'After 48 hours in my city job I was broken. But not for the reason you think.'

I moved to London four months ago with two big suitcases, a medium-sized bank account, and a zest for life like no other. But now I sit here writing, to whoever might stumble across this, feeling burnt, battered, and a bit bruised.

Of course, it isn't all like this.

Like many Aussies, I decided to take a gap year (or two, in my case) to travel and experience a new culture. Since moving to Europe, I've celebrated St Paddy's Day in Ireland, snorkelled the Mid-Atlantic Ridge in Iceland, survived a power outage in Spain and, of course, seen the beautiful sights of London.

Watch: British charity Autistica is urging people to #understandmore about life with Autism Spectrum Disorder. Post continues below.

But I'd be lying if I said it was what I anticipated.

Through social media and my own very active imagination, I'd pictured what my life would look like. A romanticised London existence: picnics in Hyde Park on weekends, hopping on the Tube into central London, making new friends, living my best main-character life.

Of course, I expected some homesickness. A few tough days. Maybe even a little identity crisis.

But I told myself I'd manage. And to be fair, I did.

Until the job.

The job was the kicker.

A seemingly simple 9–5 receptionist role, a stable pay cheque, a nice enough team. But within two days, I found myself spiralling. Exhausted. Overwhelmed. Unwell in a way that went far beyond tiredness.

That job reminded me loudly, painfully, that I am autistic.

"But within two days, I found myself spiralling." Image: supplied.

The struggles I have with my Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) is not something I talk about a lot. My autism doesn't present in the way most people expect, and I've spent years learning how to "mask" in social situations.

But that masking comes at a cost. And the cost of a full-time job with its long hours, constant stimulation, small talk, pressure to perform, and rigid structure, was in fact my mental health.

Being autistic in a 9–5 world broke me in 48 hours.

I came home after my second day, turned off all the lights and cried myself to sleep. Bear in mind it was 6:30pm. I was exhausted beyond belief.

Having to learn so much information in such a short timeframe. Having to commute an hour on the Tube with bright lights, loud noises and lots of people. I was shattered before I made it into the office.

Not because the tasks were too hard, but because the environment and the people in it became all too much. I couldn't breathe, let alone function. Having to deal with sarcasm or jokes I don't understand. Putting on a front to act 'normal'. To make eye contact, so I wouldn't seem rude.

Ironically, I am a people person through and through. But only through organic interactions. Put me in a structured and corporate environment. I will be bound to mask trying to meet these social normalities that are expected of me.

It wasn't just the office. It was the effort of pretending. Of pushing myself into a mould that wasn't made for me. Of acting "normal" every second, when nothing about it felt natural.

In that moment, I realised something: I could either keep going and break completely or I could walk away. Neither sounded appealing, but only one of them sounded doable.

So, I quit.

Two days in, I messaged my boss, thanked them politely, and told them it wasn't right for me.

I felt embarrassed at first. Ashamed, even. Like I'd failed at something everyone else seems to handle with ease. But as the fog began to lift, what I really felt… was relief.

This wasn't weakness. This was self-preservation.

"I'm 19. I don't have a career path mapped out," writes Zoe Watson. Image: supplied.

I'm 19. I don't have a career path mapped out. I don't know what I want to "be." I don't even have a passion I'm chasing right now. And I could sugarcoat it and say I am excited to have such a clean landscape to build on, but given my autism, I am a girl who loves a plan.

So being 'planless' is scary.

I can't help but blame the people who saw such a beautiful world and decided to stick us all in jobs we will work for fifty years of our life.

I've always found work to be stressful. Hospitality and retail are overstimulating beyond belief. I sometimes worry that I will never find 'my thing' and I mourn the version of me I imagined I'd become.

The one who thrived in the city. The one who worked long hours and went out after. The one who could balance it all.

But that girl isn't real. And the one writing this? She's doing her best.

She's learning that it's okay to be different. That being autistic isn't something to hide. That not fitting into a system doesn't mean you're broken, it means the system wasn't built for you.

Like most things in my life, I have taken an unconventional path. But I have made it this far, so I will continue to forge my own way.

I don't know what comes next. But I know I'll keep trying. Not to be someone else but to be softer with myself, to build a life that makes sense to me.

And honestly? I don't regret a thing.

Feature: Supplied.