My Safe Space

What is autism? Who am I? Not who I was last year before my diagnosis or perhaps I am?

Perhaps, exactly the same person as the pre-pubescent who escaped to her bedroom as soon as the evening rituals were complete. Teeth brushed, hair combed, toilet needs fulfilled. Inside was a make-believe world of sinister smiling character dolls in brightly coloured hand-knitted clothes which clashed gregariously with the 70s carpet. Personally, I preferred Action Man. My imagination tucked up in bed, he would rise forth to battle against Sindy, the healthier looking adversary to Barbie, his cohort. I wished that he would pull each hair follicle from her plump head, even though I knew that her triumphant smile would welcome me from my dreams in the morning.

Nowadays, I find a similar solace away from the everlasting buzz of my computer, camouflaged as a brain. There are always hundreds of apps open at the same time. Each web browser, hundreds of tabs. It screams for help to no avail. The rotating circle of death tries to warn of impending doom before the ultimate crash. Shutdown. Time to retreat, reboot, reset. This time my evening rituals won’t be completed.

It's still me, same brain. Just a different battle in the same war.