Asperger's: My life as an Earthbound alien

[Guest guest]

http://edition.cnn.com/2008/HEALTH/conditions/03/28/autism.essay/?

imw=Y & iref=mpstoryemail

March 28, 2008 -- Updated 1410 GMT (2210 HKT)

Asperger's: My life as an Earthbound alien

One CNN manager recently learned -- at 48 -- that she has Asperger's

syndrome, a form of autism. Today she shares an inside view of life

with the condition.

ATLANTA, Georgia (CNN) -- Recently, at 48 years of age, I was

diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome. For most of my life, I knew that

I was " other, " not quite like everyone else. I searched for years for

answers and found none, until an assignment at work required me to

research autism. During that research, I found in the lives of other

people with Asperger's threads of similarity that led to the

diagnosis. Although having the diagnosis has been cathartic, it does

not change the " otherness. " It only confirms it.

When I talk to people about this aspect of myself, they always want

to know what it means to be an " Aspie, " as opposed to

a " Neurotypical " (NT). Oh, dear, where to start . ...

The one thing people seem to know about Asperger's, if they know

anything at all, is the geek factor. Bill Gates is rumored to be an

Aspie. We tend to have specialized interests, and we will talk about

them, ad infinitum, whether you are interested or not. Recognizing my

tendency to soliloquize, I often choose silence, although perhaps not

often enough. Due to our extensive vocabularies and uninflected

manner of speaking, we are called " little professors, " or arrogant.

I don't quite understand small talk, and early in my adult life,

solecisms were frequent. At meetings, I launch into business without

the expected social acknowledgments. It's not that I don't care about

people, I am just very focused on task. Do you have to rehearse

greeting people to reinforce that you should do it? I do.

I am lucky to have a very dear friend who savors my eccentricities.

She laughs, lovingly, about one particular evening at a restaurant.

Before she could get seated, I asked her what she knew about the

golden ratio and began to spew everything I know about it. I re-

emphasize how lucky I am to have her as a friend, because this

incident occurred long before I was diagnosed.

A misconception is that Aspies do not have a sense of humor. It is

true that we can be very literal, so we often miss the humor in

everyday banter, but we can and do enjoy even subtle humor. Our

literal interpretations, however, can be problematic.

In first grade, whenever someone made a mess in the classroom, the

teacher would ask a student to get the janitor. The student would

come back with Mr. (not really his name), who carried a broom

and large folding dustpan. When I was asked to get the janitor, I

looked all over the school and reported back to the teacher that I

could not find it. After all, the person was Mr. , so the

janitor must be the object, right?

I lack the ability to see emotion in most facial expressions. I

compensate for this deficiency by listening to the inflections in

people's voices and using logic to determine emotional context. The

words people choose, their movements, or even how quickly they exit a

meeting can provide clues to emotion.

I also have intensified senses -- touch, taste, smell, sight, and

sound -- so I am attuned to lights, noise, textures, and smells. In

a " busy " environment, I will eventually go into sensory overload and

my mind will go blank. When this happens, I have to " go away "

mentally for a brief period to regain focus. When I " return, " I have

to piece together what occurred while I was " away. " The additional

mental processing I must do to function every day is fatiguing, and I

don't handle " ad hoc " very well. Being asked to respond quickly in

the midst of all this other processing is difficult, sometimes

impossible.

I am so sensitive to touch that a tickle hurts me. This is the

hardest concept for most people to understand. How can a tickle hurt?

All I can tell you is that it does, so I avoid being touched except

by those who have learned how to touch me.

Hugs are dispensed infrequently, but if I do hug someone, I resemble

enstein's monster, arms extended to control contact. When my dad

(who I suspect is an Aspie, too) and I hug, we both have " the

approach. " We sometimes miss and have to re-approach a couple of

times until a brief, awkward hug is achieved.

In school, other children noted my differences, and I was bullied

(and tickled into fits of despair) for years. Already needing

extended periods of time alone, my response was to become even more

of a loner. Uh oh. When you are weird, you are a joke. When you are a

loner, you frighten people. It's always the quiet ones. ...

I am married (wow!), and my brilliant husband is an absolute

sweetheart. I don't know any other man who has the self-confidence to

be pushed away (sometimes sharply), both physically and mentally, as

often as he has been. He has been gentle and patient (and, yes,

frequently emotionally depleted) as we both worked through my need

for space, tendency to go so deep into my own world that the real

world and everyone in it cease to exist, and sensitivity to touch

during the 26 (soon to be 27) years of our marriage.

I live with anxiety, because the world can be overwhelming and people

have expectations that I always, sooner or later, fail to meet. I

cannot begin to tell you how many times I have been told that I am

rude, inaccessible or cold, yet I have never purposely tried to harm

anyone, nor do I mean to be, well, mean.

I could tell you so much more, but instead let me share one last

insight. Don't pity me or try to cure or change me. If you could live

in my head for just one day, you might weep at how much beauty I

perceive in the world with my exquisite senses. I would not trade one

small bit of that beauty, as overwhelming and powerful as it can be,

for " normalcy. "

[Guest guest]

wrote: " Nothing wrong with a little loud music now and then,

so long as it doesn't bother the neighbors. The shrill laughter is

never a good thing though. "

I'm not averse to a little loud music either. I was just saying it

covers up the dull thud of brain cells smacking the floor as they slosh

out of the cranium. LOL.

The shrill laughter -- even at a distance -- always drives me to

distraction in a very negative way. I find it's usually those with the

most offensive laughs and voices who are the most terrified of 'not'

being liked.

Raven