Photo by Valentyna Yeltsova
After spending most of my life feeling different and alone, an autism diagnosis gave me the kind of relief that was impossible to resist. But it was based on a lie.
In 2019, I was 30 years old, living in Los Angeles, sharing an apartment with my two cats, and working remotely as an artist. Most of the people my age I knew at the time were setting down roots: getting married, building families. Meanwhile, I spent almost all my time alone, surrounded by plants, animals, and murals. I had no desire for anything else. I enjoyed having a space where I could keep the world, and other people, at a manageable distance.
Continue reading the entire piece here at The Free Press (paywall)
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Christina Buttons is an investigative reporter at the Manhattan Institute.