The Struggle With the Daemon

I recently finished reading The Struggle with the Daemon: Holderlin, Kleist, Nietzsche by Stefan Zweig. For someone on the spectrum who is himself a literary writer (or, at least, I try to be), this book very much felt like it ought to have been titled The Struggle with Autism, especially as each of the three artists’ sections felt like an aspect of my personality was being emphasized–albeit, much more intense versions of me (I’ve managed to avoid descending into a final state of insanity, and I’ve never felt suicidal–though it’s my understanding that the last is an all-too common feeling among autistics).

Holderlin would seem the hardest case to make among the three, except many of his feelings as described by Zweig seem my feelings as well. Getting caught up in an obsession, and feeling like the rest of the world is a terrible imposition on your work is a very autistic way of being in the world–at least, from my experience.

Kleist, on the other hand, just screamed “autism” from Kleist’s description. For one, Kleist wandered all over Europe, and autistics are known to be avid wanderers (which can be a major problem when the wanderer is a child). “He was reserved to excess, and kept everything locked up within himself. He did not express his passions either in looks or in spoken words” (158). Zweig says

he remained mute, not from dumbness or sloth, but from overpowering chastity of feeling; and this silence, this dull, brutalising, oppressive silence, which he would maintain for hours when in company, was his most salient characteristic–that and absence of mind, a confusion which obscured his clarity of intellect. When talking, he would suddenly break off and stare into vacancy (158)

He could not converse unconstrainedly in an exchange of the small talk of ordinary life. Convention and customary obligations were repugnant to him, so that many assumed there must be something “dour and sinister” in this unusual companion; while others were wounded by his harshness and cynicism and bluntness when, as happened now and then, pricked by his own silence, he threw of all constraints. (159)

“Those who did not know him intimately believed him cold and indifferent. His intimates, on the other hand, were afraid of the fires that consumed him” (160).

If you’re autistic, perhaps especially if you have Asperger’s, this may sound quite familiar to you. If you know someone with Asperger’s, this also may sound familiar to you. Zweig’s description of Kleist throughout the book only reinforce my original conclusion (based on the above quotes) that Kleist had Asperger’s.

I have already written about my belief that Nietzsche had autism, and Zweig’s description only confirmed my beliefs. However, there is something quite interesting that Zweig pointed out that sounded quite personally familiar–and I would be interested if my autistic readers have had the same experience.

What makes Nietzsche’s transformations so peculiar is that they seem retrogressive. If we take Goethe as the prototype of an organic nature in harmony with the forward march of the universe, we perceive that his development is symbolical of the various stages of life. in youth he was fiery and enthusiastic; as a man in his prime he was actively reflective; age brought him the utmost lucidity of mind. His mental rhythm corresponded in every point with the temperature of his blood. As with most young men, he began in chaos and ended his career in orderly fashion, as is seemly with the old. After going through a revolutionary period he turned conservative, after a phase of lyricism he became a man of science, after being prodigal of himself he learnt how to be reserved.

Nietzsche took an opposite course. Instead of aspiring to an ever more complete integration of his ego, he desired complete disintegration. As he advanced in years he became increasingly impatient, vehement, revolutionary, and chaotic. His outward aspect was in strident opposition of the customary evolution of a man. While his university companions were still delighting in the usual horseplay of undergraduates, Nietzsche, though but twenty-four years old, was already a professor, aspirant to the chair of philology at Basel, that famous seat of learning. At twenty-four, Nietzsche’s intimates were men of fifty and sixty years of age, sages such as Jakob Burckhardt and Ritschl, while his closest friend was the most celebrated artist of the day–Richard Wagner. (288-289)

Zweig goes on and on about the staid, scholarly Nietzsche, then notes that when he was thirty, he resigned from his position with a pension, went to live alone in Switzerland and northern Italy, and transformed himself into the writer of Zarathustra–a transformation that ended with Nietzsche’s loss of sanity. His life is the reverse of Goethe’s.

Now let me give a brief of my own life. In grade school, I wore dress slacks and button-down shirts. In high school, I started wearing jeans, but they were dress jeans. I went to college to major in recombinant gene technology, then attended graduate school in molecular biology. During grad school, I started wearing t-shirts and listening to contemporary rock (alternative music–I started in with the grunge scene with Nirvana’s In Utero, when I was around 22). It was around this time that I started reading Nietzsche, and I also started writing more fiction and poetry, and myself growing more and more chaotic.

I dropped out of grad school, had two massive anxiety attacks, started writing Hear the Screams of the Butterfly to deal with all of my emotional issues, and also took a year of undergrad English classes to get into a graduate program in Creative Writing. While there I was quite bohemian in my lifestyle. If there was a reversal, it was when I started my Ph.D. program in the humanities, where I started off doing creative writing, but ended up with a scholarly dissertation. After graduating, I met my future wife, got married, had three children, and have lived the past decade wasting my scholarly and writing talents in looking for gainful employment. I’ve also grown more radical in my politics, and I think more daring in my art.

Now, do not get me wrong. I would trade nothing for my wife and children. In that I’m a happy Goethe, so to speak. However, an inability to go “full Goethe” in the sense of his life development, has meant considerable employment difficulties. At the same time, I have been fortunate in also not going “full Holderlin/Kleist/Nietzsche” either. I’m instead in an uncomfortable truce, neither giving in to my obsessions nor being able to live a “normal” life.

The scientist I was in college became the artist became the artist and interdisciplinary scholar–became more and more interdisciplinary, unspecialized, going in the opposite direction of most people. I’ve grown less conservative over time, less satisfied with life, more radical. That is, from order to chaos. Nietzsche is a model for my own changes, though I certainly had no intention to follow that model–it just seems a natural development. Yet, I struggle against that development, and thus (mostly) keep it under control. The forces of order and the forces of chaos are always in a constant struggle within me. I continue to alternate between art and scholarship. If anything, my family is what keeps the struggle just barely on the side of order.

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The Freedom To Do and Be

Wednesday night I attended a talk at Southern Methodist University by Deirdre McCloskey, an economist at the University of Chicago. She is the author of a series of books–The Bourgeois Virtues, Bourgeois Dignity, and Bourgeois Equality–in which she argues that economists have misunderstood the driving force of economic growth and widespread wealth. It’s not savings, and it’s not capital investment–rather, it’s ideas. And it’s a specific set of ideas: treating people equally, equality under the law, and respect for people who engage in business. She argued last night that when people are given the freedom to do what they want to do and be who they want to be, that freedom results in the creation of wealth.

This made me wonder how much wealth the world has lost because autistics are not allowed to do what they want to do, and to be who they are.

 

Oppositional-Defiance Disorder, ADHD, and Autism

Anyone who has a child with ADHD should read Diane M. Kennedy’s The ADHD /Autism Connection. This is perhaps especially true if your child has been diagnosed with both ADHD and ODD (Oppositional-Defiance Disorder), since if you combine the behaviors of ADHD and ODD, you get the behaviors of someone with Asperger’s.

Of those with ADHD, 50-65% are also diagnosed with ODD. This would mean that if 3-7% of children have ADHD, and about half of those have ODD, and if children with that combination really have Asperger’s, then around 4%of the general population (including those officially diagnosed with Asperger’s) have Asperger’s.

For those not familiar with ODD, Kennedy lists the behaviors as “stubbornness, defiance, arguing, ignoring rules, hostile behaviors, temper tantrums, and an unwillingness to compromise” (55).

She also quotes the DSM-IV-TR as defining ODD as

a recurrent pattern of negative, defiant, disobedient and hostile behavior toward authority figures that persists for at least 6 months and is characterized  by the frequent occurrence of at least four of the following behaviors: losing temper . . . arguing with adults . . . actively defying or refusing to comply with the requests or rules of adults . . . deliberately doing things that will annoy other people . . . being touchy or easily annoyed by others . . . being angry and resentful . . . or being spiteful or vindictive. (cit. pg. 55)

Let’s face it. I’ve been accused of being stubborn, my parents complained that I was always argumentative and that I liked to aggravate people, and I’m easily annoyed by what I perceived to be peoples’ endless idiocies. I fight against being angry and resentful. Fortunately, I have never been spiteful or vindictive. But given the fact that I exhibit all the rest, I would be diagnosed as having ODD — except that I have Asperger’s, and these behaviors are already included in my syndrome.

Kennedy also cites Lorna Wing on the ways we with autism use language, with Wing saying we have a “tendency to talk on . . . or to ask repetitive questions regardless of the answers, or most irritating of all, to engage in arguments that are endless because the child always finds a new objection to whatever is suggested” (cit. 50). Kennedy also points out that these are typical of children with ADHD as well.

Now, I want you to think about some of the things listed. What kind of world would be live in if we didn’t have people who questioned authority, argued, defied rules, asked repetitive questions, and always found new objections to whatever answers are given? This sounds like the definition of every philosopher, entrepreneur, inventor, scientist, and artist who ever existed. Meaning, these “irritating” features are what are necessary for there to have been any kinds of advancements beyond that of the chimpanzee troopes.

So we again see a list of traits that are presented as negative, but are in fact positive from a social standpoint, since without them there could not have been complex human societies. To have complex order, you have to have not just order, but a little bit of disorder as well.

On (Not) Getting Disability When You Have the Hidden Disability

Over the past several months, I have been trying to get Disability from Social Security. Today I have been denied for the second time. Let me quote the most recent rejection letter:

You said you are disabled because of autism, aspergers, hip displasia, flat feet, anxiety, sensory integration disorder, and memory loss. However, your current symptoms are not severe enough to be considered disabling.

Apparently being unable to stand for long periods of time because of ever-increasing pain from flat feet, being unable to do physical labor because of constant and ever-increasing pain from hip displasia, being diagnosed with general anxiety disorder by the psychologist they sent me to, and all of the issues associated with autism/Asperger’s, including short term memory loss issues and sensory integration disorder, doesn’t make you disabled.

Those who have been following this blog know many of the problems I have had with getting and keeping jobs. If I even get a job after the interview, I cannot seem to hold on to it for long. Literally, the longest I ever had a job was a little over a year and a half. I had two such jobs. One of them I left because I was moving from Hattiesburg, MS to Dallas; the other was at UNT-Dallas, where my contract wasn’t renewed.

All of the problems I have had with remaining employed have stemmed from my autistic behaviors. The problem is that, if autism is a hidden disability, it seems to be so hidden with me that for the longest time very few people, except those who knew me very, very well, would even believe I as on the spectrum When you meet me, I’m often articulate, I can be charming under the right conditions, I’m highly educated (Ph.D.), and I’m highly intelligent. I can fake it for a fair amount of time. Enough for many to think I’m merely a little introverted.

The problem is what happens over the long term, or if I’m not in ideal conditions. If it’s too loud, too bright, too crowded, I start to feel overwhelmed. My anxiety–which I have learned really never goes away, but only waxes and wanes like the tides–increases, and as my anxiety increases, I become increasingly irritable. Over time, you will see me “goofing off,” which really means I’m writing something down to get it out of my head so I can continue to concentrate on work. But of course, you can’t do anything non-work-related on company time (except gossip, of course, which I don’t do and which takes up far more time than it did for me to write the one line of poetry I needed to get out), so I get in trouble. What they don’t realize is that I’m actually doing what I need to do to ensure I can dedicate the maximum amount of time and concentration to work. But how do you explain that to anyone?

The letter I received goes on to state that

Although you said you have various limitations caused by your symptoms, the evidence does not show that your ability to perform basic work activities is as limited as you indicated. We do not have sufficient vocational information to determine whether you can perform any of your past relevant work. However, based on the evidence in file, we have determined that you can adjust to other work.

I find all of this very curious. And it indicates there is something wrong with the way disability is determined, such that autism is almost always going to be discounted as disabiling. The fact of the matter is that my “ability to perform basic work activities” such as editing, proofreading, and writing is not limited at all. I can do that kind of work, and likely similar work, such as data entry.

But work isn’t just “show up, do your work, leave.” If work were like that, the unemployment rate among all but the most severely autistic would be 0%. Rather, depending on how it’s measured, the unemployment rate among autistics is 20%-80%–the latter for all autistics, and 20% for people who are “mildly” autistic. Why is that? It’s because work is primarily social, and when the requirements of employment are being able to be social and not be “socially awkward” that autistics face high unemployment.

My disability only becomes apparent over time, and few would even recognize it as “disability.” It gets interpreted as inattentive, goofing off, having a bad attitude, and sometimes even lazy (I was always working on projects growing up and was always told I was lazy). Each of these are neurotypicals misinterpreting the way I think and behave. In other words, my disability is only invisible to the degree that non-autistics misinterpret my expressions and actions. And even if I tell them what to expect, can we really expect them to always remember not to interpret my interactions with them through the same lenses they use for practically everyone else?

In other words, how can I get Disability if my disability is invisible? How can I get Disability if the people who are giving it out don’t really believe it’s a thing, but is just made up, is just problems with your “personality,” or whatever else they may believe when faced with someone who behaves as I do?

And I know it’s not just me. My guess is that most autistics face these issues on a daily basis, and not just when it comes to work. But where are the advocates for us? I know there are advocates out there, but I’m talking about public advocates, someone people know, out there talking about these things.

Here is where my articulateness, intelligence, and education may be able to come in handy. I’m actually a good public speaker. Perhaps, if I could find the right venues, I could use these very traits that make me an even more invisible member of the invisible disability bring greater visibility to these very issues.

Unless someone does this, how much of a chance do we have to thrive in this world?

 

Autism in the Schools — A Personal Narrative

After losing a full time freelance to full time position because the company I was working for learned I have Asperger’s and, as they put it, they had “no intention of accommodating you,” I started substitute teaching for Dallas ISD. Because I live in Richardson, a suburb just north of Dallas, I was restricted, due to travel time, to which schools I can teach at. And through some sort of bizarre set of coincidences, I was somehow only been able to take special education classes — meaning, I was surrounded by autistic children almost every weekday for over half a year.

It was a very eye-opening. I saw and interacted with autistic children in elementary, middle, and high school. And I saw how nobody — not a single special education teacher, not a single teacher’s aide, let alone any of the regular teachers in which some of these students have “inclusion” — has the foggiest idea what to do with these children. I¬† saw them try to interact (and discipline) autistic children as though they were simply neurotypical children with behavior problems. But this is exactly the wrong way to think of them. Given what we have learned about autistic people, given what we know about why they behave so differently from neurotypicals, one is bound to fail to teach proper behaviors, let alone provide them with the rest of the education they need to receive at their schools. As a result, I have seen in the high schools extremely intelligent young men and women who have not received nearly the education they could have received.

At the elementary school, there was about a dozen students, most of whom had autism. When they would “misbehave,” they would be threatened with moving colors, etc. that are typically used in the schools. These tactics clearly had no effect whatsoever on their behaviors, as they didn’t mean anything to the children. Abstract symbolism don’t mean much to us. Yes, there were picture cards for the students, but the use of those picture cards seemed to be limited at best. Picture cards are necessary for autistic children, but they have to be used constantly and consistently. But more than that, threats upset autistic children, shutting them down, pushing them toward having breakdowns. If you want to change an autistic child’s behavior, you have to use logic and reason — and use it repeatedly. Also, if they are doing something to another child, you have to get them to empathize with the other child to get them to stop what they are doing.

For example, one of the children was poking another in the back. The one being poked was just sitting there and taking it (probably having gotten used to her poking him all the time), but he was obviously annoyed, as anyone would be. I got down on the floor and said to her, “Would you like it if someone poked you like that? Would you like it if someone poked you like that? Would you like it if someone poked you like that?” I tried to get her attention, repeated her name, and kept asking the question. After a while, she finally said, “No.” I said, “Well then, you shouldn’t do that to him if you wouldn’t like it.” And she stopped. And she never did it again — at least, the day I was there.

I was in that class with the special ed teacher’s aide. During recess, the aide asked me, “How on earth are you reaching these kids?” She had never seen anyone change their behaviors so quickly before. Of course, there’s nothing I was doing that I haven’t learned from simply doing research on autism and some of the behavior modifications used. It is nothing anyone out there couldn’t do or learn about. So I told her what I was doing and why I was doing it. It was a complete revelation to her. I gave a brief explanation of what is happening with children with autism, why they acted as they did, etc., which of course ties back in with how to properly teach proper behavior to autistic children.

That same day, toward the end of the day, the same girl got upset and ran to the other side of the room. She threw a tissue box and tried to hide among the pillows in the corner. I went over to her and told her she needed to pick up the tissue box. She of course just withdrew. I had noticed earlier that she liked playing a computer game with a gorilla, so I grabbed a toy gorilla and started talking to her through the gorilla. The gorilla asked her if she wanted to come back to story time and if she would pick up the tissue box. She smiled at me, nodded, and stood up, picked up the tissue box and put it away, and then walked over and sat with the other students and listened to the story. Why did this work? Autistic people are object-oriented, she liked the gorilla game, and I got her to focus on an object she liked and had it talk to her. In other words, I successfully communicated with an autistic child. But few truly understand how to do this.

At one of the high schools at which I used to sub, I taught in all three of the special education classes, which range from classes with students so severely autistic that they are nonverbal and can just barely function at all to talkative, intelligent, humorous students who I wonder why they are not in inclusion classes. There are students who are clearly only in school just to give their parents a break — they won’t be learning anything, and whatever they learn, the won’t be applying outside of school, as they are not going to be holding any sort of job. But those aren’t the students I want to talk about.

The students I want to talk about are those who are together in a special education class that is designed to teach little more than a handful of practical living skills, but who really ought to be in a regular class, because they are definitely intelligent enough to do the work. Many of these students are in fact probably more intelligent than the vast majority of regular students. Why, then, are they not in regular classes? It is because of their “behavioral problems” that have followed them throughout their school years. These have been lucky enough to be identified as autistic, so their behavioral problems were sequestered away in the special education classes rather than the behavioral units (more on that later), but as a result, they have also been sequestered away from a real education. And it is all because nobody understands how to properly modify their behaviors. By the time they reach high school, they haven’t been taught how to properly interact with anyone other than other autistic people — and a dozen frustrated teachers. As a result, we have an army of highly intelligent people who have received no education to speak of and thus will not be able to live up to their full potential. The person who could have been the next Newton may be that socially awkward, “slow” young man or woman who talks funny busing your table before you sit down at the restaurant. That is all they are really being taught to do, and that is a real shame. And it is all because nobody understands how to raise autistic children to be functioning adults.

But, as troublesome as all of this should be to you, I promise you that things can be far, far worse. I know, because I have seen it.

One day I was assigned to a middle school behavioral unit. If you know anything at all about the regular behavior of middle school students, you can only imagine how over-the-top ridiculously bad the behavior of these students had to have been to get them in a behavioral unit. We are talking about repeat offender fighters, kids who take offense at everything and anything and who are convinced that beating the crap out of people is the solution to every problem. In here was one student who — other than cursing like a sailor at the drop of a hat — quietly did all of his school work and played on the computer. He wanted to be left alone to do what he was doing, but of course none of the other students would allow that to happen. They would harass him, turn off his computer, do anything they could to get him riled up and curse at them. A girl in the class, however, would first harass him until he called her a “bitch,” at which point she would get mad and hit him. She hit him four times before she was taken away (by the other adult in the classroom with me the whole time, since there is supposed to be at least two people in there most of the time) to be suspended.

However, there was a time when the other adult had to take three other students away, leaving me with this student and another. The constantly harassed student suddenly came up and started talking to me. The first thing I noticed is that he had an odd way of speaking (odd if you’re not autistic) and seemed a bit awkward. It was obvious to me that he was somewhere on the autism spectrum. He started complaining about the other kids, and I said that if he didn’t like these kids, why was he doing things to get in the behavioral unit? His answer?

“I’ve been in the behavioral unit since I was in first grade. I was put in it after I bit my teacher. I’ve been in the behavioral unit in first grade and second grade and third grade and fourth grade and fifth grade and now sixth grade.”

“You’ve been in the behavioral unit all this time because you bit a teacher in first grade?”

“Well, no . . .”

Well, of course not. But from what I had been witnessing — and what I would witness in the last hour of the day — convinced me that, in a real sense, he was in fact in behavioral units since first grade because he was in one in first grade.

Here is the probable scenario. This kid was/is an undiagnosed autistic. Maybe Asperger’s, but definitely on the spectrum. And definitely prone to meltdowns. His odd behaviors were probably enough of a turn off for his fellow students and teachers, but no doubt they considered his meltdowns to be mere temper tantrums. Meltdowns occur when a stressful situation — or series of them — becomes too much. Meltdowns can appear to be very violent — many autistics will also engage in self-harm, especially if they are not allowed an outlet for their frustration. It would not surprise me if more than a few people have gotten bitten by an autistic child during a meltdown if the adult was intervening wrong. And if the child is undiagnosed, he’s not an autistic child who needs help (but who won’t get the right kind of help because almost nobody understands how to help them), but a serious behavioral problem. So we get a child who gets easily stressed having a meltdown, a teacher who is stressed dealing with it wrong, and therefore get a bitten teacher and a first grader sent off to the behavioral unit.

Of course, the kind of children in the behavioral unit are anything but understanding and kind. They are cruel, bullies, a certain percent are sociopathic, and autistic children are weird and seem to be the perfect victims. So they get picked on, the stress results in violent meltdowns, and the child remains in the behavioral unit. Year after year after year. And the problem is never solved, but is in fact worsened by such an environment.

That is the situation this poor child is in. He’s been placed in a never-ending Hell, all because he’s an undiagnosed autistic. His fate? He has been taken away to the mental hospital twice. And based on his conversation with me, he is very, very, very angry.

So after being picked on all day, he was told at the end of the day to go outside and get his backpack. He didn’t want to, but I talked him into it (which got me cursed out a few times for my effort). He stepped out to see his papers being blown away, the girl who was being suspended for hitting him all day having apparently dumped out his things. And that’s when the meltdown occurred. He began picking up desks and throwing them. Keep in mind that he’s eleven. All of the desks and chairs ended up in a pile in the middle of the room. It was a slow-motion rage — oddly controlled, as he went out of his way to make sure he never threw a chair or desk in such a way that I would be hit by one. And I was close to him the entire time, trying to talk him back.

I never did talk him back. The bell rang, the teachers told me they would take care of it, and I had to pick up my own children from daycare and school. When I walked away, he was outside the portable, banging his head against the metal side. I glanced back one last time to see a chair flying out of the door.

Without a diagnosis of autism, and without parents like us, Daniel could have been that child. That is a sad, terrifying, and infuriating thought.

8 Things to Know When Conversing With an Aspie

Perhaps the most obvious issue people have with Aspies involves communicating with them. I’ve been told that I intimidate people, that I can be embarrassing to those I’m with, and that I’m too aggressive. All of these come from the fact that I have Asperger’s. The way I naturally communicate with people, I often come across as intimidating, arrogant, and aggressive. Those who know me well know better, but those who don’t know me well are likely to leave with a bad impression. Naturally, this is bad for social situations, including employment.

Among the handicaps Aspies have when engaged in conversation is an inability to look people in the eye. If we are far enough away and are looking at your mouth or nose, it looks like we are looking you in the eye when you talk to us, but if we’re much closer, it’s obvious we’re not. Now think about what this communicates to you, if you’re not on the spectrum. If someone doesn’t look you in the eye, you tend not to trust them. That’s a bad first impression, and the Aspie hasn’t even opened his or her mouth yet.

But that’s not the only problem with the eyes. Our peripheral vision is on equal par with our centered vision, meaning things around us catch our attention. While you’re talking to us, it’s not uncommon for us to look around, glance at other people and at things. It appears that we’re not paying attention, but in fact we are paying you attention — we hear everything you say, and we’ll respond to it.

Our visual egalitarianism also extends to our hearing. As a result, we hear everything around us at equal volume, while you neurotypicals can focus your hearing on the speaker. This means that your voice can be drowned out, meaning we may ask you to repeat yourself. This can be interpreted as us not paying you proper attention — being rude — when in fact you just got drowned out by whatever sounds there are in the room. Now, imagine you are in a situation in which you hear everything at the same volume. You would probably assume everyone else does as well (since you extrapolate others’ experiences from your own), meaning you would likely talk in a louder voice. If I end up talking too loud to you, that is why. Also, all of that noise can be overwhelming to us. So do not be surprised if, at least occasionally, we seek a quiet place to let things settle down in our heads.

Of course, all of this requires that we have actually engaged in a conversation in the first place.

If we’re introduced, I may or may not greet you. If you greet me first, or if whoever is introducing us is explicit that we’re being introduced, I’m fine. But any ambiguity will leave me just standing there.

Also, I don’t engage in small talk. I certainly won’t initiate it, and my contributions to small talk will be minimal. I don’t engage in chitchat for the sake of chitchat, and I’m not likely to engage in much gossip, either. If the topic doesn’t interest me, I don’t pretend to be interested. But if the topic does interest me . . . then we have a whole other set of problems.

If you say something to me–ask me a question or greet me or say goodbye–odds are it will take me a second or two to process what has been said to me and to then process a proper response. I’ve had people in that time I’m taking tell me that someone was speaking to me. I knew they were speaking to me, and I was processing the statement and an answer to that statement. At the same time, given the fact that I may not have noticed I was being addressed, it also helps if someone points out to me I’ve been addressed. Even knowing this, the former is annoying to me in the moment, though my knowledge of the latter dissipates that annoyance.

If I am given a platform on which I can speak at length on a topic of interest to me, I’m in my perfect environment. I am full of information on that topic, and I can go on and on and on and on and on and on and on about it. It will be less of a conversation than a lecture. If you are a sincere fellow traveler in the search for truth, you and I will have a blast together. If not, I’m afraid I don’t suffer fools very well.

Also, it is very important that you don’t be wrong. If you are wrong about something and I know it, you may rest assured that I will interrupt what you are saying to correct you. I cannot stand not to correct someone immediately, because I know that if you start with a false premise, everything you are getting ready to say is going to be wrong. To my mind, why on earth would you want to waste your time developing a false argument on false premises? I wouldn’t. I actually like being corrected when I am in fact wrong. And it bothers me when I am not corrected when I am wrong.

A good example of this involved my sister-in-law, who was a music major in college. She was with me when I was talking to a friend about music, and I was getting the difference between 3-4 and 4-4 all wrong. She let me go on and on, misinforming this guy, and then only told me I was wrong after my friend left. I asked her why she didn’t correct me — after all, she was the music expert. More, I figured if she wasn’t correcting me, I was right in what I was saying. Worse, there was now someone else out there as misinformed as I had been, and it was my fault. Given that I would welcome correction on points of fact, I have a hard time understanding why others wouldn’t. At the same time, I have come to understand that my sister-in-law was being polite in not correcting me in front of my friend, because politeness is an important social virtue. Being right rarely ever is. It is perhaps not surprising that Aspies fall short of the social virtues, even if we do tend to be deeply moral.

Finally, you will discover that I have a tendency to interrupt to say what I need to say. There are a few things going on with that behavior. One, I interrupt because I’m afraid I will forget what I’m going to say. And I have a great deal of experience to back that up. Two, the feeling I get when I cannot say what I need to say when I need to say it is equivalent to if you were trying to tell me something, and I kept interrupting you before you could get three words out — and I kept doing it and doing it and doing it. At what point would you interrupt me and talk over me? The problem is that I have that feeling immediately upon having something to say. And all too often I act upon it. Naturally, this is interpreted as being rude and arrogant.

For those of you who have engaged me in conversation, you probably recognize every single one of these traits. Social media no doubt tempers or eliminates many of these, and exacerbates others. So if you find yourself in conversation with someone and they are exhibiting all of these traits, they are not being an arrogant asshole — at least, not on purpose — rather it’s quite likely you are talking with an Aspie. Have patience with us. And don’t be afraid to take us aside and point it out when we are doing some of these things. It is natural for us to do them, but it’s not impossible for us to — at least occasionally — temper some of our own extremes.

Autistic Characters on T.V.

Although the writers of the show deny it, everyone knows Sheldon Cooper on The Big Bang Theory is on the autism spectrum–certainly Asperger’s, since he spoke early as a child. And Jim Parsons has admitted that he made the choice of performing the character as having Asperger’s. Whether the writers intended to do so or not, Sheldon is everyone’s favorite autistic character–so much so that the spinoff Young Sheldon debuted this year.

There are those who complain that on The Big Bang Theory everyone is laughing at the autistic character when everyone is complaining about or making fun of Sheldon. I don’t remember, but I suppose there were those who complained about everyone laughing at the gay characters on Will & Grace when it first debuted. Yet, the social consequences of that show for gay people cannot be understated. There is little doubt in my mind that it was responsible for the shift in support for gay marriage shifting from a clear minority position to a (just barely) majority position. Sympathetic portrayals of gay characters–and laughing at them doesn’t mean we don’t sympathize with them–changed attitudes toward gays. And sympathetic portrayals of autistic people, whether in comedies or dramas, will change attitudes toward us as well.

Of course, it would help a lot if it were 100% clear Sheldon was on the spectrum. The show’s official denial that Sheldon is on the spectrum prevents people from forming the full empathetic tie and as a result we haven’t made the same kinds of gains as gays made through Will & Grace.

That’s why I have great hopes for The Good Doctor. I just saw the first two episodes, and from the perspective of someone on the spectrum who understand the transformative power of art–being a poet, playwright, and fiction writer myself, I am optimistic.

For one, I absolutely love how the show depicts most people’s attitudes toward someone with autism. Dr. Shaun Murphy is treated absolutely terribly by almost everyone. The president of the hospital believes in Shaun, but we do not yet understand why he believes in him to the degree he does. There’s a woman on the board who supports Shaun because she supports the president, but she otherwise seems neutral about him.The only other person who treats him well actually treats him with a great deal of pity. Pity is what you feel when you think yourself superior to another person (vs. sympathy or empathy, which are more egalitarian in nature). Pretty much everyone else either dismisses him at best or are horrified at the very though of Shaun being a doctor. The surgeon to whom he’s assigned refuses to allow him to do anything other than siphon. Almost everyone dehumanizes Shaun to a degree that, I hate to say, feels exactly right.

The show also attempts to help the audience understand Shaun’s thinking, using ghost images in the background and foreground. The funny thing is, I actually do have those experiences, of literally seeing things right in front of me and moving things around to figure them out. It’s why I did spectacularly well in organic chemistry–I could see the molecules in 3D and move them around in front of me to see how they were shaped, structured, and could interact and react. So, like Shaun, I’m a strongly visual thinker. But it also seems that Shaun is a pattern thinker as well–and also like me. My experience of pattern thinking is that a series of images comes rapid-fire, one after another, literally showing me the pattern through the series of images. Again, the show does a good job of showing that kind of thinking.

Another aspect of our thinking implied by the show is that our memories are highly contextual. Meaning, we can remember things well and quickly under just the right natural prompts, but not if we’re being pressured. Demand an answer, and I may not be able to draw the memory to the surface to answer you. At the very least, it might take a while. Also, depending on how complex the question is, it may take a while for the images to stop coming and for us to reformulate them into words to answer. Thus, the awkward pauses and long delays (seconds seem forever when you’re used to an immediate response). Again, from my perspective, the show does a good job of getting these things right and of creating scenarios that communicate those kinds experiences to a neurotypical audience.

Let’s face it, these shows are never going to make everyone happy. There are a variety of autistic experiences–some are more musical, some are more visual, some are more pattern thinkers, some are savants, most are not, most are high-functioning, some are not–so we shouldn’t dismiss what’s being depicted on the show just because it doesn’t perfectly match our own experiences. We should be surprised it that were in fact the case. More, the depiction of people different from us helps us to develop empathy for those others. And that can and should include depictions of other kinds of autistic experiences.

Speaking of savants, it is said in The Good Doctor that Shaun is a savant. But his depiction is, quite frankly, simply that of a rather run-of-the-mill high-functioning autistic. Due to his experiences, he became hyperfocused on anatomy and physiology and thus became a doctor. Becoming an expert in one’s obsessions is one of the primary traits of those with Asperger’s or who are otherwise high-functioning autistics. And the way his memory works seems rather run-of-the-mill autistic, as noted above. But then again, I have a Ph.D. in the humanities and I public peer reviewed papers on the different kinds of spontaneous orders, so what do I know about being run-of-the-mill? (Maybe more than most realize.)

To wrap up, let’s return to Sheldon Cooper. After all, there is a new show depicting the character: Young Sheldon. It’s pretty cute, and while there’s no mention of his being anywhere on the spectrum (there wouldn’t have been much awareness of it in 1989, when the show begins, since Asperger’s works weren’t translated into English until the mid 1990’s, meaning nobody could have diagnosed him with Asperger’s), it seems the writers are giving several nods in that direction. In one scene, there is a good depiction of Sheldon’s anxiety about being outside. In another, it is shown that Sheldon has perfect pitch. Why does that matter? Because there has been shown to be a strong correlation between having perfect pitch and autism traits. Some even claim a 100% correlation. If the latter is the case, then whether the writers intend Sheldon to be on the autism spectrum or not, Sheldon is on the spectrum.