So, this is the post-event approximation of what I wanted to say, somewhat out of order.

You are one of the most beautiful people I have ever met.

I want to feel and listen to everything you want to give, and I want to give you so many things in return, to feel and listen to and taste and smell. I’ve wanted to share that with someone for so long, as you said, the layers of meaning that come before the meaning of mind. At most, people generally like my poetry.

But it’s not because I can’t speak. I speak very well.

No one knows I’m autistic.

I’ve suspected for years, but never felt safe in discussing it with… well… anyone. I guess I’d be the epitome of what they’d call “high-functioning”, or, as I’d prefer to term it, I pass for neurotypical. Actually, I pass for simply “genius”, and this was originally going to be a response to your post from 2006 “On “contradictions” and so-called prodigies and so-called savants and prejudice and being a freak on display.” but then I checked to see if you had any recent posts indicating that you’d actually get to read my response, and found this poem and… well… if I responded to anything I wanted it to be the most beautiful, validating, painful-in-the-best-way thing I’ve read in years.

Like I said, no one knows I’m autistic. I’m fluent in four languages (one of them Mandarin Chinese, and yes, I can read it), capable of many more, hyperlexic, made A’s in college (had to quit due to money problems), have lived on my own most of my adult life, and have been steadily employed for the last three years (before that, college). Which is why I can’t seem to get people to understand how hard it is for me to pick up a phone and order take out (I still do it, but it takes a lot of effort and I usually have to memorise the order like a sonnet before I even pick up the phone). Or how ordering a different sandwich than usual at the chain I’ve been going to since childhood is like jumping into a freezing pool in the middle of January. Or how good my fingernails feel against my lips when they’re painted. How amazingly smooth.

Or how difficult it is to really connect with most of them, because they don’t even have an understanding of how I really function, let alone that most of my capabilities are actually because of this difference. I can learn languages with ease because I don’t translate through English, I go directly from the reality to whichever abstraction I need. I am doing well for myself as a massage therapist because I feel and listen to the muscles and body of the people I work on.

My autism is what makes me so amazing. It’s what makes my life so beautiful, in every sensation. Even the bad ones (like towels).

Thank you for expressing that beauty.

I may cry again.

I want to push your lapis lazuli ball against my face and look deep into its blue, like a new universe, with stars and wonder. I don’t have amazing things to give on this side, my most treasured stim object is my little Toothless dragon toy that I love so much, but I will give it to you in an instant if you were here now, to rub your fingers over its tough little wings and gentle head, a reminder that we are alive and that we feel, so much.

– jess (a diary of a mom)