There’s a freedom that comes with finding out I’m autistic. Suddenly, the metrics by which I’m supposed to be measured undergo fundamental changes, I’m let off the hook for a whole set of attributes, the negative of which I assumed were character flaws and the positive of which I assumed were happy-accidental strokes of good karma that I didn’t deserve. In addition, there’s an entirely new cabinet of valid explanations and forgivenesses that I now hold the key to, to access whenever needed.
If I use this properly, for the ease of my advancement as opposed to an excuse for a lack thereof, then this is probably a good thing.
I am home, having rolled in at an obscene time of night as Saturday gave way to Sunday, and I finally had to admit: I’m a wreck.
Physically, it takes me several weeks to months to fully recover from a…
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