I am Autistic
I am autistic.
I’m the weird one, the one you see out of the corner of your eye. My movements are different, obvious. Sometimes I’m waving my arms up and down, a bright smile on my face. A gasp of excitement. Flapping. I’m a hummingbird, trying to fly.
I’m obsessed. I dive wholeheartedly into fandoms. I know everything about the greek gods, about the world of Harry Potter. I am wearing a shirt with the pi symbol. You look a little closer. The symbol is made up of the numbers. You comment on it and the words come flying out of my mouth. I know so much about this. I love this topic. My special interests, I infodump to you.
I’m overwhelmed. I’m rocking, it’s all too much. I have to get out. Don’t touch me don’t touch me don’t touch me there’s too much noise I can’t handle it out out I need to get out don’t touch too much. My hands are over my ears, my eyes squeezed shut against the brightness. The carpet feels like rubbing a hedgehog the wrong way. I am overreacting you say, but I cannot process anything properly anymore.
I stop talking. I cannot say a word. I try to but all that comes out is a noise. Stop grunting I am told. All that comes from her are grunts. I am a boy but I cannot correct you. I am too overwhelmed to function properly so I follow like a zombie. Silent. Nonverbal.
I am nervous. I am rocking. Silent. Afraid. Anxious. You are An Adult. You should be able to do Adult Things. I cannot do these things. I cannot talk to that person. Don’t make me do that please. But you don’t listen you yell and get mad. I cry, silently. I say nothing. I am nothing. I curl up. I rock. I have no voice, no power. I do not know myself. Everything scares me.
I need a cat. I speak up. I am terrified. I found a job I can do. It is a small job but I can do it. I need a service dog. I need help. I am telling you this because you said it is okay to ask for help. But it is not okay. It is not okay if it does not fall under the invisible guidelines you have set. I don’t know. I don’t know what I am doing. There is nothing in my brain. I have no ideas. You told me my ideas were Wrong. Very Wrong. But then you ask me for ideas of which I do not have. You do not listen to me when I tell you ideas but not having any ideas is Not Okay? What did I do? I don’t understand. I never understand.
The world hates me. I understand this now. The world was not made for me. The lights are too bright, the noises too loud. I do not understand these invisible rules. I trip over them again and again and again. The things I touch and feel are Bad textures. The smells too strong, the tastes too much. My brain doesn’t work right. I get overwhelmed too easily. I get burnt out but I am called lazy. I have a meltdown but it is just a tantrum from a spoiled child. I shut down but according to others I am uncooperative. Those who take care of me are so brave, so courageous for putting up with someone like that. People hate me. It is okay, even accepted to kill me. Organizations want to get rid of me. The world wants to get rid of me.
I speak quietly.
I am autistic.