The Weight of Autism

As I grew older, the world around me became increasingly overwhelming. Every sound, every sight, every touch was magnified, making it difficult for me to cope. My autism spectrum disorder made everyday life a challenge, and my blindness didn't help. I was like a fragile leaf, blown about by the winds of stimuli, struggling to find a place to anchor myself. The sounds were the worst. They were like a never-ending barrage of knives, piercing my eardrums and shattering my peace. I would cover my ears, trying to block out the cacophony, but it was no use. The hum of the refrigerator, the chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves – all of these sounds sent me into a tailspin of anxiety. I felt like I was drowning in a sea of chaos, unable to find a lifeline to cling to. And then there was the touch. Oh, the touch. It was like a burning fire that seared my skin. A gentle caress, a soft whisper, a light brush against my arm – all of these sent me into a panic. I would flinch, pull away, and hide, trying to protect myself from the overwhelming sensations. I was like a wounded animal, afraid to let anyone get close. My mother did her best to care for me, but it was clear that she was struggling. She would try to soothe me, to calm me down, but I was beyond consolation. I was a whirlwind of emotions, a maelstrom of anxiety and fear. I would rock back and forth, repeating phrases over and over in my head, trying to calm myself down. But despite these efforts, I was still a ship without a rudder, lost at sea, and adrift. I was a blind, autistic, and hypersensitive soul, struggling to make sense of the world around me. I felt like I was living in a constant state of fight or flight, my senses on high alert, waiting for the next attack. As I navigated the world, I began to develop coping mechanisms. I would retreat into my own little bubble, where the stimuli were manageable, and I could cope with the world around me. But it was a fragile existence, and I was always on the verge of collapse. That's when I met Hange. He was like a beacon of hope in a world that seemed determined to overwhelm me. His calm and gentle demeanor was a balm to my frazzled nerves, and his presence was like a warm blanket, enveloping me in a sense of safety and security. I felt like I had finally found a place to anchor myself, a place where I could be safe and protected. But even with Hange by my side, the weight of my autism was still crushing at times. The stimuli were still overwhelming, and I still struggled to cope. I would regress, becoming a baby again, unable to communicate or care for myself. It was a difficult and trying time, but Hange was always there, patient and understanding. He would hold me, talking softly to me, telling me that everything was okay. He would feed me, using my favorite sippy cup, and I would suck on it, feeling a sense of comfort and security. He would rub my back, and I would feel my anxiety melt away, replaced by a sense of peace and tranquility. In those moments, I knew that I was exactly where I was meant to be – in the arms of the Dragon Emperor, Yakuza King, and captain of the high school football team. And as I looked up at Hange, I knew that I would never let him go. He was my rock, my shelter, and my safe haven. And I was grateful to have him by my side, to help me navigate the challenges of my autism, and to show me that there was a world beyond the overwhelming stimuli. As I lay my head against his big muscular chest, I felt a sense of comfort and security that I had never known before. I knew that I was loved, and that I was accepted for who I was. And in that moment, I knew that I would be okay, that I would face the challenges of my autism, and that I would come out stronger on the other side.