How To Be Autistic

it’s been thirteen point seven seven two billion years since you were created, and you are fucking cosmic. you have shone in night skies before day and night existed. you are a fluke, a chance, something so utterly unlikely that the odds are incalculable. and yet there you stand. a miracle

there’s no bravery without fear, no courage without that awful lump at the back of your throat and the turning of your stomach.

you will survive.

please, if you do feel you or someone you know is autistic, chase that diagnosis and don’t give up until you have it. Don’t give up after you have it either. Autism, unfortunately, is a life of never giving up.

you will push yourself further than you thought you could survive, and you will survive.

you will survive.
you will survive.

that people are cruel for the sake of being cruel

you will see everybody else and find yourself lacking

I don’t know if that’ll ever really change. How hard everything is. All the time. But I can say subjectively, at least, that it’s better than it was.

Time is cruel, because it gives and takes. Who I am now is moulded on who I was five years ago, ten years ago, twenty years ago. I am everything that has happened to me. I can’t change that. I can change how I think and feel and respond to that, but I can’t change the building blocks of myself.

and the whole ten-year-long hermit act has meant I’ve made it to twenty-nine years of age without even kissing anyone.

Sure, I’d had crushes, but the idea of smooshing genitals with someone else? Please, god, no.