What It Could Be Like to Have Autism

This was sent to me by a new friend I met through my blog. The website credit is below. I thought it was particularly beautiful and insightful.

An essay written by a 16 year old with Autism (the exact transcription)

What I hear is quiet, and relaxing. The warmth of the surroundings is welcoming. The farm is like a little peace of heaven. When I am on the farm I can be me. I can run fast, far, and free. I can climb like a monkey and fish like a man. No one has to know how different I am. On the farm you can be anything.

I sleep in bed with the moonlight shining in. It is golden and bright. It brings with it the protection of a worn, well tattered, well loved old, faded blanket. It shines like a light that is coming to carry me away. It hits the side of the red brick house with purpose and furasity. Moonlight is welcome to visit me anytime. The warmth it brings makes me feel protected and normal. The beams come visit me just like anyone else. I can pretend to be just another kid who sees the same moon, only with autistic eyes.

I love the water. Any kind, even the murky, dirty, grotesque slimy water of the creek. The creek exists on its own and accepts the fact that its beauty lies within it, unseen by the eye of men. I can associate with this. My inside is deep, dark and murky. I share secrets with the water. I feel accepted by the creek for the creature that I am. No judgement does take place between us.

Stillness and peacefulness surround me. Old, worn, well traveled brick streets that have seen a lot welcome me to the weekend getaway. They have seen much before me, and will see much after me. As I walk streets, I hold dear the knowledge that I am just a heavy weight traveling to and from. My destination and purpose matter not. I am just passing threw like socks on their way to the washing machine. Each sock is washed the same whether on the right foot or the left.

Wild and free, overgrown and untamed, the soft green field is alive. It does as it wishes, it does not meet expectations placed on it. I am nothing that the field is and it is everything that I want to be. I don't, I can't, I won't. I can only pretend to be the delightful and mindful Joey.

Yes, I am different. I struggle to be me, the average american teen. I am not, have not, and will never be, such a form filled, cutout mold filling teen. This is not to say that I do not want to fit in. I do, I just have to pretend. My isolated world is terrifying. When I am on the farm, I escape the reality of my world and blend into the big picture, invisible, and for a short while incognito. I can be whomever, Tom, Dick, or Harry. The farm offers without judgement a place to escape to a world I desperately want to belong to.

http://www.webpediatrics.com/autism.html