"I’m 5, plucking honeysuckles off of the backyard bush, squeezing the tiniest drops of what tastes like sweet nectar into my mouth. I pluck another one as there are plenty, hundreds more budding in the spring time.

I’m 6, singing with my sister, recording ourselves on an ancient silver cassette tape recorder, playing drumbeats on upside-down Tupperware containers. We giggle with pride listening back to our music on the cassette.

I’m 7, riding my bike for hours up and down the neighborhood roads, feeling the cool breeze against my face.

I’m 8, dancing in my favorite, faded pink costume dress. The ribbons of the bow swish behind my back with every twirl. I am not rigid, I am fluid. I am not an expectation, I am a moment in time, moving gracefully and powerfully.

Nobody is watching me. But I am.

I keep watching."

I highlighted the end because it was THAT DAMN GOOD. It felt like an ending to a film. I could picture you doing just that. Wow, there is nothing else I can say. It was tremendous. A perfect picture in a haunting album. Thank you so much for sharing this. Stories like these are the reason why I read on Medium. You are brave and beautiful to reveal this.

I struggle. We all struggle. Let us all struggle together. ASD community. Writing from the heart. Riley_48@hotmail.co.uk

I struggle. We all struggle. Let us all struggle together. ASD community. Writing from the heart. Riley_48@hotmail.co.uk