I’m a writer. I live in a city where drugs, prostitution, and criminals run rampant, so I spend a lot of time dreaming. Not living mindlessly, but dreaming about a better life, a better city, and a better community for teen Baltimoreans like myself. I come from a rough background, and I’ve seen far more death and sadness than any kid should see, but I let it empower me to reach for new heights.
I’m also an aspergian. Much of what fuels my writing is my wishes for a better life. Not a six-pack, model girlfriend, or million dollar paychecks, because those are unrealistic and worthless, but dreams of friendship and the ability to function in a fast paced, neurotypical world.
I’ve followed a lot of blogs on here that talk about their autism, and I applaud them. This life isn’t easy, and we’re often targets of bullying, laughter, and joking. I can’t count how many times people on social media used autism as an insult. For example, if someone tweets something they don’t agree with, someone might say “this is autism” or “this gave me autism”. It’s this ignorance, stupidity, and crudeness that makes having autism such a stigma.
Many people have asked what I wish for, and I’m unable to say. I’m still not ready to go public about my autism.(I talk about here, but I never mention it when I’m in daily life. If you have, please comment below and tell me how you did it.)
I used to feel cast down, broken, and held captive by my aspergian life. I thought it was the end of me, and I would always be a slave to something I will never see. You (unless you’re on the spectrum) could never understand the pain I feel when I talk with people and know the disappointment, the failure. I’m not on their level, I never will be, and it’s brought me to tears sometimes. It hurts that hard, and it takes so much from me, because I have to keep doing it. I have no choice but to take part of this cyclical self-suicide. I’ve yet to run across a fellow aspergian (and knew he/she had it), someone who knows what this side feels like, and I wish I could befriend one. Someone I can talk to, and mean talk to. A neurotypical can’t understand what autistic burnout feels like, and how could they really help me get through it?
My family doesn’t understand, people I know don’t understand, people I don’t know understand, and the worse part? THEY NEVER WILL. I could tell them, show them the science, and they still wouldn’t understand. We will never understand, and it is this eternal divide that fuels me to write and to share with you.
I have a lot of wishes. Wishes of things I’ve never seen. Wishes of things I have seen, but can’t understand. Wishes I have for people I know. Wishes I have for you. Wishes for now. Wishes for the future.
wish for presents
or a big house
or a new car
or a girlfriend
I just ask for the strength to say hello
I hate hugs
and hand holding
but I love empty pages
Our suffering is internal
yet our march goes on
Our suffering is eternal
for our march goes on
Who hears a silent cry?
Who knows a dream?
A shadow can be nothing to you
an imagination, a figment of possibility from ever-fading reality
Or, a shadow can be everything to you
hope of reality, and possibility
because false hope
is better than none