Why I Write

In therapy, I read out loud what I call the ‘Asperger Rap.’ I felt liberated telling someone, this time a psychological therapist, my very personal thoughts in a creative way. I like finding ways to tell people what is going on with me. Between reading the ‘Asperger Rap’, writing comic about my adolescence (be patient, it will be finished one day), to dreaming of being a disgruntled stand up comedian, my therapist determined I have a strong desire to tell a story, my story.

This is the first post, I think, where I actually come out with my diagnosis. I have held back for fear that the wrong person would read this and it would matter somehow. But, I have been employed long enough to know that I have nothing to fear. Meeting me usually is a good indicator that something is different. If I can’t hide it in person, I don’t need to hide it online.

This story I keep coming back to, my experience as a woman who has Asperger syndrome, I believe is the answer to why I like to write and why I started my blog. I strayed away from my theme, domestication: a journey toward independence, and wrote a bunch of craft and recipe posts. But, my original thesis statement is of a slightly dysfunctional woman takes baby steps toward taking good care of herself.

I constantly yearn to tell my story whether it be a comic about my junior high experience (coming to a web comic near you… one day.) or writing beat poetry. I have this vision I keep coming back to of myself yelling on stage and making an audience laugh at my experiences. Maybe that is grandiose. Maybe my only audience is a therapist. Maybe time will tell. Until then, I will write. And rap.


A donkey walks into a bar and orders two hamburgers

The bartender says “What we have here is…”

Ask me again

I’m lucky enough to speak

And I have something to say

You can try my symptoms

But you can’t cure my humanity

I’m not sick

It’s not mercury poisoning

Vaccines didn’t make me such a dick

Since the label was taken away by the APA

I was cured, but I’m still weird

Was it refrigerator mothers?

Aliens stole our brothers?

It’s nature; it’s nurture,

I belong on Jupiter

Do you think in pictures?

I’m not the Rain Man

There’s only one Temple Grandin

I’m no savant, just an idiot

who got the short end of the stick.

Nerds, geeks, dorks, freaks

I’m a creep who just wants to be basic

Maybe I should embrace it

Like self dx’ed Aspies wearing orange bands

Represent the puzzle piece turtle club

Moms protect their kids from lonely birthday parties

Blogs and support groups  advocate for our one winged angels

looking for the missing piece to the puzzle

What’s worse? Getting picked on or getting ignored?

I don’t have a clue how to think like you

I’m not rude; you’re just a prude

Didn’t mean to stare, I just like your hair

Neurotypicals scare me

When they try to repair me

God made me this way

I am here to stay


Lots of words


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