As I look out at the vast array of people, all clustered together, I gulp. My anxiety is going crazy. I had prepared a speech, but as I look down at it, it doesn’t seem that important anymore. The entire world is listening to me, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. I adjust the microphone as I begin to speak, my lips stutter out my name. I take a deep breath in and think about something the collective needs to know. I begin.

“Hi, everyone. I had a whole speech prepared, but I’m not going to deliver it. I think there is something more important that needs to be said. I don’t know if any of you have felt this way, but I certainly have. So, I’m going to talk about it. There are multiple labels I have claimed that help me understand myself. Some of these are: Autistic, gay, a woman. Where other people view these labels as reasons to discriminate against me, I view them as essential to my power. Since I cannot separate one identity from another, because together they create me, I have noticed one specific similarity in all of these groups. This extends far past my own labels, but to those my friends have claimed for themselves. In every group-whether that be ethnicity, race, religion, gender, sexual orientation or neurodivergence- we have all been taught the same concept. We have all been taught that we are broken. As an autistic person, I see the world differently than my neurotypical counterparts, and because I do not fit nicely into their society, I have been deemed broken. I am considered unnatural by some, because I am gay. I  have been told that I am wrong, which is another synonym for broken. I am a woman, I am undervalued compared to my male peers. I am told I must have a man to be complete. I’ve found all of my friends have been branded this by society, some are a part of a minority, others are cisgender straight white men with no disabilities or otherwise notable differences that would be normally shoved into a box.”

I draw in another deep breath, all eyes are staring directly at me.

“We have all been fed the same lie, that we are not whole. That we need someone else or something else, or to reach some new plateau to be viewed as whole. Women are taught this when they walk down the magazine aisle in a store and see all ways they can reduce their fat and get that “perfect body.” Or when a makeup add pops up on the screen, featuring some beauty product to enhance your appeal. Men also see magazines dedicated to showing how they can hone their muscles to attract the opposite sex. There are typically less magazines for men than women, but that doesn’t mean they are affected any less. We learn quite early on, that our goal in life should be to have a significant other, who will complete you. This person will fill in all of your gaps and in essence, fix you. Together you make a unified whole. This concept of lack is not only shown through relationships, but also in our definition of success.

“We learn that we must become incredibly wealthy, to not only be seen as an authority in our field, but also to be seen as valid. Once we reach a certain number, we become successful. Some of us are taken more seriously earlier on than others, but we are all striving for the same end goal. We all want to be respected, which only comes from attaining that impossible body or that annual gross income. Once we reach that level, we are seen as whole. Even if it silently kills us, the world will still see this specific figure. The only figure you have ever been allowed.”

I look down at my feet quickly before fixing my gaze on a point in the distance, above everyone’s heads.

“This concept, this lie, affects all of us. And we all hold it up to some degree, whether it is on purpose or not. It is so deeply embedded in our subconscious we do not even think about it. We are taught we must be better than everyone else to survive, to reach that level. We crawl over each other so we can finally reach the top, and perhaps bring a couple people up with us.”

I think back to all of my mistakes, when I believed in this rule. A tear rolls down my face. I feel strength flow through me as I finish.

“I want you all to know you don’t have to do that. You don’t have to push other people down to be appreciated. You aren’t broken. You don’t need that perfect someone to fill in your gaps. You all have flaws, and that’s okay. Do we look at any great piece of art and think, ‘that’s not a complete painting?’ No. We are all masterpieces in the process of constantly redefining ourselves. We are always evolving, adapting, and growing. You are whole. You can become a better whole, a better person. Other people can and will help you through your journey, but we are all born whole human beings.”

I take a shaky breath as I say my last line.

“So if you leave this meeting with nothing else, please, please remember that you are whole.”

"You are the most uninteresting person I know."

All I know is, if you're with other girls, aren't I going to be, inherently, uninteresting? Isn't the boyfriend going to lose interest eventually, because she's just the same old thing?

After two years, were we done?

But we weren't. He said, tomorrow, you'll do this. And that. And make up for this lost time.

But what time was lost?

Why was I being punished?

The grass is always greener.

And your word? Mean. You're just as useless as me.