Trigger warning: strong language

There are a cluster of neurons that fire specifically when two people make eye contact. They say that these neurons don't fire for people on the spectrum.

To me, it feels like atypical people must have billions more somewhere scientists aren't looking.

Someone recently asked the room how a Neurotypical guy could ever be interested in a girl with Asperger's. I normally wouldn't care, but have since wished I had the nerve to answer. You see, sometimes life is something that gets you down so low, your entire self worth seems to center on the baseness of your habits and essence and you ask yourself what about yourself got you into such a situation. Abandoned by your first love. Abused by another. Saved by the man of your dreams. And then shamed by them for wanting more. But let's get back to my lesson. Me.

I'm annoying: I repeat the same phrases and questions over and over and you don't seem to notice but I think that you're joking when you hint that you like me. But you think my smile is beautiful and I don't know why. I say what I mean, I'm truly independent, not because I want to be, but because I have to be. I have developed deep, all encompassing interests outside of you. I could do perfectly fine without you, I'm so sure. I don't have very many girlfriends, I used to when things felt easier, but I no longer need the approval. I'm very good at the straight, non-plussed face, but you want to make me smile all the time. Or at least, the right guy should.

Sure, ppl think I'm weird. I've been called a slut by those I've held most dear to my heart. Girls tell you I'm putting on a show to manipulate you into doing exactly what I want, but this isn't 'Brick by Boring Brick' by Paramore. You never planned to partner for social approval. Or at least, I had hoped not.

I'm deeply empathetic to the emotions in the room and I know your ups and downs just like I thought you were learning to accept mine. And I want you to be happy, too.

Cuz dats all I be doing: trying to simmer down the room, put one step in front of the other, remember the damn grocery list past every uncomfortable contact in passing, think a little bit less about my own individual musings and amend myself with the story, the aura, if you will, of the room. Try not to get too intoxicated by all the things you can't see and figure out why you're asking in the first place. If you don't like it... Well, sucks for you.

Autism doesn't define me. It's just a group where I feel home. But let's start at the beginning.

I'm Michigan Flemming, and this is my story.