"Do you think autism is a mental disorder?": My Autism Research Deep Dive, Currently

One day, out of the blue it seems, my dad asked me if I thought autism was a mental disorder.

It was at a time where I was highly suspicious that I had it, but I wasn't diagnosed. I answered him from the perspective of a student versed in neuroscience and psychology. A definite "yes".

He was shocked, and proceeded to ask my close friend who also is high-functioning autistic. That friend shared my answered, and my dad declared we were to watch the movie Temple Grandin.

It's about a woman on the autism spectrum that overcame the negative social stigma to have a great influence in the field of animal welfare in the meat industry. The movie was long, but interesting and well-made. Quality-wise I can't say anything bad, but I watched it from a clinical point of view; someone who couldn't say for certain that she had the same condition, and so therefore didn't want to risk empathizing where she had no business in empathizing.

I could point out the symptoms of autism as they sprung from the scenes. The stimming, the problems with sensory regulation, the trouble maintaining eye contact, the obsession, and the social awkwardness. I appreciated how scientific and clinical Temple was in building her case in her university and her profession. I liked how she had a different point of view from everyone, and that difference in perspective made her invaluable to the industry. Near the end of the movie, she pointed out that it was better to let autistic kids stim to regulate themselves, and how her mother's support really helped her.

One could say her genius was from her autism. Or maybe her autistic brain just focused on different things, which led to profound conclusions. Either way, in a woman like her, autism wasn't a Bad Thing.

But I'd seen and heard the students in the hallways of my high school; the ones who hummed or moaned loudly, who walked alongside an aide and seemed to be in a state of distress. I've met people on the spectrum that are more challenged. For them, the autism is a Bad Thing. Or at least, for their family.

I never did ask them outright if they ever wanted to be rid of their autism, just like I'd want to be rid of my OCD or my ADHD. I apologize for those missed opportunities.

Now that I've been diagnosed with it, I can no longer see autism from just a clinical perspective. I'm a researcher, a deep-diver, a chaser of anything that catches my interest; from spirit animals and ghosts to makeup and perfume to religion to bubbles and autism, my solution to the problem of lack of knowledge was to dunk myself head-first into that pool of information.

When I was diagnosed, the doctor had recommended a list of books for me to read to understand it. I was still a bit absentminded from the relief of the diagnosis, so I nodded and did my best to end the conversation.

Now I want to find those books. I want to look at the subreddits. I want to know more, because as I've written before, knowing that I'm a zebra means I have to learn the culture of zebras.

Or at least, I want to know if those zebras relate to me. If my struggles and thoughts are shared. If anyone else grieves for those moments in your past where signals bounced off you, where people were awkward around you, and where you just generally did not fit in.

One of those things about autistic people is the obsession. The special interest; the one thing that springs the autistic person out of their cage of shyness to share their now-valuable knowledge with the public. It may not be one special interest, but a couple in one body.

For a friend of mine, it's entomology. For another friend, it's birds and dragons. For another friend, it's economics and AI. For another fri -

I have a lot of friends that are high-functioning autistic. One reason for my self-autistic suspicion was "birds of a feather, fly together". At some point I felt like I was collecting pokemon, not knowing if I was a pokemon as well.

My special interests (the things that make me open up to a crowd of people) are biology and neuroscience and dragons and science fiction and fantasy and storytelling. I can quickly get going on the science of the zombies in The Last of Us, or Mira Grant's series Feed. I can talk about the themes of literature that can collide with science fiction and fantasy. I can talk about the coolness, the superpowerness, of neuroplasticity. I can talk about the wow of biology and the fascinating products of microbiology.

I can also write well. It's one of my bigger skills, thanks to years of education, camps, and practice. So I can talk about my special interests to an audience that may be interested, from one keyboard to another.

Does this mean my autism is a Good Thing? Because I can share my perspective, educate others, and inspire different glimpses into science or everyday life?

I still struggle. Reading up on autism, I realize that the times after classes in high school and college where I felt so mentally exhausted I needed a nap was actually when I was experiencing burnout. I was masking myself in front of friends and classmates and teachers, watching my mannerisms, my posture, my personality, to try to match their expectations.

I always felt like I had the superpower of being snakelike, able to do improv on a topic so much so that I convinced others I was interested in it like they were. It's how I got out of awkward Uber situations where I definitely did not agree with the driver's opinions. Having the silver tongue felt like a power, something to bring me to safety.

As it turns out I did, because of my autism. Because I wore masks, and lying about myself, following a script I knew that would mark me safe, was just like putting on another mask.

The process of shedding those masks after school was napping and brainrot. It was talking about it with a friend who cared to listen and let me nap at their house without judgment.

A message to my parents: I couldn't just come home and do chores. I had to take off layers of masks first and gather the fuel to be something again, even if that something was to be productive and active.

They don't scold me about napping anymore, but I'm pretty sure it's because I earn money now. I'm not the lazy person they feared I'd become. And even on days where I'm not working, it's not laziness that I sleep in. It's because I'm recharging, recuperating, remaking myself to be ready for the next Big Thing.

So with these abilities and these struggles, do I think of autism as a mental disorder?

It affects my everyday life, my relationships with friends and family, and my ability to do things. That fits the definition of a mental disorder, so I'd have to say yes. But is it bad? From my position on the spectrum, I can't say this state of being is overall negative.

I can wonder about the evolutionary prevalence, the natural selection, and the neurodiversity of brain variations that culminate in autism, but I can't say that it will prevent me from having a partner someday and having kids and thus passing down my genetics.

So I'd say I'm lucky. I could have had it worse, like the people who struggle on the lower-end of the spectrum. I have something to offer to the world, like Temple Grandin. It's not devastating to my family that I am this way. There's not a lot of medical problems that have taken loads of money from my parents. So it's not a Bad Thing.

It's a mental variation. It's not neurotypical. It's a Thing. At this point, that's all I can say.