Tag Archives: asperger syndrome

Familiar strangers

I can be pretty good at talking to strangers. I can get through a targeted and purposeful interaction by being my natural affect-less self. That rarely seems to bother people – at least not that I’ve noticed. I can pretty easily pass as being ‘just’ in a hurry or distracted, and the other person can handle that without being uncomfortable.

It becomes much more difficult when I’m interacting with someone who isn’t a complete stranger. I go to my local pharmacy about twice a month to collect prescriptions. There is one person who works there most of the time, who has come to recognise me. I was perfectly happy to keep our interaction the same as it’s always been: I give my name, they go and bring my prescription. But before long they learned my name and didn’t need to ask for it any more.

It’s only as I write this that I realise most other people in my position would have developed their relationship with the pharmacist more than I have. I have never spoken to the pharmacist about anything other than my prescriptions. Ever. Not about the weather, not about my day, or their day, or local news, or anything at all that’s not related to the specific reason I’m there. The idea has literally never occurred to me.

Why would I talk to them about anything else? It would just confuse me. It would distract from the purpose of that specific interaction (i.e. to get my prescription). But it would also blur the definitions of the relationship. A pharmacist is someone you talk to about prescriptions. A friend or family member is someone you talk to about the weather (or your day, or their day, or the news..). Why would I talk to the pharmacist about ‘friend-level’ subjects? Am I trying to become their friend? It’s not very likely.

It’s not that I don’t like the pharmacist – I really do! They bring my prescriptions, they’re always helpful if there’s been a mistake or delay, they never seem rushed or distracted. They have all the qualities of an excellent pharmacist. I just don’t seem to have the connection that some people have: “If you like a person -> expand the interaction”. That doesn’t make sense to me when the interaction is happening for a specific purpose. I’m never actually going to become friends with my pharmacist, so there’s nothing to be gained from expanding the interaction.

It seems like other people do gain something from interacting with strangers or people they only know in a certain context. And not just that, but it’s also an instinctive reaction. I frequently see family members interacting with strangers and acting ‘friendly’ without even seeming to notice – sometimes they even deny it when I point it out! It’s so automatic that they can barely conceive of the idea of not doing it, so they don’t realise they are actually ‘doing’ anything. They would only notice if they saw me interact with a familiar person like the pharmacist, and recognised that I was definitely not doing it.

What is autism?

I have gradually become less certain of the answer to this question. At this point, my short version is “I have no idea!”.

The most accurate answer is “autism is the label given to people who fit certain behavioural traits”. That’s so circular that it’s pretty much meaningless, but it’s also the only answer that really means anything.

Autism was originally defined based on behaviour, by two separate researchers who described a small number of individuals fitting certain traits. Since then, it’s continued to be defined based on behaviour, although the actual criteria have changed a lot over time.

When something is defined by appearance, it’s easy to automatically assume that there’s something ‘underneath’ that sums it all up. The most pleasing and logical explanation is that autism is caused by one thing, one difference in brain structure or growth or biochemistry – and that every autistic person has that same underlying thing. The trouble is, there’s actually no evidence for that. Lots of people have tried to find it, but no-one has succeeded. There are vague bits and pieces that autistic people tend to have certain brain differences, or that most autistic people share a certain cognitive trait, or that there’s a correlation between autism and some biochemical process. But if something can’t be shown to apply to every autistic person, then it can’t be considered the underlying ‘thing’.

Of course it’s still possible that there is one underlying thing, and we just haven’t been able to find it yet. But it’s also possible that there’s not, and that there are multiple different underlying things which can result in autistic traits. That seems plausible based on the fact that no-one’s been able to find something that’s consistent across all autistic people. But it also raises the question of why and how the same set of traits can arise from various completely different causes.

So, there may not be one underlying thing. And there has never been a perfectly consistent set of behavioural traits. And yet, we still act like autism is ‘something’ and that we all know what it means! This kind of uncertainty makes me feel like I shouldn’t be writing about autism at all. How can I write about something when I don’t know what it is? But then I remind myself that no-one else knows what it is either, and they’re all still writing about it.

I think it’s pretty likely that there are subtypes of autism. Although I definitely don’t think those subtypes correspond to the functioning levels or the autism/Asperger’s distinction that is so popular. If they are defined by anything, my guess is they’re defined by the types of cognitive processes a person has, which is probably influenced by whatever is the underlying cause of their particular autism. I have spoken to autistic people who I strongly relate to, and others who feel almost as different from me as NT people are, as well as a wide range in between. And those groups do not remotely correspond to whether a person is considered high or low functioning, whether they can speak, or what diagnosis they might have.

But – at least for the moment – it’s useful to have a name for this big overall group of people who tend to have a lot of things in common. Until we have a better idea of what the subtypes are (if there are any), or until we are accommodated so well that we don’t even need a label, ‘autism’ is handy. Better to have a vaguely defined label than none at all. I don’t know what we mind find out about autism in the future (especially once researchers stop wasting all their time and money on trying to cure it, and start learning actually interesting and useful things). But for now, as a scientist, all I have to go on is the best available evidence and hypotheses.

So, I guess I’ll just carry on writing about this thing which I don’t remotely understand, which I can’t possibly define, which no-one is able to make sense of, and which is somehow still a hugely important part of my life.

Old friends

A few weeks ago I unexpectedly ran into two people who I haven’t seen in a year. The year before that I only saw them a few times in total. But up until two years ago, they were part of my very closest small friend group.

It was very strange seeing them again. A lot has changed in all of our lives. I certainly feel like I’m very different to who I was when I was close with them. But at the same time, talking to them again made me feel like almost no time had passed since the last time.

Running into an old friend is a very unfamiliar experience for me. I’m pretty young anyway, so I haven’t had much time to develop and then lose touch with friends. I’ve also hardly had any ‘friends’ in the first place. Most times when I’ve lost touch with people (like when I left primary school, and then when I left secondary school), it’s been a relief to have them out of my life. But losing touch with someone who I actually have largely positive memories and feelings towards – that’s never really happened before.

We lost touch because we all left college and were no longer seeing each other daily just out of habit. Everyone became busy with their new things and meeting up became more like a chore than anything else. It’s been two years since college ended and I still have no idea how I actually feel about the situation. Am I sad? Do I miss them? Do I care? I’m not sure. I really did enjoy spending time with them when we were close. But I don’t feel like I desperately want to spend time with them now. We would have very little to talk about, not much in common, and no shared reference points.

So, were we only friends because we happened to be at college and school together? It can’t be quite that simple, because there are plenty of people who I went to school and college with, but I certainly didn’t have ‘plenty’ of friends. Is it just that we happened to be in more classes together? Is it just because they took pity on me and invited me to sit with them at lunch when they saw me by myself? (Yes, that really is how we first met).

If we have other things in common apart from college, then why have we lost touch? Surely if we really enjoy each other’s company, we should all still be putting in just as much effort to see each other as we always used to (even if external circumstances made that rare or more difficult). But that’s not the case either. When we left college, I pretty much accepted that we were going to lose touch, and soon gave up on trying to initiate contact. Most of the others seemed to do the same thing.

Did we stop getting in touch so that we wouldn’t be saddened by letting it happen organically? I don’t think that was the reason for me. I knew it was going to happen sooner or later, so I was resigned to the potential sadness involved, regardless of when or how we lost touch.

In the last few years, I have increasingly developed online friendships. These are a very real and important experience for me, but they also cause me even more confusion about the definition and purpose of friendships. If I made friends with the school friends at least partly because we were at school together, then why did I make friends with people online? We certainly haven’t been forced together by circumstance. Some aspects of getting to know each other online are extremely inconvenient: geographical distance, timezone differences, lack of easy ways of getting in contact. And yet it’s happened anyway, and some of my online friendships are much closer and more significant to me than in-person friendships of the past. Why? I don’t know! I don’t understand any of it! What are friends, anyway?!

My instinct is that my online friendships formed because we had a lot in common. Online profiles make it really easy to summarise your interests, identities, and personality. A significant number of my online friendships happened because I read someone’s profile and then sent them a half-joky message saying “We have lots in common, we should be friends!”. That kind of thing can’t really happen in-person. Instead you have to try to subtly collect information about a person until you can decide whether you will be capable of getting along. I guess some people might find that easy (or even enjoyable?), but I certainly don’t.

I suppose it’s also easier to reach a wider pool of people online. It’s easier to narrow down the type of people you’re exposed to by your own interests and preferences. So that makes it possible to be a lot more picky. If I wanted to be friends with autistic people at college, there would have been maybe two or three people who I was aware of. If I want to meet autistic people online, all I have to do is write a bit about myself and I end up surrounded by a community of autistic people.

So the friends I make online are likely to be more closely suited to me than people I meet in person. Maybe that’s why I don’t feel sad about losing touch with my college friends. They were really good friends at the time, and were very important to me. But they were important as my school and college friends. Now we aren’t at school or college anymore, I don’t need school and college friends – and neither do they. They have their own new friends now: university friends, work friends. And I have my own new friends too, friends that are suited to my life as it is now.

Real-time interactions

Real-time

I have trouble with real-time interactions. By ‘real-time interactions’, I mean the kind of situation where people are responding to each other directly and immediately. That means things like: talking face-to-face, on Skype, on the phone, and (sometimes to a lesser extent) using text or instant messaging.

I have trouble with them because they are not well-suited to my communication style. I am slower to process the things other people have said, and need even more time to formulate my own responses. I prefer delayed interactions, like emails, because you are expected to make a slow and thoughtful response, rather than an immediate one.

My trouble with real-time interactions is not obvious though. If you were having a face-to-face conversation with me, you probably wouldn’t realise I have difficulty. In fact, you’d probably say that I was very articulate (people have described me that way before), and be surprised that I’m saying this.

Automatic speech

The truth is that my mouth is a lot better at real-time interactions than I am. That means I’m good at automatically responding to communication, using words and phrases that really sound like they mean something. If someone says hello, I say hello back – I don’t think about it, it’s practically a reflex. Automatic speech like that is probably familiar to everyone to some extent.

But for me it can extend to much more seemingly-complicated speech. In an unplanned conversation, I often end up feeling like I’m just watching myself and wondering what on earth I’m talking about. I’ll find myself saying things which I don’t agree with, which don’t make sense, or which actively contradict things I’ve said before. And I say them because my brain is just mashing together elements of the context (like whatever the person before me just said) with an appropriate inflection and hoping that it sounds about right.

For whatever reason, my brain taught itself to make me look like I’m communicating whenever I am having trouble. Someone with a similar level of communication could have easily developed such that they just didn’t speak, instead of making non-communicative speech like I do. I don’t know why I do automatic speech and some people don’t, but I think there’s a lot less difference between us than there might seem.

Bad odds

I’d estimate that in an unplanned real-time interaction with a person I don’t know (I cope better with more familiar people), my apparent communication is about 20% accurate. That means that about 20% of the things I say are things I actually mean, and that only about 20% of things I want to get across actually do get across.

Imagine a person who could only speak about 20% as much as most NT people – that’s how effective my communication is some of the time. Don’t seem so articulate now, do I? In some ways, it’s handy to be able to ‘pass’ as NT in that kind of situation. It’s a lot easier to make it through a brief and inconsequential encounter if I can smooth things over with automatic ‘NT-speak’.

But in other ways, I sometimes imagine it would be better if I actually did only speak 20% as much in that kind of interaction. At least the things I did say would be accurate, so I wouldn’t have to worry about accidentally lying or talking nonsense. It would also mean that my communication difficulties would be a lot more obvious to people, and so they would be more likely to believe me when I say I can’t cope with real-time conversations.

Solutions

My usual solution is to try and make interactions as favourable to me as possible, to prevent automatic speech from kicking in at all. It’s worse if I’m in a busy or stressful situation, if there are a lot of people around, or if I’m talking about something that makes me nervous or uncomfortable.

The biggest single factor is that the interaction is unplanned or unexpected. I can handle scripted situations like buying something from a shop, because I can plan exactly what I need to say and I know what to expect. Some of my most memorable disastrous conversations have been answering unexpected phonecalls, or being abruptly taken aside for a ‘chat’ by someone. Most of these things are made worse in conversations with strangers, which are generally unavoidable.

But there are also situations when automatic speech happens with people I know, like family. Things like parties and gatherings, or difficult and uncomfortable topics can trip me into NT-mode even with people I really trust. I don’t know if it’s obvious from the outside, but it feels quite obvious from the inside. If you’ve known me at my most comfortable, then my NT-mode will be conspicuous, because I will seem much less autistic than usual! If my responses are as snappy and expressive as NTs’ usually are, it’s a good bet that I’m not in full control of what I’m saying.

The ideal way for other people to react to that would be to change the situation so it’s closer to my communication ideal, but that’s not always possible. If that fails, then my only advice to people interacting with me is: don’t take anything I say too seriously! I am very happy to be asked “Did you mean that?” if I say something that’s out of character or doesn’t make sense. It gives me a chance to actually process what I said, and a chance to take it back or correct it if I need to. I think it’s counter-intuitive for NT people, but anything I communicate in writing is always more reliably accurate than anything I communicate through speech.

Internet people

What it means to be an Internet Person

The internet is a really important part of my life. Sometimes I feel embarrassed about that, but I try not to.

The reason I sometimes feel embarrassed is because people who don’t rely on the internet as much as me find it incomprehensible. And the easiest response to not understanding something is to criticise or insult it. The truth is, I find it incomprehensible that there are people who don’t use the internet at all.

If you don’t use the internet as much as I do, you probably reacted to reading that by thinking “How sad, you can’t entertain yourself without the help of computers”. But it’s nowhere near that simple. Yes, sometimes I use the internet to entertain myself when I’m bored. And there are times when that could be replaced with a book or going for a walk, but I choose the internet because it’s easier or more convenient. Sure, feel free to consider me lazy for that – I’m sure it’s sometimes true.

But that is by far the least important use of the internet for me. Here are some things I wouldn’t have or do if it wasn’t for my use of the internet:

  • I wouldn’t know, or be able to communicate with, many of my closest friends.
  • I wouldn’t know how to best care for my pet gerbils – and might not even have them if I’d never learned what good pets they make.
  • I would never have progressed further in knitting than making a misshapen rectangle.
  • I wouldn’t be learning Swedish right now.
  • I wouldn’t be able to motivate myself to shower or leave the house.
  • I wouldn’t be studying my degree.
  • I wouldn’t know that I was autistic. I wouldn’t know other autistic people. I wouldn’t be writing for and learning from other autistic people.

In short, I wouldn’t be doing much at all.

Why I’m an Internet Person

I know that some people don’t use the internet much – some people don’t need it much. But there are a lot of different types of people who the internet is well-suited for, and I just do happen to be in lots of those groups.

  • Shy people.
  • Introverted people.
  • People who communicate better in writing.
  • People who find it difficult to go out.
  • People who like reading.
  • People who like learning.
  • People who have trouble making friends.
  • Autistic people!

I know that last one is a bit of a generalisation. They’re all generalisations, of course. It’s just that I think a lot of the reasons I benefit so much from using the internet are related to being autistic. Some people might think it’s sad that most of my closest and most fulfilling relationships are with people I’ve never met. But it’s not that I’m choosing that over face-to-face relationships. It’s that I wouldn’t have those relationships at all if I wasn’t using the internet.

What I get from being an Internet Person

I was talking to my brother the other day about the computer game Minecraft, which I’ve recently started playing. I mentioned that I had been playing a multiplayer game online, and he said “But with who? How do you find people to play with?”. And then he paused and said “…You know people, don’t you.” My brother, the most sociable, gregarious, and charismatic person I’ve ever known – he would have trouble finding someone to play Minecraft online with!

I know that’s not the best example of a vital social skill. But I think it’s representative of the general way that I am able to use the internet to my advantage. Playing Minecraft might not be the most enriching, productive, or sociable use of my time. But playing it with other people, where I can talk to them and work together, is still better than playing by myself.

It might not seem like much of a skill, but I think effective internet use can be really valuable. I read a post recently (be warned for a bit of swearing, and confusing formatting if you aren’t familiar with tumblr), which is part of what prompted me to write this one. My ability to find friends to play computer games with is just one minor example of the way I can use the internet to my advantage.

All those other things I listed are yet more examples. And that linked article mentions another big one: rapid skill acquisition. My default when I don’t know something isn’t “never mind then”, it’s “I’ll look it up”. I find it truly baffling that there are people who think easy access to information online can possibly be a bad thing. But I’m sure those same people find it baffling that the internet can be so important to me.

I spend a lot of time on the computer, and that’s OK. I’m an Internet Person.

Autisticality

The word ‘autisticality’ was actually coined by my friend. Although I’m sure other people have said it before too; it’s quite a natural word to create, really. It could just as easily be “autisticness”, “autistitude”, or even – “autism”. Oh, wait.

In theory, autisticality means just the same thing as autism, right? “That kid’s autism affects their social skills”, “that kid’s autisticality affects their social skills”. And yet, it’s different somehow.

Maybe it will make more sense with some other examples. How about a broken leg:

  • My broken leg means I can’t walk.
  • My leg-broken-ness means I can’t walk.

They have the same meaning in the simplest way. But “broken leg” is very concrete and specific. Whereas “leg-broken-ness” is abstract, like it’s one-step removed from just “a broken leg”. It makes it sound like “leg-broken-ness” is some kind of all-encompassing permanent aspect of the person. That’s why the second option doesn’t make much sense – it’s actually just one small and temporary part of them. In this case, it has one specific effect: making them unable to walk.

Autism/autisticality works the same way, but in reverse:

  • My autism means I am prone to anxiety.
  • My autisticality means I am prone to anxiety.

The first one sounds like “my broken leg means I can’t walk”. It feels like saying “my specific, temporary, and abnormal medical condition gets in the way of me functioning like I usually do”. The second one feels like saying “this overall aspect of me defines the way I am as a person”.

There is a person who can walk, temporarily disguised by the broken leg. But there isn’t a non-anxious person, disguised by the autism.

There is just a person, and autisticality.

Precise language

When I had my formal assessment, the report said I used very precise language. I didn’t really understand what that meant. I’m still not totally sure  understand it. But I had a small realisation recently when I was trying to communicate with someone.

I emailed my distance-learning tutor with a question about something I was working on. When I got a reply, he seemed to be answering a completely different question to the one I asked! By default,  I assumed that was my problem and my fault. But when I talked to my friend, they suggested it might be the opposite.

Rather than a sign that I’m bad at communicating with people, it could be a sign that my communication is more precise. So much so, that other people don’t respond with the precision I expect. It seemed like my tutor had given the email a cursory glance and just replied to the question he assumed I was asking. Which would probably work with a neurotypical student – someone who used vague enough language that the message could be picked up from a cursory glance!

I’m trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, here. I could assume that every student that ever emails him gets a disappointing response to the wrong questions. But that seems unlikely somehow – surely he would have noticed if that was the case. So the next logical conclusion is that something is different in the communication with me, compared to with other students.

Which is where the precise language part comes in. I guess I learnt to communicate while learning that other people didn’t seem to pick up on my own hidden meanings – because I was surrounded by NTs who had their own unspoken language and didn’t speak mine. So, I had to learn to make my words completely unambiguous, to prevent that from happening.

This might be part of the reason I’m so good at explaining things to other people. I’m an expert at making words express exactly what I want them to. But it also means I get frustrated when other people can’t do the same in return. I have had countless infuriating text-message conversations with friends, where I have had to resort to listing my points with  numbers, and demanding they respond to them each individually! I’m sure it’s equally irritating for them, but I don’t know how else to make the conversation work. Clearly it’s not possible for me to communicate in NT language (I have certainly tried). So I just have to hope that other people will try to ‘meet me part way’ and do a bit of the translating themselves.

Binary trust and friendship

My ability to trust people seems to be binary. I don’t have the capacity for complex in-between levels of trust or closeness, like “acquaintance”, “friend”, or “close friend”. Everyone in my life can be sorted into one or the other.

By default, strangers start off as ‘untrustworthy’. The untrustworthy state has certain characteristics:

  • I don’t automatically believe things they say, unless it’s supported by evidence or by a ‘trustworthy’ person.
  • I don’t expect them to honour commitments or keep promises.
  • I don’t tell them anything about myself that I consider private, personal, or important.

It takes a long time for someone to become trustworthy. I only started properly trusting my newest friend from college after almost two years of spending time together every day. That in-between period consists of me being cautious and guarded, while observing the other person to gather evidence of trustworthiness. When I eventually decide to trust them:

  • I assume they are telling the truth and believe the things they say.
  • I expect them to honour commitments and keep promises.
  • I will tell them anything about myself that I want to.

I think my binary trust state is a result of a combination of different things. Part of it is probably autistic black-and-white thinking, part of it is having different social skills and standards to NT people. And another part is probably a learned defence mechanism, as a result of having so many negative social experiences in the past.

When I like someone, I am immediately desperate to get to know them. I don’t see the point in waiting around with small talk, when I already know that I like them enough to make friends. But this method doesn’t tend to work with NTs, because they get freaked out or confused by it and things go wrong. So as a result, I’ve taught myself to suppress that urge, and instead to be very cautious in order to protect myself.

Binary trust also protects me from good relationships which go wrong. If I’ve classified someone as trustworthy and they break that trust, they are demoted permanently. This happened with a secondary school friend after I found out they lied to me.

The interesting thing is that my trust state for someone doesn’t have that much of an impact on what the relationship actually looks like from outside. When I stopped trusting that secondary school friend, we didn’t stop being friends. They probably didn’t even realise anything had changed from me! I was still happy to spend time with them and have fun together. I had just lowered my expectations, so I no longer believed things they said without evidence, or expected them to keep commitments, or told them anything more about myself that was important.

Similarly, when I eventually classified my college friend as trustworthy, they probably didn’t notice much difference. I had changed my rules for my interactions, but the rules themselves aren’t the only things which define the interaction.

I think the main reason for this is that I’m an extreme social mirrorer. When I made my secondary school friends, it happened because they took pity on me standing around by myself. They immediately started treating me as a friend, and so I reciprocated. Even though it was still another year before I properly classed them as trustworthy, my behaviour matched theirs straight away.

Similarly, I mirrored my college friend. But in this case, they were extremely reserved, and so I was too. Which made it even harder for us to become friends! And when I eventually decided they were trustworthy, things didn’t change much because I was still mirroring them and being reserved. It just meant that if situations arose in which I could e.g. tell them something about myself, I was allowed to do that under my new rules.

It’s only in recent years that I’ve noticed this binary trust state. I’m not sure if that’s because it’s a relatively recent development, or because I’ve just never been aware of it. Probably a mix of the two. It’s strange to think that other people don’t do this, though. It’s hard to imagine being able to have complicated rules that are different for every person in your life. How would you keep track?!

Big news and important conversations

I have trouble with important conversations. I’m sure everyone does, really. That’s why they’re important after all: because they’re difficult but have to happen anyway. But I think the trouble I have is sometimes different to other people.

Recently, I got some exciting news – a knitting magazine commissioned me to design a pattern. When I shared the news with my family, I’m pretty sure I did it wrong! I mean, I didn’t upset or offend them or anything. But when I told my brother, he exclaimed that I didn’t tell him as soon as he came home and instead waited until a bit later. And my mum said “You never tell us anything!” because the news was surprising.

It was just a regular example of autistic-NT mistranslation. I’ve been thinking about it a bit, and I still can’t figure out what would have been different for them to not have reacted in those ways.

How are you supposed to make news less surprising? Should I have eased into the conversation by saying “So… I’ve been knitting a lot lately…”? The main point is still pretty much one sentence-worth of information, so I don’t see how you could do it in a less abrupt way.

And it’s really hard to know when is the right time to initiate a conversation. Should I have blurted it out the moment my brother walked through the door? Surely not! I thought that I was waiting an appropriate time so as not to seem self-centred and to let him settle in back at home before bringing up something major.

I’m not really bothered by this. I’m perfectly aware of the fact that it’s hard for me to communicate with people, and sometimes it goes wrong and sometimes I’m not always sure how or why it went wrong. I just find it interesting. I guess this is an area where I’m missing out on the innate rules that other people seem to have. Rules like:

  • How to correctly judge the importance of different topics.
  • How to talk about topics of different levels of importance.
  • Which levels of importance are required information for which levels of relationship.

This is yet another reason that I generally prefer text-based communication. It’s so much easier to introduce a new topic via, e.g. email or text. It’s perfectly natural to add a new point whenever you think of it. You don’t have to worry about choosing the correct time and situation for the other person to talk about it, and worry that they might be busy or stressed or distracted. They get to make that decision, because the interaction is delayed and so they can choose the right time to work on their response. It seems so much simpler that way. In a face-to-face conversation, both people are trying to carefully think about both people at once. That’s twice as many people to stress about!

Choices

Recently I’ve been thinking about my academic future. I started a distance-learning degree in October, and I quite quickly decided to switch from part-time to full-time. Which means deciding which course/s to add to my workload, because the degree is totally open – so every course is optional.

The course I’m already doing is in science. The main things I was torn between for my next course were maths and psychology. Maths has always been my best and favourite subject. But psychology is important to me because I want to learn about how people – and especially autistic people – work.

At first glance, it seems like maths should be the first choice. It’s been my strongest subject since before I can remember. Anyone who knew me as a kid would always say maths is what I “should” be doing. And I can understand that. It’s even what I think instinctively. But when I think about it a bit more carefully, that’s not the case.

Maths is really important to me. It’s pretty much the first language of my brain. When I reach for an analogy, I reach for mathematical concepts without even noticing. When I’m trying to find a way to understand something, I’m really finding a way to turn it into maths so that it can fit in my brain.

But that doesn’t actually mean that I should be studying maths, or that it’s necessarily my favourite or most important subject. A person who thinks in words does not assume that they want to study language. They use language to process whatever they do study. It’s the same for me, with maths. No matter what I learn or think about, I will be using maths constantly. So I don’t need to worry that, if I don’t study maths, I might lose one of my favourite subjects.

Whereas that is more likely to be the case with psychology. I think about autism a lot, but it’s the subject of my thoughts – not the language of my thoughts. Which means that if I do want to think about autism, I have to actively decide to.

So, I’ve decided on a psychology module. Part of the reason I’m posting this is so that I can read back over it if I start doubting my decision again. But I don’t think I will!