Why?

Why a bachelor's degree in Special Needs? Why go back to college? Why go through the frustration of realizing all the things I don't know and the exhausting effort of learning them?

I feared this question more than the cockroaches in my kitchen. 

I mumbled something about stigma and society in my admission interview. 

I deflected the question once again this week. 

But the truth is I've been asking myself the same question 1000 times. And in order to sit down at my laptop and do my homework, in order to read a number of books that I barely understand and in order to wake up every morning to go to school, I answer this question every day. Why? Because I need to find the place where I belong. Professionally, at least. Because I HAVE TO. I have to do this, I don't have another option. I don't give myself another option. I can't snap out of it. I can't forget autism. I can't not see the stigma. I can't pretend it didn't touch my life. I can't shake it out of my heart. 

I have never been happier in my life than I am since I started this college. I never loved going to school before. I never spent hours with a friend talking about what my ridiculously intelligent teacher said in class. I never bought books and started preparing an essay two months ahead of a deadline. I never waited for Monday and started crying when a class got canceled. This is better than I hoped. These people are amazing and they raise the stakes even higher. I promised myself I'll go gentle. I promised myself I'll accept my limits, yet here I am dreaming psychology terms I don't even know the meaning of. 

Why? Not just because it makes me happy. Happiness is not enough and happiness never lasts. Because it gives me peace of mind. Because I can breathe. I can come home and breathe. I don't think of autism every minute anymore. I don't feel useless anymore. I don't feel like I am not doing anything anymore. All those plans and dreams that I can not fulfill right now? I am fine with them. Because I know this will help me make them even better in the future. I feel the pain of growth. I am scared of failing. But I can breathe. After these years that felt like a millennia, I can finally breathe. 

And I have to trust myself that I can do this. Because it's worth it. Because it's what I'm supposed to do and it's where I belong. Under-read and all and without any idea what "epistemology" means. I wrote the definition down 3 times. Please don't bother.

Dear human.

Dear human,

This is your natural self writing. The one you work your ass for, to buy her salmon and French cheese and good coffee and a new black dress so she would feel appreciated. The one you protect by learning and trying to be the best at everything. The one for which you exhaust your body so she wouldn't feel useless and lazy. The very one. The one who's hurting. The one they abandoned. The one that's depressed. The one that's alone. The one that no one takes care of. This is me and I am writing to say: Dear human, I see you. Just like you see me. I see you too. I see everything you do so that people would see you and be proud of you. I see all that you do for me to feel loved and protected. I see all you do for us, as one. I see how you read and you try so hard even though you feel overwhelmed most of the time. I see how you try not to let things sink in when you are outside so you don't break down and start crying. I see how you drink a glass of wine or gin, or vermouth so you can pretend it's not so bad to be completely alone when you get home. I see how you're always so brave. And so resilient. God damn you are resilient! I see how you're always thinking of ways to make yourself loved. And I see how you remind yourself not to give a fuck sometimes. I see you, human. I see all of it. And I thank you.