About how autistic people are sometimes prejudged by unfortunate stereotypes.
Do you see me? I’m hard to spot, in too large a crowd, which is loosely defined as anything above about six people. Scan too fast and you’ll miss me.
Here, I’ll help. Go deep. Almost…there. Yep, the one trying not to be noticed. The one in ordinary jeans, legs climbed too often by little furry balls with beautiful eyes and sharp claws. The one in the long-sleeved shirt with the tiny melted chocolate spots. The one with unkempt hair, who gave up trying to impress long ago because there is a such thing as the wrong kind of attention. The one blending in but still discernible by a seasoned eye who knows what to look for. The telltale signs I can’t suppress and have let go of attempting to.
We could be friends, once trust overrides suspicion. You might even like me. Then again, you might not. I’m blunt…
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