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Having been closer to my family of origin in the last year or so has brought about much pain, and it has open the wounds of an early life with a group of people who not only failed to understand me, but instead grossly misunderstood me. (I have now decided to leave them behind for good.)

As I have stated on this blog before, and long time readers can attest to, I am different, really, seriously different from most people.

Up to today, I blamed my dysfunctional family for my troubles—yes, that was a problem. I blamed it on being a smart woman trying to make it in a male-dominated business world. Yes, that was a problem. I blamed it on having been religious for a large part of my life, and of course, that was a problem.

However, today, I had an aha moment.

After years of having tried to convince my husband that he is an Aspie, I finally realized that—yes, he is an Aspie—but that I’m one too.

I failed to see that before because, unlike my husband, I do care if I am accepted socially. I do notice when I’m rejected. He doesn’t. The lack of friends doesn’t bother him. That no-one ever calls him other than his mom is perfectly fine.

Today, I decided to look up female Asperger’s Syndrome and voila, yes, it describes me. Yes, I’m a little autistic. Yes, I have the symptoms. And while for some that would be awful news, for me is a relief.

All my attempts to fit in socially have failed, because I’m not like the majority of you. In my world things are different. And it takes a huge effort to follow your social rules to try to be accepted by you.

Here is an example. Today, an employee from our timeshare company called. With melodic sweet enthusiasm, the lady confirmed our upcoming weekend get away. I sat  at the other side replying with dry yes’s and no’s while rolling my eyes in annoyance. Then, all of a sudden I realized that I had to pretend some politeness. So, I tried, by upping my voice’s pitch.

Subsequently, I thought my husband could use the info she was providing and gave him the phone. I requested she start with him from the beginning. She heard almost exactly the same borderline-rude, dry responses from him. We failed to match her enthusiasm. That’s the way we are: incredibly factual, no-bullshit, to-the-point people.

That’s when I realized why we have no friends. We just can’t get ourselves to live up to the social conventions that others think necessary. We are annoyed by steady noises and bright lights. We have trouble with sarcasm and figures of speech. We dislike change. We tackle tasks obsessively and research the smallest details. People don’t like being around us. Even our friends and relatives dislike our topics of conversation and think that we’re odd.

To be honest, right now, I just want to cry. But not because I know that I’m an Aspie. I want to cry because it took me this long to learn.

Why did I want to know that I am an Aspie? Because I keep trying to change myself, to be like other people, and I keep failing.

I know I’ve said many times that I accept myself the way I am. But it still hurts to live in a world that is expecting us to act a certain way, and it rejects us when we don’t.

When I look back at my entire life and notice all the times that I have been put down and humiliated for being different, I feel so sorry for myself. I want to cry for me. Just the way I would cry if I watched a movie about any other autistic person who tried to make it in the “normal” world and failed.

I can see how church wasn’t the place for me. And I can see why a career in technology WAS and IS the only place I was going to succeed. After all, I found many folks like me in that field. That’s why the office was the only place I could make friends.

A person with “special needs” like me was never going to be embraced by a family of psychopaths like the one I grew up in. They’re rude, cruel, and ignorant. They’re also into keeping up appearances. Imagine all the times I embarrassed them with my disregard for social conventions. No wonder they keep trying to change me, and think I’m such a horrible person. The one thing they value is where I fail at most miserably.

Tears are flowing and the pit of my stomach hurts. But I believe knowing this will make my life easier. After all, I am who I am, and I’m not going to try to dramatically change anymore. Attempting to make myself into a socially adequate individual is akin to making a wheelchair-bound person walk. It is destructive and futile. My efforts should be aimed at surviving with my disability, not at trying to make me who I’m not.

For those interested, here is a very good description of female Asperger’s Syndrome.

Here is a question to my readers (are there any left out there?): Is this a shock to you? Did you suspect?

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