I am beginning to wonder what, if anything, I might have unconsciously thought as a child about being actually-autistic. Not in those terms, of course, since diagnosis wouldn’t come for decades, but one of my clearest elementary school memories is telling people I wasn’t from here: I was from Saturn; I’d even made a Saturnian alphabet. What did I secretly, even from myself, suspect about my own 🧠?
Bix dot Blog
The unsupported use case of Bix Frankonis’ disordered, surplus, mediocre midlife in St. Johns, Oregon.
No fear, no hate, no thoughtless bullshit, and no nazis.