Theories of my mind

Hot food...

noreply@blogger.com (A) — Mon, 02 May 2011 13:01:00 +0000

NT's, why are you so obsessed with it?

I don't want my food really hot, which used to drive one of my exes crazy. Whenever I tried eating cold leftovers, or waited for what he thought was too long before eating, he would get upset and take my plate and force-microwave my food.

One of the Asperger wives once complained about her husband's habit of eating "cold" food, not because he showed up too late to eat with her (they rarely eat together anyway), but because she grew tired of trying to find ways of keeping his food heated. "Eggs, bacon and pancakes are not tasty when cold", she said.

When people who are obsessed with hot food talk about cold food, they usually don't even talk about cold food. "Cold food" tends to mean "food that is no longer hot enough to burn your face off". According to these people, food has to be eaten right away, "before it gets cold".

Okay, thanks, but I'm sensitive to heat. I always wait for a while before eating, for many reasons. To begin with, hot food eaten immediately after cooking burns. Not only does the heat make the experience of eating uncomfortable and painful, I don't really feel the taste of the food either, and the texture of most foods gets better after it's cooled off a bit (especially bacon, Mrs. Aspie!). When I eat "cold" food (as in warm but colder than it was from the beginning), I probably feel it basically the same way as most people do when eating it hot.

Sensory issues seem to be the part of autism spectrum disorders that annoy "normal" people the most. Take sunglasses, for example. People have all sorts of ideas about when sunglasses are acceptable and not - you can only wear them outdoors, between noon and about 5 PM, in late spring and summer. Before I decided to ignore that norm, my eyes constantly hurt and my migraines were significantly more frequent. Even being distracted to small sounds tends to annoy people or even make them angry. I don't get it.

That essay.

noreply@blogger.com (A) — Tue, 26 Apr 2011 20:34:00 +0000

I'm trying again. Did anyone see what I posted yesterday before I deleted it? I know, I do that a lot.

Anyway, I finally came up with a good subject for my linguistics essay. I thought. It turned out that what I was looking for was a bit difficult to find after all, but I have to keep trying and I'm asking you for help. Again. The most creative thing I can think of doing when I'm tired and just can't keep up with everything is dropping out and start applying for jobs at Mc Donald's, which is why I deleted yesterday's post, but I know that I won't actually do it.

So if you know of a blog like this one (which I obviously can't use as a source), in other words a blog about autism written by an autistic person, please send me a link. More specifically, since I'm reading and enjoying several already without finding a clear example of what I'm looking for, I am trying to find a post where hypercorrect, formal or pedantic language is used for emphasizing sarcasm, playing with stereotypes or somehow creating a contrast between language and content.

Oh, and by the way, I made a Facebook fan page for my blog. "Like" it if you want to. I had to edit the whole blog to make that ugly like box fit and it looks like shit, sort of, but it's still possible that I think it looks like shit just because it's different which makes me think of it as WRONG.

Because We Are Not Actually Like That

noreply@blogger.com (A) — Tue, 26 Apr 2011 19:17:00 +0000

I am deeply sorry for loving freight trains and not eating prime numbers.

Aspies are fluorescent.

noreply@blogger.com (A) — Tue, 05 Apr 2011 22:14:00 +0000

We are elves, too. And angels, chosen by extraterrestrial entities and generally magical. There seems to be a need among aspies and parents of autistic children to create an image of this sort. Others like to diagnose dead geniuses with Asperger's and complete their list of positive traits with some namedropping (another habit I don't understand, although I am willing to make an exception for Tesla).

Let's start with this article.
Right. Autists are sometimes said to be ethereally beautiful, and of course, many believe in it. I guess they believe in it because they want to. I don't believe in it, and I find the article plain bizarre, really. Take this, for example: "My children's beauty has always been a source of solace to me. When you've had a terrible night with a small baby, you can restore your affection for the child by dressing it up and making it look really sweet."
I don't know what else to say.

On to the next point: Aspie eyes. Yes, I know we can have special eyes in some ways, but not in the sense "magical". Someone made this video to show that people with AS have eyes that are deeper, more beautiful and more special than others':

1. The music. The video is not really as touching if you turn off the sound, is it?
2. The eyes. Some of them are beautiful, others are... just eyes.
3. The pictures. They're close-ups! Eyes, and especially when pictured like this (zoomed in) are always moving.
I feel quite sure that someone could do this with pictures of neurotypical people's eyes and achieve the same emotional effect using music and zooming in on the eyes. I'm sorry for being boring, but I really don't get it.

It's a nice thought, I guess, just like when people correct others and say that neuropsychiatric conditions are gifts, nothing else. On some level I understand this need, but when I see things like the beauty article and the eye video, it seems quite close to saying "you don't have Asperger's, you are Indigo children". Yes, I have seen that too.

Why not just see it for what it is? I personally don't mind being wired differently, and I wouldn't feel insulted by being diagnosed with a syndrome. There are positive parts of it, and of course we should talk about them! I don't mind at all, as long as I don't have to see too much of the "aspie supremacy" attitude. Still, it's a syndrome. Many of us are exceptionally cool in one way or another (heh), but we all have our shortcomings as a result of it. I think I deserve respect and understanding even without angelic beauty or magical eyes.

Different updates.

noreply@blogger.com (A) — Sun, 03 Apr 2011 21:34:00 +0000

Yes, I deleted the other "updates" post. And yes, another recent post too.

New update number one: I decided not to give up trying to get help. Tonight I found an online service where you could request contact with a doctor, so now I will have an appointment within three days.

New update number two: I decided to give social anxiety the finger and just asked my friend if I could stay at his place. Of course I could.

It looks like my melodramatic nights paid off, somehow. It all became so obviously bad that I knew I couldn't go on like that, so I ended up just doing the things I thought I wouldn't do. Rather than seeming time-consuming, the decision to try to get a neuropsychiatric investigation feels relaxing. I will have appointments where I can talk about all of these things, so I can hopefully focus on other things in between. I still don't know whether I should actually stop talking to my boyfriend about these things or not - I've already told him that I don't want to talk about it anymore so I guess I should stick to it, but I have to admit that I don't feel too good about the prospect of going back to hiding my thoughts and feelings when I finally found someone I trusted enough - but I still have about three weeks to figure that one out.
Asking a friend who had offered me a place to stay if I could stay at his place turned out to be just as easy as it sounds, but it still felt like a huge step for me. My social confidence varies between two extremes: I am either "in your face" or ridiculously introverted and shy, rarely in between. Lately I have been much more of the latter, and it actually bothers me quite a bit.

For those of you who read the old updates post before I deleted it: don't worry. I will not remove the blog, nor will I stop writing. One thing I've given up on is trying to study in the evenings, so I will try to keep the posts coming and stick to the original idea.
If there is something specific (AS-related, of course) that you would like me to write about, or if you have seen something stupid about autism in media, feel free to ask and/or send me a link.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

noreply@blogger.com (A) — Mon, 28 Mar 2011 10:47:00 +0000

Yesterday's topic of discussion: my tics.

I forced myself to stop doing the things I do with my nose when I was thirteen because my friends picked on me, which caused years of frustration and pain. It's back now, and it feels great! Now I've also started doing something terribly ugly with my head/neck, and I grimace more than ever. What's more embarrassing is my habit of repeating overheard fragments of other people's conversations - I don't even think about it, but once I realize what I've done, I just can't stop myself. I go on and on, repeating the same thing over and over again. Haha, so far the worst thing that has happened is that I've made people uncomfortable, and I have a strategy: telling my friends what I've done, without mentioning suspected syndromes or anything. It doesn't really feel as bad once I've made a joke about it, and those things are what people tend to like about me anyway.

At home (or by all means outside), I shout things basically every day. My son, who is now four years old, loves it when I say "poop". Usually it's small words or sounds like that, other times I say whole sentences that have nothing to do with anything that's happening. Nonsense sentences in English are quite common as well. I have spent many lectures rolling around in my chair with my fists pressed against my teeth to keep myself from saying things. I don't think I've actually ever done it, but I occasionally wonder if I just said "fuck", and once I've thought about it I will probably start. Maybe I should try letting it happen? Could be fun! Haha!

Of course, C mentioned Tourette's syndrome after all this. Coffee and Tourette's. I might get a whole box full of diagnoses! Anna and the syndromes. Sounds like a band name.

He also asked how much I hide from him. I've told him about the tics, but I actually hide all of them from him. Stupid? Yes, especially considering that I'm way too honest with him about everything else. All we ever talk about is my problems, and now I am the opposite of myself: an arch-emo, lacking independence and in need of care. I should do it the other way around, stop being so damn honest but be open about my weirdness. Sure, I wouldn't sound intelligent or look good (well, I never do anyway) but at least I would like myself more.

I, Robot

noreply@blogger.com (A) — Sat, 19 Mar 2011 01:50:00 +0000

It rarely, if ever, happens nowadays, but there was one day a year ago when I really wished that I could instantly paint myself the same color as the floor. It was one of those classes that I hate – I love literature, I just hate studying it, especially when I have to talk about a text with people outside of the group hearing it. This day, we were given a poem, which had been voted “Favourite English poem of all times” in a BBC poll: “If” by Rudyard Kipling, which you can find here. I guess I had a bit of an unintelligent day. To begin with, I still hadn't realized that the fact that the course was called “Text and Culture” meant that we were not just studying literature. Secondly, I didn't really know anything about Kipling, or about the cultural concepts we were supposed to link to the poem, so I actually had no idea what we were doing. Don't worry, I know more now. Because of this, I misinterpreted the study questions (Why do you think this poem was voted best English poem of all times? What does it really mean?) as “there are cheesy things to say about this, so go ahead”. I said something cheesy about “If”, but in reality, I had no idea what to make of it. Not because I found it difficult – I just thought it was silly and a bit boring. Was there something that I missed? Why say something so natural in such big words? Really, most of the 'ifs' of that poem seem quite normal to me, although exaggerated. I don't see it as an ideal way of living or some kind of definition of being a human, but I think I work like that to some extent.

Shortly after we got back into the classroom, I found out what was wrong. “If” is appalling. The “Man” is not a real human. I am not human. The poem describes a robot. Perhaps I was ashamed of having misunderstood everything, and of having forced myself to say something cheesy about "If", but I think the worst part of it was that at least three people then knew that I was one of Them. Those who don't show their feelings. It wasn't the first time I heard "not showing emotions" referred to as an extremely negative personality trait, but I believe this was when I finally understood that I am a cold psychopath by most people's standards.

Of course, I understood what it was all about after the teacher told us about Stiff Upper Lip ideals. I don't agree with those, no, and I don't think repressing emotions is a good thing either. I don't think of emotional expressions as signs of weakness, and yes, I cry too sometimes, and unless I do it in front of other people without being able to explain why, I am not ashamed of it. Fine. But it's not just about that – not showing emotions, regardless of the reason for not doing so, is ugly. Having a rational and analytical approach to emotional situations is ugly, too. That was what my teacher said that day, and it's very clear that this idea is basically everywhere (not least among aspies), but no one ever explains why. I guess this is something that shouldn't have to be explained. I have understood that decisions are supposed to be based on emotions. I have also understood that showing feelings and talking about them is an essential part of being a real, emotional human being. Unfortunately, I don't work like that, nor do I instinctively understand the beauty of it.

Although believe I am very emotional, I don't always know what I feel or why, and when I do, I sometimes have no idea how to make the appropriate facial expression. More importantly though, I don't actually understand the point of sharing my feelings with others. What would they do with the information? What's in it for me? I prefer to wait until I know how I would like to solve the problem, and then say what I think about the situation rather than flap my arms and scream about how I feel. If they can't help me and my feelings have nothing to do with them, they don't need to know how I feel, right? And what exactly does it mean to "talk about feelings"? I am sad. Very interesting.

My nasty habit of rationally analyzing the situation and think of solutions without getting stuck in a cloud of feelings has actually helped me solve conflicts quickly, easily and with respect for the emotions of everyone involved, but I guess I should stop saying that. Even the one person who always understands me and my weirdness seemed to think that was really disagreeable when we discussed it.

This is probably the one part of the human grammar that I will never really learn. All I can see in the “emotional” ideal human is selfishness. Does anyone ever see beyond their own beautiful feelings when reacting appropriately emotionally? I don't think I've ever seen it. To me, that constant emotional fever, the helicopter-like gestures, the screaming, which is what I see every time someone claims to be “showing emotions”, are just confusing.

And I guess no one will ever explain these things to me.

(Yes, I had some wine, and yes, I am indeed very tired).

Childhood memories - eidetic memory, or things I've been told?

noreply@blogger.com (A) — Tue, 15 Mar 2011 23:20:00 +0000

I recently read a post on a Swedish aspie forum, where someone asked about childhood memories. Do you remember much of your childhood? Are you sure they are actually memories, or could they have been formed after people have told you about the events you think you remember? Can you find any typical AS behavior in those memories?

Apparently, autobiographies about Asperger's (I haven't read any, so I don't know) tend to contain detailed descriptions of the author's childhood, including very clear autistic behavior. I probably won't write a book like that – my books are fictional, often about perverted academics – but if I did, there would probably be many guesses and estimations. The book wouldn't be very interesting or give a clear image of my autistic traits if it was only about my adult life, but I don't remember my childhood in chronological order. There are things that I know I have been told by relatives, some of which I don't remember at all and others that add information to the fragments I already remembered. Some things occurred later than I thought they did, for example, I remember sitting in the middle of the living room while my mother and some of her friends were tearing down the wallpaper before painting everything white. At first I thought I was about two or three years old when this happened, but I have later found pictures of myself at about age four with the old walls (dark green, velvety 70's stuff in the living room and dark, fake wooden panel in the kitchen) in the background.

However, I do remember a whole lot from my early childhood (before the age of 7). Things that nobody could possibly have told me later, because nobody was around to see it or because the only person who saw it was my mother, who died when I was seven. Some of the events that I can replay in my mind, like short videos, are also such insignificant everyday things that nobody would remember or think of as something worth telling me afterwards if they saw it, for example gesturing at a friend at daycare. My memories are all fragments of events, yet detailed as if I saw the things and places in front of me. I remember the smell and texture of things, sounds, even my own thoughts the way I thought them – in my own voice the way it sounded when I was a child.

Some of the things I remember thinking are quite funny. For example, I remember thinking that a doctor was an idiot when he told me, in a silly “nice” voice, that the vaccine he was going to give me was raspberry syrup. When I finally let him give me the injection, I wondered why raspberry syrup would be better; wouldn't my veins get a sugary crust in them if it was syrup? What a jerk.

When an old lady smiled at me, I got angry. Not because I was shy, but because I believed it meant that she thought that I was having fun, which I wasn't. Before asking my grandmother about it, I was also puzzled by those public toilets that I thought were in every corner. My mother hated the word “piss”, but if that was so offensive, why did the signs say “pisseria”? And wasn't “pisseria” silly enough, even without spelling it with 'z' instead of 's'?

One thing that is recurrent in the memories which are about my thoughts is my odd relationship with my toys. I rarely ever played with my favorite things, which probably led my mother to believe that I loved the things I played with and was uninterested in the ones I never touched. In fact, it was the other way around: I was afraid my favorites would get worn out or break so I didn't play with them. Once I took my collection of small, square paper books and quickly folded them one by one, and didn't even understand that I was ruining them until my mother came into my room and saw what I was doing. All I wanted was the repetitive movement, the relaxing feeling of which I can still recall when thinking about that event. I loved to smell things, especially soft plastic and paper (smells that I still love to this day, just like my son). When I got older, my favorite thing to do with my things was to categorize them. I took three or four chairs from the kitchen, lined them up in my room and made small piles of stuff on them. The plastic animals – starting with my least favorite, the teddybear, and taking the ones I loved, the birds, last. I followed the same pattern of saving the best things for last with every pile of objects I made: the little soft, plastic containers of bathing foam, my clay sculptures, the masks... Apart from the things that I didn't like, and played with, that was all I did with my toys. Smelling, categorizing and touching them.

I remember phone numbers I haven't dialled for twenty years. I remember the smell of a friend's bathroom, the hole in the wall above the bathtub in our own apartment (and why I always touched it and said “Böj”), the smell and every detail of every room in the huge apartment where my grandmother lived, the sound that sometimes came from a pipe in the corner of my first room. I see objects and places from a small child's perspective: extremely high ceilings and chairs that almost reach up to my chest. This list of places I saw for the last time twenty years ago, but can still see, feel and smell in minute detail, could go on forever and I sometimes wonder if I actually have eidetic memory. That would also be a possible explanation of some of my earliest drawings, mainly of bicycles and sharks, which are extremely accurate in detail and proportion.

My memories of things that happened after I turned six are much clearer, and I could probably line them up in chronological order, more or less accurately. The book about my life, which will never be written, would be based on other people's stories rather than my memories, but I obviously remember my childhood. Asperger symptoms? Well, yes, I think there seem to be several, both in the nature and the content of my memories.

For the love of my life

noreply@blogger.com (A) — Tue, 08 Mar 2011 13:07:00 +0000

Our first real meeting was not quite like I had been told it would be. Not that it mattered – I think we both could live without pink bubbles and flying dolphins. You were supposed to look in my eyes, they said, but you just glanced quickly at me while you tried to eat. Fair enough, I was quite exhausted and hungry myself. I had been told that I would instinctively stroke your head and back, so I did, although I actually didn't feel that natural urge to do so. I knew that there was a certain look I was supposed to have on my face then – a mysterious smile, a special glow of a higher form of enlightenment – so I played along. After all, I was then a part of that special women's club. My duty in life was fulfilled. I had a meaning. I couldn't worry people by not acting that way, could I? Attachment problems? Not at all. We just had an unconventional relationship.

You just kept growing. I had been told that people your size wanted to lie down on their backs, looking at their mothers' faces, but it soon became clear to me that you didn't. Long before you could sit, you tried to get up. Taking a walk with you was impossible; you screamed and struggled until you puked and then screamed and struggled some more until I picked you up and held you in front of me. When you were about four months old, I gave up and bought one of those strollers that would supposedly screw up the attachment. People stared – I even got some nasty comments from strangers – but you were happy. If I tried to talk to you when we were outside, you ignored me. All you wanted was to be alone in your oversized buggy, watching and thinking.

Some people didn't understand you. Grandpa the Priest wondered why you were so uninterested in lamps, and Grandpa the Professional Slacker thought you were deaf because you never reacted when people called your name. But hey, there are cooler things in this world than lamps, right? And you could obviously hear. You would notice every little sound around you. When people tried to get your attention, they never had anything to say anyway.

Most children's first words are “mommy” or “daddy”. Yours was “hat”. I guess we should have been sad, your dad and I, but we just laughed. We like hats too. You said my name before you started calling me mommy. Although you didn't say much, other than “hat”, “mommy”, “daddy” and “achtung” until you were a year and a half, you then developed quite an impressive vocabulary. I wasn't worried when it was time for your 2-year check-up. According to the papers we got before the check-up, more than 50 words was good. I didn't know that 300 nouns meant that you couldn't speak, so nothing odd was found then. They were worried at preschool. You bit, pushed and slapped the other children on a daily basis, often sat alone looking “blankly” in front of you without reacting to your teachers' voices and showed no interest in other children. I know we should have sought help then, and we probably would have, if your teachers hadn't spoken about the problems the way they did. I'm sorry it took me so long.

I know it's my duty as a mother to miss the baby year, but I don't. What could possibly be more fun than spending the days in the company of a four-year-old? How could a little baby, no matter how cute they can be, ever be better than a tall, beautiful wild poet/comedian/lecturer? Sure, we have our disagreements. My eyes hurt the other day, when you won the battle of my sunglasses on the tram. Sometimes we have radically different opinions on how we should build the wooden railroad, or whether we should watch freight or high-speed trains. There are days when you drive me crazy refusing to eat anything other than fish, and I wish I didn't have to stay with you until you fall asleep every night, because I would really need to study for at least an hour or two every evening, even during the weeks when you're here. I also wish I could find a way of making you stop destroying our furniture and the apartment, and it would really be great if it was possible to get you dressed in less than 30 minutes every morning. But at the end of the day, these things don't really matter.

There are, however, things that are not minor problems. Some days, when you run out into the street or almost make yourself fall in front of a train, I wonder why I don't just walk away and leave you there because I will probably not be able to keep you alive for more than a year anyway. There are times when I have to struggle so hard I almost faint to keep myself from exploding and attacking those who stop to shout insults and threats at me because I have to sit on you and hold down your arms to keep you from hurting yourself. I have often wondered how long it will take until you get big, strong and angry enough to actually kill me. These things are the reason why we took you to the doctors at the place where you had to do all those tests with the building blocks and answer strange questions. They're finished now (and they all loved you).

Forgive me son, for I have sinned. I have been what most people would call a cold, unnatural mother. I never changed my voice when talking to you when you were a baby. I thought it was enough for you and me to communicate and bond in our own way, in our own language, so I never cried when you showed signs of not responding like other babies. I didn't even cry yesterday, which I guess would be the appropriate reaction when your child is diagnosed with autism.

It just made me happy. You can get help now, if you need it. Unlike your mother, you may not have to stand by helplessly watching your life fall apart with no one to ask for help. You will matter more than I ever did, and that was all I wanted.

Born to desire normality?

noreply@blogger.com (A) — Mon, 07 Mar 2011 00:31:00 +0000

The stereotypical aspie is a man. He reads railroad schedules for pleasure, has no friends, lived at home with his parents until the age of thirty-seven, spends his weekends with a camera and tripod in the freight yard and falls madly in love with anyone who is nice to him and happens to be in possession of a vagina.

However, the growing awareness of ADHD and Asperger's syndrome in women created a gap. A new image had to be created to fill it – a comfortable reason why these things have been thought of as “boys' problems”.

Ladies and gentlemen, meet Aspie woman. She is well-manicured, with perfect makeup, a sexy green dress, straightened hair and high heels. Aspie woman also has a nice tan and uses gold shimmering body lotion. She gazed at me, sipping a cocktail, from a picture in one of the various articles about women with neuropsychiatric conditions.

This is the popular explanation: girls are born wanting to fit in. I guess it's a chromosome thing.

We are less obvious aspies, because our special interests are usually conventionally girly. You know, horses and puppies. Astronomy is for boys.

Another thing that makes us come off as neurotypical is that we follow trends and try to look good. Again, girls are genetically programmed to desire normality and will therefore imitate typical girls and make sure to get many friends. If we fail, if nobody likes us because we're too autistic, our broken genetic wish to fit in and be popular will make us severely depressed.

In general, girls are nice. Easy to handle. We don't cause trouble and we stay quiet. We're all born that way.

Hello, Aspie woman. You and I have very little in common.

Sure, there are well-groomed aspies. Aspie woman probably exists, just like the male stereotype described above. I just don't believe she is any more representative of the majority than the train-loving man. After reading this article, which I have tried to find again but couldn't, I asked around a bit. For example, I shared this WTF-moment on Wrong Planet. I know it's not scientifically impressive, but that was not my intention in the first place, so I guess I can comfortably claim that most aspie women seem to be more or less like me. One person was (moderately) interested in horses as a child, but there was generally nothing noticeably different or “feminine” about their special interests. I found some fellow shark lovers, and I was far from the only one who wanted a telescope for my 18^th birtday, for example. Those who said they wore makeup on a daily basis and dressed in a conventional way pointed out that it was mainly because they had to look presentable at work. Again, most of the women who answered were more like me. I absolutely care about clothes, but my idea of a nice oufit has nothing to do with trends or what most people consider sexy. Most days I just put something on without trying to dress well. Furthermore, many fabrics feel uncomfortable or plain WRONG, as do low-cut tight pants and other things that people tend to like.

I occasionally straighten my hair, but mainly because I notice it less that way. Otherwise, all I do is wash and brush it and keep it away from my face and neck. People have always called me boring because of it, but that never helped. For special occasions, I can make an effort with hair removal and makeup, but that happens about twice a month (in other words: my boyfriend probably thinks I do it all the time) and I'm usually really boring with that too.

I am not entirely skeptical of theories of different Asperger symptoms in girls and women. There are plenty of articles on the subject that are longer, better and more complex than the one I just described – articles where, for example, descriptions of symptoms can be interpreted as something other than innate “niceness”. Both boys and girls imitate others to some extent, as a perfectly normal defence mechanism. Sometimes it is said that girls do it while boys don't care at all – I'm quite sure this is wrong, but I do find it likely that girls do it more, because people expect more normality from us. I believe that I had more harsh reactions to escape from than I would have had if I were a boy, especially from my parents, and I surely wouldn't have been as frequently criticized for stupid things like my boring hairdo or “ugly” body language if I had been a boy either.

Still, articles that simplify the matter are sometimes published. I believe the main reason for this is that sometimes, journalists and others just can't bare to think about girls who don't want to be married and become princesses. Such a girl might grow up to be unattractive, wear comfortable shoes and work in a lab. Ewww, you wouldn't have sex with THAT, would you? The journalist does some research, finds other articles and breathes a sigh of relief. There are differences between boys and girls with Asperger's. Phew – the new article is saved, thanks to some comfortable misinterpretations.

Is impaired hearing a myth too?

noreply@blogger.com (A) — Sat, 05 Mar 2011 01:24:00 +0000

There was a blind student on my course a year ago. Everyone knew that she got the course literature as audio files from the library and had to record the lectures. She must have felt like an outsider. It would probably have been better for her if they had just left her with the paper copies and expected her to read them.

Sickening, isn't it? I would like to make another absurd statement before I continue:

Cerebral palsy is a social construction. It's a label that bad parents want to put on their children to get off the responsibility for not having taught them how to control their muscles and walk straight.

Now imagine that I wrote a book about this (and published it two years from now so that I could refer to my degree in Russian to claim credibility and sell more books). The interesting thing is that similar opinions are widely accepted in the context of ADHD and autism spectrum disorders. “ADHD is just an excuse for bad parenting” and “we try to label children as hyperactive so that we can medicate them with amphetamine and make them obedient” are phrases so frequently repeated in debates that hardly anyone questions them anymore. They have become fact, or at least influenced most people's opinions. Even a close friend of mine, who suspected ADHD in himself but was denied investigation because he had passed the age of 35, repeats those statements as a mantra whenever he gets the chance to. Some people even make a career claiming that neuropsychiatrists are nazis who put “sick” labels on anyone who doesn't fit into the narrow norm. The most well-known example in Sweden is probably Eva Kärfve. I will not say that she has not been questioned – many have pointed out the lack of factual background of her claims and the irrelevance of her academic status (she is an assistant professor in sociology and a registered nurse) – but the majority of the criticism against her book on the subject comes from neuropsychiatrists. Of course, this has provoked conspiracy theories (Censorship! Bias! Forbidden criticism! Nazis!). In public debates, however, she has been given unreasonable amounts of space (again, not completely uncriticized, but acknowledged enough to influence people who don't really know).

The thing that most people sooner or later bring up when I discuss my suspected AS or my son's difficulties is this “narrow norm”. I agree to some extent, but I also think they're missing the point. There are many things we take for granted and see as normal, for example the ability to see, hear, walk and speak. These popular ideas of tolerance and, from what I've understood, the works of Kärfve and others, seem to be based on the general notion of neuropsychiatric conditions, i.e. the parts that have to do with communication and social skills. But there are other things to it. Even if we make a list of every common aspie trait and then remove the parts that are only connected to what other people think (of course, to make this work we will either have to pretend that we live in a beautiful world where social skills are not a requirement for making/keeping friends or getting laid, or assume that those things are not interesting for aspies), there will still be some degree of disability. The nature and the extent of disability depends on what each individual perceives as a problem, but for example many people with Asperger's (myself included, although I should probably point out again that I don't have a diagnosis and might still just be lazy and worthless) have trouble being on time, taking care of their homes and themselves etcetera. I don't know if I will be able to finish my studies on time and keep my business afloat, and if I don't, I don't know if I will be able to keep a full-time job instead either. “Asperger's” may be a label, but not more so than “deaf”. A person with undiagnosed AS will not miraculously learn to function in life, just like my blind ex-classmate wouldn't have gotten her eyesight back if our teachers had pretended that she could see.

Defying disability is a different thing, though. It's fully possible to live a good, healthy, interesting life with a physical or neurological impairment, with or without help (wheelchairs, amphetamine, sign language, whatever). A diagnosis doesn't have to mean anything more than the possibility of getting help, if it is needed. As I wrote in the post “School and the Asperger brain”, I do think there should be room for differences in school and elsewhere. I wouldn't mind a change of the norm – not at all. I just don't think denial is the cure.

To stay on the safe side of friendship

noreply@blogger.com (A) — Tue, 01 Mar 2011 23:33:00 +0000

One thing I realized not too long ago is that I isolate myself too often. I don't do it consciously, but I can look back and see it after it has been done. There are probably several reasons for this, but I think I have identified the most important one. You could say I have a history of friendship gone horribly wrong.

Before E came to my class in second grade, I didn't really have any close friends where I lived then. I wasn't completely alone either - there were a couple of girls in the class that I occasionally played with and I had made friends with a girl who lived in my house - but I still played alone most of the time and had no one I would call my best friend. I remember looking at her that first day in school and disliking everything about her - she was a neat, clean, polite, sweet little girl - but as early as that same afternoon we started talking and after that there was no stopping it.

It didn't take long before my father got worried about my friendship with E. Among other things, he told me that it looked like I wanted to hold E's hand all the time and asked if I thought I was going to marry her (not in a playful "naww" way, but to tell me to leave her alone). There are many things I remember saying to her. For example, I made up an imaginary friend named Penny, who I said was very shy and would therefore not come over and say hi to her. I once made E wait while I ran behind a wall (to "talk to Penny") and peeked at her through a crack in it, later claiming that the eye she had seen was Penny's. That time I could tell that she didn't believe me, and I understood that Penny was quite unbelievable, but I felt like I just couldn't stop it. Most of the time I didn't understand anything like that, though. About a year earlier, my father worked a lot in San Francisco and once said we might have to move there. There were probably no serious plans to do so, and by this time it was definitely not going to happen since my dad and his then-girlfriend (now-wife) were planning to get married and have more (better) kids together, but that didn't matter. I sat down with E to have a serious talk, told her that I was going to move to America and that I wanted her to have my dolls and my photo album because I would surely die in an earthquake.

One of the things E and I used to do was to dig holes in slopes we found around our school - I wanted to make a hobbit house where we could live together, away from our parents. And this was where our friendship ended, in the mud next to one of the little holes that I still seriously believed we would manage to make big enough to live in. We started arguing about something, and all of a sudden I came to think of a scene from one of the Neverending Story films, where one of the heroes falls and rolls down a hill, and pushed her. She slid a couple of feet down the hill but got up again and managed to escape when I tried to push her a second time. I didn't really mean to do what I did, but I was too absorbed in my little world of fantasy fiction to see what happened. It was not until I saw the mud-stained knees of her white tights run past me that I understood what I had done. Two teachers, one of whom had always openly detested me, helped her and heard what had happened. By then it was too late, I tried to run after her and apologize but the teachers stopped me. The one who hated me told me that I was the devil or something like that.

From that moment on, I was no longer allowed to talk to E, try to approach her or even look at her in class. In fact, I wasn't even allowed to mention her (even a couple of months later, my dad's wife once started yelling at me because she thought she had heard me say E's name while talking to one of my dolls). It was a bit difficult to grasp at first - I thought we had just had a fight. People have fights, then they apologize and everything is fine again, I thought. I wanted to, but couldn't. However, it turned out that it wasn't because I pushed her that afternoon. When my parents interrogated me that evening, I told them what had happened and it turned out that they hadn't even heard about the pushing incident. Of course, they asked me why I had done it, but I insisted that I didn't know. At least I understood that the truth - that I just wanted to see if she would roll like the boy in the movie - was too ugly to tell. What really frightened and confused me was hearing what it was all really about. Everyone - our teachers, our parents - except me had always seen that E tried to say no. She didn't want to dig holes or live alone with me in a house. She never wanted to play along when I tried to make her believe in my imaginary friends, she never wanted to sneak around with me in the bushes outside the schoolyard, she probably didn't even want to play with me at all. I just didn't understand it. She never told me, so I thought we were doing all of those things together. Apparently, in everybody else's opinion, I had forced her to do things she didn't want to do for several months.

Although these events were extreme and nothing like it would happen today, sometimes my strong friendship feelings have resembled an obsessive kind of love even after that. I just don't trust myself. What if I go too far without seeing it myself? I know I have those problems. I know that I sometimes can't see my own behavior and understand the consequences of it. I also know that I can't always see the more subtle emotional signals, such as E's silent way of trying to show that she was uncomfortable with me and the games we played. There are various different reasons for my periods of isolation, but I believe that this is the main reason why I tend to shut myself out of conversations and keep good new friends at a distance, unless there is no doubt that they like me just as much as I like them. I'm unconsciously staying on the safe side.

Asperger's is the new gay.

noreply@blogger.com (A) — Mon, 28 Feb 2011 01:04:00 +0000

Forget the Gay Friend! Judging from the tips in this guide, especially step number two, the hottest new accessory is the Aspie Friend. The tips and warnings sections seemed pretty good, with a few exceptions and some bad grammar, but the step-by-step guide is not too impressive. Don't worry, I wrote some comments to make sure you find that trainspotting partner you always dreamed of.

Step number 1 seems good: read books about AS, preferably those written by people who have the syndrome. Good. Do that, instead of following guides like this one, which was probably written by a person who does not have it and has read books by others who don't. Number 2, "find someone who displays characteristics of Asperger's" is beyond weird. The introduction to this post is my comment on that one.

3. "Approach them slowly, and casually. If you see them in one spot every day, say around noon, start bringing your lunch to that spot, and sit next to them. Don't talk to them the first time, let them get used to your presence first."
If someone tried this on me, I would probably feel extremely awkward and try to get used to sitting somewhere else that same time every day. No need to be creepy.

4. "Start a small conversation. People with Asperger's are not very good at conversations, so you will probably need to lead them. You know, start by introducing yourself, and asking their name, then ask them about themselves. For now you just want to get them talking, what about isn't really important yet."
Of course. Aspies are known for loving small talk and will love you if you try to force them through a casual conversation... or maybe not. This one belongs in the guide "How not to approach someone with AS". I would advise you to do it the other way around: find something specific to talk about and start with that. Don't try to "just get them talking", that is the most annoying thing anyone can do. If you tried to start talking to me this way, I would probably try to escape somehow and hide whenever I saw you in the future. Until you find something to talk about, leave it.
Here's an example from real life: I was sitting in the cafeteria at campus, when one of the two guys at the table next to mine nodded to me, pointed at his forearm and gave me thumbs up to show that he had noticed my Einstürzende Neubauten tattoo and that he liked them too. A minute later, I was sitting with them talking about music, then we went on to discuss their forthcoming phonetics exam, which I had taken a couple of months before, and after about thirty minutes we introduced ourselves. By then I was interested in knowing their names, and we still talk sometimes. About things (not the weather).

5. "Try to find some common ground, some activity that both of you enjoy. Agree to get together some time and do it. Show up for the get-together on time."
Wait, when is this supposed to happen? After a couple of minutes of chit-chat? Relax, just let it evolve naturally. If you've had a few interesting conversations, it will be natural to ask if he or she wants to get together some time. This step doesn't have to be so specific - why not just have a beer or coffee and keep talking? I am more likely to agree to a casual meeting of that sort with someone I've had some quality conversation with than to want to spend quality time with someone who just introduced herself and asked for basic facts about me.

6. "Lay your emotions bare to them. Tell them how you feel, even when you think it's patently obvious, and ask them to do the same. They'll love you for it."
Well, maybe. First of all, ask yourself if it's important for your aspie friend to know how you feel. If your emotions are related to something that person has done, or if your current emotional state somehow affects your interaction, then it might be a good idea, but don't just randomly tell him or her how you feel just because it's something that you think should be done. The aspie is not your pet and you shouldn't see it as your job to train them to know how people feel all the time. And don't try to push him/her to tell you how he/she feels all the time either (again, ask how she feels if you get the feeling that something is the matter or if it is important for you to know in a particular situation, but ask yourself why first). Personally, I can find it difficult to know what to do with the information if someone just tells me how he feels for no apparent reason at all, although I certainly care. Try to be specific when you talk about feelings - if you just want to vent, or ask about the aspie's opinion on an emotional situation, say it! I appreciate it when people trust me with their problems, as long as I know whether I'm expected to say something or just be there and listen.

7. "If they are acting strangely, tell them (if it dangers them or others). It's important to let them know. Don't say it meanly either, just say: "Most people don't do that"; or, "That's usually considered inappropriate"; or just "Please don't do that". If it's no harm to anyone, then leave them alone. It could be a comfort to them."
This one is actually very good, both the part about saying it in a constructive way and leaving it if it doesn't harm anyone.

8. "Introduce them to your other friends, and try to keep everyone getting along. They may act differently in the presence of your friends, or their friends. They may simply not get along. Don't try to force them to get along with your friends. They will probably be most outgoing when encountered one on one."
Don't assume that your aspie friend is incapable of making friends on his or her own. This seems to be the assumption here. It's not your job to "try to make everyone get along" or make friends for the weirdo. If the aspie has said that he feels lonely, has few friends and doesn't know where to meet people, you could do this, but don't think it's something you should do just because he has Asperger's! Of course, I'm not saying that you shouldn't introduce your new friend to your old ones either - just put some thought behind it. I love being introduced to people if the mutual friend does it because he thinks his friends and I will actually like each other and have something in common.

Since I found this link in one of the "aspie wife" blogs, where it was referred to as a helpful guide to communicating with your husband with Asperger's, I made this post the first "For the Asperger Wives" entry. I hope you made it past the sarcasm in the beginning and found it useful.

Rigid ideas part 1: showers.

noreply@blogger.com (A) — Sun, 27 Feb 2011 20:42:00 +0000

Some are picky about food, others can't stand sitting on the wrong side of the kitchen table. I have rigid ideas about showers, not as in extreme hygiene rituals that I expect everyone else to follow, but ideas about the things involved when taking a shower. If I can, I shower at home which is usually the only way for me to feel clean at all. When I shower somewhere else, it is usually because I want to show that I'm not disgusting, or because I'm going somewhere or won't be home for a long time anyway. Gym showers are not even real showers, in my opinion.

The following things have to be right:

The bathroom and the shower itself.

Most showers, if they're not mine, are annoying in one way or another. The water pressure might be too low, or it takes too much time to get the right temperature. Heated floors can be too warm, which makes my legs hurt, and hand showers can be weirdly shaped, which is irritating. If someone happens to have a nice, newly renovated bathroom with a fancy shower, it can be really good though. Even better than at home, at least if I brought my own shampoo and towel. (Which is usually not the case, since the only people I know who have a bathroom like that are my parents, who don't mind if I use their stuff, so I usually forget which means that even the nice spa bathroom is wrong).

The towel.

Towels have to be large. Seriously large; not the type that barely covers your butt if you tie it around your chest. I can accept smaller towels if I'm away and my host lets me borrow a towel, because I know it's nice of them, but it doesn't feel right and I don't feel dry even if I actually am. Fabric softener is another no-no. I hate soft towels. (Fortunately, my parents tend to boil their laundry so that their towels and clothes always feel like they will break if you try to fold them).

The washing stuff.

Okay, my parents have a great bathroom and huge towels that are rougher than sandpaper, but I still don't feel good after showering at their place. I don't like their shampoos and shower gels, which is the most important part. There are only two kinds of shampoo that I can use: Lush's shampoo bars and a special black pepper scented liquid shampoo that I found at a shop in my neighborhood. It's not snobbery, I just think that most shampoo reeks of chemicals and has too much perfume in it and the expensive stuff that hairdressers want you to buy won't do either. It's the same thing with shower gels: I can't stand the kind you'll find in the grocery store. I imagine my nose itching, which is not true, but as I said I believe I can smell chemicals. I usually go for paraben free shower gels, not because I suffer from parabenophobia like the rest of the world – I have no idea what they are or why they pose such a great threat to mankind – but because the brands that think “paraben free” is something that should be written on bottles tend to make stuff that smell the way I want them to smell. An entire day can feel wrong if I smell wrong, and I don't like the smell of my clothes afterwards either so I tend to wash them if I've had to use someone else's soap.

Did you think it ends there? Nope. There are scents that I hate even if it's all “natural” and paraben free. I won't shower with anything that smells like flowers, fruit (the only exception is one specific kind of cinnamon and orange shower gel that I always buy in bulk), berries or candy. Vanilla is fine if it's a warm, spicy, classy kind of vanilla, but most vanilla scented soaps etc smell like people who like cupcakes, which I don't really understand, so I usually don't want my things to smell like vanilla. Coconut is another no. It makes me think of naked Germans at a Canary beach.

Now, dear readers, I'm going to take a bath with my collection of soaps that don't smell like strawberries, naked Germans, evil chemicals or cupcake people. After that, I think I will practice watching the Big Bang Theory – I don't like watching TV and I am allergic to recorded laughter, but I think I will identify with the characters. ;-)

School and the Asperger brain

noreply@blogger.com (A) — Fri, 25 Feb 2011 14:24:00 +0000

There was no room for my brain in school. I understood it as early as in second grade, if not before.

“Uneven” intelligence seemed to be a concept impossible for teachers to understand – you could either be a good, bad or average student, which meant that you were good, bad or average in every subject. My teachers and my parents were puzzled: how could I be so hopeless with math while being exceptionally good at reading and writing?

As time went on, it seemed clear to them that I belonged in the “bad students” category. There was no way of making me understand mathematics, subjects like history and geography didn't work either because I found most of the information uninteresting and couldn't remember any of it no matter how many times I read it, and I usually didn't even participate in gym class. The natural conclusion was that I was lazy. Just to make it all even worse, I had trouble concentrating and would often look out the windows or daydream in class, sometimes sat under my desk and refused to come out and didn't respect the teacher's authority. One talent was not enough to compensate for bad behavior and a large number of difficulties, so that one talent was no longer worth mentioning.

Although I moved to another school in fourth grade, it never got better. I was always put in the lower part of the average category, or even seen as stupid. One teacher frequently accused me of cheating until he finally realized that I got perfect results on the English and Swedish tests because I knew all that. Whenever I learn a language, it takes me years before I feel comfortable actually speaking it, which meant that I never read aloud or spoke in class until seventh grade. When asked to, I would start trembling and sweating, saying nothing, so it was believed that I did not know a single word of English. The same teacher even accused me of plagiarism once: “Anna, you copied this. You can't write this well”. By then I was ten and wrote novels, but I didn't match his idea of a good student.

Every time I came to a new class, there was already a “good student”. Someone who was good at everything and would get top grades no matter what, because they had such a reputation of being brilliant that it would be criminal for a teacher to even consider their results. They deserved it, of course, the problem is that nobody could ever be considered to be as good as those perfect students – even in my best subjects, I would get a lower grade than I should have, or I had to struggle three times as hard as others to get a proper grading.

The ideal image of the good student has to die. It is a structural discrimination against children with Asperger's syndrome and a ritual murder of our self-esteem. When I shared this story with aspies online, several responded and said they had the exact same problems in school - a majority of them were women. It's not only destructive for aspies, of course – I have seen several “good girls” suffocate under the pressure of their teachers' and parents' expectations of perfection – but it is an ideal that a majority of aspies can never fit into. We are all at the mercy of our teachers' subjective ideas about whether or not we deserve good grades. The teacher's notion of the individual student's intelligence is rarely based on actual achievements in the subject. It will be influenced by irrelevant things such as other teachers' personal opinions, the student's behavior (sometimes even critical thinking is seen as a bad habit), how well (s)he fits in with his or her classmates and his/her achievements in other subjects. Needless to say, this does not work very well for a quiet child who has trouble adapting to social codes and struggles with some subjects while being exceptionally good in others. Throughout my school years I spent significantly more time trying to prove my worth in my strong subjects than actually learning things. As late as high school, I would have tantrums in class because of the frustration of constantly being seen as an idiot, which of course didn't make things any better. My journey from being the intelligent hyperlectic child to a hopeless school kid was not only painful and frustrating – it was a loss of identity.

A side note (which I feel uncomfortable calling it because it is positioned at the bottom of the entry, not on the side):

The ironic thing is that I'm not actually bad at math. In fact, I am quite good at it, at least on those levels - I just have a (quite AS typical) need to visualize certain types of information in order to understand and use it. My problem was that there was only one acceptable way of doing things, and I was forced to assume that the number seven looks like this: 7. It doesn't. These things: 1, 3, 20 etcetera, are not numbers. They are simply someone else's way of visualizing them. I agree that they are good for communicative purposes – they are standardized symbols for numbers, and therefore good for situations where you have to write down a number for someone else to read and understand. My way of counting is like a game of Tetris (or pentis, hexis, heptis – you get it). Each number is represented by a block consisting of smaller blocks, and they can be put together in certain ways to make new numbers, or divided. Yes, I see them falling, but there is no Russian music to it (it just clicks when one block joins another). The number four is the square, never the L or any of the other possible Tetris shapes, and the same rule applies to the other "number blocks". Of course, drawing little squares on a paper wouldn't get me any points at a test, but I have no problem transcribing it to standard symbols or explaining my calculations step by step. Even so, it wasn't good enough – in school, you are not just given useful tools, you are taught how to think. My answers were correct, but as long as I found them in a way that differed from the expected (and in my mind far more complicated) method, it was no good. I tried to do it they way I was supposed to, got everything wrong and kept struggling without success for the following fourteen years.

Too normal

noreply@blogger.com (A) — Wed, 23 Feb 2011 17:03:00 +0000

It seems like most aspies have been called “too normal to have Asperger's” at least once. People in general, as well as far too many clueless psychologists, expect people with Asperger's syndrome to be motorically and socially clumsy half-idiots who stare at the floor all the time and barely answer questions. Every time I tell someone what I suspect, I expect them to laugh or react with disbelief, but it actually hasn't happened. Not until yesterday.

My friend and I were in her kitchen talking while our sons were playing under the table, and somehow we started talking about it. She said that not a single piece of me fit with the Asperger image, and went on to tell me that she had learned that the problems have nothing to do with situations (after I told her that I can feel comfortable enough to talk around some people, but usually not). I guess I could have told her the whole story of my life and explained every complex part of my social life, but I didn't feel like it, for many reasons. She did admit that she wasn't an expert and I'm sure she meant well, but I felt awkward in that situation. Although I knew she was wrong, I felt that I couldn't really give her a lecture on AS; she is a trained social worker and has met a few aspies in her work. I love her anyway, but will probably avoid that discussion with her in the future.

Once we turned the conversation to the general, it got better although my own having or not having AS was still mentioned a couple of times. My friend asked me why adults want diagnoses – a perfectly relevant question, in my opinion. Not everything is a problem. I, for example, don't mind being odd. I don't wish I had the ability to engage in social chit-chat about uninteresting topics. For an aspie who wants to fit in and be normal, but can't, this would probably be a big problem. Sometimes I say or do things that are beyond "charmingly weird" and hurt people, which I of course don't want to, but the thing that really troubles me is my lack of organizational skills. But for an adult who has learned elementary social codes, has managed to establish routines for keeping up with everyday life and has a functioning life with a home, friends and a steady job, undiagnosed AS is probably not an issue. A diagnosis wouldn't make a difference for everyone.

For me, the simple answer is this: I am too normal.

The situation was very different while I was growing up, but for various possible reasons, there is nothing obviously strange about me nowadays. My close friends, and people who meet me often, probably think of me as a bit odd but not in a negative way (mainly because I tend to choose to be around people who don't really care much for normality anyway). I don't look or dress like “everyone else”, but I don't radiate weirdness either. My clumsiness is funny – I laugh and joke about it myself – so people generally don't notice it the way they probably would if I had been extremely quiet, shy and introverted. Furthermore, I probably seem to function very well. I do about half of the time; when I don't, I don't let anyone find out. I have a nice home in a good neighborhood, a wonderful son and a good relationship, and I pass my exams with distinction. All of this is superficial shit of course, but as I said, very few people ever see anything beyond this list of signs of being a successful human being.

So, why is “being normal” a problem?

Imagine this: you are talking to somebody who is, or sounds like, a native speaker of English. After a while, he suddenly asks “does you want to have a beer somewhere?”. How do you react? If he'd had a strong foreign accent, you would probably notice the mistake but not think too much about it. You would understand that he was still learning the language, so you wouldn't expect his grammar to be perfect either. But he didn't. You speak the same language, so you expect him to handle things like that instinctively.

I am a pretty good actor – I never had a choice. There was no tolerance for saying things the wrong way when I was a child, and the harsh reactions were incomprehensible for me at first. Eventually I understood that there were nuances in the spoken language that others noticed, so I had to start observing and imitating. It was the only way of predicting how others would react to what I said. I started studying a second language, so to speak: native speakers know the grammar instinctively; learners have to study it carefully in order to use the language naturally. Most people believe that I speak the same language as they do. Still, there are things I don't know. I don't have a natural feeling for social codes or the grammar of facial expressions, and sometimes I get it all wrong. Sometimes I unintentionally say things that you just don't say and do things that you just don't do, and there is no apparent reason for it. If I had been clearly weird in every way, people probably wouldn't expect much from me. They probably wouldn't like me either, but my social mistakes would have seemed more natural.

Secondly, I have never been able to take care of myself and my life for longer than about six months at a time. I know that sooner or later, my home will start to get messy again, and from there it's a downward spiral. If I had a job, I would lose it. I've lost my student loans twice because I haven't taken or passed enough exams, and it will probably happen again if nothing happens. Every time something starts going wrong like this, the same things happen: I get depressed, forget to pay my bills on time (and half of them get lost), can't take care of my hygiene, stop eating real food, put on weight, start losing hair, isolate myself and lose friends... Then I have to build up my life again. That takes time. Again, I usually seem so normal that nobody would understand why this happens. If I had a diagnosis, there would be help to ask for when I needed it – as long as I don't, I'm helpless.

My friend finished the conversation by saying that a diagnosis shouldn't be necessary. The "norm" is so narrow that basically no one fits into it, but everyone still has to adapt to it. If you can't concentrate, you can't concentrate and should be able to get help with or without ADHD.

I agree. Of course she is right - unfortunately, the world is wrong but I still have to live in it.