I Am Autism

I am Autism.

I am the gatekeeper of your communications.

I am a run-on sentence with no end, stumbling aimlessly along the pages of a conversation as you trip.

I am the anchor that drowns you in a deep sea of words, as you violently struggle to retrieve them.

I am the villain at the epicenter of your understanding; only allowing you to perceive what is logical for me.

I am Autism.

I am your social mousetrap.

I am the off-beat nonconformist that prohibits you to assimilate with the Neurotypicals.

I am your social map, with a horribly mangled compass and I present you wrong directions at every inhospitable turn.

I am an unsolicited weed in your blossoming field of flowers, and I return at every season to crowd your social garden.

I am Autism.

I am your sensory prison.

I am the tag on the back of your shirt and the bumps on the bottoms of your socks.

I am the background noise to your quiet thoughts and I make your brain bleed with my persistent harassment.

I am the slimy, mushy, soggy, stickiness that remains long after I have been washed from your hands.

I am Autism.

I am your undesirable demeanor.

I am three pounds of anxiety in a two pound bag, spilling over the edges and seeping into every facet of your life.

I am an obsession that won’t go away; I will pester you until you validate me.

I am the itch that you must scratch, a boat that you must rock, and wings that you must flap.

I am Autism.

I am both thief and giver.

I am your affliction and advantage.

I am your poison and your antidote.

I am Autism.