Turns out, I’m autistic. I didn’t know I was autistic until recently, but I’ve lived my entire life as such. Everything I do is autistic, down to the perpetual masking I didn’t even know I was engaging in. As the old saying goes, “we don’t know what we don’t know.”

You see, like most people, I didn’t really know what autism was. Not the full extent of it. Sure, I was in social work throughout my life, had clients who were autistic, and often came home to my wife, saying, “sometimes it feels like the blind leading the blind out there.” (Apologies if that is ableist language, but that is literally what I would say.)

Now, as I’ve taken stock of my entire life, everything makes sense. The constant wondering why I feel like an alien in a human suit. The inability to get out of my own head. The contradiction of being way too much but never enough. The feeling like I am a walking hypocrisy. It was just the autism.

And look, for those who know me well, you’re probably not surprised. Yes, I masked… really well… but in reflecting upon my entire life, the signs were certainly there. Why was I super athletic but bumped into everything in a house I’ve lived in for years? Why could I write award-winning books but couldn’t put on a luggage tag at the airport? Why could I pick up on microtones and micromovements in someone but miss the most “obvious” sarcastic joke? Why did I listen to my music on full volume but would freak out if my border collie started barking at the front door? Why could I be in the sun all day on my farm but an overhead light would knock 3 hit points off my life?

It was just the fucking autism, Matt!

That’s the thing about this “disorder.” It is so complex and complicated that it appears to be a walking contradiction. In my experience, I feel like a supercomputer, processing information and data at breakneck speeds. The problem is that I also take in a ridiculous amount of information and data, all the time, with very little reprieve. It is only through extreme stimulation that I can actually slow down the constant analysis and metanalysis that goes on in my brain: a day at Disneyland, a 3-hour tattoo session, passionate sex, a deep tissue massage.

And yet, I am far-too stimulated every single day. In face-to-face encounters at our farmer’s market booth, I am receiving every bit of information at a volume that goes to eleven: the dog barking down the way, Tony’s generator keeping his tamales warm, voices in the distance talking about God knows what, the tinnitus in my ears that I have had my whole life. Then, on top of that, every potential social interaction is scripted and I have to be on my game in order to choose the right parts of the script to meet the moment in a socially correct way: if they say “how you doing?” that’s not an actual question, just say “good,” and ask them back; if you forget to ask them back, make sure to be super cheery at the end of the encounter so they feel good as they leave; make sure to meet their eyes for a moment but don’t stare too long; if they ask about the weather, don’t glitch out and have nothing to say (might I suggest: “as a farmer, we need the rain,” or “yeah, I’m more of a cloudy-day kind of guy.”)

Too often, I do pick the wrong parts of the script. I’ll hand an unhoused person a loaf of bread from the bakery and say “thank you,” as if I am thanking them for not having a home. I’ll place my items on the check-out stand at the store and say, “will that be all?” instead of waiting for them to ask me. It’s sort of embarrassing in the moment, but why? Because it doesn’t fit the social norms created by people who don’t experience the world like me.

On the flipside, however, my autism is not simply a disability. Only in the context of these arbitrary social norms do I have a disability. With the right systems in place and the right people in my life to support my needs, I have super-abilities. I can tell if someone is lying by the microtones and micro-melodies in their voice. I can often speak with perfect honesty and truth without having to even think about my answers. I can fixate on a problem or a topic so intensely that I will learn everything there is to know about it and have the issue solved before most people have had their morning coffee. Though a problematic marker, my IQ is 140. I see patterns everywhere so I am often ahead of my time in forecasting future trends. I can hear a random pattern in the world and immediately have it remind me of a song that I haven’t heard in years

And then, at the end of the day, or if a slight change in plans occurs, or if too much is going on at the same time, I completely crash out. I liken it to buffering. The internet is the fastest around but it drops out consistently nearly every day. Great when it works; utter shit when it doesn’t.

Hence the term “pharmakon” in the title of this piece. The blessing and the curse. The poison and the antidote. The disability and the super-ability.

So, here’s the takeaway: have empathy for people who aren’t like you. Do your part in obliterating the arbitrary social norms that keep people from thriving. Listen to autistic folks because we are brutally honest, and this society needs more of that. Fuck anybody who says we need to find a cure to autism (that is genocidal language). And if you see Robert F. Kennedy, Jr., tell him to shut the fuck up because I think the brain worm has rotted his already narrow mind.

Peace.

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