My communication skills have always been the star pupil of my skills. On paper, that is. On paper, I’m capable of writing intelligent comments, posts, and retorts that even surprise and impress me when I go back and read them
I look back at all of this as a twisted blessing. Each incident added another brick to my wall. I
Looking back, my extreme self-absorption shielded me from a world of pain. I’m selfish. Because I struggle to connect with the outside world, my
This is part 2 of a 4-part series. If you haven’t read it yet, click here to read part 1.
Family also leaves an imprint that is difficult to erase. My mom is the second youngest of nine–seven siblings
My family has a thing for knives. It all started when my Aunt chased her sister down the street with a butcher’s knife, a natural reaction to newspaper theft. Her third grade teacher sent her home with a newspaper with
Be me, an unknowingly-autistic man. Put yourself in my shoes.
I managed school. Literature and English language were a bit of an issue, though. I got to university, studying physics, a lovely yes or no subject. I found it terribly
Aspergians are often said to be brutally honest. It’s an Asperger’s stereotype that we can’t tell a lie. Recently I started thinking about this, and I realized that at least for me, it’s a little more nuanced than simply being
Trigger warning: this one is dark
Content warning: bad poetry
Fifteen years ago, I wrote a poem. This was fifteen years before I had a name for how I was different. But, I always knew.