My name is Cobei, I am from the greater north Houston Texas area, and I believe I have had autism all along with a less than stable life that has been vigorously shifted multiple times over, starting with a psychiatric misdiagnosis of adhd in the summer before 9th grade at 13 years old, this is my story in summary:
A Personal Journey of Struggle, Discovery, and Hope
For most of my life, I felt like I was living in a world that was slightly out of sync. Everyone else seemed to follow rhythms and rules that didn’t come naturally to me. I masked it well enough most of the time, but inside I carried confusion, frustration, and a quiet sense that something was missing. It was like trying to complete a puzzle when half the pieces were hidden.
This year, after a long journey of searching and healing, I finally stumbled on the missing piece: autism. The realization came slowly, but when it hit, it felt like a weight lifting off my chest. Patterns from my entire life suddenly made sense. I could see myself clearly, past and present, without shame or denial. For the first time, my life had context.
Childhood and Early Struggles
Growing up, I often felt “different,” though I couldn’t explain why. I had quirks — the way I threw myself completely into interests, the way I could get overwhelmed from minuet sociological experiences, the way I clung to routines. Music became my escape. By sixth grade, I was excelling at the French horn, and for years, it became both my sanctuary and my identity. I poured myself into practice and found a place where my intensity and focus were celebrated.
But freshman year in high school, everything shifted. I was diagnosed with ADHD and prescribed Adderall. At first, I thought the pills would help, but instead they hollowed me out. I lost weight, my mouth went dry, and the joy I had found in music slipped through my fingers. Slowly, my passion for the French horn — and the community I had built around it — dissolved. It wasn’t just about losing an instrument; it felt like losing part of myself.
By the time sophomore year in high school rolled around, I was drifting. Without music, I fell in with the wrong crowd, chasing belonging in places that only pulled me down further. Years of confusion began... By January of 2016 my primary caregiver at the time (grandmother) had just passed from difficulties with emphysema, and I lost my place to live ultimately culminating in me experiencing "rock bottom" in the Adult Harris County Jail the day before my 18th birthday. (Need a whole essay to expand this)
Falling and Rebuilding
My release marked the beginning of a long, uphill climb. I found work in the cell phone tower industry, balancing the exhausting physical demands of the job with the strict rules of probation. Those years were tough, but they taught me resilience. Slowly, I built a foundation for myself, even as the weight of mental instability still lingered.
Work eventually brought me to San Antonio, where life began to shift again. I found love, started a family, and experienced glimpses of the stability I had always craved. Yet beneath the surface, the struggle continued. Anxiety, paranoia, and instability shadowed my steps, and there were days I wondered if I’d ever really find peace.
Martial Arts as Sanctuary
One thread has run consistently through my life: martial arts. From Solis Martial Arts in Humble, Texas, to 10th Planet San Antonio today, the mats have been my sanctuary. When the world felt too loud or confusing, Jiu Jitsu gave me structure, focus, and a place where my body and mind could finally sync. Rolling on the mats grounded me. The sensory overwhelm that clouded my daily life often melted away once I stepped into training.
Research may show that martial arts help autistic people with confidence, social skills, and executive functioning, but I don’t need studies to tell me that. I’ve felt it in my bones. Every class is medicine — discipline, movement, and the grounding touch of others in controlled space.
A Year of Transformation
The summer of 2024 was a breaking point. I had a psychotic episode that left me shaken to my core. At my worst, I experienced several severe paranoid delusions at home of an intrusion, suicidal ideations, breaks of anger and emotion I couldn’t control that would turn into full rage like throwing a radio out of my moving vehicles passenger window before opening the door and pondering jumping out, while on the way to center for human and healthcare services on 410 in San Antonio, It terrified me — not just the thought, but the realization of how real my mind could make something that wasn’t, or how my emotions could consume me for the worst and bring me to the darkest places of my mind.
That collapse sparked something, though. It was the beginning of a year of healing and rebuilding, guided by intuition and trial-and-error.
I cut out caffeine completely. I tapered down my marijuana use, replacing heavy smoking with the smallest amount at night to unwind. I started intermittent fasting, and even pushed myself into 24- and 48-hour fasts. I shifted to a diet built on whole, natural foods, listening to my body instead of counting calories. For the first time, I ate not by rules but by instinct. (Need a whole other essay on this, my hobby interests after release from Harris County Jail turned to the commercial gym and I was ate up with macro based diet tracking-it worked but I believe as an autistic person such extreme diet changes should not be done)
I also turned toward herbs and mushrooms. Lion’s Mane became a daily ally, sharpening my cognition and lifting the fog I had carried for so long. Rhodiola gave me energy before training, while fish oil soothed and supported my brain after. On two rare occasions, I experimented with amanita mascara — an ancient mushroom that seemed to peel back layers of haze and help me see patterns in myself more clearly. These weren’t shortcuts, but tools, paired with discipline and awareness.
And perhaps the most healing of all — a spontaneous road trip to the Grand Canyon with my wife. Standing at the edge of that vast landscape, I felt perspective flood back into me. The canyon dwarfed my problems, and for the first time in years, I breathed deeply and felt alive.
The Autism Realization
Through this process of healing, reflection, and stripping away old habits, the pieces began to line up. I realized the traits that had always defined me — the intensity, the sensory struggles, the need for structure, the way I masked with humor, the hyper focus and burnout — all pointed to autism.
It wasn’t a shock so much as a recognition. A voice inside me whispered, Of course. This is what you’ve been all along.
The realization brought both grief and relief. Grief for the years spent misunderstood, mislabeled, and medicated in ways that didn’t fit. Relief for finally having language and framework to understand myself. I no longer had to see my quirks as flaws; they were part of my wiring, my pattern.
Looking Ahead
Now, at 27, I stand in a place I never thought I’d reach. My mind is clearer, my body is stronger, and my path feels truer. I’ve applied to college, with the dream of becoming both a therapist and a personal trainer. I want to use my story — not just the polished parts, but the broken ones too — to help others find strength in themselves.
Most of all, I want to provide for my children. I want to be the example that healing is possible, that struggle doesn’t have to be the end of the story, and that resilience is built one choice at a time.
Sharing this story is part of that mission. For years, my voice felt silenced — by medication, by shame, by the chaos of my mind. Writing brings it back. This is my truth, my journey, and my hope.
I am autistic. I am healing. And I am ready for what comes next
05 Sep 2025, 11:59 pm
