"I don't build engines instead of friends. I build them to stay myself-when the whole world demands that I disappear."This is not a victim's diary. It's a survivor's manifesto. Simon's Journal is an honest, technically precise, and poetically piercing account by an autistic engineer on how to live in a world designed for the "normal."There are no inspirational clichés here about "overcoming" autism.
Only truth:- about how rituals prevent collapse, - how "maybe" destroys trust, - how sex without a clear "yes" becomes violence, - how schoolyard bullying leaves scars on the nervous system, - and how love is possible-but only if it begins with the question: "May I?"Simon doesn't ask you to "understand" him. He demands one thing:respect for his right to be himself-without a mask, without apologies, without compromising his nervous system.
Every entry is like a turbine part: calibrated, essential, load-bearing. Every sentence is both a distress signal and a beacon:"You're not alone. You're not broken. You have the right to silence."For autistic readers-it's a mirror. For neurotypicals-it's a guide to respect. For everyone else-it's a reminder:humanity isn't measured by how much you resemble others, but by how fiercely you remain yourself-even when the world demands otherwise."My 'yes' is real only if I say it myself-not if I echo yours."- Simon K.
"I don't build engines instead of friends. I build them to stay myself-when the whole world demands that I disappear."This is not a victim's diary. It's a survivor's manifesto. Simon's Journal is an honest, technically precise, and poetically piercing account by an autistic engineer on how to live in a world designed for the "normal."There are no inspirational clichés here about "overcoming" autism.
Only truth:- about how rituals prevent collapse, - how "maybe" destroys trust, - how sex without a clear "yes" becomes violence, - how schoolyard bullying leaves scars on the nervous system, - and how love is possible-but only if it begins with the question: "May I?"Simon doesn't ask you to "understand" him. He demands one thing:respect for his right to be himself-without a mask, without apologies, without compromising his nervous system.
Every entry is like a turbine part: calibrated, essential, load-bearing. Every sentence is both a distress signal and a beacon:"You're not alone. You're not broken. You have the right to silence."For autistic readers-it's a mirror. For neurotypicals-it's a guide to respect. For everyone else-it's a reminder:humanity isn't measured by how much you resemble others, but by how fiercely you remain yourself-even when the world demands otherwise."My 'yes' is real only if I say it myself-not if I echo yours."- Simon K.