My autism

Thanks to a poll from Autism Speaks on twitter (as if there weren’t enough polls on this subject already), we got yet another valid argument against person-first language.

Picture of poll by autism speaks showing 18 percent prefer person first and 82 percent show identity first language preference.

As long as this debate gathers new polls, I will keep writing about it, and I think I found the perfect metaphor.

My autism isn’t a piece of Dolce and Gabanna luggage that you can lose on your next flight to Lorett Del Mar. It isn’t a baby that you can tragically forget in your car during a heatwave. It isn’t an alien that burst out of your chest while dancing to “Hello, my baby. Hello, my honey” before vanishing in the kitchen.

My salsa, I mean…, my autism is a part of me. My autism is me. It is the chemistry in my brain. It IS how my brain processes information. My brain is me. So, my autism is me. This is my autism, there are many like it, but this one is mine. (Full metal autism?)

I hope that this poll by autism speaks will be the last of its kind. I’m sick of clicking on the same answer in every poll that shows up, having to correct every nitwit that thinks it knows my disability better because they paid money to listen to some boring professor drone on about autism and how it kidnaps children in then night after they got those evil vaccines.

I am tired of having to defend my position again and again and again and again (ad infinitum).

I hope this post settles it (somewhat comedically).

Buy me a coffeeBuy me a coffee

Every post is written first in scrivener 3, which you can get a 30 day free trial of here at literature and latte.

Eén gedachte over “My autism

  • 20/08/2019 om 06:31
    Permalink

    There was a blog writer not too long ago called Full Metal Heart.

    Annora was their name – if you know them or follow them on Twitter and everywhere else on social media.

    “My autism isn’t a piece of Dolce and Gabanna luggage that you can lose on your next flight to Lorett Del Mar. It isn’t a baby that you can tragically forget in your car during a heatwave. It isn’t an alien that burst out of your chest while dancing to “Hello, my baby. Hello, my honey” before vanishing in the kitchen.”

    Love it!

    Beantwoorden

Geef een reactie

Het e-mailadres wordt niet gepubliceerd. Vereiste velden zijn gemarkeerd met *