Sometimes, people are seen as their disorder. Other times,
    the disorder is completely erased. Neither is good.
    
    On one hand, I want people to see me as a person like them,
    and to speak to me on grounds of us both being human. I want
    them to talk to me as myself, not just as an autistic person,
    or a depressed person, or whatever else. They're not talking
    to my mental illness. In truth, I don't know and can't be sure
    of how others really perceive me, especially since I do not
    have my issues plastered on my face. Well, usually. ADHD and
    autism can be pretty visible on me. Regardless, I don't know
    whether people attach it to my existence in their heads.
    However, all through school years, I was infantilised by my
    classmates. I was younger than them. This frustrated me
    as I grew up. Sometimes I leaned into it because it meant
    they can easily dismiss my strange behaviour as childish
    instead of pathologizing it. Part of me doesn't want being
    strange to be the main component of somebody else's perception
    of me when they are talking to me.
    
    On the other hand, I'm sick of trying to act normal. I don't
    want to continue pretending that my mental illness doesn't
    affect me and to try and be seen as normal. I'll never be
    normal by common standards. Maybe by someone else's standards,
    I'm perfectly fine (see anti-psychiatry). ADHD is actually not
    the concern here. It's a very common disorder. Acceptance is
    increasing, too. Other issues people may have, however,
    remain stigmatized, especially personality disorders and
    schizophrenia spectrum, but I digress. The other part of me
    wants to embrace the times I've been called mad. If people
    are going to hate me or be scared of me, I'm going to give
    them a reason to. I'm going to become a vampire. On a more
    serious note, I want people to acknowledge that the way I think
    and act, no matter how odd, is because of my mental illness.
    I don't want them to reduce me to it, but to acknowledge it as
    a part of me.
    
    Some people insist that creativity is separate from mental
    illness, and I agree. Human creativity isn't indicative of
    an issue. Making colorful geometric art does't mean you've
    taken psychedelic drugs, for example. And you don't need to
    be depressed to make meaningful or poignant art. Despite that,
    I've noticed that the works of mine that I like most come
    from deep in my psyche, and my psyche is ill.