I am Adam Lanza

I wanted to post about The Hobbit movie, but that will have to wait. The following post touches on (obviously) the Newtown shootings and the gunman, so skip it if you don't wish to read such things.

When I first heard about the Sandy Hook shooting, I reacted differently than I had to any previous such tragedy. That is to say, I probably reacted normally. I'm a mom. My second-youngest daughter is just the age of the shooting victims. I was enraged and appalled at the idea of someone who could even think of harming these little kids; was horrified, putting myself in the shoes of parents waiting to be reunited with children who may have been killed. I was angry enough to think, though I knew it was a terrible thought, "if only we could find the people capable of crimes like this and lock them up first!" It was not a thought I ever had before, or one I will ever have again, but I understand it.

Whenever there has been a school shooting in the past, my first thought has been "I bet the killer was someone like me". In the early 90's, I simultaneously started public school and middle school, as a painfully shy, socially awkward, previously homeschooled, poor, bespectacled, "exceptionally gifted" undiagnosed aspie, with predictable results. That is to say, for the next three years, I could not ride the bus or walk between classes without being spit on, harassed, and physically attacked. I didn't wish for a friend, I just wished for a sanctuary. There were times I hid in my room with my mirrors covered, beating my head on the wall. I attempted suicide, I ran away from home, and when my mother refused to listen to or help me (in all fairness, she really couldn't have), I had meltdowns and threatened her. Once, I hit her. I hated myself for doing these things, but I was a bundle of misery and self-hatred. I got to the point where I associated everyone with the bullies; I felt I was surrounded by enemies. I could not understand how to simply be left alone, let alone make friends; and trust me, I put most of my intellectual energy into trying (the rest went into the straight A's that earned me the only positive attention I knew). On the second day of high school I walked out the doors and never returned. I can't think of those days, now, without reliving the trauma, and when I see 12 and 13 year old kids (except my own daughter), I'm still a bit afraid of them.

In short, if Liza Long is Adam Lanza'smother, if Kate Geiselman is Adam Lanza's teacher, and Pamela Mirghani is Adam Lanza's sister, then I am Adam Lanza. I know what it is to be the "weird" person, the one who doesn't talk or look you in the eye. I've been fired from a job for my flat facial expression. I make people uncomfortable. If, during the time I described above, I had had access to guns, would I have done what he did? I highly doubt that. You see, aside from being on the spectrum, and having been isolated and scary and weird, I am not like Adam Lanza. My anger blows over quickly, and I abhor violence. I would however, almost certainly, have shot one person: myself. Maybe society is, objectively speaking, better off without people like me. I know there are plenty who would say so, and I've felt that way myself. Still, I believe every perspective, every consciousness is valuable for its own sake, and if someone is marginalized this is all the more reason to stop and hear his or her story. Sometimes the hardest person to apply that principle to is myself. But here is my perspective, for what it's worth:

First, this trend of publicly calling out people with ASD is not okay. Long posted under her real name, and was more often praised for her openness than criticized for betraying her son's trust and essentially turning him over to an angry mob. She was defended by other parents of aspies, who seemed to imagine she was being blamed for her son's disability, ignoring the actual criticism. Sadly, this seems to be a pattern. These parents always circle the wagons, pat one another on the back, and react with exaggerated defensiveness to anything adult aspies may have to say for ourselves. I have to wonder if they are similarly dismissive of their aspie children's thoughts and feelings. The odd thing is, I am one of them. I have a child, possibly two, on the spectrum, but I feel no kinship with these parents. My daughter is not a puzzle to me, nor am I afraid of her.

Second, people with ASD are only "potential killers" in the sense that all people are. We are not likely to commit violent crimes: something that should be very surprising when one considers that ASD is linked with lack of social support, depression, unemployment, and (being a victim of) abuse. Any group experiencing these could well be violent, but we are not. What we are, as far as I can see, is childlike, disabled, a little (or a lot) lost in a world that we don't fully understand. We are capable of empathy, but our ability to sense others' emotions is impaired: one could say we are half blind to things like tone, facial expression, and social cues (I am literally half blind, so I think I can make the comparison! I've often wished for social "contact lenses"). We can care very deeply about others and still miss the cues. We are sensitive. The world is intense to us. Things you don't even notice might cause us physical and emotional pain. Many of us are highly skilled, creative, innovative, and driven, but few of us have paying jobs. The workplace is not terribly friendly to weird, quiet, eccentric folk. Some of us are extroverted, some of us are introverted, but either way most are alienated and isolated.

I'm interested in the topic of aspie artists, and I've observed that though it's not unusual for an aspie to have a rich, vivid imagination and be driven to create, sometimes on quite an ambitious scale, we often lack the "self-consciousness" and focus on the presentation or packaging of our work that is necessary for success as an artist. In work, art and social life, I think a lot of us would benefit from a mentor. I also think we would be greatly helped by public education and awareness, to combat the bigotry that is the direct cause of so much of our suffering. You see, far more than you need to be protected from us, we need to be protected from you. Some very independent and proud aspies I know might object to that, but as a group, we are vulnerable.

When people talk about having a "conversation about mental health", I'm afraid of what this might actually mean. ASD is a developmental disability, not a mental illness. Yes, stigma against mental illness is a problem, but slapping that label and the related stigma on people with developmental disabilities, who are already marginalized, does not solve either problem. Legitimizing the knee-jerk impulse to hate and fear the quiet, awkward, smart kid is not a responsible course of action. I'm not asking that you love us, or like us. I'm asking that you think of us as human beings, as real people with real feelings and rights, people who are innocent until proven guilty.

There have been a few articles/posts recently that have spoken against the trend of scapegoating, some from aspies and some from allies. I would like to link to them and say that I am deeply grateful to these people for speaking up:

Debriefing: How Not to Have a Conversation about Mental Health

I have Asperger's; I am just like you

 Leave autism out of mass shootings

Autism, empathy, and violence: One of these things doesn't belong here

I also came across these photo stories, which aren't related to the shooting but also work to foster understanding, and brightened my day:

Pretending to be normal