This story was submitted to Love & Autism by #actuallyautistic writer and musician David Keosababian. His contact information will be at the bottom of the post.

I was diagnosed at the age of 20. Before then I only knew a few things: school was an inhumane form of socialistic totalitarian abuse towards children; life was antagonistic and utterly contradictory to happiness; depression, sadness and moroseness were absolute perpetuations throughout all mankind, possessing only momentary fragments of joy and happiness categorized by inflections of brief and often traditional engagements, i.e. birthday parties or Christmas; and I was the least form of wretched lacking-of-life upon the planet whose only nepenthe came in the form a self-imposed exile from Hell and thus directed to Heaven, via suicide.

After I was diagnosed there was something that changed: now I had a name to go with my torment. Aside from this, naught changed.

I am now 35 years old. Would you to believe that I was married? I tested with an I.Q. of 180. I write better than Shakespeare in my savantry. I memorized biology textbooks in school. I can play four musical instruments and I play them professionally. I can compose any form of music. Yes, I can write music of every-single-last-human-designed genre. My reading comprehension exceeds geniuses. I have been heralded by few as a Heaven-sent angel. I am also a professional driver, a former warehouse and business manager, intellectual debater, philosophical theologian, a multiple-published writer, a scientific theorists, a medical-school prodigy (never attended) and basically everything the world needs to even find a cure to cancer, if I had the resources. And that is where my torture comes into play, heretofore: I am penny-less; jobless; happiness-less; exhausted; furious and utterly out of all options and questions as to why no one will hire me. All I want is to sit behind a piano or stand with my violin and play some music so I can keep my wife and I under our s&^t hole apartment roof without fear of living on the streets.

What happened to the world? Why is it rejecting me?

Why is it that I write better than college professors yet I am unaccepted for a college scholarship? Why is it that one of my past managers said, “what are you doing here? You should be working for MIT or something?” Why am I stuck playing professional violin in front of a Walmart for tips (despite the joy I have assuredly evoked amongst the populace there) when I would much rather and SHOULD be making 100 dollars an hour at a hotel lobby, or something? Why do I cry every night (at least internally) when all the gifts God has given my fall silent; every-single-day silent? Why doesn’t ANYONE see, hear or listen to what I’m trying to say?

I just want to play some music and write some good stories for a living. I want my children to be safe and go to school one day. I want to take my wife out to a nice dinner sometime and pay my bills without wondering if I can PAY MY BILLS. I want to pay off my debt. I want to just live. Why doesn’t anyone take me?

Believe me, I’ve tried. I’ve called, I’ve petitioned, auditioned… the only people who love me and need me and want me and absolutely adore me and my wife and my playing are the people I’ve played for. The ones in charge of the engagements, the event managers, the coordinators… you know, the people responsible for giving me an opportunity, or some such nonsense, they’re the ones that reject, refuse and, I’m sad to say, never return your phone calls– ever!

I’ve cried longer than most people have lived. I’ve had four suicide attempts, or maybe five and I have come to a moment in my life where brokenness is normal. As for joy, joy has never been an article of my life. I’ve come to the conclusion that, until I get to Heaven, I’ll never feel joy. That is, until I can just have a good paying job by playing the piano; to give my wife the comfort of knowing we’re not going to get evicted; to allowing her to give to others and help others while I hold her hand. If this seems totally out-of-bounds, as if I were some conceited, pompous and arrogant hypocrite, then why am I even alive? If my simple request and my simple idea of life is actually something not only attainable, but instantly and IMMEDIATELY doable, then just point to the piano and let me serenade the people who need it, whilst allowing the people who have inhibited this dream to drown in their own jealousy and, what I’ve concluded to be, bitterness.

Love & Autism: I truly hope those words, words which are beyond my dogma into that of absolute sacrosanctity, are your covenant. I have talent I want to give and give to the whole world. But that talent has been muffled and muted in hate. May I perhaps find love which will allow a genius to flourish?

My name is David Keosababian and I am an adult with Autism. I truly feel I hate this world for the abuse it has given me because of it. I need love and compassion. I need, literally, money. I need a job which fits my talents. Thank you.

-David Keosababian.

These are my published works on
This is my website:
This is my blog:
This is my YouTube:

This is my first interview on the radio. Dr. Carol Francis and I discuss essentially aspects of my book, facets of my own life and how I initially became a writer. Please enjoy and do not forget to purchase my novel: The Rudimentum Series: Aeon Eternal. Thank you.

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