NeuroDivine

Another day, another train ticket tucked into my coat pocket. This time, the destination is Belfast—a city I know like the back of my hand, having lived and worked there for years. But today’s trip isn’t about nostalgia or catching up with old haunts. It’s about something new: Grand Central Station. I haven’t seen it yet, and that’s reason enough to make the journey.

As someone who’s autistic and on dialysis, travel isn’t just a matter of hopping on a train. It’s a choreography of logistics, sensory management, and energy budgeting. But rail travel has always been my preferred rhythm—predictable, enclosed, and oddly meditative. The hum of the engine, the gentle sway, the absence of small talk—it’s a kind of peace I rarely find elsewhere.

🧠 Planning with Precision

Before any trip, I map out everything. Not just the train times, but the layout of the station, the location of toilets, the nearest quiet café in case I need to decompress. I check accessibility features, lighting conditions, and whether there’s signage that actually makes sense. Neurotypical design often forgets that clarity is kindness.

Dialysis adds another layer. I’ve timed this trip between treatment days, packed snacks that won’t throw my fluid balance off, and made sure I’ve got everything I need in case fatigue hits harder than expected. It’s not glamorous, but it’s real—and it’s part of how I reclaim independence.

🏙️ A City That Knows Me

Belfast isn’t just a place on a map. It’s a city that shaped me, challenged me, and taught me how to navigate the world with a brain that processes everything differently. I’m curious to see how it’s changed. Will Grand Central Station feel like progress, or just another shiny thing built without people like me in mind?

I’m not expecting miracles. Just a space that respects the complexity of its visitors. A station that understands that accessibility isn’t just about ramps—it’s about dignity.

🛤️ Onward

I haven’t arrived yet, as the journey has only just begun. And that’s something worth writing about. Because for people like me, travel isn’t just movement—it’s a statement. A quiet, determined refusal to be boxed in by medical routines or societal expectations.

Belfast, I’m on my way. Let’s see what you’ve built.