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352 pages, Hardcover
First published February 6, 2018
Why did everyone act like it was my fault when the other kids bullied me? Why was I always the one who had to change?
Happiness is not a priority. Survival is. Staying sane is. Pointing out that I’m not happy is like pointing out to a starving homeless man that he doesn’t have a sensible retirement plan. It might be true, but it’s entirely beside the point.
Technically my condition doesn’t even exist anymore; if I ever go back to the doctor, they’ll presumably have to find some other label to stick on me. The specific words don’t matter. I’ll always be this way.
The idea that autistic people don’t feel compassion is just an ugly stereotype, but it’s a viewpoint I’ve encountered even from some professionals, despite obvious evidence to the contrary.
Nothing about me is easy.
Does he assume that just because I’m different, I’m incapable of having a sexual relationship with anyone? That I’m unable even to feel desire?
“When the ones who hurt you are the people who love you most… no one ever tells you how you’re supposed to deal with that.”
