Like most disorders that lack painfully obvious symptoms, AS gets questioned a lot. "Painfully obvious" here context means obnoxious shit like running around in public with nothing but your underwear, worn on your head.
I've been diagnosed with it by a few different doctors, and I questioned the validity of the diagnosis for a while, but I've since accepted it. The disorder is real, but like most forms of autism, it's misunderstood.
If someone claims to have the disorder and hasn't received a formal diagnosis, that person is full of shit and wants to feel special. If a person does stupid shit and then says stuff like "sorry, I have AS" or "whoops, I don't have a filter," that person is using it as an excuse to act like a fucking retard. Most try to keep the disorder to themselves, and aren't prone to use it as an excuse for anything. There are exceptions, as always, but very few go advertising the condition. Most just wish that they could fit in like everyone else.
AS is not a social disorder, it is a neurological disorder with prominent social symptoms. Being awkward doesn't mean you have AS any more than having a cough means you have asthma.
The television shows are all bullshit. They're under-researched and exaggerate symptoms, creating caricatures, not characters. The only mass media depiction of AS that comes even *close* to a realistic portrayal is, ironically enough, South Park's episode "Ass Burgers," and I think they only hit some strings right because they weren't trying very hard.
People who have the disorder can come across as emotionless and lacking empathy, when, in most cases, the opposite is true: people with AS feel emotionless as acutely as others, and are, if anything, more empathic than their peers. The trouble is not in the feeling, it's in the expression. A person with AS lacks the innate ability to portray emotion in a normal way, although many exhibit profound emotion when overwhelmed. I've met a lot of people related to AS sufferers who were stunned by or even suspicious of the powerful and perfectly normal emotion displayed by their AS friends in extreme situations; most notably, when grieving. They say it's as if there's a whole side to the person with AS that they've never seen or even imagined before, one that feels and wants and hurts the way everyone else does.
I'm going to wax autobiographical here, for better or for worse. This is all based on my experience, nothing I've read or seen in others.
I've overcome many of the most debilitating aspects of the disorder, through a combination of medication, cognitive behavioral therapy, and personal growth. I'm not a very social person and doubt I'll ever be, but I can hold my own in a conversation when I need to. I have trouble speaking to some people, especially those I don't know well, but I hit it off with others and can chat for hours and hours.
I am a writer. Apparently, it's an unusual profession for people with AS, who tend to have trouble with expressing themselves. I've never had a problem doing so with words, only in casual conversation; like Lovecraft, I barely speak in person, but my written correspondence is voluminous. Even my online friends have a hard time believing the person who writes five- and six-page letters to each of them once a week is the same recluse that barely wants to talk on AIM and won't say a peep in chatrooms.
I tend to astound people who are aware of the disorder with the interactive scenes I write. I capture casual discourse and internal feelings during social interactions very well, such that people don't believe me when I tell them I'm not like that in real life. They can't seem to understand why, when it's so easy to write it, but the reason is eminently simple: when I'm writing, I'm doing both sides of the conversation.
There are still things I'm bad at. I can't accept praise or admonition, no matter how well-deserved, and I become overwhelmed if I'm the center of attention. I am terminally shy, and won't discuss anything I feel strongly about; people don't know my interests or real feelings about anything because I'm terrified of it being rejected or damaged. I have no self-confidence, and to this day I wonder when people will see that I'm just a fraud, and that nothing I do is worthwhile.
Back to your question, yes, it's normal to question the diagnosis, but that doesn't mean it's right. The way people dismiss or understate the disorder is akin to asking a person in a wheelchair why the hell he can't just get up and walk like everyone else.
Is it normal that I question Asperger's Syndrome?
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Like most disorders that lack painfully obvious symptoms, AS gets questioned a lot. "Painfully obvious" here context means obnoxious shit like running around in public with nothing but your underwear, worn on your head.
I've been diagnosed with it by a few different doctors, and I questioned the validity of the diagnosis for a while, but I've since accepted it. The disorder is real, but like most forms of autism, it's misunderstood.
If someone claims to have the disorder and hasn't received a formal diagnosis, that person is full of shit and wants to feel special. If a person does stupid shit and then says stuff like "sorry, I have AS" or "whoops, I don't have a filter," that person is using it as an excuse to act like a fucking retard. Most try to keep the disorder to themselves, and aren't prone to use it as an excuse for anything. There are exceptions, as always, but very few go advertising the condition. Most just wish that they could fit in like everyone else.
AS is not a social disorder, it is a neurological disorder with prominent social symptoms. Being awkward doesn't mean you have AS any more than having a cough means you have asthma.
The television shows are all bullshit. They're under-researched and exaggerate symptoms, creating caricatures, not characters. The only mass media depiction of AS that comes even *close* to a realistic portrayal is, ironically enough, South Park's episode "Ass Burgers," and I think they only hit some strings right because they weren't trying very hard.
People who have the disorder can come across as emotionless and lacking empathy, when, in most cases, the opposite is true: people with AS feel emotionless as acutely as others, and are, if anything, more empathic than their peers. The trouble is not in the feeling, it's in the expression. A person with AS lacks the innate ability to portray emotion in a normal way, although many exhibit profound emotion when overwhelmed. I've met a lot of people related to AS sufferers who were stunned by or even suspicious of the powerful and perfectly normal emotion displayed by their AS friends in extreme situations; most notably, when grieving. They say it's as if there's a whole side to the person with AS that they've never seen or even imagined before, one that feels and wants and hurts the way everyone else does.
I'm going to wax autobiographical here, for better or for worse. This is all based on my experience, nothing I've read or seen in others.
I've overcome many of the most debilitating aspects of the disorder, through a combination of medication, cognitive behavioral therapy, and personal growth. I'm not a very social person and doubt I'll ever be, but I can hold my own in a conversation when I need to. I have trouble speaking to some people, especially those I don't know well, but I hit it off with others and can chat for hours and hours.
I am a writer. Apparently, it's an unusual profession for people with AS, who tend to have trouble with expressing themselves. I've never had a problem doing so with words, only in casual conversation; like Lovecraft, I barely speak in person, but my written correspondence is voluminous. Even my online friends have a hard time believing the person who writes five- and six-page letters to each of them once a week is the same recluse that barely wants to talk on AIM and won't say a peep in chatrooms.
I tend to astound people who are aware of the disorder with the interactive scenes I write. I capture casual discourse and internal feelings during social interactions very well, such that people don't believe me when I tell them I'm not like that in real life. They can't seem to understand why, when it's so easy to write it, but the reason is eminently simple: when I'm writing, I'm doing both sides of the conversation.
There are still things I'm bad at. I can't accept praise or admonition, no matter how well-deserved, and I become overwhelmed if I'm the center of attention. I am terminally shy, and won't discuss anything I feel strongly about; people don't know my interests or real feelings about anything because I'm terrified of it being rejected or damaged. I have no self-confidence, and to this day I wonder when people will see that I'm just a fraud, and that nothing I do is worthwhile.
Back to your question, yes, it's normal to question the diagnosis, but that doesn't mean it's right. The way people dismiss or understate the disorder is akin to asking a person in a wheelchair why the hell he can't just get up and walk like everyone else.