Alright, I admit it. I’m not a psychologist, social worker, psychiatrist or employed worker in the brain field of study. I’m not one of these people who have book-learned autism from indirect experience. That does not mean I am completely worthless considering the experience of autism, even though the vast majority of people, including autism parents, think I am worthless because I am autistic.
I can tell you about the shame I feel when people will not vaccinate their children to make sure they are not like me.
I can tell you about the hate I feel when I hear people wanting to “cure” the world of me.
I can tell you about the times I was taken advantage of because nobody wanted to actually teach me how to navigate social situations.
I can tell you the countless times I was awkward because everybody else learned social skills by osmosis, or so it seemed.
I can tell you about how I was forced to sit with the teacher at recess because I would get too frustrating for untrained people to run and play.
I can tell you how your attitudes toward autistic adults will negatively affect relations with your future autistic adult, aka your autistic child.
I can tell you the shame of knowing that there are people who, in the words of one of those people, say I “suffer from nothing,” aka my experience does not count.
I can tell you why I would rather spend my time online, talking with other autistic people, instead of trying to explain my struggles with those who stop up their ears and refuse to listen and understand.
I can tell you about the times I cried from childhood bullying.
I can tell you about the abuse I suffered at the hands of my siblings, who would insist I deserved every bit of financial, mental, emotional and sometimes physical abuse.
I can tell you of the rejection when said siblings finally sent me home to my mother, because I did not satisfy every monetary greed enough for them.
Fortunately, I can’t tell you of a time I was raped. Unfortunately, many of my autistic sisters can. I was lucky there.
I can tell you of rejection.
I can tell you of the wish for me to be a recluse, away from the world.
I can tell you of a time I wanted to die.
I can tell you now that I crawled by myself out of the hole of despair.
I can tell you of finally learning I was not quite so alone.
I can tell you that I have finally learned to accept myself as a lovable, worthwhile person.
I can tell you that I have a true and acceptable experience, no matter what society thinks.
I can tell you that acceptance has been the only thing which has given me permission to go on living.
I can tell you now that I understand how rejection from family members has nothing to do with me, only with them and their baggage.
I can tell you that I now understand people love me, that I’m worth loving and caring about.
Would you tell a flying bird that they do not understand how to fly? That’s what you are doing when you are telling me I do not have a good enough viewpoint with autism.