A lot of this depends on which disorder is driving the bus that day. My brain is basically a ride‑share app with no customer support. Sometimes Autism pulls up in a quiet, reliable Prius and says, ‘We’re eating something familiar. Something beige. Something we’ve eaten 400 times and will eat 400 more.’
Other days ADHD screeches up in a stolen golf cart, wearing sunglasses it found on the ground, yelling, ‘WE’RE TRYING THE WEIRDEST THING ON THE MENU AND ALSO MAYBE MOVING TO FINLAND.’
And the wild part is: both of them are me. My sensitivities aren’t constant; they’re contextual. My AuDHD doesn’t limit my palate — it just means I never know if I’m going to crave a Michelin‑star tasting menu or a McDonald’s hash brown I fold like a taco. It’s not restrictive. It’s… episodic.
Stories That Are All True 