Sliding off the Spectrum: On not actually being autistic

by guest contributor Limpidă

In a prior life not all that long ago, I used to refer to myself as having been autistic, or in common parlance “on the spectrum.” It was an easy explanation for a host of poor decisions (well-documented on the Internet under a variety of pseudonyms, including this one) and inherent character traits I felt set me apart from the rest of the population. It provided justifications for some of my agoraphobic tendencies, for my obsessive yet selective work ethic, and a general feeling of disconnect from my own feelings—both internal and external. 

To be sure, I did get tested, and to be sure, the results did show that clinically, I am mildly on the spectrum… And, looking back on my childhood, it should have been pretty easy to tell that I was a slightly weird, uncoordinated kid with niche interests (and a temper) who took things too seriously for his age. An odd case of arrested development—seeming too mature and immature all at once, in ways other children in my cohort weren’t. This has changed shape with age but is still very much the case. This patchwork development, though, is not altogether unusual for most—everyone develops different traits at different rates. What is unusual is that people who would have otherwise picked up on it in adolescence or early adulthood simply aren’t picking up on it at all. Instead, they wallow in this semi-arrested development, and take it on as an identity unto its own.

The most significant probable cause of this phenomenon is the introduction of the internet, and the seductive, simulated emotional wasteland it has produced. Those traits of mine I mentioned above metastasized into full-blown agoraphobia, internet addiction, paranoia, obesity, codependency, ideological extremism, and endless self-soothing rituals which bordered on obsessive-compulsive. These words I’m using are meant to be taken literally, not hyperbolically. I realize it’s common for people to abuse these terms when talking about these cultural issues or to highlight a problem they’re experiencing which is probably only transitory, but for the last three years of college, I was truly little more than biological refuse. I intentionally allowed myself to waste away because I did not know how to provide myself with structure, and at times, barely acknowledged that I existed outside of other people’s perceptions of me. I would wallow in an internal world I had created for myself where I was essentially my own god. Does that remind you of a notorious somebody with a particular striped polo shirt?