Autism, for me, is like running the latest, fastest operating system on hardware that’s constantly being attacked by pop-up ads, random alarms, and overheating warnings. My brain thinks so fast it sometimes forgets to tell my mouth — which is why I stutter, trip over words, or just forget what I’m saying mid-sentence and stare into the void for a minute.
I’m autistic with PDA — which basically means if you tell me to do something, a part of my soul immediately starts planning a jailbreak. It doesn’t matter if I wanted to do the thing 10 minutes ago — now that it’s a demand, it feels like climbing Mount Everest barefoot. (Spoiler: I’m probably going to do it anyway, but only after I convince myself it was my idea.)
Autism means I notice everything, the flicker of a fluorescent light, the slight change in someone’s mood, the tag in my shirt that suddenly feels like sandpaper — and all of it hits at once. Crowds and loud places feel like trying to solve calculus while someone’s blowing an airhorn in each ear.
I need routines and lists, not because I’m boring, but because life is chaotic and if I don’t organize it, it steamrolls me. Unexpected changes can feel like someone shoved me into an escape room without a map.
Nature is my happy place. Trees don’t ask for eye contact. Rivers don’t make small talk. Dirt doesn’t gaslight you. Outside, the world makes sense.
Autism isn’t a mistake in my design. It’s why I’m loyal, passionate, clever, and hilarious (in my own slightly weird way). It’s why I care so deeply, why I see the world differently, and why I can find creative solutions to things nobody else even notices.
It’s not always easy — sometimes it’s exhausting — but it’s also why I’m stubborn, brave, and absolutely unstoppable once I figure out how to do something my way.
Autism is not what holds me back.
It’s what makes me me.
NeuroExplorer 