I know I’m supposed to be ashamed. I know that. I know autism is supposed to be a loaded term, spoken in hushed whispers, a reassuring hand on a shoulder, a pitying frown. It’s supposed to be “risk of” and “suffers from” and “unfortunately”.
I can’t quite decide if it’s my autism that keeps those ideas at arm’s reach. I know that I see the world in terms of facts, rather than judgements.
I would hate to suffer from negative judgements being an automatic response. I would hate to suffer from knee-jerk preconceptions, instead of making up my mind after careful research. It’s a neurotypical trait that I’m very glad I don’t share.
I am autistic, and that is not a good thing. It’s not a bad thing either. It’s an absolutely neutral thing. It’s a thing.
The fact is that I was autistic even when I thought I was…
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