Written by and originally published at Signposts in the Fog
I live in the moment.
The immediate.
I stop to smell the roses.
I also smell burning way before anyone else (other than another autistic person, perhaps).
My husband affectionately called me a bloodhound.
I see order in chaos.
My filing system is chaotic.
I cannot work with it in any other way.
I systemise everything in my life.
People talk to me about their problems because I see solutions others often don’t see.
I think outside the box.
I am outside the box.
I form deep connections with people.
My conversation is not frivolous.
I get to the point.
I accept and respect without judgement.
I don’t conform.
I’m a vegetarian who eats fish, and chicken.
Oh and occasionally sweet and sour spare ribs, but only if they haven’t come from gerbils.
I believe everything I’m told.
I’m innocent, despite my experience.
I’m loyal.
I’m focused.
I have high expectations and hold myself to them.
I’m married to an autistic man.
We have an autistic daughter and (we suspect) a neurotypical son.
I love and protect my family with fierce, uncompromising devotion.
If it’s not logical, it doesn’t exist in my world.
Harmony calms me.
The sound of a hoover makes me want to scream.
23 degrees Celsius. No exceptions.
I am autistic.
This is autism.
Autism is me.
I’m not broken.
I don’t want to be fixed.
I’m blessed.
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