An Asperger Journey

Even when I was younger, I always knew there was something different about me, but I could never put my finger on it. On the outside, I look perfectly normal. On the inside is where my problem lies. And that’s the most difficult part to explain to people. If you look like a normal person, people expect you to act like a normal person. Although for the most part I’m capable of getting by in the world without assistance, certain aspects of my behavior are sometimes off-putting to other people. When I’m with a large group of people involved in a conversation, I’m likely to zone out and think about other things and not participate in whatever the group is talking about. I have difficulty picking up on nonverbal cues from others. I have trouble empathizing with people, including those in my own family. And my two main interests—sports and music—border on the obsessive. And yet, there are positive things about Asperger’s, too. I have a good eye for detail, especially when it comes to spelling and grammar, and that makes me an exceptional copy editor. And I am reliable and dependable by nature. But it’s the bad things that make Asperger’s such a frustrating problem to live with, the things that make me “different.” Of course, no one could tell any of this just by looking at me, which is why Asperger’s syndrome is so hard to understand. When you don’t act “normal,” people make judgments about you. If you are more comfortable by yourself instead of with a group, others call you “antisocial,” “standoffish” or “aloof.” What I’ve learned is that people with Asperger’s don’t necessarily want to be alone. They just lack the skills needed to make friends and be more sociable. Of course, it can be a vicious cycle. If you want to be around people and try to make friends, all it takes is a few social missteps to make you feel like an outcast. Then you go back to being by yourself, thinking that it’s not really worth it to be around others if it’s going to be that much work.