28
It was my birthday 2 days ago, my 28th. Another year and then I will cross that 30-middle age crisis. Hey, 17 year old me, did you think we'd ever make it this far? Pass my message to the 19 year old us. We've reached 28 now. The world is dying still, burning everything and everyone to the ground, slowly but surely. That one is still unchanging. The world burns every day, only the way it burns differently. Are we still suicidal, depressed, and mentally ill? Yes. But at least we are still able to love and be loved in return. Another form of self-diagnosis has come up the past recent months, which is, hey hey hey I'm autistic. Voila. Not level 2 or level 3, obviously, since I'm quite capable of masking and my needs are low-support, but yes, it explains a number of things present in me. Mom always joked about me being autistic because I was so "quirky" and "anti-social" and "alien" as a child. Well, you can't beat a mother's hunch, I