Eventually I spoke to my mum about it. Well…I never really discussed it, I simply said that I received the diagnosis. I wanted to explain what it was and how it affected me but her response halted me. It was subtle, but I noticed it.
I have lived my life as an Autistic. I only found out aged 46.
I was relieved because it gave me so many answers to questions that had always plagued my existence, but it left me vulnerable. I was suddenly without
Content warning: bad poetry
Fifteen years ago, I wrote a poem. This was fifteen years before I had a name for how I was different. But, I always knew.
For as long as I can remember, I have been considered odd. Not the sort of odd that makes me unlikable, but the type of odd that makes it difficult for me to be understood by or understand others. My values and needs