Autism Makes Me a Horse, not a Cat

You would be worried about your horse's welfare if you owned a horse. You might assume that the horse wouldn't eat cat food and it is being picky or dramatic. You might think your tabby was damaged or the horse wouldn't be interested in the cat tree. You might let the horse run for miles and keep it in your home. Cats aren't built to run long distances.

Although it may seem strange, I have experienced this scenario. I am the horse.

Now, replace "horseman" with "autistic."

Autistic people have different priorities, needs and desires than others, but they have their priorities and needs erased by everyone around them.

My senses are alert. Multiple times, I discovered that my dog had a heightened sense of smell and was sick. It's not like the movies. My brain prioritizes different functions than the rest of the brain. However, that same alertness makes it difficult for me to recognize voices in a crowd. My brain is exhausted trying to understand the conversation of someone next to me in busy rooms. Their voice is heard, along with the air conditioning and cars outside. I also hear the baby crying behind them and the couple arguing beside me. My brain does not have a problem hearing, but it prefers a more specific type of hearing.

The school gave me a scholarship for dance when I began college. Although it was a modest scholarship, it was an honor. The classical ballet technique requires an acute attention to detail. I learned this skill over many years of practice in the dance studio. I mentally scanned every inch of my body to ensure I felt it right. My years of musical training have helped me hear subtle variations in pitch and feel small movements in my throat. Today, I still work in the performing arts. My pursuits of the arts would not have been as successful if I hadn't paid attention to every detail that I hear, see, and feel.

However, unlike the horse who is expected to behave like a cat, I am often told that I do not have any alert senses. The college I attended for the arts taught me that I could not cope with the overwhelming sensory input college life presented. I used to sob whenever I was seen. I can remember using the bathroom in between classes to hyperventilate, where no one could hear me. My brain was exhausted from trying to understand professors in class after classroom. My brain couldn't keep up with me, and I became lightheaded and had tunnel vision. I was required to wear long, chafed, itched pants by the college. Every snagged stitch and every bulky fold felt against my skin. I am unable to learn and dress like other people with the same alert senses that help me so much.

People used to punish me as a child for my autism, even though they didn't realize it. If I couldn't hear the rules of a game due to the noise in the room, I would raise my hands and ask for clarification. The teacher would assume that I was hearing the rules like the rest of the kids and would reprimand you for not paying attention. If she did repeat them, the kids would give me dirty looks. If I didn't ask, I would most likely make a mistake in the game and be "out," unable to take part. Worse, I might be accused of cheating in front of potential friends. Because I was expected to see the world in a certain manner, all of this happened. I'm not able to.

People thought I was a "cat", but I was actually a "horse".

People tend to focus on the difficulties we Autistics face, and assume that we are broken. However, society is built on the assumption of everyone being able to approach life with the same abilities. Michael Phelps might have 28 Olympic medals but if he tried to compete in gymnastics, it would be a disaster. He is not a bad athlete, but he would fail because he has a different set skills.

Autism doesn't cause me grief. Rather, autism catalyzes me and sends me waves of joy from seemingly insignificant experiences to other people. It may sound cliché, but I was quickly labelled "weird" in college when I chose to dance in the rainstorm. I was able to enjoy the gentle drip-drip-splash of the rain around me, as if it were a white noise machine. The cool drops of water slid down my face, biceps and calves. The air told the story of the storm. It was full of summer heat and lush grass wrapped in cool humidity. My shoes, which were left on the street, didn't stop me from puddle-splashing. Are you familiar with the sensation of a puddle jump? It's not just to feel dry, then wet. Your brain also breaks it down into thousands of little delights. Push off the pavement, and your feet feel the concrete. After a while, a rush is created around your feet. The bottom of your feet will feel the concrete for a while longer. They just felt it and need to adjust to something more gentler. The bottom of your feet may feel nothing for a split second. Then, you feel a rush of air around your feet. It dances up to your ankles, legs, and arms. You slide downwards through space, and gravity toys with. One of your parts refuses to fall until the other part does. Perhaps it's your left arm or your head. Either way, you reach up on your spine and grab that last breath of weightlessness... Then it goes! For a short time, the water resists, but then it will let go of you and you can rush back. You are only able to escape the water droplets that swarm your feet. You'll feel little rivers running down your ankles, returning their puddle home.

That is Autism to me.

I have found joy in the same alert senses that brought me years of frustration and criticism. Although I am aware that people expect me behave in certain ways and to value certain things, my brain is different. They can't stop me from seeing me as a "broken kitten". However, by viewing myself as a misunderstood horse I refuse to be deceived. I'm not broken. I am just different. I live in a world that doesn't prioritize my needs.

Although I've focused my attention on autism's sensory aspects in this article, it is the same principle that applies to all of my autistic traits. I am a highly focused individual, and my social awkwardness and pet obsessions are all unique traits that give me joy and skills that cannot be replaced by society's expectations. Overshadowed, yes. But never erased.