Actually Asten

A little love letter to 18-year-old me (and a bit of closure, too)

When I was 18, I created a magazine about autism for my final major project in art and design. It had everything — articles, interviews, artwork, passion. It wasn’t just a college project. It was me pouring my heart out onto the page, hoping maybe someone out there would get it.

And people did get it. The college loved it so much, they said they were going to produce it for real.

But that never happened.

Right after I finished it, I ended up in hospital — after two huge meltdowns, one at home and one in respite. I was autistic, overwhelmed, unsupported… and instead of care, I got crisis.
Hospital should never have happened. But it did. And with it, the magazine dream just… vanished.

I never got to see it made.
I never got to hold it in my hands.
And for a long time, I blamed myself — like I’d ruined something beautiful by breaking down.

But here’s the truth: I didn’t ruin anything.
I was doing my best in a world that didn’t know how to support girls like me.

And even though the magazine never got made… I’m still here.
Still telling my story. Still speaking up. Still writing.
Still autistic — proudly, loudly, and in my own voice.

So maybe this post is a kind of closure.
Or maybe it’s a spark — a little reminder that 18-year-old me had something important to say.

And 32-year-old me? She still does.

Did you ever have a dream that got paused but never left you?
Tell me about it. Maybe we can bring them back — together.