Finding out that I was autistic at 27 was very hard for me. My friends were ahead of me in just about every way. I had just lost my chance to go back to college, lost my apartment, and lost gains from working out within the space of a year. I was low and depressed. Realizing that I was actually different wasn’t relieving, it was depressing and infuriating.
I know that I hear a lot of people saying that they were relieved to know. For me, I was angry. Angry I missed it, angry how my family treated me before and after I was diagnosed, and angry how things were so difficult academically, mentally, socially.
For some time now I have been at war with two sides of me: the failure my family sees me as, and the great person the rest of the world sees. Most days it’s simply the one I feed that makes the most difference.
Maybe I just needed time to work through this. Maybe I need to convey how I feel another way. I honestly don’t know. I just know that I’m not as angry as I used to be.
So here’s me, putting something down, trying to convey how I feel. I’m working to understand how I function. To write on here is like finding out I’m autistic: there are so many emotions and feelings I have that keep me stuck sometimes. I just need to work through them.
To be honest, I was actually quite nervous to post anything on here. For weeks I thought I don’t feel like I write particularly well, especially well enough to convey my thoughts for people to understand. The guilt quietly gnaws at me, like a dog on a soup bone.
But I write anyway. Write something, write anything. And hopefully the right words will come.
- The Enormity of Being Black and Autistic: On self-hate and social media — June 25, 2020
- The Patterns of Injustice that Lead to the Loss of Black Lives — June 1, 2020
- A Black Autistic Man Reflects on the Murder of George Floyd — May 28, 2020