'When did you first realise that you were 'different'?'

Great article and a very interesting theme, Tom. Whenever I've spoken about the origins of our sense of difference with other late-diagnosed autistic people, it's often the case that they can trace it an awfully long way back.

The first big realisation for me was, much like yours, at lower school, though I couldn't say exactly what age. There was a particular pair of lads who were the playground bullies (I still remember their names), and I was perplexed by one particular question. Why did they choose me to inflict their illogical behaviour on? The strange thing is that I didn't really feel particularly persecuted; my social awareness was so poor that it just seemed like yet another example of human beings doing things that I didn't understand - maybe this was how things were supposed to be? Rather than being angry at them, I was more upset with myself for being unable to understand what was going on.

What led me to an answer was the realisation that their taunts were usually about the way that I moved, my posture, parodies of my voice, and (to them) my overly formal language. Why did my arms and hands, often held rigidly at my sides or flapped around, concern them so much? I had no interest in watching other people's hands (unless I might need to duck!), so why would anyone else? My words seemed to work perfectly well to get my message across to less belligerent people, so why should my precise choice of words matter so much to them?

I turned my analytical mind to observing the other kids more closely, figuring that there must be some algorithm or other by which the bullies were categorising people. Hmmm. Apparently, the other kids did use different words when talking to each other than when talking to grown ups. And when they were talking, their hands were often active, seemingly synchronised somehow with what they were saying. I had discovered pragmatics and body-language, and I wondered how the other children came by this knowledge. Were there some secret school lessons that I'd missed out on? Was there a book that I should have read? (I was hyperlexic, so surely would have done so if I only I knew which book.)

It's the first time that I can remember being aware that my natural behaviours alone were not enough, and that there were kinds of knowledge inaccessible to me, but which others seemed to just know without being aware of where it came from. It's when learning to mask became my prime directive.

Great article and a very interesting theme, Tom. Whenever I've spoken about the origins of our sense of difference with other late-diagnosed autistic people, it's often the case that they can trace it an awfully long way back.

The first big realisation for me was, much like yours, at lower school, though I couldn't say exactly what age. There was a particular pair of lads who were the playground bullies (I still remember their names), and I was perplexed by one particular question. Why did they choose me to inflict their illogical behaviour on? The strange thing is that I didn't really feel particularly persecuted; my social awareness was so poor that it just seemed like yet another example of human beings doing things that I didn't understand - maybe this was how things were supposed to be? Rather than being angry at them, I was more upset with myself for being unable to understand what was going on.

What led me to an answer was the realisation that their taunts were usually about the way that I moved, my posture, parodies of my voice, and (to them) my overly formal language. Why did my arms and hands, often held rigidly at my sides or flapped around, concern them so much? I had no interest in watching other people's hands (unless I might need to duck!), so why would anyone else? My words seemed to work perfectly well to get my message across to less belligerent people, so why should my precise choice of words matter so much to them?

I turned my analytical mind to observing the other kids more closely, figuring that there must be some algorithm or other by which the bullies were categorising people. Hmmm. Apparently, the other kids did use different words when talking to each other than when talking to grown ups. And when they were talking, their hands were often active, seemingly synchronised somehow with what they were saying. I had discovered pragmatics and body-language, and I wondered how the other children came by this knowledge. Were there some secret school lessons that I'd missed out on? Was there a book that I should have read? (I was hyperlexic, so surely would have done so if I only I knew which book.)

It's the first time that I can remember being aware that my natural behaviours alone were not enough, and that there were kinds of knowledge inaccessible to me, but which others seemed to just know without being aware of where it came from. It's when learning to mask became my prime directive.