Family and thoughts

I'm only just realizing that I am the dud of my family.

My father, PhD in mathematics, professional computer programmer who sometimes does Secret Things for the NSA.
My mother, board member of multiple NGOs before she started an art career.
My older brother, Parker, a Harvard undergrad taking graduate seminars, speeding towards a degree in Computer Science.
My younger sister, Janet, fluent in three languages and working on a forth, getting a 4.0 and speeding towards linguistics in the Ivies.
My younger brother, getting a 4.0 at a math and tech charter school, and has had his eyes on MIT since he was thirteen.

I was the first to take a college class, the first to come out, the first to flunk a course, the first to go to a therapist, the first to slash her wrists, the first to get diagnoses from the DSM, the first to go on psych drugs, the first to drink, the first to date, the first bring up uncomfortable subjects at the Thanksgiving table. I was the last to pick a college, the last to consider a career, the last to get an award, the last to join any organization, the last to get up in the morning, the last to find friends, the last to realize.

Janet and I have one thing in common: we're the odd ones out. She is genderqueer, and I'm the only one who knows, though I'm encouraging her to talk to Parker. She is also almost certainly some kind of autistic, too, but I'm not forcing that. My PDD has been the least of my problems. But none of my siblings know what to do with an artistic mess like me. Parker regards me with wary sympathy -- "What's the matter? Why?" Janet asks me to talk, then looks embarassed or at worst cries. Scott ignores me. It's probably for the best.

But I love them.