dr. Leo Kanner to define the condition of the children he treated. His definition was very narrow, insisted it started very early and required intense intervention and never changed. Meanwhile, Hans Asperger, a pediatrician in Vienna, described autistic like children in a 1944 paper that was discovered in 1980 by researcher Lorna Wing (who coined the term).

    Asperger's Syndrome got bundled with other similar symptoms in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM) and the umbrella term Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) was born. 

     Despite decades of research and study there is still no universal agreement on a diagnostic criteria or a general theory of what causes it. Everything from "refrigerator mothers", vaccines, diets, to genetics have been offered but without much (or any) evidence to support the hypotheses. Autism, it turns out is a very subtle thing to spot.

     Until recently, diagnosis and treatment focused on boys more than girls. There's a lot of social politics about how a child develops. Boys are expected to noisy and active, if they aren't, parents and doctors rush in and try to fix the problem. Girls are supposed to be shy and introverted-an endearing quality. (In my case it was Lisa is a temperamental pain in the ass- not desirable behavior for a child.)

   "Autism is much tougher to spot in the girls," said Danuta Bulhak-Paterson, a clinical psychologist who wrote the book, Aspie Girl. "They have a very different presentation from boys on the spectrum." When they are diagnosed they are offered therapy and education geared to males because the data derived is almost entirely from studies of males. Females are diagnosed later due to misinterpreting or missing the symptoms.

     "Everything we thought was true of autism seems to only be true for boys." says Kevin Pelphery a professor at the Yale Child Study Center. “Almost overnight, we went from a couple of people talking about sex differences to everyone studying this as a major factor in the field,”

 Even he did not recognize the condition in his own daughter, until she was diagnosed at five. *

     What most people know about autism they gleaned from movies, TV and a few articles or interviews.  The image from Rainman for example, is an exaggeration of savant behavior for dramatic affect.

    Among the most common myth is that autistics prefer to be /play alone. No, in fact a significant number of ASD  desire social interaction but find the nuances of socializing difficult and therefore avoid it. Another one is that autistics lack empathy. ASD are often accused of not responding or showing emotion correctly, causing confusion and horror to the neuro typical. Those with ASD often feel too much. Overwhelmed by emotions, they will shut down as a way to contain or control them. Don't confuse lack of response for lack of feeling. People in shock often react that way and can be misinterpreted as apathetic.

       Many parents were told that their child is a lost cause. They will never progress past their infantile state and might as well be institutionalized. Numerous books have been written about the advocacy of parents who knew their kids aren't retarded vs. the completely wrong assumption of experts. As many researchers discovered, autistic behaviors can be modified or reduced with early education and therapy. Many autistics have partners, graduate from college, marry, have children and careers.

    The more ASD is studied the more we learn that it's a complex wiring of the brain not a defect.

 

*Sources: Scientific American  "Autism-it's different in girls"  Maia Szalavitz  March 1, 2016

The Atlantic The Invisible Women with Autism  Apoorava Mandavilli  Oct 22, 2015)

autism, ASD. Asperger's syndrome

 

Music of the Mind

As a person with Asperger's, I have discovered there is no defense from thin skinned, politically correct, humorless Eugenians. No matter how hard I try to be courteous and polite, sometimes I say things that sound tactless without knowing it. 

We live in an era of hyper entitlement where people can not tell the difference between unintentional and deliberate offense. Any and every offense --real or imagined-- has the same unpardonable weight, where the offending person must be removed from their position or they must grovel and apologize immediately for hurting someone's feelings. 

A privileged executive with Korean Air is served snacks incorrectly and the resulting tantrum creates a scandal. A celebrity innocently says "colored" instead of "black" and people react with manufactured outrage.

Imagine what happens when the socially clueless autistic encounters such a person. Close friends and family accept my limitations with kindness and understanding but encountering strangers in the current environment is fraught with anxiety.Whenever I tripped, I would be acutely embarrassed and withdraw as a defense mechanism. This was  often mistaken for indifference or insensitivity, making the situation worse.

Society places a high value on human interactions and if the autistic compares themselves by those standards, they will always fail. After the latest gaffe, I gave considerable thought to what was going on and came to an interesting conclusion: the important skill those on the spectrum lack is social improvisation.

Conversation is like jazz, someone takes a theme and passes it to another, who changes it and passes it back. Neuro normals learn  a vast number of themes and how to alter them while those with ASD develop only a handful. For someone who only knows three chords and two songs, the frustration is compounded when they realize they can't expand their repertoire.

 

The autistic can learn to imitate themes but not grasp the nuances or their proper use. They are repeated without variation as a result, introductions became stilted, conversation focuses on a narrow subject, body language is misinterpreted.

 

After years of walking through this social mine field, I resigned myself to being shut out because I was comparing myself by neuro normal standards and always failing. But as I looked deeper into this analogy, I discovered those with ASD know more than three chords, in fact, our internal music is vast but fundamentally different from others because of the way our brains are wired. 

To use another analogy, the person with ASD has genetic roadblocks to "normal " function so new pathways are found around them that may seem perfectly clear to us but are baffling to the rest of the world.

An extreme example can be seen in synesthesia, where the senses blend. Colors have sound or names have taste. Until recently scientists scoffed at such claims but now see it as a legitimate phenomenon occasionally found in those on the spectrum. The discovery of savant skills are these new and unknown pathways of the brain.

Bach was famous for using staid old musical forms to weave new intricate melodies. Jackson Pollock dripped paint on canvas in patterns so complex, computers using advanced algorithms are needed to tell the real from the fakes. 

How easy it is for me to separate each orchestral part of  Bach's Toccata and fugue in D as seen in Fantasia. One long look at Jacksons splotches and I can see the fractals buried in the color  scheme but when talking to people, I can't tell whether I made a clever remark or insulted someone. 

Those on the spectrum may suck at the daily songs of conversations but we excel at the symphonies of ideas, patterns, and seeing the beautiful world around us. 

Sorry Everyone

When I turned fifty I was struck with profound depression. After decades of  effort, I still had no job, no vocation. I had few friends, fewer connections to the community and I never had a love life. I had nothing productive to show for my life. It was over as far as I could tell.Then one day I was looking in the Diagnostic and Statistics Manual (DSM) and the entry on autism caught my eye. The criteria sounded awfully familiar and when I read the entry on Asperger's syndrome I knew without a doubt that was me.  Once the relief of knowing why I acted the way I did swept away my depression, a lifetime of social gaffes came back to haunt me.

I felt like an alcoholic who sobered up only to survey the damage from the uninhabited binge. I can not begin to express the acute embarrassment of unconscious rude behavior, inappropriate responses, volcanic outbursts of temper and general cluelessness about how people worked.

Sorry everyone. Sorry to my siblings for the years you wanted nothing to do with me because I didn't know how to act normal and ended up being snooty when I felt rejected. Sorry to my nieces and nephews for acting like I didn't care or appeared insensitive to you when all I wanted was to be your friend. Sorry to all my teachers who couldn't understand how such a bright kid could be so weird. I tried their patience with my arrogance, sense of entitlement and superior intellect. Sorry to the few friends I had for over reacting when you were a few minutes late because of my crazy obsession with punctuality. Sorry that I still don't get subtle social cues or know when to shut up or not interrupt people with a monologue on an obscure topic no one else cares about. Sorry I don't have the energy anymore to consult a mental list of social or do's and don't I just figured out whenever I meet new people.

 Sorry but this who I am even though I would love to be as normal, easy going and fun to be around as the next person.I'm stuck being an eccentric, creative, difficult to understand force of nature whose loyalty, honesty and perseverance will never falter.  It's not my fault I was born this way.

The Wallflower and the Butterfly

One of the biggest hurdles for people with ASD ( Autism Spectrum Disorder) is social interactions. For me, its a especially hard as most of my life I have been around “normal” folk who have no trouble talking  to others. I am rather a good speaker and can be articulate but I’m not one who can easily approach others  and strike up a conversation.

I recently went to an aikido instructor’s class, where over 40 people were in attendence, most I knew for years, yet I still felt like an outsider. At lunch I sat in a corner alone at a table. While we waited for the afternoon session to start, I stood alone while everyone else chatted.

Mind you this is with people I know. I sat in the front seat on a recent car tripwith someone I’ve known for years, and we barely exchanged words. However, on the way back another person sat up front and the two chatted away. So does she prefer the other person’s company or I am a poor conversationalist? It’s hard for me to tell.

I try to improve my social skills but it’s a struggle. I fret awkwardly, trying to go beyond small talk--which I'm terrible at and wonder how dull or boring I sound. Every social encounter  is scrutinized, analyed and graded as a success or failure. Did I monologue? Did I stay on topic subject or dominate with one of my fixations? How well did I reciprocate ? Did I show interest in them or just wait impatiently until I could babble on.The stress is considerable.

I’m reminded of  what John Elder Robison commented in his memoir “Look Me in the Eye.”

“ Many descriptions of autism and Asperger’s  describe people like me as “not wanting contact with others” or “preferring to play alone.” I can’t speak for other kids, but I’d like to be very clear about my own feelings:  I did not ever want to to be alone . And all those child psychologists who said ”John prefers to play by himself” were dead wrong. I played by myself because I was a failure at playing with with others. I was alone as a result of my own limitations, and being alone was one of the bitterest disappointments of my young life.”

I understand that all too well. Just because  I’m not good at interacting doesn’t mean I don’t want to and the pain of loneliness is as powerful for me as it is for anyone. So should you see me --or someone you know  with ASD at a gathering, please come over and talk, I crave conversation too and will appreciate the kindness of your company.

You're going to camp whether you like it or not.

I planned to be at the  annual Kindtree Autism Camp early to beat the rush and rehearse for a role in a play one of the Volunteers wrote . I  say planned because my plans didn't quite work out that way. Thursday morning my ride never appeared leaving me frantic, confused, angry and so stressed I thought, the hell with it. Once again fate was in charge.I woke Friday and immediately got a call from Nell, one of the directors of the camp.

"We need you out here." were the magic words she said. I got a ride from another volunteer Julie, and we arrive mid afternoon. Unfortunately I missed a shift of work and a rehearsal so I was way behind the schedule. No problem, no worries I'm here that's what counts.

The  main work on Saturday was the technical rehearsal for the play. The final draft of the play was delivered to me when I arrive so we're all reading from the script here and at the show. In a homage to Dr. Who, Frankie has written a play that could easily pass for an actual episode. Pretty good since he's never done this before. He plays The Doctor but is preoccupied with directing. Tim plays a befuddled Professor and offers ideas on direction. Logan-playing the villain, proves to be very professional, picks up on his stage business, gets into his part and has most of his part memorized which impresses me. A high energy pre teen is cast for a small role and does the news commentator on a pre recorded video. He's all over the place and I wonder if he is up to the discipline of acting.  I'm stressing about the complicated blocking.

Panels of cardboard are painted brown with yellow circles like the interior of the TARDIS.  One of the panels is discarded because of space and Logan decides it looks like an easy version the game twister "Left leg on yellow, right leg on yellow, left hand on yellow, left hand on yellow" Yeah, that's it I laugh. The prop control panel could easily have come from the early days of the BBC show when they had no budget. We all love it's thrown together appeal.

I'm tired from rehearsal and go to my tent for a ten minute nap that turns into a 30 minute nap. I miss out of the many activities scheduled but camping for me is about resting not doing. So I  enjoy throwing a frisbee around the open field with campers in the warn sun. I wander over in time to see Mary -Minn and company packing up after the watercolor class I missed. They speak in a fake French accent for some strange reason  while they clean up. "ah  ze colors are magnifique." "Zees is ze best water color ever. " I didn't miss the fun after all.

The  play is presented at the end of the talent show Saturday night and is wildly enjoyed despite the imperfect staging and my stepping on Frankie's lines-twice. The crowd loves it and that's all the matters. Afterwards he and Ryan do their impression of Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin. I went to bed.

Sunday I rose to late for the eggs so I have bacon and fruit for breakfast. I take a long walk to the end of the camp  and back. Big mistake, even though it was quite lovely and quiet. I then spend over two hours helping in the kitchen which I rather like even though it's tiring work. I have spent the last month sitting on my butt while writing a novel so I get all the exercise I missed done in one weekend. It's raining and I'm exhausted when Julie and I head back to Eugene. I'm so tired I swear I'm not going to do it again next year. 

Well, there is talk of a sequel to the play. 

Mission from God Part 3

 ( Disclaimer: I have altered some names and events in order to protect the innocent and avoid blame)

Thursday

Thursday already? Tuesday and Wednesday have blurred together. Today is preparation and a dry run before the campers arrive tomorrow. The ranks of volunteers swells along with the work to do. 

I manage to sneak off around noon for an hour or so with a friend who lives in Florence. We have a drink at a restaurant overlooking the river on a beautiful sunny day. Hanging out with my friend is so relaxing and I realize that being around people with ASD is more stressful than I anticipated. Having been around neuro normals all my life, I learned how to more or less behave but being around ASD folks is different and reminds me how much work is it to "fit in". I have one foot in each world but I'm not entirely comfortable in either. I wonder if this is the lesson Gaia is trying to teach me.

Back at camp, I decide my best skills will be in the kitchen. It's a full service one and for an aspiring sous chef, it's heaven. Four stoves, a double oven, warming oven, a huge walk in fridge and a "reach in" (which home fridges are). It has lots of work space and an industrial strength dishwasher. My first attempts at being the indispensable kitchen help fall flat. Kindtree has been doing these retreats for several years they have the camp well organized including the kitchen set up. I resign myself to being the lowly dishwasher but Honey, a large, enthusiastic girl completely dominates the kitchen- practically snatching the trays out of peoples hands as they are returned to be cleaned. "I'm almost done." she insists whenever someone  trys to intervene. Stymied, I plop down at a table and give up on being any use. The volunteer coordinator notices my sour mood and along with an equally large male coordinator they step in and insist Honey vacate the kitchen NOW. Within minutes another crew is able to get in -including myself- and the place is put into order soon enough. When I leave I'm tired but satisfied at actually getting something done.

The up and down trips to volunteer camp is tiring so I limit my runs. I bring along a small canvas "ditty " bag to carry what I need and it saves me trips downhill. Despite the walk the view is worth it. It's been mild and clear all week with sunsets that glow and a hypnotic view of a ripening moon on the water. A friend gave me two solar powered LED  ground lights which I post outside my tent and they are a godsend when I have to find my way back from the outhouse in the pitch blackness. Tonight turned so chilly I had to throw the covers over my head when my nose got too cold. Ah the joys of camping.

Friday

My shoulder is still bothering me, I'm not sleeping enough so I decide to move camp up closer to the lodge to save what little energy I have left. The uphill climb was getting to be too much. 

Campers begin to arrive in the afternoon and the number is staggering. Over a hundred and sixty people attend the two day camp. Kitchen detail is fast and furious work but very satisfying. For a brief time while the volunteer coordinator is out  so I take charge and getting things to flow amid the organized chaos was exciting. I watch the chef carefully and am impressed with his ability to juggle all the meals and people professionally. Having lived with a former professional chef, I know how important is it to stay clear while they work so I do the best I can to keep people out of his way. Not a easy thing to do with all the traffic.

I retire to my tent for the night, a short distance away. The trade off with the new site is the noise level is much greater being closer to more campers. This time I take some heavy duty painkillers I brought and sleep soundly.

The Mission From God Part 2

Tuesday

 After a long morning of waiting for arrival the supply van, get loaded, pick up food supplies and drive out to the coast, me and fellow volunteers arrive at Camp Baker. I always thought I was a stressful type but I am a sea of calmness compared to Emma's level of anxiety. ASD people do not deal with transistions very well.

The camp is huge boy scout affair with a large dining hall and shower facility at the top of a hill. camp sites are tucked in amid a thick forest of pine trees.The camp is surrounded by Lake Siltcoos on it's shore is a boathouse and a swimming area. The volunteer camp is by the lake too, down a long sloping hill which means walking up hill -a lot. I was warned of the hike. 

"Hey I'm a big girl I can handle it. " I insist. 

I'm looking forward to resting and relaxing for three days before the campers arrive on Friday but the continued petty annoyances that have plagued me for weeks persists. A reliable pen runs out of ink and I had no back up, my flashlight batteries die and I neglected to bring spares. The final straw was when I sat down on a spot of pine pitch and wrecked my good pants. Apparently Her Holiness has a twisted sense of humor. 

The view of the moonlit lake made up for the disaster. That and a drink from my secret stash. I resign myself to these distractions following me like an unwanted seven year old. The air mattress which worked fine at home inexplicably wants to be weakly inflated despite my efforts. I also found myself having to pee every five minutes and realized that once again my period has come to ruin my vacation as it's done the last eight times I traveled. I thought I had defeated the little shit when menopause arrived but the leftover full bladder syndrome decided to come along. I discover going to the outhouse is an experience. The seat is rather low playing havoc with my stiff hip so I have to bend and stretch in strange ways. I feel like I'm doing yoga every time I pee which is a lot- remember?

At night I decide to go out to the boathouse to get a clear view of the night sky and I'm not disappointed. Awe inspiring barely covers the feeling as I gazed up at the endless stars. I was hoping for inspiration but instead there is a big yawning emptiness. No endless song or idle internal chitchat intrudes on the thunderous silence in my head. Even my mind is on vacation. 

My companion on the other hand,  is a chatty woman who never shuts the fuck up. She is a bright, smart woman who expresses herself in negative comparisons that are clearly untrue. This distorted self perception is puzzling and annoying.

Back in the brand new tent,  I didn't sleep well because of a sore shoulder and the confining space of the sleeping bag. I like my bedding to be roomy. I took some medicine and struggled to find a comfortable position. As I lay in the dark waiting for the painkillers to take effect I wonder again why I am doing this.

The Mission From God Part 1

Monday

There was a knock on my door at 9 am. I don't  rise until 10, ok I'm l lazy that way. I opened the door and there was a familiar face, a slender man with short dark hair and a hawk nose, dressed in black. He handed me a note.

"The Master couldn't  e-mail me?" I asked rhetorically.

"You're needed immediately." he said and turning on his heels, left. God's messengers are like that-  cryptic.

I shut the door and reluctantly read the note even before having my morning tea.The message was simple: an address and time later that day. I arrived at the appointed time to a small brightly colored house. I rang the bell hanging from the porch roof and noted a sign reminding people to kindly remove their shoes. An Asian woman answered the door.

"You're here to see God ?" the woman asked.

"Yes, ma'am."  I replied she nodded. I removed my shoes and was lead to the living room  decorated with a profusion of plants and three indolent cats.

God, the maker of all things, creator of the universe has asked me- no commanded me to take on mission before so I was ready but anxious. I was rarely confident about these assignments but you know the cliche-the Creator never  gives you a task you can't handle blah blah.

 I had been slothful this summer, spending too much time on the computer and musing sour grapes about my purpose in life. A train of thought always bound to get me in trouble. You would think I'd be grateful to break the monotony with this kind of work but guess again. I'm a borderline atheist and only my hard core catholic upbringing keeps me from going to the dark side. Whatever.

Then God appeared. She was a large black women wearing a robe with stripes of  bright colors favored in Nigeria. She greeted me warmly. 

"Alisa how good to see you. I love what you've been doing with your house this summer, keep up the good work." she effused a she gave me a bright hug.

"Thanks, Your Holiness." I answered, anxious to get the formalities out of the way.

"Oh please call me Gaia. " she gestured for me to sit down.

" I know how disappointed you are with the belated Asperger diagnosis." she dived right in.Uh-oh I didn't like where this was going. I gave her a chilly look.

Disappointed is a gross understatement. Indignation at being kept in the dark about a neurological condition throughout a difficult childhood, painful adolesence and unsuccessful adulthood sends me into a boiling rage. She cleared her throat to get my attention and stop my train of thought.

" I have  an assignment that will help you better understand this new world view." She went on sweetly.

Really? I thought, my brows doing a small sarcastic jump.

"Yes, really.You're  going to volunteer at this year's Kindtree camp retreat. You'll love it. Getting away from your remodeling work and out of the city. Camping out in the woods -with full kitchen and bathroom facilities of course. You need to see how  well people on the spectrum function.

"Excuse you but if you will recall I was lumped in with retarded and crippled kids when I was ten years old. I'm not particularly fond of  being around "odd' people so I think I'll skip this one. " Wow did she know how to hit my psychological sore spot.  Gaia merely smiled, ignoring my politically incorrect verbage.

"These are decent, kind people who only want to be accepted for who they are. You'll fit right in" She said pointedly. Yes, I'm afraid I will fit right in I sighed. 

We rose in unison and she gave me a big hug. The interview officially over, I left with mixed feeling about the idea. Would I fit in? How much work was this going to be? Did I have the stamina to deal with a large group of people for long periods of time over six days? I called Mary -Minn and accepted the offer to volunteer. Hell, I even agreed to go out a couple of days early to help set up. I cleared my schedule,  packed for a week long trip. I got a new air mattress and tent without really knowing what I was getting into. I'm a damn fool.

The ASD Cafe

I was out to dinner with some friends and owing to their various handicaps I assisted with getting their orders filled. friend Martha, recovering from ankle surgery, thought I'd make a good waitress. 

"With my Aspergers and poor social skills? I doubt it. I would last precisely five minutes until someone complained and I would tell them to f- off." I don't react well to difficult customers. Then I wondered. What would a restaurant full of autistics be like?

In one corner there would be a table of  people not uttering a word. In the other would be a table of people all talking loudly, at once. The staff  would mostly stand around staring into space while the cook obsessively cleaned the grill. One of the waiters never writes anything down because he can remember everyone's order- from the last three weeks., while the waitress has a full blown melt down about every ten minutes over the slightest mistake. 

It certainly would be a new dining experience.

The Invisible Barrier

         Socialization is a highly valued skill. Getting along, being chummy, making small talk. Those who don’t have the social graces are at an disadvantage. They are labeled antisocial, misfits, aloof. There is concern when a person prefers to be alone.
         Society rewards mediocrity and views original thinking as suspect and dangerous. Instead of seeing the value of someone who can focus and see things in new ways, society marginalizes them. The outcasts and artists of the world who are wired differently than “normal” people have a hard time fitting in and those with a mental disability have it worse. The non conformist at least can figure out the rules of road of normal social interactions but those with ASD, ADD or other disabilities don’t even know how to read the map. They end up being greatly misunderstood.
         No one ever says to someone with a visible physical handicap, “Oh you’re just lazy.” “You can work, there’s nothing wrong with you.” but it is said plenty to those with an invisible disability. It’s easy to imagine blindness or not being to walk. Injury or simply closing ones eyes can give one an idea but imagining the world of someone with a mental disability requires more effort. Spend a whole day not making eye contact with others. Imagine being in a room full of foreigners and you don’t speak their language. Completely lose your temper over some stupid little thing. That might give you a better idea of the world of someone who can’t figure out why they don’t fit in. Phrases like “try harder”, “If you would only apply yourself” or “you’re not paying attention” just aggravates the frustration from both sides. How can anyone who clearly looks ok not be able to do these things? Are they faking it or are just lazy? When people remark that I seem to be normal I dare them to spend a week with me and gain a different opinion.
         Everything from dyslexia, hyperactivity to autism are seen as some kind of defect, a deviation from normal and those afflicted are to be tossed aside as broken. This is society tossing out the diamond because they don’t recognize the value. Different gives humanity geniuses: discoveries in science, high art, classical music. Just look at Beethoven, Newton, DaVinci. People who were antisocial, irascible, stubborn and singularly focused on their subject of expertise.

The heart is a lonely hunter

Damn I wish I could write as well as Roger Ebert.and he writes about loneliness better than me and I'm one of the lonely people he writes about. Dam. I was reading John Elder Robison's book about his life with Asperger's and I was struck by a comment he made.

"Many descriptions of autism and Asperger’s describe people like me as “not wanting contact with others” or “preferring to play alone.” I can’t speak for other kids, but I’d like to be very clear about my own feelings: I did not ever want to to be alone . And all those child psychologists who said ”John prefers to play by himself” were dead wrong. I played by myself because I was a failure at playing with with others."

That pretty much describes me as well. To put it in a nutshell people with Autism Spectrum Disorder ( ASD) are smart people with the social skills of a ten year old. It's frustrating, even heartbreaking when you know you lack the ability to connect with others. Everyone wants to be noticed, to count, to have meaning.

I live alone. I'm not married, don't have kids. I have three siblings, few relatives and only a handful of friends. The only legacy I have is more than 35 years of diary writing. What is their value? I have been journaling as a way to vent the emotions and desires I am unable to communicate to others because they don't understand where I'm coming from. Imagine being trapped in the hellish angst of a teenager and you have a fair idea of how I feel every time I go to a social gathering even at fifty.

Primitive societies have found the harshest punishment they can mete out to criminals in their tribe is to ostracize them. Banished from the people they have grown up with, they wither and die within months. Everyone wants to be wanted, loved and acknowledged. It's just harder for some than others. Remember that the next time you meet someone.

I’m Not Insensitive I Have Asperger’s

After fifty years of temperamental behavior, chronic depression and lack of sociability I have discovered what me tick: I have Asperger’s Syndrome, a fancy term for high functioning autism.

Autism , there’s a scary word. In the 60’s there was a minor epidemic of Rubella and my mother had it when she was pregnant with me. It caused birth defects including retardation. My family assumed as much, as folks did at that time, but they never spoke about it. As a child, I was tested and tested and I guess the obvious conclusion was that I was not retarded I was just a weird kid. Mom brought up the subject once when I was 15. When she said I was autistic as a child I freaked. Mind you, we didn’t know that much about it then (they still don’t understand what causes autism) but my image of it was kids rocking back and forth or sitting in a corner waving their arms, fucking vegetables. Needless to say we never mentioned it again.

I never heard of Aspergers’s Syndrome until I tripped over the term while recently trying to figure out the cause of my chronic depression. Now suddenly everything made sense. The description fit me perfectly. I don’t make friends easily. I tend to get frustrated by the simplest things to the point of being enraged. I can become fixated on a subject to the exclusion of all else. I don’t connect cause and effect when it comes to dealing with people, which pisses them off and leaves me confused. I come off as tactless, aloof and disinterested in sharing with others. I can be insufferable. I don’t mean to be difficult and but I am unable to change, which leads to more frustration. What’s wrong with me? What did I say or do wrong? I have no idea. I feel like like I’m driving through unknown territory without a map.

I can’t get a job because having to talk to a total stranger when I barely have a clue how to interact with people I know fills me with panic. So I fail at such things and get depressed about how inadequate I am at something everyone else manages just fine. I dread new social situations so I’m alone most of the time. I never had a long term relationship because I don’t understand how to be intimate. Not to mention being a pain in the ass.

I’m not stupid. People with Asperger’s are usually quite smart but I lack the ability to pick up on non verbal social cues or misinterpret them. Now that I understand why I act the way I do, maybe there’s a chance for me to be sort of- normal. I say maybe because this has gone undiagnosed for so long and my upbringing only made things worse. It may be too late for me to undo the effects of Asperger’s but at least I have a way to find my way through the landscape of life.