There is a man alongside me. He is well put-together, hand outstretched, deep voice. I stand in a room filled with competent people who look the part. I am there in my role, to get a story, but I have not been sleeping or eating. I feel as if I can’t breathe. The man is questioning me: Who are you? What do you do? I can’t answer.
I am covering a fundraising event as a journalist. I know why the man is questioning me – I have lost my name tag – but in this moment I am not able to answer. It has been one week since I was diagnosed with autism.
