No surprises here.

Seeing the words pop up at me across the email, I should feel something. Someone else might feel surprised, or angry even. Someone else might feel relief. But I feel... indifferent?

It’s something I’ve always known about myself. I’ve always known myself to have sensory issues across the spectrum of all the senses.

I’ve never liked the feeling of anything beneath my bare feet; not grass, carpet, cool tile... nothing. You’ll never find me barefoot, instead I’ll be the one rocking flipflops year round and never just socks either. Socks are only to be worn with shoes.

I don’t wear clothes with tags, the worst are tags on the side seats that tickle my waistline. Instead of a tickle, it feels like ants biting or needles. I don’t like the restriction of tucked in shorts or belts. The material itself can’t be too heavy or hot, I’d rather pile on layers to work myself out of them and become obsessed of the fabric is TOO light creating a situation in where I can’t warm myself appropriately.

I take serious issue with bands covering songs in which I expect to hear a song one way, but the cover is completely different or doesn’t give me the same emotional response the original song did. Musicals, choirs and flash mob choruses are the things of NIGHTMARES.

Flares from car windows or off other similar surfaces send me into a panic as I’m blinded by them and migraines give me similar symptoms that leave me paralyzed wondering if I’m beginning a migraine. Worse yet if I’m driving and ill prepared for  the amount of sun. One of my earliest memories is of being outside in the direct sun. Once while following the footsteps and shadow of my grandfather through his garden and another time in elementary school when we went outside to recess and the sun reflected off every corner of the playground. ((These were times when the slides were made of industrial metals and screamed “survival of the fittest” with their knobby rivets and jagged corners... ah, the 80’s at its finest.))

Facial expressions are overwhelming and typically pull out completely inappropriate responses from me. I’m the one who laughs during your pain or stands there steely faced when placed in an overly joyous or other such emotional situation. I don’t cry, not from joy or sadness unless my anxiety places me in an endless loop of a desperate thought cycle. Only once I’ve completely dehydrated myself will the crying commence, and then it is touch and go for hours if not days following.

If you want to have a completely functional conversation with me, write me. Text, email, direct messages... but never call or approach me with urgent questions. I need time to process and weigh all sides of the problem. Unless I’m approached with conversation about something I’m deeply passionate about (i.e. my kids, travels, books I’ve read, etc.) I’m not likely to have deep conversations.

I’ve always been insatiable when it comes to pleasure. Whether it’s chasing the high of the first cigarette in the morning, the excitement of that first kiss/orgasm, the buzz from the first drink... it’s a slippery slope. I quit drinking entirely when I got pregnant with my oldest. I want to quit smoking, but my brain cannot handle the withdrawal. And I’m in love with the IDEA of love. I thought I was in love with my husband, but now I question everything (and try not to question as that turns into an endless thought cycle that makes me overly emotional and omg just re-read my issues with crying.)

So after many years of knowing what my parents have denied and pleaded their own cases against, watching my youngest struggle in scary familiar ways and social media making me question myself... I did the tests. The same tests my therapist would do in his office but I cannot afford to save up to take so I took them on my own and had them analyzed to be sure I was reading things correctly. The same tests little and middle were subjected to but on an adult scale.

I am autistic.