

Introduction


I am the neurodivergent daughter of a likely neurodivergent father. He will never be interested in pursuing this allegation, and may even take offence to it. Autism is a dirty word, despite the apparent “trend” of young people seeking diagnoses that don’t fit them.
I wrote that he may take offence to the unprofessional diagnosis, but I know he would. He knows autism, he knows how to manifests and how crippling it is, based on those kids who cannot speak, cannot function on their own, will never know a world beyond the walls of their home and the safety of their parents until their parents’ death, after which they will suffer for the rest of their lives in a care home that just cannot cater to all their needs. My father is definitely not autistic— he has achieved the greatest degrees of education, twice; he has risen to high ranks in his job and people seek out the opportunity to work with him. He speaks to his employees the same way he speaks to his children, and he brags about that, as if we are employees and not the people who need a father, and not a boss. Could an autistic person do this? Do I even know what autism can do? Who do I think I am, to raise this topic on my own? If it has never crossed his mind, then it cannot be fact.
That’s why I will never let this suspicion of mine reach his ears. I’m in the process of getting diagnosed myself, after a sudden ADHD diagnosis that I also had to insist on. How do you tell a person who believes he is infallible, that everything that is wrong with you likely came from him? That it tainted not only you, but your brother, who is on the easy trajectory of becoming exactly like the man who haunts our subconscious and in whose voice scream our insecurities? How does one go about gently implying that perhaps he ought to get evaluated? That his cognitive rigidity, his inability to empathise with his children, his controlling tendencies, his obsession with facts and details and his perception of the world, and his pathological need to have everything go his way, has fucked up all of his children, and it is no wonder why we have all fled from home while unequipped to do so?
How do you tell a man that his autism has made him a narcissist, too?
He is a genius. I won’t write about his job, or what he likes to do; it’d be too easy to find him. I find that it’s the geniuses who have issues empathising with others . . . Particularly, their daughters who are just like them, but have been unable to suppress their passions and overwhelming tumultuous emotions to become a perfect productivity machine.
I could talk ad nauseam about capitalism and how it is incompatible with neurodivergence— or really, with life itself. Perhaps I will get into it in this stream, as I tend to go on tangents. For now, though, I will talk about my father, and all the ways he has set me up, and set me up for failure.