I know there are people in this world who do not want to believe in autism or to deal with it, but I have no choice. I have to face the truth that memorial medical and people in my life don't want to face: that I have autism, not bipolar, I have a trauma disorder resulting from years of medical mismanagement and misdiagnosis. I have been medicated out the wazzoo, and become a running joke because my body is like a science experiment. And they'll believe anything but the truth, so help them God. So I take a few steps back. And I keep a safe distance from the bipolarizers and the doctors without boundaries. The God complexes. And I try to reduce expenses and adjust to my reality. The reality that the medication has caused me harm. A great deal of it.
Disconnect
The voice on the phone was familiar to him and still talking, but he had stopped listening several minutes ago. She obviously didn't realize this because the cadence did not change. He was far away, floating somewhere far above where he lay sprawled on the floor, his tense hand still clutching the cold receiver in some sort of karate death grip. His breaths were slow and shallow, his body motionless, and from the vacant look in his eye, one might mistake him for dead and gone. But Eddie was very much alive on a physical level, even if emotionally he was numb. He could still hear her words in the distance. He didn't really need to hear them. He knew what the message was. In some sense he had seen this coming. He never acknowledged it, of course, but the gnawing dread, the feeling of falling, had been there in the background for quite some time. The words themselves were unimportant and expected, words like "time", "space", and "different". Yet s...
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