Wavelength

A personal and poignant account of life on the autism spectrum (ASD), exploring the challenges and beauty of experiencing the world on a different wavelength

I’ve always felt like I’m watching the world through a foggy window.
Everything is right there: people, their thoughts, their feelings, crystal clear, just out of reach.
But mine? Mine come like echoes underwater.
Muffled. Twisted. Delayed.

They’re clear. I know they are. But I can’t see them.
My world is reversed.

Sounds blur into colors.
Colors crackle like texture.
And sometimes it’s the smallest things that shatter me.
A door creaking. A bird chirping.
Too sharp. Too loud. Too real.

I can’t tell what people feel. Only what I feel.
And no one else can see it.

Their faces look painted on.
Their voices come pre-recorded.
Everything they say feels like it’s already been said.
Like I’ve missed the rehearsal for a play I’m now trapped inside.

And me?
I’m drowning.
Not in water.
In noise.
Emotion.
Everything at once.
All the time.

It’s hard to talk to people.

Words get stuck,
lodged in my throat like teeth that never grew in.
When I finally speak, the voice isn’t mine.
It’s too flat. Too wrong.
Like hearing yourself on tape and realizing you sound like a stranger.

I correct people. Try to help. Try to make things make sense.
But they flinch. Pull away.
Their eyes flick to each other like I’ve said something unspeakable.
Like I’m a problem.
Like I’m trying to control them.

I’m not.

I just see things. Patterns. Mistakes.
The way something is a little bit off, and no one else notices.
It’s so obvious sometimes, I think I must be dreaming.

Maybe I’m the only one awake.

Writing is the only thing that makes sense.

The words flow like water,
filling the cracks,
holding me together.

In those moments, the world softens.
The chaos dims.
The screen glows gentle and safe.
The keys click like a heartbeat I finally recognize as mine.

Or pen to paper.
That sound.
That rhythm.
Like rain.
Like order.

This is the only way I know how to speak honestly.

Because here, in silence,
I have a voice.

It doesn’t shake.
It doesn’t echo.
It doesn’t lie.

This.
This is my world.

And in showing it to you,
I feel like I’ve peeled something open.
Something fragile. Private.
But maybe not broken.

It’s hard being me.
People don’t understand.
Some won’t even try.

But maybe you will.
Maybe you already are.

Maybe, for just a second,
you see me.

Not as a glitch.
Not as a burden.
But as someone real.
Someone trying.

And maybe that’s enough.

Author's Note

Hello, just looking for some feedback.
Hope you enjoy!

Reviews

[Ms claws]

Hi, my review: I think you are perfectly made. When my kid was a little boy, he could hear electricity behind the outlets. When he got fed up with being bullied at school, he finished in Community college.
Because his dad was so afraid of being stigmatized, he never went to a doctor. When our boy was invited to live with a friend just like himself, he did and finally diagnosed himself as Aspergers.

He has supported himself many miles away from us for over ten years! Something everyone said would be impossible.
Thank you for putting YOUR TRUTH out here for all the world to see YOU are the PERFECT ONE.

[RatsAlongTheWalls]

Thank you so much for sharing your beautiful story and for your kind words about my writing. I'm deeply grateful for your acceptance and understanding. It means the world to me to know that my story has resonated with you and that you see the value in embracing our differences. Your support and encouragement means everything!

[Ms claws]

Keep Writing! You are awesome!

[DIVYA]

This is a poem to treasure. My daughter is autistic and reading your poem has helped a lot. Bless you for sharing.

[RatsAlongTheWalls]

Thank you so much for your kind words! I'm deeply touched to hear that my story has resonated with you and helped you connect with your daughter's experiences. That means more to me than you'll ever know. Thank you for being such a supportive and loving parent!

[DIVYA]

You're most welcome. It is the first time that I've read how someone with Autism feels, first hand. My daughter probably feels like this too. I often scold her for not saying hello to me but I see now that she may be trying. And like you described here, she has extreme sensitivity to loud sounds. Thank you so much for being here.