As an adult I have always found the concept of ‘holidaying’ a bit strange, maybe it is because the whole point of a holiday is to get away and relax, and all I see is a stressful airport, lots of new people and places and several meltdowns along the way. I have some great memories of my childhood holidays in England with my parents and two older brothers, significantly more travel sickness memories between the three of us in the back of the car I should add, but that was really our only concern at that age. I can now empathise with how stressful going on holiday must have been for my parents and I cannot understand why they did not just forgo them for 18 years. Had they done so then they would have saved us from the infamous string factory in Cheddar Gorge, which in a moment of…

I have Aspergers. And it’s hard.

1. The constant search in my head for better words that define more accurately the truth I am feeling, even as I am so hyper-analytical I cannot pinpoint the truth.
2. The times I need to curl in a corner and cry with the imaginary arms of someone around me, and then sobbing uncontrollably, as I realize like all the times before, there is no one there.
3. The truth of my isolation and how no one will ever be able to slip into my mind and understand.
4. Limbo. Not knowing the fullness of a situation enough to let my mind rest and being an unwilling victim to the trickling thoughts of what if, and why, and when.
5. Counting the minutes until I can sleep, hoping the sleep will help me escape the increasing thoughts of fear.
6. Saying goodbye to a…