February 3, 2019

As a child, I called myself a poet, because I noticed things that others didn’t, and tried my best to put them into rhyming words.

As a child, I also felt misunderstood, or only partially understood, by most people, most of the time.

It turns out that symbolic poetry is not the best form of expression for someone who’s prone to being misunderstood. Fortunately, in college, I learned that “creative nonfiction” is a valid art form – and for me personally, a more effective way to communicate.

After that, writing became a way to explore and share my inner universe. I looked for patterns in my preferences and behaviors, to understand and explain why I felt so mysteriously different from others – yet at the same time, so internally consistent.

Two years ago, at the age of 28, I found out that I’m autistic. Suddenly, everything I’d ever wondered about myself had an explanation, a reason, a purpose, a cause.

Soon after that, I sought and received my diagnosis: I am undeniably autistic, by every possible measure.

When I tell people, they usually say they would never have guessed it. That stems from a limited understanding of what autism looks and feels like, which I want to help illuminate by writing about it.

I want to poetically notice, and plainly articulate, the beautiful view from inside my brain – so that people like me will recognize it sooner for what it is, and others will grow to understand and value it.

I so deeply appreciate those of you who read my posts with an open heart!

P.S. I write from my personal experience as an autistic. What I share is not a substitute for advice from an autistic medical professional. Also, some of my opinions have changed since I first wrote them.