Buttersmunch Disorder A story of alternate perceptions

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I was born different. My parents knew early on I had the disorder but hoped and prayed I would grow out of it. They saw how I smiled early on and dismissed it as just being gassy. Then they noticed that I tracked their eyes with mine and when I walked I had the ungainly flat footed gait that is so typical of a person with my disorder. When I started school they were given the official diagnosis of Buttersmunch disorder but my parents had already known I was different and wrong. They call us “the little Thieves” because of our ability to tell convincing lies, our inability to follow a routine, and our ability to read emotions at an early age. The disorder is genetic and probably affects about 1 in 100 people at least to some degree.
When I started school the teachers had been told what to expect. Buttersmunch had just been classified as a disorder and the schools were developing methods to teach people who were disabled like me but a lot still had to be done. This is not to say I am not proud of those Buttersmunchers who went before (btw we like to be called beamers because we smile so easily). We looked to Historic people like JFK and Julius Caesar people who had great charisma they must have been at least a little high on the spectrum.
The teachers never really knew how to handle us beamers. Unlike the normal kids the few of us with Buttersmunch didn’t have special interests. How do you teach a kid that doesn’t really focus on any one thing? We are all over the place and that really limits the teachers ability to cater to our needs. We also had other special needs. For instance people with Buttersmunch don’t follow rules or orders as well as other people. We are always getting in trouble because we change our routine without notice. I have really had to work hard to make myself follow a set routine and stick to it. Can you imagine the horror of normal people when I decide things at the last minute? I am always changing where I eat, or how I drive to work, or even what I wear. We had to take special classes in school that focused on following rules and creating routines.
The kids at school were not nice to people like me. We were different and you know how kids are they always bully the people they see as different. They called us the Buttmunches, Cavemen, even crybaby. That last one hurt the most really. I can’t help it if I wear my emotions on my sleeve that’s just how I was born. We beamers really show way more emotion than is natural. It has been a constant struggle to accommodate myself to the normal world. It sometimes frustrates me so much that I scream. We are such messed up people. I really wish there was a cure for this so I could be normal.

BTW if you wish please continue the story. Describing what it would be like to be an NT in an Aspie world. I'll also add content from time to time.

I really don't know what to make of this. Julius Ceaser scores highly on the Buttersmunch spectrum? Well I never.

I'd like to add something, and pick up where the first post left off.

My parents decided to send me to therapy, to help me with my Buttersmunch disorder. I found the process very uncomfortable. When I first walked in, the therapist, without doing as much as making a few minutes of small talk about the weather or new movies, or even shaking hands to introduce himself, started to explain how he planned to help me. One thing I found unsettling is that he immediately talked to me as an equal. I wasn't sure what to make of it: either he really was under the impression that I was as educated as him, or he was doing that with an ulterior motive of some sorts. I decided to humor him and cut to the chase. I wanted to talk about how I felt when people were misunderstanding me in school. He immediately cut me off and said: "I don't need to hear about feelings. I have a Ph.D. and years of work experience in psychology. I already know what it feels like to be misunderstood." Then he proceeded to shower me with advice on how to talk in an understandable way. It only confused me; I just can't understand why I'm supposed to explain metaphors before using them. And it's not what I was looking for; I just wanted my feelings to be validated and understood. Toward the end, I wanted to curse out the therapist, but my social intuition told me it would be a very bad idea. I walked out of the office feeling like the whole session was a waste of time. My parents want me to go back next week, but I see no use in therapy that doesn't let you share your feelings and only focuses on mechanically memorizing how to do things.