I was diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome in late 1996. At that time, the papers written by Hans Asperger's were only translated from the original German text two years prior by doctor Uta Frith and waiting for the right clinically appointed school lapdog came along to read them and subsequently slap me with the diagnosis. I later began to suspect that this was more or less so he could land himself a book deal, as, according to his own words, he was the first person in the area to do any serious reading into the Frith papers.
Since that time I have endured quite a bit of hassle associated with the title. And it's not from people who misunderstand the diagnosis, or didn't know what it was. No, because I never considered myself as having anything wrong with me. I was happy with who I was, so unlike a lot of kids who would have jumped on this Magical Cloak of Social Impunity +5. (Warning, the link is to a video that has some profanity, but it pretains to the episode of South Park that helped me to coin the phrase, so please do click the link if you're ears are fortified. You have been warned.)
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| The man who had a gift for languages as a child but needed someone else to translate his work into English. Go figure. |
People like Gene, the woman who held my leash through all of high school. Only surrendering my life, that is taking me off the IEP plan that I wanted to be off when I was a sophomore, a month away from my graduation. Thanks Gene.
Oh and lets not forget my aunt, who still wins the accolades for the most obnoxiously loud and irrevocably stupid person on this Earth to ever share so much as a chromosone of genetic material in common with me. And since I'm related by blood to a person who allowed herself to be beaten for nearly fourteen years by two different boyfriends (I was ten and fourteen for both durations, so don't even think of implying that I had some way of doing something about it.) that is seriously saying something.
That's the woman who was most likely responsible for the Salem Witch Trials in her past life. No doubt crying everyone else's business from the rooftops, thus leading to their unfair trial and subsequent execution at the end of a long rope. (If only she could join them now)
It's my aunt who ruined relationships and made advancing far in life very difficult because she would sneak around behind my back and tell employers and potential landlords that I had Aspergers. Because my not broadcasting it was, in her opinion, denial. Mind you, her son is at the time of this blog post, nineteen dropped out of high school, with no plans of getting his GED and yet, somehow, still living with her.
Way to go Aunty. You sure won parent of the year on that one.
So much hassle and pain came from that word. And it's all it was; a word. A word to decribe a handful of traits that the good doctor (and I use the word with full rancor) felt needed to be labeled. And, the worse part is, when I denied that there was anything wrong with me, my doctor and my own mother continued hammering the point home. It's like, "Not only are we going to diagnose you, but we are going to beat you over the head with the paperwork until you are on your knees and begging us to cure you."
A whole life time with literally no one on my side, and their weapon was a word.
It's why I try so hard, when I come across other people who have had the diagnosis, to emphasize that this word is just that. A word. It doesn't define who you are.
My name is not Asperger's Syndrome. My name is Nathanielle Sean Crawford.
I am not Asperger's Years old. I am twenty-eight years old as of December sixth.
Asperger's is not the reason I lost my job. It is not what got me hired or helped me keep a job for two years. Asperger's didn't help me get and maintain my own apartment. It didn't get me on stage to perform The Diary of Anne Frank on a genuine stage.
Asperger's is a word. That's all it is.
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