The next week (or so) has been bequeathed from hell to challenge me.
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 horrible cough-and-cold mixture is the ultimate magnification of all the things that push those sensory overload buttons in my brain.
When neurotypical people talk about anxiety, they're not willing to talk about the other, less sympathetic, manifestations.
I can feel it physically: hear it, taste it, smell it, see it. Emotional overload is no different to me than sensory overload.
He is my beautiful, brave, loving, silly, pathetic, cowardly, loyal, protective, fabulous boy. Sometimes, I love him so much I could cry.
For every person who complains about how annoying they find this new fad, I will shoot back that it's a lot less annoying than a twenty-five year old woman descending into meltdown in a public space.
I've always known I feel the cold. I had just never thought about in terms of those wonderful labels that started clicking into place once I got my diagnosis.