I am not going to fly when I have any chance to avoid it. I hate the experience. The planes are like crowded city buses, but instead of being able to take a break at any stop along they way — something I have done in the city — you are stuck in the same seat for hours. You can't get off and wait for ten minutes for the next bus; I need a pause to catch my breath sometimes. I've gotten off the train in Minneapolis when it was too crowded, noisy, smelly, or in some way just not the place I should be. I wait until I'm ready to continue on my way. Planes are not like that. Today I had to tolerate the smell of Corn Nuts, chomping gum, and perfumes. I wanted off the plane. The flight left me feeling horrible, with a headache and my eyes bothering me. I cannot do this to my mind and body many more times. I hate it too much. It takes every once of energy I have to not scream in agony.
At birth, doctors suggested I would be mentally disabled, in addition to the physical injuries I suffered. I have never been described as normal. “High-functioning autism” (HFA) is just another way to describe a few aspects of “me.” The autistic me is the creative me, the curious me, the complete me.