I shudder at the thought of it being an option to other vulnerable young autistic people, never giving them the chance they deserve to come through it and learn a sense of pride in who they are.
A year ago, I had the privilege of joining three other autistic women to film a segment for a Channel 4 documentary.
Because we live in a culture that doesn’t talk about death, I am innately curious. It’s the ultimate unspoken thing -final, unchangeable, ridiculous – that my brain wants to unpack and understand.
In an age where cuts to support are justified by shifting the goalposts of ‘need’ , the Paralympics are held up as an example of what all disabled people ‘could’ achieve with a little bit of spunk and a can-do attitude.
The next week (or so) has been bequeathed from hell to challenge me.
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.
These characters were my very own line-up of autistic headcanons. And I identified more with them than I did with the very few characters who were written as ‘autistic’ from the beginning.