I’m autistic. I just turned 36 — the average age when people like me die.

On March 21, 2017, CNN published an article on a new study from the American Journal of Public Health that found the average life span of an autistic person is 36 years. I wasn’t shocked by this news. I know how dire things can be for so many of us on the spectrum, but that number struck me for a very specific reason. I had just turned 35 the previous month.

Since I learned this news, I’ve been anticipating the milestone of turning 36 with a mix of confusion, dread, and a host of other feelings I can’t quite articulate. I’ve had more existential episodes than usual, brooding about the meaning of life. It’s been a lot like a midlife crisis — except that (I kept thinking) my own midlife might have happened as long as half my life ago. The average age of death for autistic people who live to adulthood might be older than 36 (and as of now, there is still no age-specific data). Still, the figure from the research journal haunted me.

At some point between that moment and now, I made a pair of promises to myself: