Being Autistic is lovely. How could it be otherwise to me? If I am happy with who I am, would I not be happy with at least the major concepts I have of who that person is? Certainly, I have things I’d like to tweak, improve on, lots of them, actually, but the general concept of who I am is okay with me, and that is lovely.
My feelings seldom get hurt, and that is certainly a lovely thing! When I say I am hypersensitive, it has nothing to do with being someone who is acutely emotional. It may be very nice to be that way, but I am not, and it is lovely. The sensitivity I experience every moment of my living is sensory, and is the very essence of my being autistic. It can be lovely. Or not. It rules everything.
I used to think everyone experienced life the way I did. Now, I know they don’t. I used to think that the ways colors and sounds and touch hurt was something everyone felt, but that I was such an awful, weak, person that I was the only one who found it overwhelming. Everything made me cry, even tasting some things. Everyone else seemed to be having such a great time but me. I hated myself for that. It was not lovely. I made it lovely.
I developed a set of skills that both protect me and enable me to make my way through life. I filled my world with the colors, sounds, taste, and lifestyle that are extremely pleasing to me. I use my abilities to do the things I am good at, and avoid the things that would cause me the greatest harm. I don’t drive, because that might harm others if my sensory system skews my perception. Harming others is my greatest fear and my emotional Achilles heel. I can take all that life throws me except that. I have buckets of courage and valor with my stubborn mindset. Except when it comes to hurting someone’s feelings in some way. Even thinking about it makes me fight tears. I cannot take hurting, and so avoid risk of doing so. When I do hurt, it haunts me forever, even if amends are made. So, I love. Purely. Simply. With trusting abandon. It is lovely. If I struggle following a conversation, if the onslot of background noise and sensory attack of strange surroundings makes it hard to socialize, I can simply love, and that is often enough. It is not a matter of treating everyone wonderfully. It is the discipline of purely seeing them as wonderful. We are all incredibly profane and divine. I choose to see the divine. It’s that simple choice that simplifies all social obligations. It is lovely, and so are you.