I will not stand by and watch the bastardisation of a word that is part of my very definition.
Let 2018 be the year that Autistic anger burns bright . Let it be the year in which they can't pretend they can't hear us any more.
I'm still nervous about the global political climate, I'm still full of emotional turmoil, and I'm still going to be blogging about both of those things.
I have a strange and wonderful and terrible and contentious relationship with this time of year.
I realised it was okay to work with what I have, rather than trying to work with what other people expected me to have.
Quiet carriages are absolutely a lifeline for disabled people like myself. Some days they are the only reason I have the emotional energy to succeed at work.
The definition of success seems to depend very much on the frame that you're looking at it through. And the frame of my 'success' is the neurotypical gaze.
My brain is juggling so many things, and if you throw something else at me without warning, the likelihood is that I'm going to miss it altogether or drop it before its first rotation is complete.
His phone call to the charity was shared as a courageous exposé. I had to stop watching after three minutes because I was on the edge of a memory-scarred panic attack.
The horrible cough-and-cold mixture is the ultimate magnification of all the things that push those sensory overload buttons in my brain.