Tainted by barren skepticism
She looks at me and smiles, but I do not return it. I do not look at her, I do not say anything. She continues to stand at the door and stare. I ignore her and proceed with lining up my colour pencils in a neat row- carefully putting green on the right side and all the other colours on the left. “What are you doing?” She is so persistent. I get slightly frustrated because every second that I am distracted is another second of change to my daily routine. I do not like change.
The voice comes again, “and what are you doing with your finger?” I do not see why this is such a fascination to others. Some people twirl their pens between their fingers during class; others are constantly stroking their hair; yet others can’t keep their legs still for 2 seconds. As for me, I draw imaginary circles with my index finger- it calms me down when I am frustrated.
“Please leave me alone. I need to get started. Please leave me alone. I need to get started.” I force out. I look at her for but a brief moment and analyse her facial expression. Eyebrows arched, frown lines and mouth curved downwards- she is upset. “You’re strange,” she finally says after a long pause. She scoffs off, leaving a silent room. I am used to comments like these though I do not particularly enjoy them. I am also used to silences but unlike the fleeting comments, I thrive on silences.
I glance at my watch- I should have started at 12:00pm and it is now 12:05pm. Not good. Not good at all. I press my index finger hard on the table and begin to draw the circles bigger; putting more force into each circle I draw. I do this until my index finger hurts from the sheer brute, until it turns a rosy pink, until I am a little calmer. Then I take a deep breath, clear my mind and begin to draw…
Some people are defined by their values. Others are defined by their physical appearance or fashion sense. Still others, their intelligence, title, status, and well- you get the drill. Me? I am defined by my condition. For as long as I can remember the term Asperger’s Syndrome has been the 2nd most important detail attached to me after my name.
I was four when I was diagnosed. While other children have experienced the luxuries, yes, luxuries, of normal introductions like, “This is Jacob, he is 5 years old.” or “This is Amy, isn’t she just lovely in that dress?”, my introduction has always been something along the lines of, “This is James. He has Asperger’s Syndrome. It’s on the Autism Spectrum Disorder.” So much for making a first impression.
I am extremely intelligent and loathe it when people treat me like I am not. My communication and language skills are well within the average range. My only ‘problem’ (inverted commas because I do not see it as much of a problem) would be that socially, I do not conform to the way people expect me to. I do not understand basic social cues or sarcasm or figurative language but I am improving. I have spent countless hours studying facial expressions, reading joke books, analysing typical conversations and it has helped. I have a literal mind and I have often wondered why people cannot just say exactly what they mean.
Sometimes when I am excited or upset, I demonstrate echolalia, which means that I repeat phrases again and again. I have repetitive movements and sensory deficits. I cannot stand certain textures and the sound of aeroplanes taking off makes my heart palpitate and I feel like my eardrum is about to rupture. Don’t get me started on how I feel when there is a change to my daily routine; even the slightest change is enough to make me want to dissolve into tears.
I have been called everything from ‘special’ to ‘a complete freak’. People have always assumed that life at home would be very difficult but this couldn’t be further from the truth. I have a great family that I adore and I am most comfortable when I am at home. We have had our fair share of quarrels and reconciliations. I have an older sister at university, a Golden Retriever called Lancelot and I go to the local high school. I love fast food and drawing, dislike cleaning my room and do not understand why girls take so long to get ready. My best friend Alex and I play soccer on the weekends after church (and the answer to your question is no, he does not have any form of autism).
As for the ludicrous idea that I don't feel anything- there is not an iota of truth to it. Just as I have the capacity to see, hear, taste, smell and touch, I have the capacity to feel, to love, to grief, and to hurt.
Yes, I am different. But are these differences that wide? Essentially, in many ways, I am just like everyone else. So then tell me, what is strange? What is normal? We are more alike than you think. We share more in common than you would ever realise. The only ‘problem’ that presents, I think, is that people speak and judge me before opening their eyes, before opening their ears, and most importantly, before opening their hearts.
