I Have Aspergers Syndrome

They yell at you that you're not normal.
That you always **** things up.
You leave to your room, crying.
You overhear them in the other room:
What did we do wrong?
How could we not have known?
Why doesn't she understand?
Is there anything else we can do?
Will she ever live on her own?
Her sister was never like this?

You hate that you cause them this pain.
You hate that you always mess up.
Even when you are just trying to help. . .it goes wrong.
You can’t seem to even sit down right, always ending up accidentally sitting on them.
How ******* stupid are you if you can't even sit down?
That you can't even eat food like your siblings because you hate how it feels in your mouth?
That certain noises make you want to scream.
A gentle touch can cause you to freak out as if they stabbed you?
How messed up must you be that you can't do any of this that seems so easy and natural to the rest of your family?

But I am not messed up.
I am just different.
I can recite facts of some random topic that they don't even get half the time.
I can tell if something has gone bad when they don't even realize until they taste it.
I can hear family arriving a long time before you can even see their car.
I can concentrate on something for hours, while they can't bored too easily.
I can help them find something because they don’t see the ‘hidden’ pattern in the carpet and where it is not the same as everywhere else.
I have all these skills and abilities that they don't or will have to work at to do as naturally as it comes to me.

They have their skills and abilities, and I have my skills and abilities. . .
I am not a **** up.
I am not a mistake.
I am different.

They can give me one of those labels or they can give me a diagnoses for a mental disorder called Asperger’s Syndrome or something else to make themselves feel better about it.

I am not any of these labels.
I am me.