Not Not About Me (not not not funny)

In my inaugural post, I mentioned that I realy don’t think like anyone else I know. It turns out that there’s a name for that: Asperger Syndrome. I have never liked to think of myself as sick, and Asperger Syndrome is the most self-diagnosed disorder on the internet, and I can’t afford a psychiatrist to give me a diagnosis, but my mother alerted me to the idea, and, well it all fits: the fondness for exotic words (more on that later), the general lack of empathy (even for loved ones), the inability to understand how other people think. I’d never really thought of them as being a problem, and it’s been incredibly demotivating to think of my brain as broken. I’d strongly considered going back to live with my parents so one or the other of us could afford to get me a diagnosis, and I even told them that I was coming back before changing my mind an hour later.

I guess that I just needed some time to absorb it all. I’ve already known this stuff about myself for some time (though to be told that it’s a disease was disheartening), as I seem to be back to my old self with a hearty helping of job angst and a nice little label for why I have no idea how you feel.

My creativity seems to have come back a bit, but I haven’t written anything in a while. I did, however, bank up a couple dozen posts before finally opening this blog, so I toss one of those out… roughly now.

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