A brief, very personal post.
I do not write about my autism for personal sympathy… or reassurance…
Or, let’s say I struggle not to.
Let’s call me a frustrated travel writer. A Paul Theroux of the neurology…
exploring one, foreign jungle of an autistic nervous system…
with a full basket of autistic deficits & advantages…
a fair number of co-morbidities…
a complicated personal history, including abuse…
And who writes in the manner he thinks.
Spastically.
With tales to tell you…
Of lands you will never visit… but friends can’t seem to ever really describe to you…
Or strange alien landscapes you find yourself believing you’re all alone in…
Because, in the end, they’re all I have to offer the world…
Ya know. Before I die.
Hoping someone finds value.
Somehow.
It’s an old age thing.
I’d like your reassurance that personal experience of this kind is of value…
And I’m not merely indulging myself…?
“I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to die.”
–Rutger Hauer, Blade Runner
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