I am autistic. I do not hug. I do not look at faces, and I never look directly at eyes. Covid gave me an excuse to not shake hands. People do not believe that the experience of being touched is not the same for everyone. If I read my books in bookstores, I have to psych up. Shaking hands fills me with dread. My friends help me through it. Everyone comes over and shakes my hand. I work hard at giving it a trial run. That way, the experience of being touched is not so novel. One out of five men will feel he has been inappropriately touched at some point in life. I totally freeze in crowds. While you are hugging me, I am suffocating. I want to wear a big sign: Do Not Touch This Person. I solve the problem of being stuffed into cars, I just drive a dirt bike. My dad could not tolerate neurodivergence. He would beat me if he thought I was staring into space. I can sit alone in a dark room for days. He could not understand that I am thinking. Like how can I avoid this, and how can I avoid being touched walking through this. I do not initiate touching. Loud voices trigger panic. The New York subway is the most fun place on the planet. Forget doctors and dentists. It’s more than an aversion. Solid hit of adrenaline. I cut my own hair. If I go to the theatre, I buy three tickets. Animals touch me. I am okay with it. Because it’s usually innocent. Homo sapiens are another story. They want something. Riding shotgun on a bike means 2 people, one seat. I tell myself it’s not happening. – Tim Barrus

https://www.nytimes.com/2025/05/22/well/dont-touch-me-stranger.html#permid=142340818