Grass

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like on the other side...

they say the grass is greener...

but is it *really*?

I remember the first time my parents told me that I was autistic. I was around the age of 10. I had heard the term vaguely on T.V or in people's conversations, but no one had ever told me that I was autistic until later in my childhood. I didn't get it.To me, my behavior and functioning was just who I was...I didn't think it was labeled with anything other than "weirdo". I remember being told I was "special"...but aren't all kids told that they are special? I guess I didn't get what kind of "special" people really meant when they labeled me as "special"...

I remember not knowing how to really react to it. I was a little shocked, a little angry, and in that moment I felt more stupid having my ignorance being taken away from me than I did every other day before being told the news. Having that label being brought to my attention was probably the hardest but greatest thing to happen to me.
I obviously haven't owned having autism the entirety of my diagnosis like I have now, as an adult. "Autism" felt like this huge secret I didn't want people finding out about when I was younger. I was super emberassed of the word. With the way some adults in my life put the word on me, it was highly belittling of my actual intelligence. I have always been smart...I'd share my actual IQ with you, but I don't find much importance in doing so. The point is, I'm smart, and I pick up on certain things MUCH more quickly than people around me. When I was younger and teachers found out I had Autism, they didn't always treat me as a capable student. For a few years of my life, I ditched the special education system because I wanted a chance at a "normal" education and pretty much wanted to forget the fact that I was autistic (and did need some help with certain things still).
Obviously, there were times when everyone could see my behavioral abnormalities, my tantrums, my struggles academically. I would much rather have people think that I was a normal "alien-like" person than an actual alien. I can't remember the exact point in my life when I decided to embrace autism (and even go so far as to want to tattoo a puzzle piece on my arm), but I do now.

I see the differences in myself and neuro-typical people. I think differently. I don't act *as* differently in public nowadays, but I still see where the line is drawn.

I wonder about this line...is either side better than the other one? 

"Thank God I'm not autistic"...why? What is the point of saying that? I don't regret being autistic. I resent the people that treated me with cruelty because of it. Why are we, as all human beings, never content with how we are? I can't say that I've always been content with myself, but I certainly don't wish to be one of the people who treated me so badly just to be a "normal" person. Forget normality. It's over-rated. Even normal people have things they want to change about themselves. I just wish that people didn't say things like "Thank God I'm not autistic". It hurts. It takes away everything we have had to work toward to be able to associate with people, our natural intelligence, our ability to see the things you miss. Autism isn't a disability. It's a different way of looking at the world...and just because it isn't yours doesn't make it bad. 

So...the greener grass? Spoiler alert: It doesn't exist. 

You are always going to wish you were on the other side, always wanting what you can't have.

Hitting the point in my life when I could be open about being autistic was one of the coolest things I've ever accomplished. Sure, learning how to put paper in a straight line was alright, and learning how to nod politely while people talked to show you were engaged in conversation has it's uses, but being able to tell people "This is a part of me" is beautiful. And guess what? No one gives me crap about it. People, surprisingly, like this fact about me. Subconsciously or consciously, it might change the way they look at me, but the ones who matter to me are the ones who have stuck around. 

I'm rolling around in a field...the grass is fresh, sometimes damp, sometimes dry, and it's open to all

I look up at the sky, and I don't dream for what I don't have, I dream for acceptance

I see all that is around me, and I wouldn't change a damn thing.

See your grass. It's green, trust me.

<3

Maddie