our hands empty except for our hands

the best thing about figuring out you're not neurotypical is finding a community that finally feels like a community. like no i'm not crazy for having that meltdown at the beach because i was in that pretty dress that i picked out and i really liked. i'm not weak for not being able to handle one stupid fucking dress. i wasn't being spoilt when i cried and screamed to be able to wear my normal stuff to that wedding when i was six. i'm not dumb for never knowing what to say. i'm not a coward for this overwhelming, irrational, omnipresent anxiety. i'm not crazy, i'm not weak, i'm not stupid. and it's a terrible thing to have lived with that for so long thinking i was so alone and it's so much more terrible that some people have to live with it their whole lives.

i wish people understood that the reason things 'feel wrong' is because that's how they've been conditioned to feel. you feel weird when someone shows up to a fancy restaurant dressed in shorts and a tee because you've been conditioned to view comfort as a sin and empathy as a weakness. because you haven't ever had a meltdown in a dress that flows too much and cinches too much and suffocates you and is somehow too tight and too loose all at once. maybe inclusivity means not needing someone to come up to you and tell you they can't eat or sit or drink or breathe in the clothes that are 'proper' and 'appropriate'. maybe 'underdressing' isn't shameful and maybe you should stop measuring effort through surface level metrics.

sorry if my sensory issues trouble you. maybe they trouble me too.