I came to Austria from Syria in 2015. I was 20 years old. I came alone. I haven't seen my family since. That's eleven years.

I have autism, ADHD, and depression. I didn't know about the autism or ADHD for most of my life. I just knew that everything was harder for me than it seemed to be for everyone else — noise, light, crowds, organizing my day, keeping focus, maintaining relationships. I learned to hide it. I got good at appearing normal. Too good, as it turned out, because every time I appeared normal, someone used it as proof that I didn't need help.

I'm also blind in my left eye. A piece of glass went through it when I was nine years old in Syria. Eleven surgeries followed — in Syria, in Lebanon, in Austria. The eye couldn't be saved.

What I Did

When I arrived in Austria, I did everything they asked me to do. I learned German. I passed the Matura. I enrolled in university — Information and Communication Systems at FH Technikum Wien. I went to psychiatrists from day one. I tried therapy. I tried medication after medication — I lost count, but it's over twenty different ones across eleven years. I moved apartments four times because the noise and light in each place made it impossible to function.

I applied for over 300 jobs. I got interviews. I performed well. I was told I did well. Then I was rejected. Over and over, without real explanations.

I applied for a disability pass three times. Three times denied, including at court level.

The Contradiction

The disability assessment was done by a neurologist who specializes in Parkinson's and stroke — not autism, not ADHD. She saw me for 25 minutes, tested my reflexes and coordination, noted that I spoke well and seemed calm, and concluded I wasn't disabled enough. She wrote that my treatment options hadn't been exhausted.

Ten weeks later, a different state agency assessed me for a care allowance. A different doctor read the same medical files — my hospital records from the AKH, where I've been treated for over a decade. Those records say, in writing, that my medication therapy has been adjusted multiple times and is exhausted. This doctor found my concentration reduced, my drive reduced, my mood unable to be lifted. She approved me for 80 hours of care per month.

Two state assessments. Same person. Same medical files. One says I'm not disabled enough. The other says I need 80 hours of care monthly. Both are official. Both are currently valid.

The Circular Trap

My residency was also rejected. The immigration authority wrote that they couldn't understand why I could study but couldn't work. They acknowledged my conditions cause significant limitations in all areas of life — their words — and then used my university record as proof that I should be able to work. Since I can't work, I have no income beyond social assistance. Since I have no income, I don't qualify for permanent residency.

The disability system says I function too well to be disabled. The residency system says I'm too disabled to function. The university couldn't accommodate my sensory needs — I was expelled in November 2025. Employers have rejected me over 300 times.

Every system has a reason. Every reason contradicts the others. The result is always the same: the door closes.

What I Built

Through all of this, I've been building something. An AI-powered health app called Cortex, designed for neurodivergent people. I built it alone — no team, no funding. Over 700 commits. Real software with voice input, AI analysis, memory, and a chat assistant that remembers everything you've written. I built it because I needed a tool like this and it didn't exist. Nobody was going to build it for me, so I built it myself.

What I Need

I've been trying to get help. I've contacted over twenty organizations — disability advocacy, refugee support, social services, legal aid, media. Most haven't responded. The ones that did pointed me to other organizations. Everyone handles one piece. Nobody holds the whole picture.

I'm not telling this story for sympathy. I'm telling it because after eleven years of trying to do everything right, I need people to know what happened. I need it to exist outside my own head. And I need support — financial stability, professional opportunity, proper treatment for my conditions, and community. Not because I lack ability. Because every system I've encountered has found a different reason to say no, and I cannot break through alone.

My name is Mohamad. I am still here. And I am still building.

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