UNMASKED: Snippets & notes from a lifetime collection of journals (pre-diagnosis).
Advocating for autistic acceptance.
I called alcohol Al, my dangerous yet loyal and nonjudgmental friend when I had literally nobody. People liked me for (for a little while at least) when Al was with me. And my unfiltered autistic self was filtered through an NT lens of “drunk therefore forgivable and funny” rather than “weird therefore deserving of ostracization and hostility.
I tried so hard to establish rules and routine with Al. I didn’t like being drunk at all. Always felt so frantic and the post-drinking-damage-control was ratcheted up several notches from my usual autistic-damage control, ultimately isolating me further.
So many clues I am autistic: the self-analysis, the chastising professor calling me ‘Missy’ in class, my bewilderment over said incident (even now I wonder, was it my tone? my facial expression? my frankness? my many questions?), my anxiety about my own thoughts and journal entries. Plus the fun stimmy spelling of nite and my old A Christmas Story echolalia of ‘Thank you, flick.’