Adventures of a Shockingly Average 30-Something

Grief's a funny thing.  Not "ha ha" funny, but just... actually, scratch that. Grief's not a funny thing. And I hate that expression.  There's nothing funny about it; it just sucks.  Here's the thing: today is 12 years since my dad died, and yet at the time I'm currently typing this, I've been awake roughly 45 minutes and I've cried three times already today... because I miss my grandma.  And then I feel guilty because I feel like I shouldn't miss my grandma extra today - I should miss my dad extra today.   I posted once, five years ago according to my facebook page, that I remember today in flashes.  I remember hanging out with my friends until way too late at night before remembering that I had an early class the next morning and needed to get up early.  I remember someone knocking on the door of our dorm room at 2:30 in the morning, my roommate answering and sleepily telling me "it's for you", me looking and then pulling the co...

Eight months ago today, I was diagnosed as autistic.  And some days I feel like I’m still processing that diagnosis.  It’s something that, for so long, I had thought/suspected about myself and I thought, because I’d thought it for so long, that that knowing wouldn’t change anything.  And in some ways, most ways, nothing in my life has changed except that   I   know now and so do other people.  I mean, I’d started accommodating myself before that diagnosis – I got a weighted blanket for when I was experiencing anxiety or restlessness or just couldn’t sleep; I bought Loop earplugs to help with noise and started wearing them to things like concerts or hockey games or even the plays that we go to; I keep fidget toys at my desk at work; hell I even started keeping my hair short so it wouldn’t be   touching  me because I hate that sensory experience so much – so in my head, I thought it would be the same, I’d just be more knowledgeable about myself....

Dear Little Me, You're three.  You've just become a big sister, so life is changing so much right now.  It's okay.  You're so smart, smarter than a 3 year old really has any right to be.  The world is big, and you're so little - and you discovered that books are an escape from everything, even though you don't know yet that that's what you're doing, escaping from the confusing and ever changing world into the familiarity of your books.  Hop on Pop never changes no matter how many times you read it.  One Fish Two Fish, Red Fish Blue Fish is the same story every time.  Fox In Socks? Green Eggs & Ham?  The entire series of Spot the dog books?  No matter how big or loud or scary the world is, they stay the same and there’s something comforting about that.  Something about that feels safe and just feels right.  And that's okay.  There isn't anything wrong with you.  You're autistic; you just don't know it yet. Don't Take Th...

So I posted on Facebook about being diagnosed as autistic.  And the world didn't end.  That previous post on here, I had it saved in my Notes app on my phone and kept editing it, making little changes here and there, until I was happy with the way everything was worded... and then I waited and waited and waited, waiting for the "perfect" time.  But with all the shit going on in this country, the ignorance and ugliness, the comments from RFJ Jr (the most unqualified person for his current position) emboldening people further to wear their hatred with pride under the guise of "finding a cure for" or even "preventing" autism, I realized that there was never going to be a perfect time.  So I copied what was in my Notes app, opened up Facebook, pasted it.. took a deep breath.. hit post... and immediately closed the Facebook app.  I didn't want to see what people would say. When I opened the app again a few hours later, I was surprised by what I saw.  Th...

I know I already posted almost this same post, but I'm debating posting on Facebook/Instagram (probably Facebook, eventually, because I feel it'll be too long to put as an Insta caption. I always do use more words than necessary and things always wind up longer than I plan for) and I want to have planned out what I'm typing.  I want my words thought out and in order and for them to make sense. Growing up, I knew I was different.  I didn't know how or why but I knew from a young age that I was different from my peers - and they knew it too.  Because I didn't know the "why" and I didn't have a reason and I didn't have a word to describe it, the labels that were assigned to me from the people around me were things like strange, weird, quiet, shy, nerd, geek, anxious, different, needy, loser, over-sensitive, dramatic.  I practiced facial expressions in the mirror and watched my friends' faces and body language to mimic mine to, to the point where t...