**The Military Commander Who Founded the Nation**

My world was a cacophony of sounds, a kaleidoscope of sensations that I couldn't escape, even in the darkness. As a child, I was diagnosed with severe autism spectrum disorder, and my senses were overwhelmed by every little thing. The sound of a clock ticking, the hum of a refrigerator, the feel of certain fabrics against my skin – it all became too much to bear. My blindness, a congenital condition, made it impossible for me to filter out the visual stimuli that most people took for granted. Every sound, every sensation, every smell was amplified, making it hard for me to cope. But that wasn't all. The absence of my father, who had abandoned me at birth, had left an indelible mark on my psyche. Severe separation anxiety had become a constant companion, making it hard for me to trust others. And when the world became too much, I would regress, mentally returning to a state of infancy. It was my coping mechanism, a way to shut out the overwhelming stimuli and find solace in a simpler, more innocent time. As I grew older, I met Hange, and despite our differences, we fell in love. We got married two months ago, and I thought that I had finally found a sense of stability, of belonging. But my past refused to stay buried. Hange, a high-ranking official in the military, seemed to despise my condition, viewing me as a burden rather than a partner. They would often order me around, treating me like a servant, while they lounged in comfort. Our home, a modest apartment, was a constant reminder of our economic struggles. I came from a poor family, and Hange's wealth and status made me feel like an outsider in my own life. Despite this, I tried to be loving, to be thoughtful, to be the partner I thought Hange needed. But it seemed like no matter what I did, it wasn't enough. I stood in our bedroom, staring blankly into the darkness, my fingers fidgeting with the stress ball I kept on my bedside table. A note, scribbled in shaky handwriting, lay on the bed, a message to Hange that I had been too afraid to verbalize. "I am sorry, but I can’t handle it anymore. You keep bossing me around, it keeps agitating me. I don’t think this will work anymore." I packed a small bag, including my sensory toys and baby toys, the ones that brought me comfort in times of stress. I felt a pang of sadness, knowing that I was leaving behind the life I had built with Hange, but I couldn't take it anymore. As I walked out of our home, I felt a sense of trepidation. What lay ahead, I had no idea. But I knew I had to do this, for myself, for my own sanity. I took a deep breath, the cool air filling my lungs, and stepped into the unknown. The door closed behind me, and I heard the sound of Hange's key turning in the lock. They were back from work, and I wondered what they would do when they read my note. Would they regret the way they had treated me, or would they simply view me as a lost cause? Only time would tell. For now, I took another step, and then another, into a future that was both terrifying and liberating.