Who Am I Today? 2/3

 

Who Am I Today? 2/3

Autistic Genius / Creative Polymath

Over the years, I have come to understand how my autism and past trauma shape both my productivity and my struggles. The more I struggle, the less productive I become; the more trauma I carry, the harder it is to function. Despite this, I am highly productive—just not in a way that seamlessly integrates into traditional industry structures.

As a high-functioning autistic person, I naturally think outside the box. I am a creative polymath, generating work that could thrive in entertainment industries, but I lack the skills or connections to monetize it effectively. That aspect—the business side—is something my autistic brain struggles with. However, in the last six months alone, I have:

• Published a collection of short stories from a community.

• Written a video game—a foundational version of a more advanced project I’m developing when time allows.

• Walked my dog daily, often more than once.

• Been a full-time parent to my 14-year-old autistic child, who has Pathological Demand Avoidance (PDA), a constant challenge for both of us.

• Drafted and outlined at least a dozen separate novels, none of which are ready for public viewing because they require focused time and attention.

• Provided counseling support to several people.

• Written articles for an art magazine.

Despite this extensive work, none of it has generated income. I don’t know how to navigate that side of things, and at nearly 50, if it were something I could easily learn, I likely would have by now. Over the last year, I’ve engaged in deep personal development—shadow work, cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT), and trauma processing—specifically to overcome imposter syndrome, anxiety, and low self-esteem. This past winter, I was clinically depressed, but now that spring is here, I feel more optimistic. I wake up accepting the day instead of fearing it.

I am also in the process of moving house. Almost everything I own is packed, including a significant amount of handcrafted stock for a business in tabletop gaming terrain. There is a strong market for it—people pay substantial sums for handcrafted role-playing game terrain. On average, my stock is valued at around £50 per 1ft² box, and I have approximately 50 to 100 boxes. However, much of it remains unfinished because I work in batches. Once I am settled in a new studio, I can complete it for sale. I refuse to throw it away.

For 20 years, I have endured people telling me that my craftwork is worthless, that I should discard it, and that keeping it is merely a symptom of mental illness. That kind of sustained dismissal has left me with deep-seated trauma. Now, as people recognize the actual market value of my work, their attitudes are shifting. Some of my closest friends view me as a workaholic because I prioritize creativity over socializing on internet forums. However, given that we all live in different countries, online interactions are our only point of connection.

The British government’s proposed cuts to long-term sickness benefits deeply destabilize my situation. If my income is reduced, I will no longer be able to afford the spare room I need as a workspace or even as storage. Without that space, I would be forced to discard my entire stock—10 years’ worth of work, both in acquiring materials and developing the necessary skills. This is not just a hobby; it is a business on the verge of launching. Renting external storage is financially unfeasible, and practically speaking, I cannot work in an offsite location. My autism and mental health mean that leaving the house to work in a separate space would introduce an overwhelming level of pressure, making it impossible to maintain creative momentum.

I am not “scrounging off the dole.” I am not a benefit fraudster. I am on the cusp of success, whether in literature, craftwork, video games, or even the music I composed in my twenties (still stored on discs). As soon as any of these projects start generating revenue, I will be considered an entrepreneur, a British businessman, and—potentially—a recognized creative force. Perhaps, psychologically, I have not yet been ready for that level of public scrutiny. I am not driven by fame or wealth; I create because I am an artist with an inherent creative drive. Being forced to stop would be devastating.

At present, with all my tools and materials packed away for the move, I have had to find alternative creative outlets. Writing on my phone and engaging in self-soothing techniques—slow breathing, salt baths, and other forms of radical self-care—have helped me stay grounded. Only in late 2024 did I even encounter the term “radical self-care,” and it was a revelation. For the first time, I began to acknowledge that I do not deserve constant self-punishment. I have worked incredibly hard, and I am finally allowing myself to recognize that I deserve to take things easier at times. Approaching 50, I am stepping back to assess my life, my routines, and my self-worth.

Despite my productivity, I spend roughly two-thirds of my time struggling—with trauma, anxiety, and financial instability due to the limitations of the government benefits system. I am grateful that the system exists at all, but broader societal perceptions of people on benefits remain deeply damaging. Many assume I am a drug addict or a criminal simply because I receive government support. I have witnessed firsthand how attitudes shift when people recognize the value of my work. What they once dismissed as “trash hoarding” suddenly transforms into a legitimate business venture when they realize my stock has substantial market worth.

I would love to reach a point where I am no longer dependent on benefits, but my self-esteem does not allow me to believe my work could generate that level of financial security—despite knowing that it has real potential. My books could be bestsellers, adapted into Hollywood films. I could be writing scripts for major media industries. In fact, I have already been plagiarized by Disney. The evidence exists online: a project I self-promoted over a decade ago—complete with professionally commissioned character designs—was later adapted into a Disney film, with my characters and story structure repackaged without acknowledgment. Seeing that happen gave me an immense boost in self-esteem, but it brought neither financial gain nor public recognition. When I present the evidence, people see the truth. When I don’t, they assume I am lying, which is yet another hurdle to overcome.

What Do I Need?

I need a literary agent who can connect my work with publishing houses—someone who understands how to navigate the industry and secure the marketing support required for my work to generate income. I do not know how to approach this. I have tried to learn, but the knowledge does not integrate into my mind in a way that allows me to act on it. Instead, it triggers trauma, which I process by creating even more work. The way my mind focuses is, in itself, an interesting study.

With the right support, I could transition from being perceived as an unemployed autistic person on benefits to being recognized as the accomplished creative professional that I am. I do not need charity—I need the right connections and guidance to turn my extensive body of work into a sustainable career.