Ok, if you’re not familiar with the phrase and concept of ‘uncanny valley,’ go read up.
Being autistic is like being living in an uncanny valley.
We humans are most comfortable with humans who act like humans and robots who act like robots. Mixing the two together creates an eerie revulsion that jars our expectations and freaks us out.
And of course, how do people describe us higher-functioning autistics? Monotone. Focused. Cold. Rational. Unemotional.
Instead of thinking it was always personal, or that it was my weight, acne, whatever, I should have just rationalized it as “Oh, duh, these people have a reflexive avulsion to humans with robotic tendencies!”
We’re not robots. We’re just different.
Where many would become derailed by emotion, we won’t. Where others make poor decisions based on anger, spite, and hate, we don’t. Where some bask in the warmth of others and feel the benefit of feelings, well, sometimes we can’t.
We’re no less human. I’m no less human.
I might not look you in the eye. I might flap and jitter while walking and waiting. I probably won’t get worked up about hot-button, emotional topics. And my elevated prosody isn’t your computer’s dictionary talking.
I can’t help that you’re revolted. And I also cannot pretend to be a normal human the way normal humans don’t have to pretend.
If you can, try to see beyond the uncanny valley.
2 thoughts on “The Life Autistic: I Walk Through the Uncanny Valley”
Ironically, you somewhat made robots more human: “humans who act like humans and robots *who* act like robots.” “Who” refers to humans, not to objects. Correct: Robots *that* act like robots. When you refer to a robot as a “who” you grant it personhood. The who/that error seems to be creeping in everywhere, probably in part as a result of granting corporations legal personhood.