Different Type 

It came through post and there it was in bold black type on white, official headed paper. I am different. I have always struggled with relationships and rubbed people up the wrong way and now I know why. Asperger’s syndrome can be  frustrating to an onlooker. A good friend told me I shouldn’t worry about my diagnosis and that I was over analysing it. I explained, in far too much detail, that worry and analysis are how I am wired and they help to create a hard concrete logic that underpins my life. I could see her patience starting to ebb as she suggested that knowing this, meant I could change it. I changed the subject instead but it left me thinking. Life nearly always leaves me thinking. 

When it comes to mental well being there’s a deficit model that seems to focus on what people lack. I understand that. It’s the same model my logical brain applies too. However we need to think about the positives of neurodiversity.  I think I manage my Asperger’s syndrome quite well. Some people don’t notice it at all. It’s part of my design and it’s all the good and wonderful things that I am. It is what makes me a writer and a poet. It is what makes me, me.  There is a stark architectural brutality to my mind that some people think is hard and ugly. Some people are quaint country cottages with roses round the door. Others are smart Regency terraces with geraniums artfully tumbling from window boxes. My inner life may have a jarring, angular modernity but my clean asymmetric, concrete lines don’t lack roses or geraniums. I’m just a different type of beautiful. 


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