Dear Diary. When I was 23, I realised I had traits of autism. I was clumsy; I'd been bad at sports at school. I walked awkwardly. I would watch my reflection in shop windows to practice walking more naturally. I was bad at socialising. I'd had no close friends at university. No girlfriend. I needed long periods of time alone but at the same time craved human interaction. I had stimming behaviour: I often picked my lips until they bled as a way of comforting myself.

I went to an autism specialist to get a diagnosis, but he wrote "Paul does not have strong features of Asperger's disorder but could have traits of it. However, he is able to function reasonably well in the community and is able to hold down a job."

I kept myself on a rigorous gluten and dairy free diet for ten years, because I'd read evidence that gluten and dairy makes autism worse. I stopped only after becoming a parent, because the demands of parenting made me too tired to care about the diet anymore.

And I guess I stopped thinking of myself as autistic. Autism wasn't in my thoughts anymore. I guess I started thinking of myself as just socially awkward instead.

But last week this changed. Girlfriend was watching a new Netflix show called Life & Beth. It's a show based on Amy Shumer's life, and her relationship with her husband, who has autism. I started watching it too, particularly an episode where her husband takes an online autism test and discovers he probably has autism.

Girlfriend asked if I wanted to try an online autism test too.

"Sure," I said.

So I took a test. I scored 74 out of 140, which meant I had "a high probability of symptoms of autism". I wasn't surprised.

I realised I should probably learn about autism, so I've started buying books. And the first one I bought, it's a total joy. I've cried several times reading it. It's called Unmasking Autism. The book claims that many autistic people can blend in by acting normal (which has been my own experience), but this comes at a high price, since any friendships they make are superficial (because they never reveal their true selves). What's more, they get exhausted and burned out from pretending to be normal all the time, and they have to suppress behaviours and hide interests that would otherwise make them happy. The author (a transgender autistic) argues that it's better for austistics to "drop the mask" and to show people who they really are. It's a beautiful sentiment: just be yourself. This means instead of autistic people having to fit in, it's the world that needs to adapt to people with autism.

Finally, a book that says I don't have to pretend to be normal anymore. It's okay to just be myself. I'm glad I live in this era of understanding and compassion. I grew up in the 1990s, which was an era of sneering hatred and anger at anything different. Even the word "gay" was an insult back then.

Thanks to reading this book, I'm now an ardent supporter of rights movements like the LQBT movement. I "get it". I know what it's like to be different. Everyone should be free to be themselves, whether you're autistic, spastic, gay, trans, or an albino rhino. You should never have to change yourself to fit in. Also, if the people bullying me at school for being autistic were the same people bullying transgender people, then I'll gladly stand side by side with transgender people, so we can all trample the bodies of the bullies with our boots.

I'm still forcing myself to go to social events, by the way. This evening I played basketball with two people I've never met: a Spanish girl called Cecilia and a Brazilian girl called Gabriella. Cecilia's an accountant who moved to Girona for her work (she said she wouldn't be living in Girona otherwise) and Gabriella's a tomboyish software manager. With only three people we didn't have enough for teams, so we played 21 instead. I scored the least amount of points, because I'm not very good at basketball, or any team sport for that matter, but I still enjoyed spending time with people. I no longer shy away from social situations: I seek them out with open arms instead. Because I understand you have to face your fears in order to grow.