1. Responses like "Everyone is a little bit" or "who needs labels" or "You don't look it" or even "You're still the same person" will be deleted if I'm feeling generous, or verbally throat-punched if I'm not.
These are dismissive and harmful responses and I will not have it.
2. The debate to even come out with this has been ongoing. Don't make me regret it.
3. "Yeah I'm not surprised" is not a response. It's patronizing and I will not have it.
April is Autism Acceptance Month. This past January, I received my own autism diagnosis.
I am autistic. I've suspected ever since Lina was confirmed autistic in '15.
And I...have been going through the shit. Since some point around September, I have not been okay. After I was mostly moved in at the new house, I hit a wall.
I hit a fucking wall the way my dad hit a fucking wall: full speed, face first.
Which killed him, btw.
It was like that moment in movies where the injured character keeps going even though it's dire. And then out of nowhere they collapse because they literally have nothing left.
And I have had nothing left since then. Looking back, it started back in March last year when I spent A WEEK IN THE PSYCH WARD.
But instead of having any chance, opportunity, or understanding from others to recover, there's been the opposite. If anything, I've had to keep going. Running on less than empty. Sinking further into myself because at some point you just look down at where you're putting your feet in mindless movement because if you do anything else, you'll just fucking drop.
So yeah, I was diagnosed autistic while in Full Blown Autistic Burnout. And oh, let's add perimenopause symptoms like bursitis, labor-like cramps, vitamin deficiency (my Vit D was in single digits), and insomnia like a goddamn cherry on this shit sundae.
And I can't do a goddamn thing about it. I can't rest. I can't self-care. I can't Anything You're Going To Tell Me To Do. Go research it for yourself to understand why not, because I legit don't have the fortitude to argue.
"Symptoms of Autistic Burnout." Google it.
You can believe I'm intelligent enough to understand my experience or you can argue and thereby imply I'm too stupid to think of those things you thunk up right off the cuff.
I'm not depressed. I'm not angry. I'm not delicate or picky or anything else like that. I am so thoroughly crushed by the goddamn weight of this fucking neurotypical world and the judgments and expectations to blend in and not make anyone uncomfortable.
Being rewarded for masking. Even by other ND (and even other autistic!) people treating me like shit unless I mask. All the while telling me they accept and love me.
And even you might want to tell me you accept me, and that I'm okay the way I am. And "fuck those people." And all that other insipid inspirational poster shit. But you don't know me. You really don't. You know a masked, filtered, or low-dose version of me.
Even people who "love and accept me" hate me when they're under the same roof as me. Walking away when I'm mid-sentence. Dismissing what I say. Taking my absolute resignation of never being fucking heard and calling it attitude. Avoiding me.
But nooo, I'm loved and accepted.
Did you know 66% of autistic adults have thought about suicide, and 35% have at least one attempt?
Compare that to less than 1 per 100 in the general population. 14 per 100,000 for gen pop.
Now tell me there isn't a problem. Tell me I'll get through this. Tell me every insipid thing you can think of, and then look inside yourself and ask if any of that really makes a difference.
I am writing my will. My PCP and I are forming my DNR. I'm tying up loose ends.
I'm tired of being told I'm safe, that I can ask for help, and then getting fucked. I went to work and asked for help. Instead, I got patronized, banned from driving buses without a redundant medical eval, and then "well, okay, you can drive a bus, but you can't drive students." Let's just drop that bomb when we're already wrapping up and I'm gathering my things to leave.
Let's have everyone stare at me in silence while I'm slapped in the fucking face, humiliated, and let this bitch Dolores Umbridge the fuck out of me.
I asked for help. All I wanted was to be allowed to sit and rest for a few minutes without being told to stand up and work, all the while a blind eye for everyone else in the garage standing around holding their dicks jabbering for 20, 30 mins, sometimes longer.
But no, Delena can't sit for two fucking minutes without being told to get up and work. And oh, "she used to be 'all in' and I don't know what happened, even tho we literally watched her be caregiver to a burn victim, try to buy a house, come to work puking, shoulders in such pain she's crying and I gave her bus seats to disassemble and she repeatedly told me she physically couldn't do it but fought to do it anyway. But no, it's a mystery. Let's treat her like a fucking idiot and a slacker. And oh, you never met her before, so there's your preconceived notion of her. Go ahead and treat her accordingly and talk to her like she's fucking stupid and a sneaky liar."
AND YOU FUCKING WONDER WHY I'M LIKE THIS.
And I'm trapped. I have a mortgage, a car note, a teenager, my floor is still ripped to shit from fixing the foundation, and "what can I do to help?" I need hands. I need hands to help with my goddamn floor. I need weeks away from an environment that's making me sick. I need money to pay for living while I decompress. I need a gun to shoot myself in the head and put everyone out of this shit misery.
I hate myself. I hate my life. I hate that I will never fit in. I hate that I'm only ever wanted for fucking, but not for cherishing. I hate that I'm only accepted if I pretend to be palatable. I hate the messages that I'm stupid and too much and not wanted.
I will never be better. Life will always feel like this. I am autistic. It's official. And I will be part of that 35%. I am so fucking tired of this shit. No amount of trying will ever be enough.
