Dear Autumn

Dear Autumn,

I am autistic, but I’m also called Conor.

It’s been a while since I’ve spoken to an idea; a figment of my mind, a season, or the passage of time.

I used to talk to you a lot. When I was learning who i was atleast. As all I had been told was I was autistic...I was now a figment much like you, my identity and self stripped away by a title or a generalisation. A bit of paper.

I was forgotten in school as soon as I was given that diagnosis. People who once laughed with me now laughed at me. I may as well have no longer been Conor, I may as well have been Autism. A label. A stigma.

I’m still scared I’m seen that way... after spending years clawing back what I believed once mine so completely and utterly I’d never lose it: my identity. Maybe you’re scared too?

Scared that your beauty and variety will be forgotten by a broader term, much like I may be.

Lately though dear Autumn I’ve learned. I’ve learned that I will always be different but that’s not a bad thing. I’ve learned that I can still love as I had before being given my label, I can love the same as anyone else. I’ve learnt I am me, and that will never change.

Dear Autumn, I am Conor, autism does not define me anymore. Not completely.