I find it so difficult to not be overwhelmed by all the mistakes I’ve made in my life. Many people would tell me I’ve not made these mistakes, but I don’t always believe that. Somehow, if I’m not careful, I get blamed for blaming others, if I don’t just go ahead and accept things are my fault.

But, what is actually going on?

What am I hating about myself?

The answer may be simple:

I’m not living my life in the way others have been expecting me to.

Therefore, I’m in situations that are very difficult, and, in trying to fit in, I make mistakes, overcompensate, and make more mistakes.

Imagine forcing an average twelve-year old to drive a big truck on a busy highway. Yes, they could probaby do it, and, with some guidance, it could be better. However, would you blame that child for being more anxious than someone who knows what they are doing?

Would that child be ignored when asking for help from the adult sitting right next to them in the truck? How about if they wanted to get off the busy highway and be on an empty road, if they had to be driving a truck?

What if every “protest” for being put in that situation and attempt to get out of it was met with hostility or indifference, not encouragement.

Imagine how that child, at age twelve, being forced to drive a big truck on a busy highway would feel being told:

“What is wrong with you?”

“Shut up and drive.”
“Everyone is anxious when they drive.”

“I’m not going to help you drive. I’m going to bed.”

“This is all your fault!”

“This is not my problem.”
“Nobody cares.”
“Everyone loves you . . .”

“You don’t look twelve!” (“You don’t look autistic.”)

“Why should I give up any of my happiness to help you?”

If you can imagine that, then you will begin to understand why I – and so many autistics – end up sad and lonely and hating ourselves, in large part.

Furthermore, don’t imagine it happening once. Think about that over decades, but the child remains twelve. It’s not that specific event, but a series of them, like that, some worse than others, that create that type of anxiety and “destined to fail” scenario.

The saddest part of all might be that the child would have been a remarkable truck driver, if only given the right tools and help.

I’ve asked for help so many times in my life and been denied it or given it reluctantly and superficially. Others essentially tell me I’m not worth their time or effort, yet they expect “great things” from me.

“Do the math.” That doesn’t work out.