I’ve mentioned this on message boards and Facebook pages associated with my real name, so there’s really no point in failing to mention it here, on my blog, which I can mostly control. I am autistic. I was diagnosed at age four. In my specific case, it means that I have trouble communicating, figuring out other people’s emotions, and having the appropriate emotional response. This has led to my having trouble with social interactions, and therefore relationships of all kinds.
As I only found out about the diagnosis a few months ago, I’m still processing exactly what it means, and how it has shaded my past experiences. I’m also trying to figure out why I didn’t know about it for thirty-one years.
Lately, I’ve been tempted to contact certain people to either explain my inappropriate behavior, or failure to “get a clue.” There are professionals, such as therapists and psychiatrists, whom I’d love to ask why they didn’t have a clue (I’d start out with my elementary school psychologist, who was actually given a copy of my evaluations). However, I realize that this might be viewed as inappropriate at best, and downright creepy at worst, to track down and contact people who I may not have seen in over twenty years. Heck, some of them may no longer be alive.
The next best thing seems to be to write open letters on my blog. If the intended recipient sees them and wants to contact me, then great. Otherwise, no harm, no foul. Identifying information will be modified.