Diagnosed!

After 36 years of feeling quirkier than my peers, I am now officially quirky in the clinical sense. I have Asperger’s.

It’s been two days since my diagnosis and I go back and forth on how I feel about it. My doctor specializes in the spectrum and seems genuinely fond of the likes of us. For a minute there, he convinced me there is something mystical about me. Something special. If you’re thinking of getting a diagnosis, go to a guy like that. Because who doesn’t want to hear: “Some people are sheep and some people are shepherds. You are a shepherd.”

But alas, I am a sheepless shepherd with no leadership skills. A shepherd whose hands pick at themselves and their adjoining forearms when meeting new people. A shepherd who is virtually paralyzed by public speaking. You could ask me my phone number in such a forum and I wouldn’t have a clue.

“Who will I herd?” I ask him. “Who will listen to me when can I hardly speak?”

His eyes twinkle enough to draw to my attention to them. “You’ll find a way,” he says. “You won’t give up.” And with then with voice of a soothsayer with some effing good news, he says, “You’re Aspie!”