Chronicles of a Quiet Fighter Catching Up: New Chapters & New Stores It’s been a busy couple of weeks, and I realized I haven’t shared an update here in a little while. Life has been moving quickly, but I’ve got some exciting things to share. First, my debut book Bloodline is officially out in the world! Holding it in my hands for the first time was surreal, and I’m so grateful to everyone who has supported me on this journey. If you haven’t picked up your copy yet, you can find it here: 📖 Get Bloodline on Lulu I’ve also started working on book two, Bloodline: Towerkeeper , which will dive deeper into the legacy, secrets, and shadows introduced in the first story. I can’t wait to share more about that soon. On top of writing, I’ve been building spaces where readers can connect with my work beyond the page. 🛍️ Visit My Merch Store 🎵 Shop on TikTok It hasn’t been without challenges—balancing ...

The Sound of Silence: Finding Friends Who Get It There have been so many times where I’ve been in a room full of people and still felt completely alone. It’s like everyone else is on the same frequency, and I’m just stuck on static. The world feels loud—too many voices, too many expectations, too much pressure to “fit in.” And I try. I mask. I laugh when I don’t feel like it, I force myself into small talk even though it drains me, and I walk away with nothing left in the tank. That’s the hard part about living with autism, depression, and anxiety—connection doesn’t come easy. It’s not that I don’t want it, it’s just that it costs me something. After some interactions, I go home feeling like I’ve run a marathon with no medal at the end. But then there are the people who make it different. The ones who let me sit in silence without making it awkward. The ones who don’t demand I be “on” all the time. For me, that’s Miranda and John. With Miranda, ...

The “Beep Beep” Cue Work story · Short · Autistic-perspective Working at the counter with Miranda has turned into its own kind of comedy routine. Sometimes, if I’m stimming or scrolling on my phone, I get completely lost in my own little world. A customer will walk in, and Miranda will say, “Caleb, move.” But I don’t hear her. It’s like the words don’t even register. Here’s the funny part though—if she just says “beep beep,” like I’m a car blocking the way, I move instantly without even thinking. And every time, I respond with a quick “Okay, Miranda” . She cracks up every time, and honestly, I kind of love it. What could be a frustrating moment just turns into a lighthearted inside joke between us. Why it works For me, this is also a very autistic thing. Sometimes full words and instructions just don’t cut through when my brain is busy processing other things. But a short, playful sound like “beep beep” hits...

The Honda Mix-Up Today at O’Reilly I managed to stick my foot in my mouth without even meaning to. A customer pulled into the parking lot driving a Honda. Miranda asked if I wanted to restock or deal with them, and I—without thinking—said, “Yeah, I don’t like Hondas anyway.” Then she looked at me and reminded me… her car is a Honda. Oops. I scrambled, tried to backtrack with, “Well, I like yours,” but then of course she pointed out, “But mine’s a Honda.” At that point I was stuck in a loop, so I gave up and went to put things on the shelf. When I came back, I thought I was in the clear. She was laughing, so I figured the moment passed. Nope. She snuck up on me while I was on the phone and scared the daylights out of me. I nearly lost my ability to speak, caught between laughing and crying. P.S. Miranda, if you’re reading this—I officially declare for the record: your Honda is cool, and I’m really, really sorry for the mix-up. Please don’t sneak up on me again whil...

scan me When I Was Ignored for Being Autistic Chronicles of a Quiet Fighter Today at work, I had a moment that left me both hurt and seen. An older man came in trying to return a brake hose. The part was right, but he had installed it on the wrong side of his car. When he explained it, it didn’t make sense to me—his words got jumbled, and I told him plainly: “I’m autistic, and you’re confusing me.” Instead of slowing down or respecting that, he turned his attention to my coworker John. He even said, “He said he’s autistic, maybe you can help me,” like I wasn’t standing right there anymore. Then he added that he had a granddaughter who is autistic. That stung even more. I thought, I hope he treats her better than he treated me. In that moment, I started to feel myself nearing shutdown. What bothers me is not knowing exactly what signs I was giving off that made it obvious. John later told me he noticed it happening—that’s why he hung up on his own cus...

End of August Update August always weighs on me. My birthday sits in the same week as the memory of my grandfather’s passing, and that combination pulls me between joy and grief in a way that my body can’t always process. It feels like buzzing under my skin—like my nerves are carrying too much information at once. Sometimes I sweat when no one else is hot, or everything sounds like it’s happening at the same volume, and my body just says, enough. Turning 36 brought mixed emotions. I don’t feel like I’ve “arrived” anywhere in life, and my brain often tells me I should be further ahead. But when I look at the reality, I’ve survived so much. My autistic brain and body make everyday things harder—like interruptions at work that completely throw me off, or noise in the store that makes me lose my focus instantly. Even something as simple as trying to reset after being pulled away feels impossible some days. Still, I made it through, and that counts for more...

Today, I’m sharing a deeply personal moment of grief and memory. It’s about Papa, his favorite dessert, and how I experienced a wave of emotions I wasn’t ready for. This is written from my autistic perspective, and I hope it gives insight into the ways love, loss, and support show up in my life. Note for neurotypical readers: This post shares the deep sensory and emotional experience of an autistic person remembering a loved one. The intensity may be unfamiliar if you haven’t experienced grief in this way. Another Bite, Another Wave Jennifer gave me this banana pudding at my therapy session today. I only managed four bites before I started crying. Why does this taste so much like him? Miranda had to get my spoon and help me calm down while I sat there, trying to eat. She stayed by my side, quietly supporting me, helping me breathe through the overwhelming mix of grief and memory. Each bite felt heavier than the last, yet somehow comforting...

There are some things that are hard to say out loud, so I’m writing them here. This is something I’ve been wanting to tell my best friend, Miranda — the person who has been my anchor, my protector, and one of the biggest blessings in my life. A Letter to Miranda Miranda, I don’t think I’ve ever told you this fully, but you’ve been one of the biggest blessings in my life. When I needed an emergency contact for my safety plan, you didn’t even hesitate—you volunteered without a second thought. That moment told me everything about the kind of friend you are. You’ve always been my protector, my bestie, my anchor when I feel like I’m slipping. Because of you, I went back to therapy. Because of you, I sought out my second autism assessment. Because of you, I got reconnected with a psychiatrist, got back on medication, and started to believe I was worth more than just surviving. Honestly, if I hadn’t met you, I don’t thi...

Xander and the Soda Can of Doom Picture it: O’Reilly’s, August 23, 2025, Saturday, 2:35pm. Xander walks up holding a can of Dr. Pepper and asks if I had shaken it. I said no. Then he asked John if I had. Like he didn’t believe me. How could he doubt me? I would never. So I said, “Let me see it.” He hands me the can, and I shake it like the gremlin I am, then hand it back and walk away giggling. Moral of the story: Don’t mess with the autism, or you’ll get the gremlin. – Signed, Your Resident Work Gremlin

The Birthday Ambush Yesterday, when I first got to work at O’Reilly’s, I could tell something was up. Miranda and John were laughing, giggling, and cutting up. I watched them like a hawk, not taking my eyes off of them. They both tried to scare me—sneaking up behind me and shouting “Happy Birthday!” really loud, with Miranda filming it. I still jumped—loud noises startle me—but I was ready. Even in that chaotic moment, I felt safe, playful, and connected. Playful bonding Playful interactions with people I trust can be both exhilarating and grounding. I don’t have to suppress my startle response to enjoy connection. Embracing joy safely Humor, playful banter, and safe surprises can help release stress and strengthen relationships. I can lean into these moments as part of my self-regulation.

Learning to Live With Support Some days are still hard Some days are still incredibly hard. Meltdowns hit hard, and shutdowns still feel unbearable at times. But over the past months, I’ve noticed they’re happening less often—and that’s progress I’m grateful for. Therapy and medication are helping me navigate life more steadily. Frustration about the past I still feel frustration when I think about not knowing I was autistic as a child. The support I could have had then might have made things easier. But there’s nothing I can do about the past. What matters now is how I move forward. Building my own support network I’ve started building my own support network: my therapist and psychiatrist, my chosen family, and friends like Miranda and John. These people are my anchors—they help me regulate, feel safe, and remind me that life, while challenging, can be manageable. Finding balance and acceptance Life isn’t going to be a cakewalk, and ...

Through the Spectrum The night began calm, steady — just the hum of the lights above, the familiar beep of the scanner, shelves stacked neatly in their rows. I felt present, grounded, breathing slow and even. But the calm thinned. Voices stacked too quickly, questions overlapping. The scanner’s tone shifted from background to intrusion, each sound sharper than the last. My chest buzzed, restless, like the air itself had turned unstable. Soon the room pressed in on me — the scrape of boxes, the hum of the fluorescents, the smell of oil and cardboard swelling too thick. My breath shortened, movements stiff, every nerve pulled taut. And then came the collapse. Words slipped from reach, sound folded into static, my body heavy as stone. The world dulled to black and stillness — shutdown pulling me under, quiet but absolute.

Chronicles of a Quiet Fighter: A Day in My Autistic Life Morning Arrival: Senses on Alert The day began with the sun sneaking through the blinds, too bright too early for my brain to process comfortably. I pressed my hands against the hardwood floor, feeling the coolness beneath my palms. Each step on the floorboards made a soft, hollow echo, which my ears picked up more acutely than anyone else would notice. The buzzing started almost immediately, that familiar low vibration in my skin, and I knew I had to pace myself just to get through breakfast. I sat with my simple breakfast, thinking about the routines that guide my life. Even mundane actions—making a peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich, pouring a glass of water, checking my medication schedule—require precision and attention. For someone else, these tasks would feel automatic. For me, they are anchor points, moments to assert control over the sensory chaos around me. Preparing for Work: Small Triumphs Putti...

Giggy, Bubba, and Ryry: Growing Up with My Siblings Growing up with Jenna was… something else. Our nicknames for each other— Giggy for her, Bubba for me—sum up the chaos perfectly. She had ADHD, I had undiagnosed autism, and somehow, we were a perfect storm. Scratches, bruises, pencils thrown near my eye… our fights were epic. And our parents? They just let us go at it. They figured separating us was pointless because we’d just start again the moment the room emptied. Somehow, eventually, we got tired of it. The endless battles faded, and out of that chaos grew a closeness I wouldn’t trade for anything. Jenna isn’t just my sister anymore—her kids feel like mine, and I know we’d both do anything for each other. Then there’s Ryan— Ryry . Five years younger than me, seven younger than Jenna. As a kid, he begged Mom to make me play with him. I never did. Not because I didn’t care, but because I couldn’t. Being autistic, I didn...

How Miranda Gave Me a Name for My Alter Ego: Taylor Thursday, August 14 — just another second shift that turned into something more Some nights at work are quiet. Just me and Miranda holding down second shift, moving through the usual rhythm of orders, chatter, and silence. But this Thursday wasn’t like the rest. Somewhere between the fries dropping and the headset static, Miranda asked me a question that I didn’t realize I needed to hear. “Caleb, what’s your alter ego’s name?” she asked casually, like it was the simplest thing in the world. I froze. “Huh? I don’t know,” I told her. She tilted her head, studying me like she always does when she already knows the answer. “What do people call you when you’re not acting like yourself?” she pushed gently. All I could come up with was, “They just call me Caleb.” But the truth slipped out in another way. In the drive-thru, and even on the phone, people mishear me a...