When I was diagnosed as autistic in 2006, I was 37 years old. I'm still struggling to make sense of the diagnosis, wondering what it explains and what it does not explain. More importantly, I am wondering if I can believe the diagnosis or if it is like so many others I have heard from doctors and specialists; it is a placeholder waiting to be replaced with the next trendy possibility. This blog might not receive many updates or it might be a place where I work out my thoughts. Actually, even starting this blog seems too open in some ways, but necessary in others. I want to see if anyone cares what I have to say on the subject while realizing the odds of being located on Blogger are slim and none. The "signal to noise" ratio here is much to high to know if I will reach one other person. For now, I'm only planning to post my own thoughts. I do not need to link to every organization, reprint every news story, or spread rumors posing as science. What I want to do is e
At birth, doctors suggested I would be mentally disabled, in addition to the physical injuries I suffered. I have never been described as normal. “High-functioning autism” (HFA) is just another way to describe a few aspects of “me.” The autistic me is the creative me, the curious me, the complete me.