I was autistic before labeling was cool.
The Beatles hit the charts hard and I was identified with this quirk called autism in 1964. I was 11. The big thing for me that came out of this was our family friend, a fabulous and advanced psychiatrist who followed new ideas and insights, told my mom I was not slow at all. My IQ was remarkably high; I was just selective and practical by nature. I was also curious. He said these were some of the earmarks of this new thing a doctor had tentatively identified as Aspberger’s Syndrome, a form of autism…we think. Labelling, crude attempts at identification and basic utter garbage still follows me around.
There is no cure essentially because it’s not some sort of disease, despite everyone’s wildly creative grandstanding trying to make it so. I see it more a map of my genetics. (Fight me.) I’m unique, different, introverted, and very happy to be who I am.
I’m still piecing together my mother’s story. The “map” has become a network, somewhat akin to a web. It has become quite different from my original story about young Helene and has centred more on Little Helen. There were many different views on the lifestyles of both the rich and the destitute from 1910 to 1940. I’m going to do what I can to cover one path through it.