I talk about it here mostly because I figure I might as well be free and open about my life while I'm on the internet, which makes my life offline much, much easier to cope with.
Most of the time, it doesn't really bother me... I mean, it bothers me, but I just kind of shrug it off, say "okay, whatever," and move on. Probably the worst thing is an inability to deal with change through normal channels. I get all antsy, sensory things start bothering me, I get urges to act up in order to create order in my life, a semblance of control...
I can't really explain what's so unbearable about it. Rationally, I know that everything that sets me off makes no sense. But sometimes, I can just
feel a layer of knowledge far beyond what I have, communication I can't tap into, and that starts to hurt... I can tell that it's just so easy, if I could only get to it. I know that there's no reason why touching certain surfaces makes me flinch or moan, because no one else does. I know it's completely illogical.
But I do it anyway, because to not act is to double the sensation.
I sure as heck don't kick this syndrome's ass. It often wipes the floor with me. But I make little gains on it, day by day, which allow me to retain a little bit of self-respect for myself, which I can remind myself of after yet another embarrassment.
It is a pity there's not a whole lot of widely known texts with leading autistic characters
Well, you could try:
Born on a Blue Day
Adam
Mozart and the Whale
etc., etc.
Of course, only the first one was actually written by an autistic person, soooo....
You'll have to clue me in a bit on the link between Orientalism and A Curious Incident, as it's been a while since I glanced at post-colonial theory. Good discussion.
Sure thing! I'm glad to talk about it (briefly).
The link is that people without mental health diagnoses are in a position of power over those who
do have them, which puts them in a prime position to commit acts of Orientalism. Curious Incident is one such act, whether inadvertently or not; indeed, the creator states on his website that he did not consult any autistic people, nor do any research, before writing his novel. "Imagination always trumps research," he says. He further states that he wishes he hadn't mentioned the word "autism" on the cover so that he'd stop being contacted by advocacy groups.
So we have someone with very little knowledge of autism, writing about What It's Like To Be Autistic. The jacket of the book has all sorts of things about how intelligent and clever the writing is, and how Everyone will rejoice in it. Amazon reviews say it's a marvel that the main character still comes off lovable despite his quirks--and that even though Christopher doesn't understand the situation he is in, We, the Reader, Can Read Between The Lines.
I seem to remember having a good deal of trouble with that the first time I read the book, in late high school.
There is all this writing from the position of mental health, about people who do not share that health, telling us how we should think and how we should feel, and not actually paying any attention to us (the purported subject of the novel) at all.
It creates a vision of us in the public mind which we cannot escape, because this is "how we are supposed to be." We are controlled by it, informed by it, shaped by it, so that if one wants to receive help, one must fit the bill presented by Haddon--an image created by a man who knows nothing of what he discusses.
I mean, hell... for a book about autistic people, why make the cover (unbearable) bright orange? Why put all the writing on the front cover in lower case? What does that say about the content? What does that say about attention to a possible audience, the subject of the book, that would find looking at this cover totally unbearable?
I had a friend who grew nauseated upon seeing a similar shade of bright pink. It just seems like no one is even thinking about the subject in the work, assuming that we cannot read, or that we would not want to. It's sad.