Christmas wasn't anything special. By that I mean: I spent it alone. I decorated a tree by myself and colour co-ordinated the lights so they resembled a rainbow but the yellow didn't go with the green. This frustrated me and I ended up getting rid of the lights. I spent the rest of my time organizing my desk to silence my mind. There happened to be a parade outside and I could hear the screams of joy through the thin walls of my home. I wasn't too good with noise. I'm unsure if this is because of my Asperger's or something else because father doesn't like noise either. It makes me feel like.. television static. 

I also spent the rest of my time packing since I was planning to leave the very next day. However, instead of taking a cab, I settled with taking the train. I preferred the rooms back in my father's home because he had painted my room blue and white. He knows that I like the combination. I asked my landlord if I could paint the walls of my new home and he wouldn't let me and said I can go ahead if I wanted an eviction notice. He seemed like I'd angered him so I only met up with him to pay rent after that.

Dad taught me that if someone furrows their eyebrows and raises their voice at you, it means they're angry at you. At a young age, I had trouble deciphering emotions and understanding body language. I had to take special classes to learn. Dad made me memorize all the dictionary definitions of different kinds of emotions.

But, the dictionary I studied defined anger as "a strong feeling of annoyance, displeasure or hostility". It didn't say "when one furrows their brows and raises their voice at you". So, at the time, I didn't know who to believe. As I got older, I began to understand a little better. I still struggle. Just not as much as I used to. I don't have to look up the dictionary definition of anger anymore.

My dad's friends described him as somebody who never felt anger or frustration. They said he was always happy. But then I learnt that people can conceal their true emotions and mask them with happiness. Again, I don't know who to believe. 

When I was younger, the kids in my neighbourhood would call each other 'autistic' and then laugh. I was surprised that there were other people like me in my very neighbourhood. I told father about it  and he said I should stay away from them. He didn't tell me why. Later that night, I heard him talking to Uncle Mark on the phone about 'ableist' children in our neighbourhood. I did not know what this meant. 

I've heard this word twice in my entire life. The first time was when my father used it and the second time was when I agreed to go get coffee with Tyrone. I attempted to order for myself, and, upon noticing my struggle, a group of teenage boys seated behind us began to call me what Tyrone refers to as 'the r-word'. From the way he said it, it seems I shouldn't use that word. He called them ableist and then we left the shop without getting any coffee.

The dictionary definition states that ableism is a social prejudice against people who have disabilities. I never considered what I had as a disability because I am just as able to do anything as anybody else. I never considered myself as disabled. 

However, this is what I am called by doctors. 

Father encourages me to use the disabled parking spots since I have the disabled parking permit. I never listened. I don't think I'm disabled because my condition is only mental and not physical. Some professionals say Asperger's doesn't exist. Father says that this doesn't make my condition any less valid.

Father always says I shouldn't listen to what other people call me. He said the same thing when I told him some kids had referred to me as a 'freak' for wanting to assign them their colours. However, that same night, Aunt Delancey called me a 'freak' at the dinner table. Father said nothing.

I don't recall what emotion I was feeling at this time exactly. But I felt funny. I felt pathetically inadequate. My dictionary says that this is the informal term for sadness.