So, uh—
Hi.
I guess.
Wait. No, I meant to say—
Uh, actually, let me start over.
Shit. Too late.
I already fucked it up.
And that’s the thing, right?
Like, my mouth and my brain? They ain’t exactly best friends.
They’re like two drunk dudes in a canoe,
both paddling in opposite directions,
yelling “BRO, JUST LET ME DO IT!”
Meanwhile, I’m over here drowning in the silence.
Like, people talk, right?
They talk in this dance—smooth, easy,
like they’ve been rehearsing since birth.
And I show up with two left feet,
wearing clown shoes,
tripping over metaphors I don’t understand.
Like, wait, when you say “What’s up?”
do you really wanna know??
Because if you really wanna know,
buckle up, buddy,
I got 48 hyperfixations and some strong opinions about Halloween.
Oh—
OH! You meant “What’s up?”
Like… nothing?
Like, just say “Nothing much” and move on?
Cool. Cool cool cool cool cool.
I will remember that for exactly three minutes
and then mess it up again forever.
And don’t even get me started on hugs.
I love hugs.
I crave them the way a desert craves rain,
but I don’t know how to ask for them.
Like, is there a sign I’m supposed to give?
A secret handshake I never learned?
Because human interaction is like a foreign language,
and I don’t know how to conjugate a hug.
Like—
Do I go in for one arm? Two?
Do I squeeze? How long do I hold on?
What’s the etiquette here?
Because I want to stay,
but I don’t know if you’ll let me.
I don’t know if I’m taking too much
or not giving enough.
Like I’m stuck in a conversation
where everyone else got the script,
and I just showed up with a blank page.
And listen—
LISTEN.
I know I’m weird.
You don’t have to tell me.
I can feel it.
Like a tag in the back of my shirt
that everyone else is fine with
but it’s currently ruining my entire existence.
And I know. I know.
I don’t look autistic.
Which is wild, actually,
because I did not know there was a dress code
for a neurological condition.
Like, oh, sorry, let me go put on my
“I Hate Loud Noises” hoodie
and my “leg bouncing” shoes
so you’ll believe me.
And I wish—
God, I wish—
I could just update the software.
Just press a button and suddenly the words come out right.
Suddenly I’m not buffering when someone says “Hey, what’s up?”
Suddenly I don’t have to rehearse every conversation
like I’m auditioning for a part I’ll never get.
I wish I could just…
talk.
Laugh at the right time.
Make a joke that lands instead of sinking like a rock
while everyone else politely pretends not to notice.
I want to connect with people.
I want to feel normal.
I want to be normal.
But I’m not.
And yeah, that pisses me off.
But I’m still here.
Still learning the language.
Still showing up,
even when my brain says, “Don’t bother.”
Still reaching out,
even when I don’t know the right words.
Still trying,
because even if I don’t fit the mold,
I refuse to be invisible.
I am autistically yours.
Not because I want to be.
Not because I don’t.
But because this is me.
And I’m not going anywhere.
