It’s always ’But you don’t look autistic.’
You say that until you see me so happy, that I can’t mask. Meowing and squealing, flapping or clapping my hands, an awkward grin on my face. I bounce and lick my lips. I talk endlessly about what I have now, whether it’s a figure, or a VHS.
You say that until I’m overstimulated. I’m irritable when I’m out of my house too long, when I get interrupted, my plans are changed, my ideas are turned away. I don’t want to interact anymore, I want my headphones and my music. I shake my head, I groan, I hit my legs. I get snappy and don’t look at you when you speak. Not that I really did before.
You say that until my senses are TOO sensitive for you, maybe even too dramatic. I can’t touch the dishes, I’ll gag. I cover my ears and shake my head during the concert. ’Please turn down the radio,’ I say. And yet, I’ll stare at the bubble tube at the dentists office, or lay in bed, staring at my prized jellyfish lamp.
You say it until I suddenly won’t shut up. ’Jellyfish don’t sting,’ I say. ’They have cells on their tentacles called nematocysts and-‘ I go on and on. Or maybe I’ll talk to you all about censorship laws, and how it led to the production of ’Faces of Death,’ and ’Banned from TV.’ Or perhaps I’ll tell you all about Botulism of all things!
You say that. But you don't see how it factors into every little detail of my life. You undermine me and my autism with a comment that seems meaningless. What does Autism even look like to you? It is the minimal representation you see on TV? Is it Rain Man? Is it Music, from Sing? Sheldon Cooper?
I am Autistic. You can look at me, and see what Autism looks like. And keep your comments to yourself.
baratheonpilled
germansingergirl
gracieabrams
