Okay, I’ve been running this show for four years, and in that time, I’ve picked up a few detractors, made a few enemies, caused a lot of pain. Well, I feel it’s time I explain myself.
The truth is, I’m a retard.
Of course, I’m not really a retard. How could a retard speak like I do, compose writing and movie reviews, and create some really cool pixel art?
No, what I am is something worse. I’m a nickname. I’m an instant disqualifier. I’m a term just like retard, idiot, stupid and moron that started as a medical term, was used as an offensive way to call someone a fool, then became public vernacular in this new meaning.
I’m an Aspie.
I’m an instant punchline for jokes, especially on the internet, where someone can instantly tell I’m a jerk because I have Asperger’s.
My name is Aspie, and when I try to tell people it’s not, they say, “oh and what should I call you?” The thought of using my name doesn’t cross their mind. Not once.
When people think of me from the media, they think either Rain Man or Sheldon Cooper. Sometimes I’m horribly broken and can’t function in society without help. Other times I’m a know-it-all who can’t get a date despite calculating for love. Sometimes I talk like Spock, and sometimes I can’t talk at all.
Whenever there’s a news story on me, the news media reports me like I’m something they’ve never seen before, treating me as a hassle, and, of course, incapable of functioning in society without help.
I’m not allowed to go to the school I want; I have to be taken to a specialist school run by a literal prison warden. The school thinks I’m, you guessed it, incapable of taking care of myself, and I’m forced to take classes that have reduced credit, eat up a slot for a useful class, and despite being adorned and taught like a kindergarten class, teaches absolutely nothing. And if I do “bad” things the other students do 20 times a day, I get forcibly ejected and locked into a broom closet. And I wish I was making all that up.
And most damningly, there’s an organization designed to eradicate me and people like me, treating me as a victim of a disease, who family members should not be cursed with, and should ultimately be put down like a rabid dog. This group is called humanitarian, but if they tried it with any other minority, it’d be called eugenics.
So maybe you can understand why I’m just a little bit hesitant to say I have Asperger’s, since I’m worried people will hear that and think “oh, he’s a retard.”
So, I might as well educate you on my condition, and more specifically the reason I’ve caused you so much stress.
My brain is designed for the practical. It is designed with a keen eye for detail, backed up with logical thinking, and loves to demonstrate arguments in a dynamic way. And a lot of us have special interests they hone in on and devote their whole lives to. Mine’s writing. Not just writing fiction, critiquing writing, expository writing, technical writing, I’m a writer all and all.
But if there’s one thing I’m not, it’s a people person.
My brain may have been designed for the practical, but it wasn’t designed for the social. I tend to be focused on myself because it’s the only one I know for real. I can’t read minds, I’m not the person who’s there, so it’s hard for me to think in how they’d see things, because if I tried to guess, I’m sure I’d fail. After all, every time I think of what someone else will say, I guess incorrectly.
But then, that rooting in logic is what damages me, too. I have taken the time to research this fact, backed up my evidence with logic, and have in all ways proven the earth is round, so how can you say it’s flat? It doesn’t make sense, and it baffles me.
That’s why I tend to be so judgmental. I have a high sense of ethics and standards, and when someone violates those standards, it doesn’t help my opinion of someone. How is someone supposed to improve from “It sucks!”? How does name-calling prove your maturity?
But, like any key system, it’s bound to fail at some point. Not having access to the other person’s inner workings, and thus not knowing what is going on or what they’re thinking, I commit an error in ethics and don’t realize it.
No, I should not have offered deleted artwork as a barter no matter how rare they are. I was thinking in how it may benefit both me and others, but not as to how it would hurt the artist. That’s my fault.
No, I shouldn’t have censored someone’s artwork without their permission, and loudly announced that I had done so. I was simply doing it for private use, but had not considered how they would feel. That’s my fault.
No, those catchphrases I come up with aren’t funny and are just as whiny as the things I criticize. I thought they sounded cool, but I wasn’t thinking about how I sounded. That’s my fault.
All of these problems in communication stem from a single source: a failure to understand how the other party acts, something inherit to my brain, focused on pragmatism rather than sociality.
So for all those people I’ve offended in the four years I’ve been here, let me just say…
I apologize from the bottom of my heart. I wish I had known better, and if I did, then I wouldn’t have done it. It’s my fault for not considering things.
Of course, brain chemistry being the way it is, I don’t want to type all this up just to do it again, so I’m adding something to my signature:
If I do something unethical, I probably don’t know that it is. If I did something wrong, let me know what it is. All apologies are sincere and from the bottom of my heart.
I hope this way we can get things back on track and stop causing so much problems. Thank you for listening.