One day when the sun came up I had a peculiar feeling that’s difficult to describe. Like I felt it wasn’t fair. I had stayed up all night countless times in the past, but there was something about daybreak that hurt me this time. I had tried to figure out what this feeling was.

There’s something about the night that I cling to. It’s a time of freedom, of broadened horizons. Perhaps it goes back to the childhood mentality that staying up late is only for “big people”.

The day is when society operates. It’s specific hours with certain things happening at certain times. The night is when the world and society rests. Nothing has to happen at a specific time. I eat when I’m hungry and I rest when I’m tired. And when I have energy I get up and do something.

But when day broke into my world, on this particular night, it was a reminder that even the night has a time limit. I can’t stay in the night as long as I want. At some point, whether I’m ready or not, I’m always forced back into the day and into society’s schedule of organized hours.

It’s interesting that psychologists note that the thing autistics need and lack most in their lives is organization, and that in my depths I fight so passionately against being organized – being arranged and scheduled – being limited.