I feel like an imposter in my own neurotype. And, in a room full of people I know I belong with, I find myself thinking: but what if I don't?
He goes through so much and is still the happiest creature. It's like we were meant to find each other. We both struggle. And we know how to look after each other.
But why, oh why, was I locked in a toilet doing my 'calming down' checklist in the middle of the afternoon? Two words: forced socialisation.
I'm 26 now, and I still smack myself in the legs when the world gets too much. Do you really want to take that risk?
Seeing Norbert Neurotypical - with his banking job and his wife and his baby and his mortgage and his vegetable couscous lunch - just makes me feel like a fraud playing at being an adult .
I will not stand by and watch the bastardisation of a word that is part of my very definition.
I have a strange and wonderful and terrible and contentious relationship with this time of year.
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.