On Feminerds and Asperger Syndrome

Jarrah of Gender Focus has a new series on nerdiness, womanhood, and feminism going up at Bitch Magazine. One of her first posts details the ever-so-popular stereotype on the hyper-male brain as it relates to autism, specifically, Asperger Syndrome, and nerdiness. What I find interesting, not about the post itself, but about one of the topics discussed, is that while Sheldon Cooper has been labelled as autistic by fans (I'm not disputing that, I'm a fan of the show, and boy howdy, as someone with OCD and autism...) his "friend who happens to be a girl", Amy Farrah Fowler, played by the delightful Mayim Bialik, has not been given the same demand for diagnoses, even though she is essentially a female Sheldon. I relate more to her than to Sheldon, because she was more pragmatic, practical, less arrogant, and is shown, unlike Sheldon, to have a sex drive. I would say she is autistic as well, but because she is a woman, has learned out of necessity to juggle social situations better than him. This is common in women with autism, myself included.

It's a good post, although a tad short, I hope to see more on this so-called male-female brain dichotomy as the series continues. Now, allow me to make my own contribution to the talk on nerdiness, autism, and the so-called male brain. This is a topic of interest to me, since I am a woman, autistic, queer, nerdy, and dating an autistic, queer, nerdy transwoman. Both of us have experienced erasure owing to this idea that autism, specially Asperger Syndrome, is inherently male, and, for some reason, the idea that AS means that you must be good in the hard sciences. Please note I am not a neurologist, a psychiatrist, or therapist. I'm merely a person with autism who distrusts this idea that we must fit into such narrowly prescribed categories. For a downtake on autism and this hyper male brain stuff from a less folksy and anecdotal POV, I recommend the always excellent Lindsay, at Autist's Corner.

To get it out of the way, my girlfriend is a theoretical physicist, and as an undergrad, she double majored in Mathematical Physics and Medieval History. I myself am almost finished with my undergraduate degree, and I'll be graduating with a B.A in Pacific & Asian Studies, after which I intend to pursue a Master's in International Relations, after deciding that I just wasn't cut out for Law. Both of us have our strengths and our weaknesses, my strengths are in languages, linguistics, art history, and Indigenous cultures. Her strengths lie in mathematics, physics, European history and literature, history of science, Middle Eastern culture, and we have overlapping interests in poetry, writing, and art, as well as a plethora of nerdy non-academic interests which are too long to list here. :-)

Neither of us see our interests as inherently male or female, and we didn't even before my girlfriend came out and was living as a presumed man. They were our passions, and they were not limited by our gender or sex. Our strengths are, in our eyes, provided partially by our environment. I grew up in a household that was absolutely rich in art books of the coffee table variety, owing to growing up in a town with many galleries and having a family who knew many of the gallery owners, hence my interest in art history. My girlfriend however, is the child of a mathematician who grew up surrounded by books on maths. Both of us had fathers who presumably have/had autism, and their interests were just as different and varied as ours are. The only thing connecting them was the love and passion with which they pursued their interests.

That's just a big huge disclaimer there. Now, let me explain what stereotyping autism as being a "male" brain means in both the practical and emotional aspects for me.

There is a huge problem with girls with autism being overlooked for a diagnosis. This led to a once common belief that autism affected males more, but the truth is, that gap is slowly closing now. It turns out, the real reason there has been such an imbalanced gender ratio had less to do with genes, and more with different manifestations of the symptoms of autism and the overlooking of girls who did not display the traits in an identical fashion to their male peers. We are all, in other words, Amys to the Sheldons of autism, being more or less ignored for diagnosis because we may have different ways of expressing our autism or may have become better at hiding the more obvious manifestations, owing to the greater societal pressure on girls to be polite, sweet, tender, matronly, and submissive, traits which don't come naturally to me, or, I imagine, other autistic girls. When we talk about autism in terms of male brains, we condemn these undiagnosed girls and women to a life where a diagnosis may not ever become tangible.

Secondly, it ghettoises autistic women who have a diagnosis and have learned to accept it. In spite of the arguably most famous autistic person in the world being a woman, we are still frequently left out of the conversation about autism on a societal level. In children's books about autism, the out autistic characters are almost always boys or male-identified. Same with television, or literature, the only prominent character with autism who was a woman I can even think of in fiction was Lisbeth Salander, who never had the condition explained to her, but was instead whispered behind closed doors or in monologues. Women with autism, as much as autistic men, need to see a variety of representations of themselves, to help develop a positive image of themselves and their disability. Having only one female autistic role model can lead some autistic women to feel they must emulate the prominent autistic woman in every fashion, even if it's not what they truly feel comfortable with.

And finally, it completely and utterly shoves all autistic people into neat little boxes of gender binary which they will most certainly not fit in. Whatever the reason, I have noticed more autistic people are gay, bisexual, genderqueer, trans, or just more comfortable with gender experimentation than the general population. What good does it do to put these people into the "male" brain category? Their gender identity, gender expression, and sexual orientation has been misunderstood enough, and this just piles onto that.

One of the things which attracted me to nerd culture was the fact that I could, in most spaces, be myself. I was not expected to emulate the behaviour of a "proper" woman, or act in a way that made me uncomfortable or less than true to myself. I could chatter about phallic symbols in the works of Yukio Mishima, video games, and the best alien hairstyles on Star Trek without repercussion. Nerd culture is flawed, but many parts of it are much more liberating in terms of "Acceptable" behaviour than mainstream society. Why would you try to rob it of that trait in order to satisfy some poorly constructed theory towards disability?

ADAPTing to the election results: True Patriot Love

While I was sullenly contemplating the election results, I went out to lunch with a friend, a much older friend, who has been involved in disability activism since she was my age, so, for nearly 40 years, if my math is correct. She was keeping close watch on her phone, and showing me pictures and tweets from Washington, DC, of her friends and allies getting arrested while in Paul Ryan's office, fighting cuts to Medicare. My friend was recalling all the times she had been in DC herself getting arrested to fight for the rights of the disabled.
I was in awe. I felt like humbled, because hours earlier, I had been contemplating fleeing Canada in order to find greener pastures in Sweden or Norway for the disabled, queer progressive and her disabled, queer, trans girlfriend. But these people, my elders, including my friend, who has been a mother figure to me while I have lived in Montana, was showing me the proof of what can be done if you stay and fight.
I will never judge anyone who decides to seek out a better life for themselves in another country. But I have decided, after fearfully leafing through a Swedish dictionary, that I can and will stay to fight for Canada up to 2015 and beyond. I'm tired of running, for one. And secondly, I began thinking of how people like Harper and conservatives had stolen and modified the word "patriot" and created this artificial dichotomy between "true" Canadians and everyone else.
I'm a patriot too. I'm a Canadian too. And this is my country as much as it is for a conservative anglo Christian who was born in Canada. And I can no longer passively allow such language, such ideas, such exceptionalism run rampant at the expense of the happiness, safety, and liberty of my fellow Canadians, my beautiful girlfriend, and myself.
My elders in the disability community, thank you for giving me a valuable lesson in courage.

Mistaken for Deaf

Many, many times in my life, I have been mistaken for a deaf woman. I am not deaf, I have unusually sensitive hearing, which makes certain environments with repetitive, high-pitched sounds a nightmare. I would think that me wincing and tapping my ears with my palms would be a clue that I'm not deaf, but oh well.

The most recent occurrence of this was in the University Center two days ago, when I was grabbing a deliciously unhealthy egg and cheese based breakfast. A woman approached me, and, assuming she was talking to someone else, I didn't pay much attention to what she was saying, and continued in my business. I then heard her say "Oh, I'm sorry!" in a rather loud voice. That caught my attention. I turned around, and said "Sorry for what?"

Woman looked like she had seen a ghost or something, and said, "Wait, aren't you deaf?"

"Uh... No I'm not." was my reply. "Wait, I thought you were!" At that point, I just shook my head and made a beeline for the cash register. If I weren't so used to it at this point, I would have been weirded out.

I've asked around if there is a way I act or move or speak which is distinctly different from the mannerisms of hearing people. I've been told that I speak louder than average, that I don't enunciate very well in particular situations, and that my infliction is different from that of the average person.

Well yes. Somewhat stilted speech, louder than average, those are typical of some people with autism. But I also react to noises outside of my visual range, and don't use ASL or wear a hearing aid. It still strikes me as curious that I am presumed to be deaf first rather than autistic.

But then I realized something: Deaf people aren't exactly given a strong presence in mass media, but the signs of deafness in adults are generally known to the general public. These signs overlap in autistic adults, but are rarely given time as signs of autism in TV portrayals of it, with the exception of Temple Grandin, the movie, where Temple spoke with a loud voice with very little lilt, and didn't convey much subtle nuance or emotion with her voice. Apart from that though, it's very rare to see a portrayal of an autistic adult with mannerisms like mine. No wonder deafness is the first thing that comes to people's mind!

And for those of you, like dear Elesia over at Aspietude!, who are deaf and autistic: Does someone assume you possess another disability entirely? :-P

A quick random thought about ageism

Last night, I was doing my usual midnight-on-vacation activity of surfing the internet before bed, and came across an amusing cartoon on Alas, A Blog. The comic, which was hilarious, involved Bernie Sanders, someone whom I've grown to admire and whose guts and integrity make me glad he's in politics. I posted it to facebook, with the message, "Love the bit about Bernie Sanders. Like a dear old coot like him would ever pick up anything more deadly than a pie chart."

Two seconds after I posted it, I thought over the word choice I elected: "Coot". I usually thought of it as a loving, endearing term, grandfatherly in a way, admiring. But it occurred to me I had never learned what it actually meant, so I looked it up on the Free Online Dictionary. "Definition: An eccentric or crotchety old person, usually an eccentric old man." I felt a bit uneasy. Eccentricity isn't in and of itself a bad thing, and I don't shy away from labelling myself as eccentric sometimes. But I am also aware that it is used as a coded term for someone who is not quite rational, someone who does not follow reason or common sense. Sanders, a self-described Democratic Socialist, much like myself, is probably frequently a target of such coded language. I can easily imagine his fellow Democrats calling him that in privy, as a way of saying that while his courage is admirable, his ideas and convictions are not to be taken seriously.

I thought of other words used to describe men of a certain age like Sanders, who didn't really fit into the dominant paradigm. Codger: "An elderly man, usually eccentric or old-fashioned". Old goat. Pops. I was reminded of Mike Gravel, whose failed 2008 presidential campaign was marked by many ideas I agreed with which mainstream Democratic candidates shunned subtly: Legalized marijuana use, gay marriage made legal, immediate end to occupation of Iraq and Afghanistan, a lockdown on the sway of the Military Industrial Complex. Gravel was not given the same respect as Bill Richardson, Hillary Clinton, and Barack Obama. The mainstream media treated him like a quaint, harmless old man with amusing ideas who was good fodder for amusing jokes.

With this reflection, I realized how closely disablism is tied to ageism. When you are young, mental disabilities are treated as frightening, unfortunate, and a precursor to violent actions. Elderly individuals however, are given an equally odious treatment: The intellectual validity of their opinions is almost always discarded, and they are treated with amusement and disregard. Even those who are not disabled in any way are treated like their opinions are a product of an imperfected mind, due to their age.

Neurotypicality equates disability with a breakdown of a "healthy" and "whole" mind, and therefore sees disability as an inevitable byproduct of ageing. The fact that it is attributed to "breakdown" is why youthful mental disabilities are tragic in the social narrative as well.

But it has the same root: The idea that disability can be equated with incompetence, stupidity, and lack of common sense. It condescends people with disabilities and those assumed to be disabled in some way, pushing us into the corner. Our language reinforces this by equating being aged with being "odd" or "off-kilter".

Well, time to hunt the dictionary for a more interesting way to refer to older people who give me courage and cause an upsurge of admiration in me.

From Epidemic to Expert Excuses: Asperger Syndrome and the DSM (Again!)

I've blogged before about the topsy-turvy ride that Asperger Syndrome, the type of autism I am diagnosed with, has had in terms of diagnostic criteria and inclusion as a "mental disorder". Earlier, it was mentioned in the media that Asperger Syndrome was to be taken out of the DSM in favour of an all encompassing label of autism. I was supportive of this, because I believed that it is more inclusive to just have the diagnosis be "autism" rather than trying to make an arbitrary distinction based on verbal ability and the talent for "passing" as neurotypical (albeit a possibly eccentric or "odd" one) Now I find that NPR is reporting again on Aspergers in the DSM, found here . Interviewed at home is Allen Frances, who first had Asperger Syndrome included in the DSM. Now, he is second-guessing his decision, and I find his logic, as an autistic layperson with no background in psychiatry, to be, well, odd:

It's not that Frances doesn't think that Asperger's exists and is a real problem for some people; he does. But he also believes the diagnosis is now radically overused in a way that he and his colleagues never intended. And why, in his view, did Asperger's explode? Primarily, Frances says, because schools created a strange unintentional incentive."In order to get specialized services, often one-to-one education, a child must have a diagnosis of Asperger's or some other autistic disorder," he says."And so kids who previously might have been considered on the boundary, eccentric, socially shy, but bright and doing well in school would mainstream [into] regular classes," Frances says. "Now if they get the diagnosis of Asperger's disorder, [they] get into a special program where they may get $50,000 a year worth of educational services."

Let's ignore the implication that Asperger's is a "problem" for the moment and focus on the meat of this idea: That Asperger Syndrome (And the 'autism epidemic') is directly increasing as a result of unfettered greed and an eagerness to milk funds for socially awkward neurotypicals who don't need all this fancy-shmancy help to get by in society and school.

Bullshit.

This is based on tired idea that when the rate of a diagnosis for an invisible disability goes up, it's de facto the result of over-diagnosis. Not a refined diagnostic criteria that has included groups that were previously not considered (In the case of Asperger Syndrome, think women and girls, older adults, the poor, or people previously misdiagnosed [or just singularly diagnosed without considering other intersecting disabilities] with OCD, ADHD/ADD, Bipolar disorder, or another invisible disability)

I've seen similar backlash against ADD/ADHD diagnoses before, and I'm familiar with the mainstream attitude this breeds. It causes people who genuinely need acceptance and accommodation to be labelled as victims of helicopter parents/lazy teachers, or cogs in the grand machinery of big pharma. Such backlash is extremely dangerous, particularly for adults with disabilities who may have gone their entire lives needing help until a fitting diagnosis gave them the tools to manage their lives with minimal trouble. It breeds contempt for the disabled, since their disability is not visible. It also makes it difficult to pioneer further exploration into how to treat and manage the more difficult aspects of certain disabilities, when public attitude sneers at the said disability as hogwash.

This also overly simplifies Asperger Syndrome as the stereotype of the little professor: Brilliant, highly verbal and articulate, somewhat socially awkward, whose troubles stem from an inability to communicate with the opposite sex or understand some aspects of polite society. It ignores trouble with sensory overload, depression and anxiety, learning difficulties like dyslexia and synesthesia, bullying and sexual assault... I could go on all day. These are not big pharma falsehoods designed to make money. Genuine problems beyond being socially awkward exist for Aspies, and with our inclusion under the autistic label, it opens up a world of possibility for us to lead better lives.

I didn't have the pleasure of getting what I needed when I was in high school to succeed to the best of my ability, because nobody was familiar with my disability and its needs. So I failed math and science classes, suffered socially and physically, and began coping with the isolation and pain by chewing on my hair, stimming, and scratching/picking at my skin.

Had my disability been understood and recognized earlier, I would have coped considerably more healthfully. I would rather have a few people accidentally misdiagnosed than have another aspie go through what I did, being left behind essentially. A couple of thousand dollars spent on schooling now will save in the long run on creating healthy, adjusted, accommodated disabled adults who have not lost hope on ever belonging or being given what they need to live in this judgemental neurotypical-centric world.

Though we are often glad to know how much better our understanding of autism and Asperger Syndrome is compared to 20 years ago, it appears some people still have some catching up to do. People who, scarily enough, have the power to wipe away our disability's perceived validity with the stroke of a pen.

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder & Me

Trigger warning for discussions of assault, sexual abuse and trauma

I forgot to mention in my previous post about Obsessive Compulsive Disorder that I was also diagnosed with Pica and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. At the time I did not point it out because while the diagnosis of OCD was new to me, I had already guessed that I had both pica and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The news was just that I was now officially diagnosed, and therefore perhaps could be taken seriously when I voiced my concerns about how they manifested themselves.

In my adult years, I've learned to manage my Pica, and it is no longer pressing for me, apart from the occasional binge on kool-aid powder when things aren't exactly going my way.

However, my PTSD is relatively new to me. If I were to pinpoint the exact time in my life when it began to manifest itself, it would be around the age of fourteen, at a time where I was forced into a terrifying scenario where two different people in my life took advantage of their authority over me in different ways.

One used his status as a "friend of the family" to sexually assault me when we were alone together several times, leaving me frightened and unsure what to do. The only response I ever got to my obvious discomfort around him when others were present was being chastised for being "antisocial" and "rude". The other one took advantage of his position of authority in my life to terrorize me, frightening me by swinging a baseball bat over my head, manhandling me, screaming in my face, and threatening to hurt me or break my possessions, telling me I was worthless, ugly, stupid and fat, blaming me for my mother's alcoholism, and telling me that if I wasn't "careful" I would end up kicked out of my own house.

After going through that horror on a near daily basis, I began having nightmares, wetting my bed, withdrawing from being hugged or touched by people I love, and obsessively eating. I was getting, on average, about 5 hours of sleep per night, the rest being spent in terror and shaking.

It receded somewhat after I left my hometown to go to university. Towards the middle of university though, when I entered my junior year, a single incident made my PTSD come back full force, landing me in the hospital briefly for a strong anxiety attack.

Since then, it has managed to get worse and worse, but there was never a name for it to the doctors until now. It wasn't until I admitted the incidents described above that it became clear to the doctor what the cause was.

But having an official diagnosis has not alleviated the nightmares or the anxiety. I continue to have nightmares, I continue to resist being touched, and I continue to be fearful and mistrusting of people.

PTSD has affected my life in many ways, both subconsciously and consciously. One of the most obvious ways it affects my life intertwines with the way that autism impacts my life. Being as I am, I avoid eye contact and I have an obvious aversion to the social activities which seem to act as staples of life for people in my age group: Clubbing, partying, music concerts and drinking copious amounts of liquor are all activities which I steadfastly refuse to partake in, unless roped in reluctantly, which happens more often than I should like.

This is obvious to any other person with autism: Such venues are noisy, unpredictable, and often involve an unfamiliar environment chock-full of sensory overload. Vomit, sweat and liquor smells, loud music, flashing lights, sticky floors, and other people crowded against you are a sensory overload nightmare, and can end unpleasantly for all parties if it overwhelms you.

Another reason I avoid them though, is because I have a particularly strong aversion to being touched by anyone without my permission, and something as minute as a hand brushed against me could leave me panicking. The strongest factor in my avoidance though, is my concern for other people. When I am triggered, I get really violent. Screaming, scratching, and biting are beyond my control in such scenarios, and I fear not only my personal safety and mental health being compromised, but the safety of others.

This fact breaks my heart. In spite of my aversion to social events, I enjoy having friends and people I can connect with, and knowing that I pose a danger to them if I am triggered saddens me greatly.

Having an official diagnosis, I hope, will help me find a way to control my own mind and reactions to a degree, so that I can have independence over my life and emotions.

But the last barrier I feel I will have to cross over is not from my own disability, but rather, the public perception of disability. Once again, like OCD and autism, PTSD is a widely misunderstood and mis-characterized disability. And little sympathy is reserved for those who have it, even those who got it "honourably" in combat or a similar field. Regardless of what caused it to manifest though, I think it is important that I be vocal about the fact that I have PTSD. It will be less likely to be as radically misunderstood if a person you know, a person familiar to you, has it, rather than it being an abstract concept for television or a movie.

Like one disability that is radically misunderstood by the general public wasn't enough!

Today, during what I thought was going to be a routine examination, I had a big piece of news dropped upon me by the doctor. She diagnosed me as having Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, an anxiety disorder that is familiar enough to the general public by name, but remains as widely, if not more, misunderstood than ASDs.

I had actually before been diagnosed with OCD, at the age of five by a medical practitioner in my hometown, after I showed "strange" behaviour in school. But my mother didn't agree with the diagnosis, perhaps out of embarrassment, or out of a misunderstanding of OCD meaning that I should have kept my room spotlessly clean, and she didn't put any more thought into it. The last time it was mentioned was when I was diagnosed with Asperger Syndrome, and my mother was so embarrassed she didn't even mention it by name, and wrote down what the Doctor had diagnosed me with and passed it to the psychiatrist without giving me a chance to look at it. It was only by my own snooping and invoking my right to know my own medical history that I learned of this later.

So naturally, I was familiar with the possibility, but had not given it much thought. Much of my behaviour that is the criteria for diagnosis was behaviour I dismissed as being related purely to my Asperger Syndrome, rather than a signal of another disability. Nervous habits, highly ritualized behaviour, an aversion to mixing food on my plate, the need to knock the walls in a room with my knuckles before sleeping in it, clawing and kneading clothing, furniture, and wallpaper to calm down, sanitizing my doorknobs, and having to touch my laptop, bedpost, or toes before remembering something all sounded like something that a typical aspie experienced to me. I have many other ways of filling the criteria, but they're either extremely triggering, personal, or downright embarrassing, so I am opting out of sharing it on this blog. But with a bit of independent research from the library and going more into detail with the doctor, I decided that the diagnosis fit, and I've now accepted it. In addition, with no surprise to me, I received a diagnosis of PTSD and Pica, both of which I already knew or suspected I had, but had not obtained an official diagnosis for until now.

I'm anticipating many changes in my life owing to this diagnosis, mainly in my perception of myself, and how my disabilities will affect the way I am treated by society. I'm hesitant about fully "coming out" as being Obsessive Compulsive, because I worry not only about minute things like being jokingly called "Mr. Monk" and asked if I mind a lamp being moved three centimetres, but big things like being dismissed as a liar because I do not fill the common stereotypes of an obsessive compulsive, who are portrayed as being hygienic and orderly to a fault, which I certainly do not fulfil.

But every new thing I learn about my brain and the nature of disability is a door opening for me. This gives me a chance to learn why my brain works the way it does, how it works, and how I can best use that particular mode of functioning not only to lead an optimally happy life, but also to help others who may have multiple mental disabilities. Without looking up any of the numbers off-hand, I'd say we're probably more common than people give us credit for. And the more we speak out, the more difficult it becomes to continue to stigmatize and isolate us.

On living on my own, its challenges and joys

Last month, I moved into an apartment run by my university, as a way to get out of dormitory life and see if I could manage on my own effectively. I've always been really frightened, yet fascinated, by the prospect of living on my own. I am fully aware of my own limitations, but I've always had confidence in my ability manage, so long as I was given support.

Curiously enough, the biggest barrier thus far on my journey was not anything I was expecting. It was a simple matter of not getting the emotional support and encouragement that I craved as I set off to live here. I was told that I wouldn't be able to manage, that I would starve because I was a bad cook, that I would not be able to pay my bills on time or commute from my place to university. My mother often would send mocking emails to relatives, saying she was anticipating how many months I would last, knowing that I was so dependent and weak, and didn't know how to take care of myself.

That has been, quite honestly, the most crushing aspect. It led me to become extremely depressed and frightened, and for a while I thought about dropping out of university. It was only the encouragement of friends and loved ones that believed I could manage who pulled me out enough to permit myself to give it a try. But the difficulties continue, in other ways.

Two weeks ago, I lost my job, and I've been trying hard to find a new one. But no job means no money, and my bank accounts were of course drained by textbooks. So I've been living off of food from the food bank, donations from kind friends, and my lovely room-mate. It has been a lifesaver, but at the same time, it is exceptionally difficult to live off the kindness of other people. When I went to the food bank, the selection of fruits and vegetables was tiny and sad, and most of the fruit there had been rotted in several areas. So I stocked up on bread items and canned foods.

Had I been forced to do this when I was younger, I probably would have starved, because of my serious aversion to canned food, and my hatred of any bread that wasn't a particular brand of sourdough. For someone else with a disability involving eating sensitivities or certain intolerances, it would be an even worse situation. Someone with a gluten intolerance would have a hard time at the food bank, as would someone with diabetes, or a plethora of food related difficulties.

Had I still been living in the dorm, I would have had my meal plan to depend on upon losing my job. But now, I am compelled to make my own way in terms of food, and I'm very lucky I am managing. Other people do not have the same privileges that I do. 27 percent of the families in my town live below the poverty level, 34 percent of single women live below the poverty line. How many of them are disabled, or have children with disabilities? It would be astoundingly difficult for them to manage with the limited foods available.

Getting a job in and of itself is difficult for a person with autism. I am limited as to what kind of jobs I can take on. Several reasons are because I cannot drive and therefore need to stay within walking/biking distance of my house, I have difficulty dealing with "flexible" schedules, preferring a routine set in stone, and difficulties socializing. This rules out a lot of jobs in areas that require certain skill sets that are beyond my job grasp. I'm not the only one feeling this pain. According to the Center for outreach and Service for the Autism Community {COSAC} 90% of adults with autism are unemployed, compared with other disabled adults who have a 75% unemployment rate. These odds are not particularly optimistic for me, and the clock is ticking. I am hoping with the help of several disability organizations in my town, I can find a job, in a field where I can use my skill set without having to worry about my shortcomings.

Other difficulties are present in apartment life. I have difficulty navigating streets, so having to lay out a new mental grid as to where everything is relative to my location has been difficult. Sleep difficulties are plaguing me (I've entered in a raffle to win a weighted blanket for this reason) and my hermit-lifestyle is being interrupted by invitations to clubs and parties, which I accept to be polite, but I'm not too sure about how well I fit into that particular lifestyle either.

The joys though, are overwhelming. Having my own kitchen for making tea, not having to share a toilet with 40+ other girls, having a space of my own where I can stim and relax without disturbing my room-mate, and having a couch where I can nap has been a wonderful experience. I'm interested in seeing how it all unfolds in this last year of undergrad university here. But so far, the challenges have not out-weighed the wonders.