I'm just going to state that there's something I need to get off my chest. It's not because I have to, but in this day and age, I feel as though I need to speak out.

To begin with, childhood was pretty average for me. What would always stand out was spending time with people other than teachers, classmates, or even with my own family. There were teachers who would play games with me, or ask me to bounce on what I called the Tigger trampoline. It went on until around the end of first grade. From there, I studied in class, but would take time out of the day to see another teacher who wanted to play card games with me and a few other students. Nothing else about my life really stood out until I got to middle school.

When I was twelve, I found myself struggling with a worksheet assignment for a book called Al Capone Does My Shorts. Since the main character's sister had autism, there was a question in that worksheet pertaining to whether or not I knew someone with it. In twelve years of living on this planet, I somehow knew no one who had it. I went to my dad to see if he knew anyone, and he gave me an answer that I never forgot: that I had autism. It was nothing serious. I just happen to see the world differently from others. Thinking nothing of it, I moved on.

By the time high school came around, I discovered my past life started to make sense. The time spent away from class, the fact that I didn't feel too emotionally connected to any of my classmates in grade school, and enjoying the same routine on loop suddenly started to add up. Yet I kept my identity relatively quiet until I got to college.

I have been in college for over half a year. And only now did I decide to make a little more noise about it.

I first mentioned what I had in my public speaking class. One of my classmates told me I was brave in telling the class about what I had. As much as I appreciated the compliment, I didn't realize that having autism was something to be brave about. It's something that I've lived with my whole life, so I didn't see what was special about it.

A couple of nights later, I decided to tell a small group of close friends. They gave me the support that I still maintain with these people to this day. It gave me the confidence to hang out in the floor's lounge more often. I suddenly didn't care about what the other people on the floor thought of me.

A week or so later, the floor had a program where we shared our demons and helped heal each other. With the small amount of courage I saved up, I decided to tell more than half of the floor that I had autism. Everyone seemed a little nicer to me after that. While I do like the feeling, I still wonder if anyone truly respects me.

I wonder if they only hang out with me because they feel sorry for me. I try not to think about it too harshly because there's always the chance that I could be wrong. Yet I could see why people might get worried.

I look at some photos of me with friends in high school, and I tend to think I look like some sort of serial killer. Given this country's attitude toward people with mental disabilities who commit heinous crimes, it might be understandable. With that mentioned, it does scare me to look at myself from time to time. I see someone who I don't want to be yet might end up becoming anyway. Thankfully, it's not what I see in my college photos. Even so, I wonder about the others.

There are times where I look at other people who have autism who are on different sides of the spectrum than I am, and I wonder if I'm really like them. I see them, and I see a part of me that I'm not sure I want to become. As much as I hate the part of me that judges others, I can't help but say, "There's no way this could be me. I'm better than that."

Yet, I am a part of the spectrum in a sense that I'm not like anyone.

In a crowded room, a place I've never been before, or even in a place that I go to every so often, I can't help but look around. It's sometimes difficult to focus my attention on one person when everything looks so massive or there's a lot of noise in the room. There's just so much detail I could find in one place alone. There's a part of me that doesn't want to forget that place, even if it gets to be a little too loud.

I was never a fan of loud noises. It took me a long time to get over my fear of buzzers during sports games. It took even longer for me to get over my fear of the fire alarm (and even then I always remember that no two fire alarms sound the same). I still get a little jumpy when people shout or talk all at once. There's something about it that makes the world sound amplified, and it does scare me. It would make me want to get away from it in any way possible.

There's something I am sure about it, though.

I have autism. I have known this fact for seven years. I have lived with it for a long as I have been alive. Yet I never really realized it was something to be brave about until I got to college.

It doesn't mean I want to be treated differently. Like any other person, I prefer to be treated equally.

It's a part of who I am, but I don't let it define me. It's only a piece of the puzzle.