Nothing has been scarier to the child in me as school, in almost all aspects.
Kindergarten was relatively splendid. Though there was a lot of bullying, my already alienated personality had not grown prominently reflective enough to feel that hurt and forgotten. There was just the portending mystery of deep loneliness. But generally I (the child) was an autistic, infinitesimal being still capable of certain colorful flows in a typical child's world. I was just alone seeing and enjoying all that.
Primary school to high school was Hell on Earth, though I was like skipping quite a lot of grades. Literally hell without perforation. It wasn't just merely friendless and abusive. It was the darkest, winding night I've ever had to experience---with so little understanding and help by others (insensitive, slow, mediocre professionals and lay people). In many ways, it was worse than death. I loved (self-romanticized) the idea of simply non-existing, but I couldn't help but desire to at least produce something original in this existential transitoriness before I would gladly, voluntarily embrace non-existence, with all the wounds etched in nakedness.
I constantly experienced myself as the pure heart of the abyss of existence itself. But also, I was a very conscious eye for it.
Hence, I shiveringly quit high school and even disappeared from my family. I lived the life of an autistic vagrant, in the wilderness. After months, a few discovered me, aghast, with 'clinical help' for the first time (and my encounter with psychologists and doctors began). Some still did the crime of forcing me into going back to school (never even asking me what I'd like to become for myself, instead of just for the system/society running mechanistically on cruel wheels). But I had already broken loose upon the wind and deep within the sea.
College/University was and is still another story of non-sense, despite the presence of my voluntary will corresponding to a purely creative aspect of that at this stage. Even so, my creative self-fulfillment is essentially infinitely autistic, with little parallels with the normed ideals of the University.
Encouragement has always been mine, ensuing from my own epistemic knowledge and silent understanding of who I really am, in myself, by myself, for myself, with or without the society. No one has ever given me it nor helped me discover it for a truly unique, authentic purpose in life.
I'm proud that I've survived all the lethal years of societal brute forces, all ALONE. (Just for the record, I lost my mother at age 6.)
I wouldn't do to my kid what they've done to me (when and if I have her).
Many Aspies, despite professional/clinical help, have not been able to make it to this stage of developmental and authentic life. They have gone non-existent, slain, without a trace. I hope it never will have to happen ever again to someone else out there.
