I hit forty and the mask came loose,
not gentle, not clean, not nice,
more like life grabbed the zip at the back
and ripped the bastard twice.
All them years acting normal,
smiling, nodding, playing sound,
while my head had tabs open
and none of them shut down.
Autism gave me pattern,
gave me detail, gave me sight,
I can spot a mood change
before it even turns to night.
I read between the lines
like MI6 in trackies and trainers,
clocking tiny little shifts
while they call me an overthinker.
I’m a system analyst by nature,
not the job, the bloody brain,
I break people down like machines
and find the fault in the frame.
Not in some cold social way,
not because I don’t care,
but because I see the moving parts
most people don’t know are there.
I can forecast an argument
from one sentence and a look,
while they’re still on page one
I’ve read the whole fucking book.
That bit’s a gift, I’ll admit it,
it’s power, it’s strange, it’s mine,
but every gift has a cost
when your head won’t draw the line.
Because ADHD came in swinging,
no manners, no brakes, no plan,
just a feral little gobshite
driving round inside a man.
It’s noise on top of noise,
thoughts stacked like dirty plates,
starting ten things at once
then hating all your own mistakes.
It’s walking into rooms
with a mission in your head,
then standing there like a div
wondering what the hell you said.
It’s doom piles, missed replies,
big ideas at stupid o’clock,
then the guilt comes kicking doors in
because your brain forgot to stop.
People say, “Just calm down mate,”
like that’s some magic spell,
cheers pal, that fixed autism,
ADHD as well.
They say they understand,
but they don’t live in this mess,
they get a thought, then choose it,
mine break in and repossess.
They don’t know what it’s like
to hear the fridge, the lights, the air,
to feel your socks, your skin,
and every bastard stare.
They don’t know the daily maths
of looking normal when you’re not,
how much energy it takes
just to stand there in the shop.
And unmasking weren’t freedom,
not at first, it was a crash,
like my whole life sent the invoice
and demanded all the cash.
Forty years of holding shape,
forty years of acting fine,
then burnout sat beside me
and said, “Your body’s mine.”
I couldn’t fake it like before,
couldn’t polish every crack,
couldn’t keep pretending
there weren’t wolves behind my back.
And the cruelest little joke
in this badly written part,
is the meds that might slow my brain
could risk my fucking heart.
So the answer sits there locked,
right behind a warning sign,
like, “Here’s the key to peace,
but it might stop you doing time.”
That’s the bit that bends my head,
that’s the bit I can’t explain,
being trapped inside a supercar
with no steering wheel or lane.
Autism gives me focus,
gives me truth, gives me steel,
ADHD gives me chaos
and calls the whole thing real.
One makes me see the pattern,
one sets fire to the floor,
one builds a thousand futures,
one forgets what I came for.
So yeah, it’s power and torture,
a blessing with a blade,
I can make art out of noise,
but still forget where bills are laid.
I can write a line at midnight
that makes grown men text their mates,
then spend three days unable
to open emails I hate.
I can turn pain into music,
make strangers feel less alone,
then sit in my own kitchen
feeling lost inside my home.
That’s AuDHD, mate,
not quirky, cute or fun,
it’s having rockets in your head
and concrete in your lungs.
It’s laughing through the chaos,
then needing silence like a drug,
it’s wanting people close
then flinching from the hug.
It’s being too much, too blunt,
too fast, too slow, too deep,
it’s lying wide awake
begging your own brain for sleep.
But don’t mistake the struggle
for weakness in my chest,
I’ve survived my own mind daily,
and still turned up with the rest.
I’m not broken, I’m wired different,
with a fuse that loves to spark,
half genius in daylight,
half war zone after dark.
So when I say my head melts,
I don’t mean I’ve had a mood,
I mean I’m fighting twenty versions
of myself for a bit of food.
I mean I’m tired of explaining
what language can’t quite hold,
how I can feel too much at once
then suddenly feel cold.
But this brain also made me,
every raw word, every track,
every truth I dragged out bleeding
when life tried dragging me back.
So call it gift, call it torture,
call it wired wrong, call it mad,
I’ll call it mine, the whole mess,
the best and worst I’ve had.
Because I don’t need normal,
I’ve seen what normal can do,
it hides behind fake smiles
and judges what it never went through.
I’ll keep reading the room,
keep seeing the cracks in the wall,
keep turning all this noise
into something that might help us all.
I’m AuDHD and knackered,
but I’m still here, still sharp, still me,
a walking system error
with a fucking masterpiece for a key.