Me...

Me, as young as I can remember, communicating with, understanding, and befriending animals.  They always say what they mean.

Me, in kindergarten, writing to the middle of the page with my left hand, and then switching to my right to finish out the page because I wanted things to be fair.

Me, in grade school, wondering if I would ever have friends whose parents weren't friends with my parents first.

Me, at 15 on my first trip to Six Flags, wondering why I hated having fun.

Me, in my teens, watching people succumb to peer pressure while remaining impervious to it.

Me, in my early 20s, deciding that I was done participating in the cycle of removing my body hair.  If men didn't have to, then I didn't, either.

Me, in my early 20s, figuring out that shaving my head made it easier to medicate/control my psoriasis, and that having skin flakes in long hair was a sensory nightmare I no longer had to endure.

Me, in my early 20s, finally out on my own, starting to struggle with schedules and routines and wondering how everyone else did it.

Me, in my late 20s, watching my 6th grade child set an alarm, shower, and catch the bus by himself because I wasn't a reliable, on-time, ride to school.

Me, in my 30s, looking back at the cycle of go hard/burn out, feeling like a broken person because "Why am I like this?"

Me, in my 30s, feeling the weight of everything crash down.  Full-blown depression, nothing in life accomplished, and barely able to walk due to psoriatic arthritis.  Heavily dependent on antidepressants, and Shaun body-doubling my life to drag me out of that hell.

Me, in my 40s, burned out.  Exhausted.  Confused.  Autistic.