BEING SENSITIVE
I once stormed out of an office in which I was confined. I had complained at the general inhumanism of the place; I had constantly objected to the stupid pointlessness of some of the things I had to do there. It took the diagnosis of autism spectrum condition eleven years later to identify the source of my objections. I was suffering from sensory overwhelm. Frankly, my survival day in day out in one of the worst environments for autistic people was nothing short of heroic. But the moment came when I snapped, hit the roof, and stormed out, shaking the building as I left.
I must have been quite popular because, a few weeks later, the storm having finally calmed, the nice lady in charge telephoned me and asked me to return. We cleared the air. But as the call drew to a close she cautioned me to 'watch that sensitive nature of yours.' I told her 'I wear my heart on my sleeve, and always will.' I now know that that sensitive nature comes from my autism, which I consider another one of its many gifts. It's society at large that is lacking here, not autistic people - I'd rather be sensitive than insensitive. And I think my instinctive revolt against the mad mechanarchy of the mechanocracy rather healthy: it shows I'm still human, still alive, and still on good terms with the soul of the world. How many others can say the same?
