Raw, unfiltered truth. Many of us who are autistic… live it. But we don’t talk about it.. much. At least not out loud…
👉 Podcast to come…
#Poverty does not breed nobility of character. Or humility. It just breeds hunger of body & soul.
#Trauma does not breed compassion. Just pain. And the spreading of pain.
#Disability does not secretly empower you with courage & persistence. It just limits what you can do.
Toxic Positivity is a modern cultural plague. It just keeps you buying stuff. And working harder and harder… to buy more stuff.
Religion for consumers.
This kind of positivity is not spiritual. Or uplifting. Just one more yardstick measuring my failures. Inspiring movie by inspiring movie.
What doesn’t kill you? Does NOT make you stronger. Not often enough. It just doesn’t kill you. Breath after breath… after breath.
The difference between Strength and Misery?
Not a choice. But it is very real.
Honor it.
This is a raw, unfiltered truth.
Many of us who are autistic… live it. But we don’t talk about it.. much. At least not out loud. Not with typical folks. Not among other neurodivergents, either. Maybe not even to ourselves.
“Whatever doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.”
Mebbe that was true for BrainyQuote-King Friedrich Nietzsche… a BIG may be. I’d like to point out he is dead…
But in my 70 years, autistic? A steady drip-drip-drip of sensory, social, and emotional trauma. And a hell of a lot of “what didn’t kill my neurodivergent ass”… just piled up. In giant heaps… that I had to tip-toe around to get anywhere. Making me weak, unreliable, shut down.
I don’t know about you. But I mask a secret shame in colors of anger, resentment …regret.
Why? TV, Hollywood, the damn New York Times Best Sellers list…? Together, media create our social mythology. Championing only the lifestyles of effective people. Ya know, folks who turn out tons of widgets. And consume mass quantities… while anxiously flicking their screens.
Media gaslight us. Since age 3, they whisper bedtime stories in our ears…
You’re either a Prince or a Pauper.
Hero or Villain.
Winner, or more likely…
Loser.
And that happy ending they promised you? Turns out, it’s totally up to you. Your personal efforts. Your choices. Your get-up-and-go.
So, if you DON’T live happily ever after… It’s your fault, Buckaroo.
You made the wrong choice. Bought the wrong self-help book. Missed that life-changing webinar. Canceled coaching sessions… just when they were finally starting to work.
Facepalm… Make that a triple.
Literally, this is a subversive fairy tale. No one tells a kid…
“Hey, there’s only ONE Disney Prince allowed per movie. Okay, sometimes one princess. Or mebbe one… REALLY lucky… person of color. But that’s it.”
The rest of us? We live outside the castle walls. Gnashing our teeth. Living ineffective, unproductive, soul-hungry lives.
Fucking worse yet? These myths poison our families, friends… the whole damn culture. They glorify suffering, pain, disability. As if Pain is some holy furnace. Purifying us for a higher purpose.
Which means, if we can’t do circus monkey tricks like Rainman… or Greta Thunberg? Well, then… we’re not role models. We’re not cheap inspiration. We’re just, ya know, losers.
Or black sheep. Foodstamp grifters. A disappointment to the family.
There’s nothing NOBLE about poverty.
Pretending there is? I guess that smokescreen lets the “more fortunate” sleep with a clear conscience. Cuz being Poor is not a state of grace. It’s the fog of deprivation.
I know. Into my middle years, I may have bought every elitist myth there was. Back in the Go-Go 80s, I remember my then-girlfriend and me packing up food for homeless guys. We discovered them tenting in the pines behind our condo. Good liberals… we felt sorry for them. Stuffed a few cans & snacks into brown-paper bags.
I see her think a moment, then go to the liquor cabinet. Grabs a 750 of Drambuie. She had a thing. Usually bought it by the gallon at that package store we used to drive to.
I suck in my breath. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Isn’t that kinda… how they got there?”
Stonecold silence. Stares out the window. Then she says, “These guys are living out of backpacks.”
Another moment.
Then she turns to me… “Who do you think needs a drink more?”
Ya know, over the course of 40 years, I was homeless in Manhattan, the Bowery, Bloomington, Indiana… I learned a lot on the street.
Like, when ya got a dollar? The nearest convenience store and a bag of honey-roasted peanuts…? Your best friends. Sugar-fueled instant energy… AND protein endurance. They’ll get you through to your next meal at the shelter.
And the questions you ponder as you pound the sidewalks… mile after mindless mile?
“How much?”
“How soon?”
“How far…?”
Somewhat less do you ask yourself,
“How can I stay humble?”
“How can I better humanity?”
“How I’m supposed to pay for NetFlix and Hulu…?”
Poverty is a fight for survival. A hunger deeper than the body knows. A hunger for stability. Safety. One freaking moment of peace.
Oh, please. Let it be today…
Trauma NEVER Sleeps
Abuse? Sickness? Bullying? Rape?
These aren’t coaches. Mentors. Teachers of compassion. They’re wild animals that leave scars. And AFTER they maul you? They feed on you. For years.
Nothing about traumatic experience guarantees we grow into kinder, more compassionate beings. More likely…
We turn stone-cold guarded.
Anxious.
Perpetually on edge.
“WHY are you laughing? Can’t we have ONE conversation without you mocking me? Or telling some family member an embarrassing story about me? I’m fucking tired of being cheap entertainment for everybody!”
My wife looks startled. “I was… I was just sharing a… joke.”
When I snap, I forget everything for a moment. I replay what she just said, “So I told Willow, when you turned around in Walmart… you still had that pair of underwear in your hood from your laundry.”
It was nothing. With just a moment of reflection, I would have remembered she’s my best friend. We’re just sharing a laugh. But autism? It isn’t always generous with those moments of reflection. When I’m with others…
“Oh. Look. I’m sorry. I was back on the sixth-grade playground again. I guess I got loud. I don’t even realize it..:”
How many times have I lashed out? There is no counting. Not in retaliation… not to spread pain. I lashed out because I didn’t have the spoons… the energy… to reflect on my own pain. And act accordingly.
Disability is a Separate Reality
Society wants to sell us cheap, inspiring posters. Splashing bravery across a disability canvas with a broad brush.
Just like all European Jesus’s are laughably White… All disabled folks in your Sunday supplement are superheroes. Math geniuses… Paralympic warriors… Cute adolescent boys thrilled to join Cub Scouts.
Yeah, disabled folks can exhibit extraordinary strength… if they, ya know, actually possess it. But disability ain’t a superpower. It’s just an obstacle to thriving in this society. An obstacle that desperately depresses the number of widgets one can turn out in a lifetime. And the bucks you have for honey-roasted peanuts.
Missing legs, untreatable depression… or the inability to communicate your thoughts to others? For most, a disability does not lead to tales of triumph. Just the day-in-day-out story of struggle. To navigate a world that isn’t built for you.
And will only accommodate neurodivergent you… if… they judge you deserving.
Consuming Mass Quantities… of Toxic Positivity
So, let’s talk toxic positivity. A kind of cosplay cheerfulness that’s unrealistic… and harmful. A myth that no matter how dire the situation, a positive mindset can fix everything. Like, even if Life handed you rotten lemons… you should still be able to make lemonade. And sell it at a profit.
This belief is not just flawed. It’s dangerous. Sure, it invalidates genuine feelings. Despair. Anxiety, Pain. And that kind of invisibility feels like death to many humans.
But every SuperCrip superhero sequel also singles us out. For ridicule, judgment, physical abuse. As everybody else earnestly chases a happiness they dream can be bought – a McMansion, a brand-new Tesla, and the iPhone XCIX…
The Surreality of Human Resilience
The truth? Sometimes, what doesn’t kill you leaves you broken. At least in someone else’s eyes.
An object of someone else’s pity.
A chance for someone else to feel better than.
Whether they kill your soul with kindness…
Or eat your soul with judgment.
I’ve written at length about finding my autistic joy late in life. TL;DR? I can’t get what I need out of this society without assistive devices. Once I accepted that? Joy grows every day.
Nearly all disabled folks in this society need assistive devices. An artificial limb. Guide dog. Talking keyboard. Positive devices to overcome obstacles.
For my neurodivergent mind, I need a different kind of assistance to survive this society. Devices that exist in a negative space. That remove obstacles.
I live in the country to keep sensory input to levels natural to me.
I walk and meditate to reduce anxiety and know peace. When I can.
I live alone to maintain my autonomy.
I choose who I see and when to reduce emotional recovery time.
I center my life around creating to experience joy. And remove my sense of poverty.
These are not badges of shame. They are medals that celebrate our persistence, our grit, our sheer power of will…
To live.
Strength is not the absence of weakness. It is the ability to keep going despite it. And misery? It’s not a choice but a reality for many. It doesn’t need to be glorified. But the different kind of strength it takes to simply survive?
It must be honored.
Honoring the Struggle
Let’s say we learn to embrace real human experience… in its most raw, authentic forms.
Struggle.
Resilience.
Pain.
Daily victories… and, yes, both…
Misery and
The daily possibility of joy.
Let’s have honest conversations. About poverty, trauma, disability, and the unattainable toxic positivity that fuels our culture. If we don’t acknowledge the full spectrum of human experience… we will NEVER find a strength that is real.
Just the fantasy narratives they sell us.
One Autistic Voice: Escapin Up The Country – #AutisticAF Out Loud
- One Autistic Voice: Escapin Up The Country
- Actually Autistic? Whatever Doesn't Kill Your Unique Neurodivergent Ass… s4e3
- Autism? It's a State of Being. NOT an Identity Group, s4e2
- Slouching Toward Joy: My Best 6 Phases To An Actually Autistic Relief, s4e1
- The Night this Autistic Adult Broke Free: An Autistic A.F. Halloween Tale, s3e8
#AutisticAF 
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