Sometimes I feel as though I’m in a foreign country, even in my own town. Usually that’s because I’m with a group of neurotypical people who are speaking in their neurotypical ways, and I just don’t get it. On days when I’m tired, they may as well be speaking Esperanto, for all the sense it makes to my overwhelmed autistic brain. It can be disconcerting on the best of days, and completely isolating on the worst.
When neurotypicals hear me speak, they often describe me as blunt. To them, that means I must be being rude. But no. I’m just taking a direct path to the point I wish to make. I don’t like to waste time with abstractions and vagaries and metaphors. However, I do like to be sure I’m giving you all the pertinent details, and it seems that many NTs find that boring.
If you think I ask too many questions simply to be contrary, you’re wrong. I’m asking those questions to understand. I’m trying to get to those pertinent details that you seem to think are unnecessary.
And here’s the best way to drive me absolutely crazy: don’t answer a question. This is even worse now that so much of our communication is in writing. I assume most neurotypicals think they can get away with avoiding awkward questions simply by not answering them. That’s a lot harder to do when you’re face to face, but all too easy to do via text or email. Just because it’s easy doesn’t make it right.
If you’re ignoring my question, I can only conclude that you find it irrelevant, which is extremely rude and dismissive. Or perhaps you are afraid I won’t like the answer. But I wouldn’t be asking the question if I didn’t feel the need for an answer. Don’t cut me off from information just because direct communication makes you squirm. It’s the only way for me to know what’s going on.
From my point of view, NTs can be frustrating, because they seem to want me to read between the lines and jump to the same conclusions that they jump to. Inside, I’m screaming, “Get to the point!!!!” But my therapist assures me that neurotypical people often don’t know what their point is. That was eye-opening. They are so busy being subtle and vague so as not to ruffle feathers that they aren’t even sure what it is that they want or need or feel. That must be exhausting.
Why can’t you take responsibility for your own message? Don’t make me have to solve a puzzle to figure out what you’re trying to say. Just say it. I suppose if you’re vague enough and someone takes offense to your message, you can backpedal furiously and claim that’s not what you meant. It must be nice to have that amount of social wiggle room. I just find it a lot easier to say what I mean and mean what I say, and consequences be damned.
That is not me trying to be obstinate or manipulative. It’s not me being selfish or acting stupid to avoid doing something. It’s me being autistic and devoid of an agenda.
Please stop trying to force me to become neurotypical, because it’s not possible. It’s time to let go of the fantasy that autistic people can just snap out of it with the proper amount of nagging. We just don’t speak your language fluently, and we can’t seem to drop the neurodiverse “accent” just because it annoys you. And here’s a big ol’ scoop of food for thought for you: we shouldn’t have to.
And then there’s the whole body language thing. I’m focused on your words. I can’t be bothered to take in the change of the shape of your smile or the way your head is tilted. For me, it’s all about the words.
In fact, it’s so much about the words for me that I wish you wouldn’t focus on my body language either, because it’ll be confusing to you. I may not be looking you in the eye, but I’m paying close attention to what you’re saying. I may not be smiling, but that doesn’t mean I’m unhappy or disapproving or judging. It usually means I’m concentrating on your words so much that I forget that my face needs to be doing something in order for you to feel comfortable. Sorry.
Also, I have a very capable brain, but it has a slow processor. I often have to mull things over, or let them sink in, before I can respond. If I’m pausing, it’s not a sign of disagreement or dim-wittedness. It’s more like a slower wifi speed. The information may be moving at a snail’s pace, but it still has value. And if you are a fast talker, my anxiety goes through the roof and my processing time gets even slower. That often makes people get impatient with me, and that makes them talk even faster, which… well, I’m sure you can see the downward spiral toward total communication meltdown.
If your speech is peppered with the current pop culture references or cutting edge slang, odds are very good that you’ll have lost me. I’ve been described in many ways, but I’m fairly certain that no one has ever accused me of having my finger on the pulse of society. (Not that I’d want to anyway.)
I’ll also be the last person in the room to get a joke, and I find that humiliating because then I seem to become the joke. I particularly hate sarcasm, because it feels like cruelty to me. It’s like lingual bait and switch. People that use that form of humor are enjoying the fact that they are confusing people, and from my perspective, that’s just mean. I’m the easiest mark you’ll ever find. Let’s just concede that you won and that I don’t have a whip-crack mind. Let’s move on, shall we? Too much of that “making others look stupid” tactic and I’ll start avoiding you.
I am a very literal person. If you state an opinion, about me or anything else, I assume that’s really what you believe, because that’s how I process opinions. I’ve taken people literally my whole life, so I find it really hard to think they’re not doing the same when I speak. So, to avoid confusion, you can rest assured that I mean what I say. I speak my truth, always.
Also, if you ask for my opinion, I’ll give it to you. Why does that cause so much resentment? You asked. I don’t read between the lines, where it apparently says, “I don’t really want your opinion. I just don’t want to hurt your feelings, and in exchange I expect you to reflect the opinion that will be most agreeable to me.”
I’m rather new at autistic awareness, but what I’m finding is that neurotypical people are offended when they’re told the truth, and neurodivergent people are confused and offended when they’re told a lie. Of course, no two people are exactly alike. Your results may vary. But now that I’m more aware of our differences and similarities, that’s the conclusion I have arrived at. I don’t thrive in a lying world. I can’t understand why anyone would prefer that.
Here are a few examples of what it’s like to interact with others, from my neurodivergent perspective:
During spring break in college, I brought a friend home with me. She had to share a bedroom with my sister. At one point my sister wanted to go to bed early, and my friend said, “Would you mind if I left the light on and read a book?” My sister said, “Sure! No problem. Turn the light on any time.”
The next day, we got home late, and my friend went into the bedroom and turned the light on. My sister sat up and screamed at her to the point that my friend ran out of the bedroom and asked to share the very uncomfortable sofa bed with me. When I tried to defend my friend to my family the next day, none of them could understand why she would take it literally when my sister said, “Sure! No problem. Turn the light on any time.” To this day, I still think, “Why wouldn’t she? That’s what you said…”
Recently, a coworker showed me, for about the 10th time, how she cleans the bathroom sink. I couldn’t understand why she kept doing that. I learned how she cleaned the sink the first time she showed me. I didn’t see the point of all that repetition, but that’s not unusual for me. Finally, after months of this foolishness, I figured out that she wasn’t trying to show me how she cleans the sink, she was trying to show me how she wanted me to clean the sink, because she doesn’t like the way I do it.
Why didn’t she just say that? It could have saved a lot of frustration on her part. It would definitely have saved a lot of confusion on mine. So please, just cut the crap. Say what you mean. Life’s too short for all this neurotypical foolishness.
Which leads me to one other issue that seems to be the source of the bulk of my conflicts: It never occurs to me that when I express an opinion, people assume that means I want them to have the same opinion, and the result is that they become upset at that prospect. But who the hell am I to tell you what to think? I can only tell you what I think, and even though it is just my opinion, as far as I’m concerned, it’s a fact that I have that opinion, and that’s absolutely, positively as far as my thought process on the subject goes. What you do with it after that is up to you.
At the risk of sounding blunt, I have to say that you neurotypicals are the weird ones. You expect people to be clairvoyant. You weave and bob and meander and backtrack. Excuse me, but I can’t follow you. It’s all I can do to walk a straight line, here.
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The View from a Drawbridge 
Neurotypicals often won’t accept, or will ignore, me when I’m stating a fact/truth about myself, that doesn’t fit their narrative. I learned they’ll hear me if I’m sarcastic. It perks them right up and they’ll at least acknowledge my reality differs from their assumptions. Weird. I’d never use sarcasm to harm or to dismiss someones need to understand though. After many years of frustration, I learned to use neurotypical speak to make them listen. My ex-husbands family used sarcasm in a joking way, but I never joined in until I got tired of them teasing me about how quiet I was. Having studied their neurotypical social exchanges, that whole time, I become so adept at their sarcastic humor, they declared they’d created a monster and weren’t sure how to shut me off. Though I never enjoyed that form of socializing, they seemed more comfortable with me once I understood they were just accepting me into their tribe by including me in their sarcasam. There was a line as to where it crossed from fun joking to unnecessary cruelty. They trusted each other to respect that line. Everyone did. Some NT’s handle a blunt revelation better if it’s couched in joking sarcasm. Others feel insulted no matter how you present an inconvenient truth. It’s exhausting figuring out each NT’s particular language and boundaries. I rely on changes in the tone, and deviation in patterns of speech, rather than body language, to decipher what they mean/feel behind their words. It’s alot of work, but easier than all the time consuming, alienating alternatives. Since one of my strengths is learning the minute details on subjects of interest, I made neurotypical social subtleties and behaviors a subject of interest. Surrounded by so many types of NT’s, all the time, makes it convenient to study them. One reason I suspected you were neurodivergent was how you misunderstood some of my comments and I had to explain my sense of humor and add 🙂emojis. I recognized how I used to take things personally, because I took things literally, before I learned NT speak. My first reaction was to take it personally that you twisted my intent, but then realized you were just taking me literally, which I can relate to. Actually, I find a lot of humor in listening to peoples use of words when I’m consciously taking them literally. They sound hilariously absurd if I’m not the one engaging with them. Not so funny if I am. You’ll get there.
I love that you have such confidence in me, but I haven’t “gotten there” in 58 years, so I have my doubts. I do have a lot more knowledge of my differences, strengths and weaknesses with this diagnosis, though, so who knows. More and more, I feel like a bemused alien observing human behavior. It’s actually kind of empowering.
I’ve been on both sides of this, and I can only say that setting up a strict binary between “neurotypical” and “autistic”, or even neurotypical and everyone else, seems quite inexact. Even a spectrum won’t do, because there are spectra pointing every which way. Here’s hoping that better understanding of just how people differ, and how everyone can work better with those different from themselves, will be coming along.
Now, did you and the bridge both recover all right from the lightning strike of some days past? I hope so.
The bridge and I did, indeed, survive. Thanks for asking! 🙂 And yes, you’re right. It’s not very scientific to pigeonhole every person. I’m still struggling with all these new insights, though, so I may have to leave the subtleties by the wayside for the time being, or I might get overwhelmed and you’ll find me in the fetal position in some remote cave. We can’t have that, now, can we? 😀
I’m glad you’re all right, but I’d be curious to know the full story of the effect on the bridge. Was it one of the bascules that got hit, how close to your tower, what sort of damage there was, and so on. I hope it wasn’t real serious.
Fortunately this bridge is well grounded, so the electricity disbursed without doing permanent damage, but it did blow the breakers, and we were on generator power for a while. It had to have hit within about 100 feet of me, but I couldn’t tell you where, because I didn’t see the bolt. All I saw was a blinding white light coming from the windows on all 4 compass points. Lightning strikes and jumpers are my least favorite part of this job.
Thanks. Hope the rest of the summer is storm-free.
Fortunately, Seattle gets very little lightning. When I worked in Florida, you could expect the bridge to be struck at least once a week, and people kept stealing the copper grounding wires, so… not fun.