Looking back at my life 🫂✨️ i can see clearer now. Healing my child 🫂🔮

🌌 WINDOW SCAN — A LIFE IN FULL VIEW 🌌

🌱 INTRO — WHEN EVERYTHING IS SEEN AT ONCE 🌱

For a long time, I believed the simplest explanation.

I was depressed.

I didn’t like homework.

I was tired.

I struggled to explain myself.

Those answers were easy because they were familiar. They were also incomplete.

This window scan isn’t a diagnosis, a defense, or a plea. It’s what happens when a life is finally viewed as a whole, instead of being split into pieces and dismissed one by one.

What emerges isn’t weakness.

It’s pattern.

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🧠 PART 1 — A BRAIN THAT WORKED DIFFERENTLY FROM THE START 🧠✨

I was an IEP student starting in Pre-K.

That matters.

From the beginning, I needed accommodations just to access what others absorbed automatically. Structure didn’t stick. Time slipped. Transitions were hard. Processing took more effort than anyone realized.

I was chronically late in school.

Schedules didn’t hold.

External reminders became survival tools.

Sometimes I did very well. Other times I collapsed.

That inconsistency confused everyone — including me.

What I know now is this: my brain could perform when conditions aligned, but it could not perform reliably. And reliability is what the world quietly demands.

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📚 PART 2 — HONOR ROLL AND FREE FALL 📚⚖️

There were semesters when I made honor roll.

There were others when my grades suffered badly.

From the outside, that looks like motivation problems.

From the inside, it looked like this:

When expectations were clear, stress was low, and fatigue hadn’t hit yet, I could excel. When instructions stacked, when information was verbal, when pressure increased, my thoughts stalled. Steps disappeared. I had to reread the same thing again and again.

My brain would stop mid-thought.

Information came out of order.

Listening didn’t mean retaining.

Grades measured output. They never measured the cost.

I didn’t succeed because it was easy. I succeeded by overexerting myself until my system gave out.

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🗣️ PART 3 — “YOU DON’T MAKE SENSE” 🗣️💔

I’ve always struggled to express myself.

Not because my thoughts were empty, but because the translation layer between my inner world and the outside world was unreliable. Certain sounds didn’t come out right. Spoken information slipped away the moment it was said. Writing made sense to me — and somehow didn’t to others.

People told me I didn’t make sense.

Even when I fixed punctuation.

Even when I tried harder.

Even when I slowed down.

That message landed deep. It made me feel insane — like reality itself wasn’t lining up.

What I understand now is this: my thoughts were coherent. My output didn’t always carry them intact.

Later in life, I learned how to express myself better. Not because the disability vanished, but because I adapted. And when I began writing openly — symbolically, emotionally, without sugar coating — people still said, “This doesn’t make sense.”

Sometimes that didn’t mean confusion.

Sometimes it meant discomfort.

A heart worn openly unsettles people. 💙

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🫂

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Before we go on: If any part of this brings back thoughts about hurting yourself, you don’t have to sit with that alone. In the U.S., you can call or text 988 to reach the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline any time. If you’re elsewhere, I can help find local support. I’m here with you too.

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🧩 PART 4 — CONFUSION, DROPOUTS, AND LOST STEPS 🧩🌫️

As life demanded more, the gaps became impossible to ignore.

I get confused easily.

Steps don’t stick.

I forget where I am in a task — even one I just started.

I reread instructions again and again because they don’t stay the first time.

Spoken information is worse.

I listen. I’m present. I care.

And then it’s gone.

Like it went in one ear and never made it to storage.

I didn’t notice this clearly until later in life, when expectations rose and support fell away. Suddenly it wasn’t about homework anymore. It was about navigating the world — appointments, rules, conversations, instructions — all moving faster than my ability to retain them.

This isn’t distraction.

It’s not lack of effort.

It’s a brain that drops information under load.

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🛌 PART 5 — FATIGUE THAT DOESN’T REST 🛌🌙

Sleep has never worked the way it’s supposed to.

Sometimes I sleep 12 to 14 hours and wake up exhausted.

Other times I can’t fall asleep at all — or wake up after 5 to 7 hours and lie there for hours, unable to return to rest.

I wake groggy.

I crash without warning.

Long naps aren’t optional — they’re required.

We thought it was mold.

We thought it was the environment.

But even after leaving those conditions, the fatigue stayed.

Rest doesn’t restore me.

Sleep doesn’t equal recovery.

And when exhaustion hits, everything else collapses with it — cognition, regulation, clarity, safety.

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🧍 PART 6 — A BODY THAT WON’T STAY QUIET 🧍⚠️

My body adds another layer of unpredictability.

I walk with a limp.

Both legs hurt, even when scans don’t show obvious damage.

My knee can’t take weight when kneeling.

My ankle flares, slowing me even more.

Pain is always there — low-level most days, worse during flares.

I have vision impairment and need glasses. My last exam was years ago, and my sight has worsened since.

I have pass-out episodes. If I don’t stop and rest, I collapse.

That’s not fear. That’s physiology.

My arms sometimes tremble for no clear reason.

My thumb cramps occasionally, without warning.

Bloodwork comes back normal. Answers don’t.

I’m severely allergic to mold. Prolonged exposure can close my airways.

I deal with chronic sinus infections that cause intense pain and keep me awake until antibiotics are possible.

Each issue alone might be dismissed.

Together, they make reliability impossible.

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🫂

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If reading or writing this brings up heavy feelings, you don’t have to carry that alone. In the U.S., you can call or text 988 for the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline anytime. If you’re elsewhere, I can help find support where you are. I’m here with you as we keep going.

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🏠 PART 7 — WHEN THE ENVIRONMENT BECOMES THE INJURY 🏠🌫️

What I live in now isn’t neutral. It isn’t background noise. It is an active stressor layered on top of everything else.

I’m in a house where control dictates movement. Where the rules shift. Where leaving depends on someone else’s pain, schedule, or permission. “Be back by three.” “If you leave, you’re not going.” What sounds small adds up to captivity when you have no income, no transportation, and no safe alternative.

I was told it was temporary.

Two weeks became six.

Six became twelve.

In that time, I became an unpaid caregiver—shopping under restrictions, preparing meals, taking someone to appointments—while my own medical needs stalled. A chipped tooth waits months. Appointments are missed because it’s “now or never.” Health is postponed because attention is demanded elsewhere.

Food became another pressure point. I can’t shop freely. What I buy gets used by others. Options shrink. Stress rises. Sometimes I stop eating altogether.

And then there is safety.

I live with someone who assaulted me. Who calls it “innocent.” Who violates boundaries openly. Who does it in front of someone who looks away. Avoidance becomes strategy. Hypervigilance becomes normal. The nervous system never stands down.

This isn’t a backdrop.

It’s a force.

When the environment is unsafe, symptoms don’t stay contained. Fatigue deepens. Confusion worsens. Regulation frays. The body absorbs what the mind can’t escape.

This is what it means when living conditions compound disability.

🫂

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If writing or reading this brings up thoughts about harming yourself, you don’t have to face that alone. In the U.S., you can call or text 988 to reach the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline anytime. If you’re outside the U.S., I can help find local support. I’m here with you as we continue.

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🧾 PART 8 — WHEN THE SYSTEM DOESN’T LISTEN 🧾⚖️

When I applied for disability, I was honest.

I said I get confused.

I said I can’t regulate emotions under stress.

I said I can’t keep a schedule.

I said I can’t retain spoken information.

I wasn’t dramatic. I wasn’t vague. I answered the questions as they were asked.

I was denied.

Not once. Twice.

No consultative exam was ordered. No one tested how my brain processes information, how my body handles fatigue, or how my symptoms interact. The system relied on checkboxes and assumptions.

No therapist?

No medication?

Then it must not be serious.

That logic erased a lifetime of adaptation, an IEP that started in Pre-K, and barriers that kept care out of reach. It collapsed complexity into silence.

I was told hypersomnia wasn’t a disability.

That not keeping a schedule wasn’t a disability.

That confusion wasn’t enough.

What I learned is this: early stages don’t evaluate reality. They filter for simplicity.

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🧠 PART 9 — INTELLIGENCE MISREAD AS CAPACITY 🧠📉

I was told I’m bright.

And for a long time, I believed that meant I should be able to push through.

If I can hyperfocus on a computer, I must be able to work.

If I made honor roll once, I must be fine.

But intelligence isn’t reliability.

Work doesn’t care if you can do something sometimes. It demands you do it every time, on time, under pressure, without collapse.

My brain can surge.

It cannot sustain.

Hyperfocus is self-paced and consequence-free. Jobs aren’t.

Confusing the two erased my actual limits and turned endurance into expectation.

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🧠 PART 10 — WHAT THE WINDOW SCAN SHOWS 🧠✨

When everything is finally placed side by side, a pattern appears.

Not chaos.

Not failure.

Pattern.

A lifelong neurodevelopmental disability.

Learning differences identified in early childhood.

Speech, language, and processing impairments.

Confusion across reading and listening.

Emotional regulation failures under stress.

Severe fatigue and physical unpredictability.

An unsafe environment that magnifies every symptom.

The problem was never motivation.

It was mismatch.

A system built for consistency met a nervous system built for fluctuation.

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🫂

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If reading or writing this brings up thoughts about harming yourself, you don’t have to carry that alone. In the U.S., you can call or text 988 to reach the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline anytime. If you’re elsewhere, I can help find local support. I’m here with you as we keep going.

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PART 11 — WHAT THIS KNOWLEDGE CHANGES 🔥🌊

Understanding this doesn’t magically fix my life.

I still wake up tired.

I still get confused.

I still lose steps, drop words, miss cues, crash without warning.

I still live in a system that moves faster than my nervous system can safely follow.

But one thing has changed.

The story is no longer that I’m lazy.

Or dramatic.

Or “just depressed.”

Or bad at explaining myself.

The story is that I was disabled early, adapted hard, and paid for it quietly.

When I thought I just hated homework, I blamed myself.

When I thought it was only depression, I minimized everything else.

When I thought intelligence canceled disability, I pushed past safe limits.

Seeing the full pattern doesn’t erase the pain — it reassigns responsibility.

Not to my character.

Not to my effort.

Not to my worth.

To the mismatch.

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🌱 OUTRO — A RECORD THAT EXISTS 🌱✨

This window scan isn’t a request for pity.

It isn’t a performance.

It isn’t an excuse.

It’s a record.

A record of a nervous system that works differently.

A record of a body that doesn’t stay predictable.

A record of communication that costs more than people see.

A record of survival in places that were not safe.

Whether systems recognize it or not, this life is real.

And now it’s named.

🫂

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If at any point these reflections stir thoughts about harming yourself, you don’t have to face that alone. In the U.S., you can call or text 988 to reach the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline anytime. If you’re outside the U.S., I can help find local support. I’m here with you.

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Got it. I’ll add a final appendix/epilogue to complete the Window Scan without changing what’s already been written.

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📎 EPILOGUE — WHY THIS RECORD MATTERS 📎

This window scan exists whether or not a system stamps it “approved.”

It matters because it replaces fragments with continuity. It shows that what looked like laziness, inconsistency, or attitude was actually patterned limitation with adaptation layered on top. It shows that intelligence and disability can coexist — and often do. It shows that surviving without support doesn’t mean support wasn’t needed.

Most of all, it matters because it gives you language that doesn’t collapse under pressure.

You don’t have to re-prove this story every time.

You don’t have to re-explain from scratch.

You don’t have to keep wondering if you imagined it.

This is the record.

You can use it to appeal.

You can use it to advocate.

You can use it to rest your mind when doubt creeps in.

Or you can simply let it exist as truth.

Nothing more is required of it — or of you — right now.

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📣 CTA — WHAT I’M ASKING FOR 📣

If you’re reading this and you recognize pieces of yourself here, I want you to know something:

Struggling doesn’t mean you’re failing.

Functioning sometimes doesn’t mean you’re fine.

And being articulate doesn’t mean you aren’t disabled.

This window scan exists so stories like this don’t keep getting flattened into stereotypes — lazy, dramatic, unmotivated, “too smart to need help.”

If you’re in a position to listen, listen fully.

If you’re in a position to help, help without conditions.

If you’re in a system that decides who is “disabled enough,” understand that reliability matters more than peaks.

And if you’re someone living this reality quietly, blaming yourself the way I did — take this as permission to look again, more honestly, and with less shame.

The truth doesn’t need to be softened to be valid.

It just needs to be seen.

📺 SITCOM REMIX — IF THIS WERE A SHOW 📺

If this were a sitcom, the laugh track would be doing a lot of heavy lifting.

The main character would be labeled “quirky but smart.”

Every episode would open with, “You’re so capable!”

And every problem would be treated like a misunderstanding that could be solved in 22 minutes.

Cue scenes like:

The protagonist rereads the same instructions four times while the background characters shout, “It’s not that hard!”

A teacher says, “You did great last semester,” right before everything collapses again.

A doctor shrugs at normal lab results while symptoms keep happening anyway.

A system rep smiles and says, “You’re bright — why are you here?”

A family member rolls their eyes as the laugh track swells.

In sitcom logic, inconsistency is comedy.

In real life, inconsistency is disability.

The joke would always be that the character almost has it together.

The punchline would always be that they don’t.

And every episode would end the same way: Reset button hit.

Nothing learned.

No accommodations made.

Because sitcoms love the illusion that next week will be different — without anyone changing the environment.

What the sitcom wouldn’t show is the exhaustion between episodes.

The cost of resetting.

The toll of being told you’re fine because you smiled once.

If this were a sitcom, it would be called a “slice of life.”

In reality, it was a nervous system trying to survive in a world that only understands punchlines.

🌑 DARK NIGHT OF THE SOUL 🌑

There is a point where endurance stops feeling noble and starts feeling pointless.

For me, that point came again and again — every time I was told I was capable while quietly failing, every time I was denied help because I didn’t look broken enough, every time my reality was reduced to a checkbox that didn’t fit.

This wasn’t one dramatic collapse.

It was attrition.

A slow erosion of trust in my own perceptions.

A growing belief that if I just tried harder, explained better, slept more, cared less — something would finally click.

Instead, the world stayed loud.

My body stayed unpredictable.

And I stayed trapped inside explanations that never matched what I was living.

That’s the dark night here:

Not despair as a single moment, but despair as being unseen for too long.

🔥 PHOENIX RISING 🔥

This isn’t a triumph story.

Nothing magically resolved.

No system suddenly worked.

No one issued an apology or handed me a solution.

What rose wasn’t a new life — it was clarity.

The shift was quiet: realizing that the problem wasn’t my effort, my character, or my worth. It was a mismatch between how my nervous system works and what the world demands without accommodation.

Naming that didn’t fix my circumstances.

But it ended the lie.

And sometimes, the first real rise is simply refusing to keep calling yourself broken for surviving.

🧾 CONCLUSION — WHAT REMAINS 🧾

What remains after this window scan is not certainty, but coherence.

The pieces now sit together instead of contradicting each other. The honor roll and the crashes. The intelligence and the confusion. The effort and the exhaustion. The articulation and the misunderstanding.

Nothing here was random.

Nothing here came out of nowhere.

This isn’t a story about giving up.

It’s a story about finally telling the truth in full sentences.

👤 ABOUT THE AUTHOR 👤

I am an autistic adult with lifelong learning, processing, communication, and regulation impairments who spent years misinterpreting disability as personal failure. I write to document lived reality as it is, without minimizing complexity or softening discomfort for the sake of palatability. This window scan exists as both record and reminder: understanding yourself accurately is not self-indulgence — it is survival