Queerly Autistic

I don’t remember much of my childhood. Is this an ‘autism’ thing, or an ‘everyone else experiences this but I can’t read or replicate their bullshit’ thing?

I have a major personal conundrum: I enjoy spending time with people I like, but I have a severely limited supply of social energy to do so.

I didn’t want to be asexual. I didn’t realise that I didn’t have to relinquish my beloved bisexual identity in order to make some space for this little bit of ace. 

When neurotypical people talk about anxiety, they’re not willing to talk about the other, less sympathetic, manifestations.

I don’t know how old I was when I first learned that I had to shout ‘fire’ if someone tried to grab me.

I always thought that actually having a valid excuse to not talk to people would be a blessing. I was wrong.

It seems appropriate, on this World Mental Health Day, to admit that I’m struggling.

It was a crushing, overpopulated corner of hell, and I promised myself I would never go into the situation again unarmed.

I often hold my queerness hand in hand with my autism. They are what make me beautiful and unique. They are also what paints a target on my head.

I accept that this isn’t the kind of grandiose statement the great poets of our time will write songs about. But it is a huge, empowering revelation for me.