At first, I was angry at myself.
I believed myself to be broken. Irreparably so.
I stopped caring about therapy. I didn't pay attention to my occupational therapist. The label only made things worse for me.
It took months to break this sort of thinking. I still stuggle with it off and on.
Then, I was angry at everyone else.
Why didn't they notice?
My own mother didn't see anything was different about me until a doctor shoved it in her face.
Did they really even care about me?
Finally, I realized I had no reason to be angry.
No one intentionally ignored any signs. They didn't toss me to the wayside, leaving me to rot in the overstimulation of the world.
I just got too good at pretending to be a normal person.
Pretending is still much easier than the truth. The truth makes people treat me differently, or say "But you don't have the right look!" But the difference between now and then is that I only have to pretend some of the time.
And I'm okay with that.