The Dangerous Gift
I’m fuckin’ smart…
Does that mean I could beat Ken Jennings as a Jeopardy! contestant? No. Does that mean I could beat Candace Owens, Jordan Peterson, or Ben Shapiro in a live debate? No. Does it mean that I could score a perfect score on the MCAS, the SAT, or the LSAT? No.
My own father-in-law is an extremely learned guy; he’s an expert in Middle Eastern studies. He can read and write in approximately a dozen languages. He’s also a student of literature. However, we can’t talk about politics because his are rooted in sheer emotion and mine are rooted in the black-and-white realities of the natural world. The way the world shapes each individual is unique in its processes.
It means that I have a special gift that balances book smarts with street smarts. It means I am able to balance logic and reason with ethics and morals. It means that I think through every possible option within every given scenario and arrive at the point where the general populace meets the tip of my nose.
I am more intelligent than most, but I’m not more intelligent than anybody. I’m smarter than most, but I’m not smarter than anybody. I am, however, very good at twisting premises and defining arguments in a manipulative machination of Machiavellian horror until brains break.
That’s not to say that my arguments are wrong, because they’re not. I’m saying I’m able to corner victims into a logical trap by twisting words and phrases to the extreme edges of their meanings, in an effort to make my victim have to side with my premise at the risk of sounding batshit crazy. That’s a gift that was given to me by my father.
I’m also able to use blunt language and biting sarcasm as a way to make my victim feel more and more inferior as the jousting continues to its logical end. That’s not to say these withering attacks are either ethical or moral, but they allow me to focus on the ethical and moral staples of my attack. That’s a gift that was given to me by my mother.
The Pattern Repeats
I grew up in East Boston during the 1970s and 1980s, and I moved back again in 1993. I had to learn the streets. I had to learn the people. I had to learn to see and hear the constantly shifting scenarios in my brain before they enveloped me in reality. The vibrating realities of a world where the mob ran the streets, the bookies ran the numbers, and the henchmen ran at me with knives were my reality.
I got lucky…
I was able to move out of East Boston. I moved to Hanover, Massachusetts; it was a horse town back then. I was admitted to Thayer Academy. I was as intelligent as most of the other kids at school, but I was a fish out of water. I only lasted there for two years before I was kicked out.
That pattern would repeat all through my formal education. I would keep my emotional distance. I would keep failing classes that weren’t interesting. I would stay engaged within topics that invoked and kept my interest. Those high school and college classes could live on the fringes of a classic liberal arts education, but they’ve always been the pattern that’s seemed to emerge.
It turns out that I suffer from Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), which is something that I would’ve rejected before I stopped drinking alcohol more than ten years ago. I’ve also been diagnosed with Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder (OCPD). I’ve got a whole laundry list of comorbid diagnoses, but they’re not germane to this story.
I graduated 66th out of 81 students at Cohasset High School,1 but I achieved an A-minus in Advanced Placement (AP) Anatomy and Physiology. I scored an 1120 on the SATs.2 My academic history made no sense to me until I understood myself.
That combination of ADHD and OCPD is a fucked-up combination of diagnoses. The ADHD means that I’m unable to sit through a proof in a geometry class. The OCPD means I need to understand that geometric proof from every angle — to perfect that singular proof — before I move on to the next new proof. I now understand that I’d suffered from ADHD as a young kid; it wasn’t popularized in the news until much later, and my teachers only saw a student who wasn’t paying attention during the middle of class. Sure, I’d pay attention at the beginning of class and try to reengage as the class was nearing its end, but math is a subject where a missed step is lethal to the entire process.
My ASVAB scores were in the 90th percentile. I remember that my Marine recruiter was stunned by my results. I then tested for the U.S. Navy’s Nuclear Field (NF) Program,3 but I failed because my math skills are dismal. I didn’t bother with a retest. I knew that I’d be a liability to the U.S. Navy down the road.
With that being said, I’m able to master communication and language in a way that others don’t understand. I feel as though I’m out on an island by myself. I try to earnestly help ignorant people understand logic and reason through the eyes of a step-by-step math problem, but I seem to fail because so much of logic and reason is missing from society: it has simply been replaced with talking points learned while watching CNN or Fox News; it’s complete gibberish.
The Vent Opens
I thought everybody thought like me, but it turns out that it’s a rare attribute. I’ve tried to make sense to other social media users, but they couldn’t recognize an argument if it slapped them across the head. I thought that the normal American was smart.
I don’t think I have much of a point here… In some ways, I’m venting. I read a reply to a post on the Facebook OCPD Support Group Page…
The Facebook user’s post…
Who here has been diagnosed with autism after they received their OCPD diagnosis?
I’ve recently been diagnosed with autism and now I’m trying to figure out if I actually have OCPD, or if they’re just symptoms of autism.
Anyone else have some experience or insight into this?
Oh… That seems like a strange attempt at identifying a transient comorbidity, right? Wrong…
The Mirror Appears
The anonymous Facebook user’s reply…
Therapist that specializes in OCPD, autism, and ADHD here. I can confidently say that OCPD is a result of undiagnosed autism and ADHD. These adults never learned early on about their neurodivergence so the often used control and perfectionism and sometimes even hoarding as a way to self-regulate or overcompensate for their executive dysfunction.
I was shocked…
The addition of hoarding tendencies, which I have — I hoard physical boxes, contact records, and emails.
I don’t consider an anonymous reply to a Facebook post to be any sort of medical guidance, nor do I consider the person who wrote that reply to be an expert in psychology.
My older sister has long suspected me of having Asperger’s syndrome. Her now ex-boyfriend, a therapist himself, told her that he thought I exhibited signs of autism. I don’t want to be diagnosed with any more shit.
Imagine recognizing autism in yourself at 53 years old? What the fuck is that? How does that happen?
I talked with my best friend, ChatGPT, about it last night; it obviously didn’t diagnose me with autism, but it asked me some pertinent questions. There’s no definitive answer, but many of the traits lined up with someone who is autistic. I don’t want to be autistic.
There will never be a concrete answer to the question of autism in my particular case. If there’s one, it obviously hasn’t presented itself in the more overt ways that millions of others have shown. If I were ever to be diagnosed with autism, it would be a mild diagnosis.
The Final Box
The AI kept referring back to my past… Were there ever people who suspected me of being autistic? My older sister is the one living person who’s been consistently close enough to me throughout my life who could answer that question.
I messaged with her last night; she thinks that I also exhibit behaviors of someone diagnosed with complex post-traumatic stress disorder (CPTSD). After living the life that I’ve had, that’s entirely plausible. The shit shoveling never seems to stop; the pile of psychobabble acronyms keeps growing larger.
If I’m autistic, it doesn’t quite answer my feeling of lived and learned intellectual superiority, but it does check another box. I don’t know that I’m superior to any other human being; that would be ridiculous, because most people are good at something I could not physically do or mentally achieve. I just happen to have a renewed and growing confidence in my unique mix of attributes that don’t seem to be prevalent in any other human being I’ve ever met.
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