I'd curled myself up in the front seat of Brent's car. There was soothing music he'd chosen from a playlist for those with autism. He was already treating me differently. Apart from me didn't want to be treated like I needed the change he was already implementing, but another part of me was filled with gratitude. The music was doing wonders; it coursed through what felt like every cell of my body. I didn't feel like I could verbally express the emotions felt, so I chose silence until I felt I could communicate. I wanted nothing more than to get back home, get on a laptop, and begin my deep dive into what this diagnosis meant for me. But more present was the anger, the burning rage that sat in my belly. Going my entire life until now, not understanding who I was, the answer was withheld
