Being autistic is a burden. But it is not the burden on me that is the hardest to bear, it is that feeling that I impose on those who might care for me that burden of trying to understand the autistic mind. The feeling that loving me comes with an extra weight that I – not by my own choosing – impose on those I love. And more even than I would wish to remove from myself the stresses of being autistic, I wish not to impose on others. I wish that loving me could be only joyous, that I would not have to ache at the knowledge that to care for me may require extra work, extra patience, extra understanding that is not needed to love someone else.