You may have already guessed from the picture, but I’m about to go off once again on my favourite topic: Autism.
I am Autistic. If the previous four weeks of articles weren’t a clue, I’m kind’a passionate about the entire social mire surrounding my condition.
Progress has happened. That’s a good thing. Awareness is spreading, more people know what Autism looks like and more people know more about it.
I have had a lifetime of falling through the cracks. Too smart for public school, too dumb to get a free ride with a more elite educational facility.
I was a child for the era in which measles could kill a kid. Hell, I had schoolmates who thought I had died, the year I caught all the spots. They were greatly disappointed that I was still alive, but that’s not the point of this particular diatribe.
Back in the 70’s, Asperger’s didn’t exist. Even if it did, I didn’t fit all the checkboxes.
The sorrowful, dramatic, and heartbreaking music swells. The man in the white coat looks at his results once again and steels himself to deliver the bad news. “The results are in,” he says. “There can be no doubt. Your child is… a burden.” She screams and cries, the dramatic sting sounds as she collapses against her supportive other.