I am autistic -- a "high-functioning" autistic. Does that mean I'm smarter than you? Probably, but trust me, it doesn't show. What does show is that I am definitely different from most of you. Not better, not worse, just different.

I don't think I'll bother with medical definitions of autism, or the variety of syndromes that belong to the very wide spectrum of autism. Google it, Yahoo it, or just ask Jeeves, if you want the more concrete definitions of autism. For my purposes, I just want to share with you what it's like to be me.

My sensory nervous system is like the ultimate electronic espionage device, gone horribly wrong. Take my sense of touch, for example. I've been told that silk is soft and smooth, and I know a lot of people like it. I can't stand it, though. To my fingers, silk is as course as sandpaper (which is as course as pumice, which is as course as a low-guage rasp, which is as course... you get the idea). I can "feel" every single thread in a swatch of silk, individually, just as I can feel every hair in a fur coat. I avoid wearing a lot of clothing whenever possible for just that reason. Being dressed is like clothing myself in gravel.

My sense of hearing is really odd. It's not that I hear better than other people. In fact, I'm actually more than a little hard of hearing. Imagine, if you can, that you are a recording studio. In a recording studio, everything is recorded on tracks (i.e., each vocalist is actually recorded separately, as is each individual instrument -- or at least they can be). That is how I hear. When I listen to music, for example, I don't hear the blending of the instruments into chords, etc. I hear the trumpet apart from the cello apart from the viola. But I hear them simultaneously, without the "blending".

Visually, light tends to be brighter, "noisier". Motion has an almost special effects feel to it. It's harsh, clear, staccato. I am aware of each "frame" in a simple movement, like bending your finger.

Smell/taste is, for me, the least bothersome of my senses. Strong smells and tastes get my attention, to the point of distraction, but generally I don't believe I'm any more aware of smells than other people are. There are a few exceptions. Vinegar, for example, is a smell (and a taste) that I cannot abide in any way, shape or form. In fact, the smell of vinegar is actually painful to me. It makes my nose, throat and head hurt. Acetone would be another such smell (probably why I've never "huffed"). On the flip-side, some smells are unusually soothing to me (you won't believe this, but two of the most soothing smells to me are skunk and gasoline, though I don't go out of my way to smell either of them).

Inside, my brain is attempting to process all of this weirdly-received sensory input. A "normal" brain is a very efficient machine. When it hears a bunch of sounds, it blends them into a single experience, like a musical chord. When you see a tree, the brain acknowledges it as a tree, but it actually fills in certain details of the tree from "memory", rather than processing each "real" detail.

Not so with my brain. It tries to process, catalog, remember and "experience" everything just as I am receiving it. Needless to say, under those conditions, sensory input becomes overwhelmingly distracting. To avoid being driven insane by it all, my brain also comes with a kind of defense mechanism. It starts to shut down my conscious awareness of the inputs, thus making it appear that I am withdrawn and unaware of my surroundings. I'm not, but it looks that way to outsiders. More on that shortly.

Unfortunately, that particular defense mechanism isn't perfect. It doesn't always work. So I have other ways of coping, some of which I had to unlearn for my own safety. For example, pain is an amazing distractor. For some reason, pain supercedes all the other sensory input. As a child, I would sit with my back to a wall and slam my head against the wall repeatedly. That's one of the behaviors I had to unlearn (though even today, you might sometimes see me tapping or smacking myself on the head).

I also rock back and forth, almost constantly. For the sake of my own social development, my parents and teachers tried to make me unlearn that behavior. On that one, however, I rebelled and refused to be "trained". So even now, at 42 years old, if you see me in a meeting, at a restaurant, watching television, or even driving, you will see me rocking away.

The hardest part of being autistic, for me, is socializing. I don't do it well at all. First of all, social settings tend to be active, noisy, bright and smelly. Thus, I am automatically either distracted or "withdrawn". Others have often described me as cold, aloof, snobbish, etc., because they don't understand why I am not friendly and outgoing at social gatherings. The reality is that I simply can't be.

Additionally, because my brain is always so busy processing sensory input, and trying to protect me from the "overload", it has never spent much time learning how to interpret social interactions. I have a tendancy to miss non-verbal clues, for example. Even when I catch them, I don't usually understand them. Body language is lost on me completely. I am just as likely to misinterpret the meaning behind a smile or frown as I am to understand it.

Just as my brain has never really grasped how to interpret interaction with other people, it has also never really learned how to allow me to express myself in ways others can understand. As a general "rule", I rarely show emotion of any kind; that's where a lot of people get the picture of me as being cold or unfeeling. Nothing is further from the truth, though. I have emotions and feel them acutely. I just don't know how to get them "out there" for others to see.

When I do try to show my emotions, I will more than likely get it wrong. How it comes out is fairly random. It might be, for example, that I am feeling sympathetic about something I've heard someone say, something sad or painful. Rather than a "sympathetic" look, however, my sympathy may show up on my face as a joyful smile or an angry glare. I may giggle when I mean to cry, or cry when I mean to feign indifference. I have found, though, that the more comfortable I am in a given situation, the more likely it is that I might get the emotional expressions right.

For all of these reasons, and a few others, I'm a quiet person. I rarely talk. I don't like the way my voice sounds, for one. For another, I know I will only confuse people about where I'm coming from, because my tonal inflections probably won't match my words. I think that's also one of the reasons I write, and why I am so very verbose when I do write. It's a neutral way to communicate, and I can take my time to insure that my words mean what I feel. I have a lot to say, I guess.

I think my autism has enhanced my life in a lot of ways (music appreciation classes were amazing for me). It gets in the way of a lot of things, too. Making friends is difficult, for example; and music with lyrics is impossible for me to grasp. In all, though, I wouldn't change a thing.