Ever since I was little, I wished I was an artist. I’ve always wanted to be able to draw the pictures I see in my mind with perfect clarity on a white canvas or blank sheet of paper.
Women with parasols, children splashing in puddles.
But I am terrible at drawing. Noses are askew in faces and the puddles look like milky blue blobs.
Autism is especially hard. At first though, it seems simple—almost black and white.
It’s an 11-year old boy who sleeps when he’s tired and eats when he’s hungry. He wakes when he’s rested and stops when he’s full.
When his body needs to move, he jumps up and down quickly—three, four, five times in a row.
He screams when he’s mad.
He likes music. He likes order. He likes routine.
If he has a question, he asks it. If he has something to…
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