If you're reading this, it is because you wish to know what it is like to suffer from autism from the perspective of someone on the spectrum. Why you should want such a thing is beyond my comprehension. Was it a child of your own who also suffers? Or was it, perhaps, a morbid curiosity? I'm telling you right now, if you're looking for some words to inspire hope then you can stop reading right now. I'm a thirty-year-old who delivers pizza and still lives with his parents, I have none to give.

1. Last week in the Wellness Journal, we brought a bit
of the history of Autism, some global statistics and
how you can get involved in raising awareness.
But, most importantly, you read the story of a mother
(one of your own co-workers) who journeyed through
this unknown world to a greater understanding and a
beautiful appreciation of neurodiversity.
Now, read about that same journey from her son’s
perspective…

2. POWER OF STORY
By Jim Dill
If you're reading this, it is because you wish to know what it is like to
suffer from autism from the perspective of someone on the spectrum.
Why you should want such a thing is beyond my comprehension. Was it
a child of your own who also suffers? Or was it, perhaps, a morbid
curiosity? I'm telling you right now, if you're looking for some words to
inspire hope then you can stop reading right now. I'm a thirty-year-old
who delivers pizza and still lives with his parents, I have none to give.
My mother seems to think that what I have is some kind of superpower, that it grants me talents normal
people do not have. But my talents are not unique to my condition. Make no mistake, I am a cripple, though
it is not a malady that is immediately obvious. But once you introduce yourself, you may notice that while I
meet your smile with my own, while I reach out my hand to shake yours, you will notice something off, but
you may not know what precisely that is. Maybe it's the way my gaze almost, but not quite, meets yours, or
that it meets it only briefly, then moves to something else. You are witnessing a mask of sanity, one built
upon a decade of intensive therapy and lots of medications, it is a facade that almost resembles the psyche
of a normal person. Almost...
We call what I have "Autism Spectrum" now. We used to call it "Asperger’s" when I was diagnosed in 2005.
Before then, child psychologists would call it whatever their specialty happened to be. Adults called me
"special needs," children called me "retarded." I distinctly remember having friends at my youngest age,
other kids like me playing together in the shared spaces of suburbia. I remember having friends and
something resembling a social life with the neighborhood kids. But children can pick up upon cues that
indicate who is not quite right. There were two kids in particular who loved bullying me, their love of
tormenting me started small, but got worse every year. And of course everyone faces school yard bullies.
Faced with tormenters both in school and out of it, I became withdrawn. I had fewer friends as time went
on. This culminated in an event near Ocean City, Maryland. The family was staying at a campground and I
found myself playing volleyball with some other kids. I got into an argument about the rules when two other
kids started insulting me and throwing sand at me. This is when I stopped socializing altogether, for I realized
that bullies could attack anywhere at any time.
I know I went through a lot of therapies growing up, but I can remember only one with any clarity. Tomatis
listening therapy involved repetitive listening and speaking tasks and repeating nonsense syllables. I
remember some that involved scrub brushes normally used to soften the hardened crust that forms on your
skin at the bottom of your sole, others that involved putty, or lotion. One that involved balancing while
Gregorian chants echo through my headphones. I still have an irrational hatred of Gregorian chanting.
Continued on next page…

3. School in particular was rough for the likes of me. Children can pick up on which kid is different from the
others. In the neighborhood, I could retreat to some other place, or just go home. It's fight or flight. But in
the classroom, flight was not an option, and so I got into a lot of fights. Because I got into a lot of fights, I
got into a lot of trouble. Some days I spent more time in detention than in the classroom. One punishment
in particular sticks out, something called "the booth”, or as I like to call it, "solitary confinement for kids." I
was there often enough to imagine characters out of patterns in the wall, anything to entertain myself.
After school, I attended various different kinds of daycare. I took a gymnastics class at one point, which
turned out to be some combination of daycare and PE class. If there was anything from my life that I
would actually recommend to kids, it's gymnastics, even to those who aren't special needs. Anyone could
benefit from an improved sense of balance and regular physical activity. SAC, I forget what that acronym
stood for, was where I spent the most time not at school or in the house. SAC was where I made my
friends in the latter half of my adolescence. I saw it as an extended recess.
I'm not a very social person, and this means I know little about the vagaries of so called love. I entered the
dating scene with a number of disadvantages that got worse over time. There was the difficulty relating to
others inherent to my condition, and the withdrawn attitude that comes from being bullied, but there was
also my upbringing. My religion made me afraid and ashamed of my own desires, thus I could never act
upon them. I believed girls liked Nice Guys, so I tried to be one. A Nice Guy who doesn't ask girls out, you
can see where this is going. I ended up turning myself into the man girls went to when they wanted to
complain about their boyfriends. What do girls actually like? The most common consensus is "confidence,"
but where does confidence come from? Confidence comes from experience and success. So a lack of
confidence will lead to a lack of success, which will lead to a lack of confidence, which will lead to a lack of
success. Furthermore, depression can lead to loneliness, which creates more depression. Loneliness, you
see, is self-sustaining.
At this point, I've run out of things to say about my
c condition. I've spoken about what my childhood was like,
wh what my social life was like, what my (lack of a) love life is
l like, my school life... there isn't much left to say. I look back
o on my past and see a series of disadvantages and terrible
m mistakes I've made, I don't see the superpowers my mother
s seems to think I have. But I will say this much on the subject,
I I've tried teaching people to play the djembe, and the ones
w who learned the quickest were the ones on the spectrum.
T This paper has been an exercise in a man's stream of
c consciousness, and like any such stream, it is subject to
c coming to an abrupt end.