Chill.
None of this is about (don't say autism, okay), neuromisfits. I am a neuromisfit. There is no romance to being autistic. Or whatever. It's lose, lose. A woman in the NYT was amazed I could be so cogent. She meant well. She has a heart. But we are not all the same. They used to call Krazy people like me high functioning. I just don't know what it means. There is no way an autistic person falls backward into a win, win. Win what. It's not a name game where the best description will save us from the Normals.
I know this: The normals would kill us if they could. There are always Marginals and Misfits who pretend they fit into some kind of social structure. I am able to mask for about six hours. Then, it begins to disintegrate as if it melts away into the limits of reality you have staked out for yourself. Like at school. They hated me at school. Kids spit in my face. "Open your mouth. I want to spit in your mouth."
It isn't autism that is Krazy. It's when your krazy forms alliances.
By noon, I knew one of the Normals would kill me.
Get it over with. I would open my mouth. They would spit in it. I would lick my lips. They would slap my face. I was an object to them. They did not like seeing someone who did that. What the adults saw was a victim. Victims are sexually assaulted.
If I could get the mask to stick, I could fade into the shadows. By twelve, teachers were getting their taste of me, too. I do not like adults. Adults are dangerous. They will fuck you as soon as look at you. Remembering is an X-rayy collage of bones and bravado. When this stuff all becomes your entire life, neuromisfits has to get in line. Next.
Why can't they just shut up, and be nice like us. Normals can get their panties all bunched up.
We are nice, too. But communication is a fox and quick. There is really only one thing you learn from the experience of school. Run. Do not look back. Neuromisfits can figure out how normals behave, and then we copy it. Nuance for nuance. I started carrying a big hunting knife strapped to my leg. When kids saw the knife, they backed way off. Which is where I wanted them. "If you ever touch me again, I will gut you like a fish."
Stop it don't talk that way.
What way. Our way.
Romeo Void gets by with a rule book he does not apply to himself. I am interested in his political maneuvering. The politik is one of a criminal can go home again. Your head in a goldfish bowl for two years.
Goldfish bowl is the only way you are allowed to go in your spaceship to Mars where you will continue wearing a goldfish bowl over you head oh happy day. If I was your boyfriend.
