Take this passage from the blog and consider the tone and language, and ask yourself whether it could come from a twelve year old, much less an autistic twelve

Take this passage from the blog and consider the tone and language, and ask yourself whether it could come from a twelve year old, much less an autistic twelve year old who'd only been communicating for three years, and presumably had never done things like read novels for fun (which I consider central to my own language skills relative to my peers): "I love to flap my hands. I flap to feel my body in space. No one goes through the trouble I have to feel my body well. Dare to feel each moment floating weightless in space. I am light and my movement is erratic without gravity making my movement steady. Each day I go crazy not knowing how my body will act. Most people have portly muscle mass to feel their own weight. I do not. I often feel like a bird about to take flight and it makes me flap. I love the sensation of my hands flapping. My hands flap when I am happy. They flap when I am momentarily stressed. They also flap to music. Flapping is important to me. I flap like a bird to feel free from my body. My body is naughty. It acts on impulse too much. No one can discipline it. It has a mind of its own. It makes messes. It acts like a jerk. My body feels tension from stress. Many times I can't feel my body. I am unable to do many things people do without thinking. Lastly, my weary lament for my Autistic friends who can’t communicate kills my soul. Living with autism is hard. I sometimes would like to try living without it but I can't. Living peacefully requires me to accept myself, autism included. I mean to make the most of what I have been given. I have been given a strong mind. I have a mission from God. I am trying to educate the world about autism. No meaning comes from being negative about autism. My slavery to negative stereotypes is over. I am free peacefully pursuing my dreams. Moments are still very challenging but I know I can persevere and someday peacefully make a beautiful life for myself." "My weary lament" "I have a mission from God. I am trying to educate the world about autism." "My slavery to negative stereotypes is over." I have trouble understanding how anyone could convince themselves this was legitimately a child communicating. It reads a bit like someone trying to make poetic reflections from the point of view of their dog, imagining what it must be thinking and inserting their own florid prose for laughs. If this woman really believes she's speaking with her son, rather than speaking for her son, that's heartbreaking. It reads more like a cruel satire of people who've found themselves in this situation, but to what end I could not guess. I would have been happy enough having my sister be able to explain that she was screaming because she heard an irritating noise, or tell us what she was getting out of tearing her clothes off, or say she was feeling sad the cat died, or ask us for basic things like not to have to go to the dentist. If we found a way to communicate with her using a vocabulary of ~500 words with simple grammar rather than 5-50 nouns based on immediate wants("cookie", "bathroom", "cheese", "tickle"), all of our lives would have been improved immeasurably... but I wouldn't expect her to start spouting Shakespeare references or Bible verse, and seeing that would cast immediate doubt on whatever method was being used.