My Near Death Experience Arts and Thoughts

72 Years: A Neurodivergent Reflection

By BoJenn

July 25, 2025

I have lived 72 years as an autistic person.

From the very beginning, I noticed things—things others didn’t. They shaped me, and I carried them, quietly.

Sensitivities I’ve Known Since Childhood:

Coffee tastes best in a white cup—and yes, the size of that cup matters.

As a child, I ate only fish with the head still on. My mother would call restaurants ahead to make sure they served it that way.

Slimy textures are unbearable. But okra? Fried and sliced thin—it’s a comfort food.

I can’t tolerate filth, yet I can’t stand the feel of plastic cleaning gloves, either. My. Home is cluttered. I hate it, but don’t touch it.

Patterns on clothes distract and unsettle me. Some trigger anxiety.

I seek out soft blues—they soothe my mind like water.

My own wiry hair has always irritated me. As a child, I tried to pull it out. Once, I even cut it to the scalp.

If I’m interested in something, I can focus with laser precision. If not, I drift.

Large crowds overwhelm me. But in the 1970s, I traveled alone to Europe—and there, I found peace.

Deafness came later in life. It wasn’t a curse. It was a gift. Peace came in the anxieties of chaos.

I’ve often been socially awkward, preferring the outdoors, the silence. Still, I cherish a deep, honest conversation with a kind soul.

I am morally clear—I always have been.

As a child, I pushed limits, but I always knew right from wrong.
And now, I find that freedom from self is the truest relief. Sexuality as a child was hard to grasp and control. Like an alcoholic, I find abstinence the best solution. All, or nothing.

I believe in God—but not the way most do.
To me, God is mathematical.

I take after my father. He was brilliant, distant.
We could never quite meet in the middle.

My mother’s energy and anxiety were overwhelming. She lived on a higher frequency.

As for my children—I have loved them.
But maybe not in the way they needed, or the way they deserved.

Author’s Note

Autism has shaped not just my perception, but my reality. I was a child who noticed the hum behind the words, the shape of silence. Now, at 72, I look back not with regret, but with recognition.

This isn’t a confession.

It’s a witnessing, of self. The life of an autistic person.

Bonnie Jennings

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