Worries

I worry every day. I can’t stop the flooding in my brain. I worry about the fact that only 16% of autistic adults are in full time paid employment, and that only 32% are in any kind of paid work. I worry about the fact that I don’t look autistic and most people don’t realise just how autistic I am. They think I can fix my autistic traits if they keep telling me how to improve myself, but you can’t fix autism. It stays with you forever. I worry about the fact I may lose all my friends one day through my lack of understanding social communication. I say the wrong things often and I don’t understand why it was the wrong thing. I don’t understand other people’s social signals, either. I think I’m losing friends already.

I worry about the fact that 1 in 3 autistic adults are experiencing severe mental health problems and I think I’m one of them because I can’t see properly most days. All I see in front of me are traps. I think about all the ways I could fail in life frequently, and it isn’t enough to just think positive. I try, but then I think about all the negatives of that positive.

I worry about the fact that I want to do something big with my life but that I will never get the chance to. Don’t say I can if I try. Then, I’ll feel worse about not doing it. My autism looks like it doesn’t affect me much so people encourage me to do things that they would never encourage someone with a more visible disability to do. Just because mine is invisible, people think I can do things. I’ve tried to do more with my life and it ended in terrible situations each time, because of my autism. Each time, I remember back to those scenarios, and I think they will happen again. That is why I cannot do what I want with my life. I cannot experience the opportunities many are lucky to grab. It will end badly.

I cannot see any future for myself, personally. I see the future of everyone else around me — but not me. I have no future. One day, I might be all alone and not know how to cope with the world I’ll be all alone in, and that frightens me the most. I fear that I will be stationary, like a statue, for my entire life. I once had dreams and aspirations that burned down before me when I realised I can never complete those.

I’m depressed. I’m anxious. I’m autistic. No one wants to deal with someone like me. I’m too complicated for them. I’m a mess. I lie to people most of the time with simple texts and funny pictures. I don’t want to be remembered for being a fraud. I want to be remembered for being an author who volunteered with animals regularly, but that is not going to happen. I have had far too many set-backs already. My autism is literally stopping me from getting opportunities (I was turned down by a volunteer agency when they found out I was autistic, despite the fact I could do whatever tasks they wanted me to). I have tried more than once to fit in with society and it did not work out.

The truth is that I’m tired. I feel like an alien. No one understands me. I will not speak this aloud but I will write it in a blog post because that’s what my blog is about. Expressing myself.

Honestly, my pets are what keep me going. Seeing them each day gives me something to smile about, but there’s not much more for me to smile at anymore. I feel alone and frightened about my future. I have my family but they won’t be here forever, so what happens then?

I don’t know.

Lia

 

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Meeting People

One of the most terrifying things for me is meeting new people. I don’t know what they’ll think of me and whether they’ll accept me. I’ve struggled with trying to fit in for my entire life but recently I decided I’ll never fit in, so why try? I am always scared that when I meet someone new, I will be awkward. I am a very awkward person and I end up talking about weird things. Sometimes, I don’t talk at all. This often happens when I’m at a doctor’s office; my mum will speak for me because I’m unable to. I don’t know when these bouts of silence will happen (it’s usually when someone is authoritative or scary) but I always hope that I’ll be able to speak when it matters. However, sometimes I’m scared that if I speak, I’ll say the wrong thing.

On Monday, I met new people and it was very scary for me because it’s not something I do a lot. Afterwards, I was depressed and anxious because I worried a lot about every single thing I had done. This always happens to me but, after a few days, I get over it and am much happier. I begin to think clearly and realise that I wasn’t so bad after all. I talked to them, quite a bit, and, whilst I might have said some weird things, they didn’t seem to mind. I think so much about myself. Someone pointed out to me that the other people are probably thinking about themselves too so will not judge me. I think this is a good point. I think about myself, so they will think about themselves. We all worry about what we say or do but, in the end, no one else cares.

I think meeting new people is an important part of life and we all do it. I don’t do it very often due to mainly spending time with my mum, as I’m autistic. However, I think that I should try to do more things that are out of my comfort zone. I need to be brave. One day soon, I think I will make a recipe by myself. I usually ask my mum for help but I think I will try and do it all by myself.  That’s one thing. Little things can help me gradually become more independent.

Lia

I exist

Another day.

The birds are singing, the cats are howling, the dogs are yapping. Everyone is up but you. You lie in bed, stiffened by the thoughts that tighten the ropes around you. You’re still, motionless, yet completely awake. You want to get up, to have a life, to just say hi to someone, but you can’t. Your body is paralyzed by the cuffs of sadness. You find no meaning, no reason, to exist but you also find no meaning, no reason, not to exist. It is as if you are caught between the two. This feeling means that you do not want to die but you do not want to live either. You are caught in a bind that strangles you with every breath.

Every day that goes by, you feel the knots tightening, until you’re almost completely wrapped up in them. You can speak, you can move, you can live, but you don’t. You become just another blade of grass. Your presence is not acknowledged, not anymore. You don’t exist… but you do. You know that you exist and you want to scream it from the rooftops but, again, you don’t. You won’t.

“Help…” you utter, still tied up in bed.
And with that, the ropes burn, leaving scars on your arms. The scars will never leave your arms but they will fade overtime. You realise now that you are finally free to speak, to move, to live.

You get up, you go outside, and you scream.

“I exist!”

You can breathe again.

Jealous

is it wrong to be jealous?
to want to enjoy what you like,
to want to experience what you see,
to be able to be by your side,
and not just an extra part.
is it wrong to be yearning
for a part of your life?
i want to be like you,
i want to be happy
and smart and fun
but im just me.
no one wants to be me.

Depression Is Why

Depression is easy.
When people leave you behind,
When they wish you well,
But don’t do anything to suggest
that they mean it —
When you’re left all alone,
Just a lonely girl in a room alone,
They’re going off to places
and you’re in the bathroom
crying,
but maybe they do like you;
they just don’t understand.
You want love, you crave it,
Like a cat or a dog,
It’s your energy, it keeps you going,
But seeing them happy
makes you smile for a moment,
Only a moment,
as you realise,
you’ll never be good enough
because you’re you and they’re them.
They can go into the world and embrace
the love of everyone around them,
because that’s what being normal is —
and you aren’t like them,
that’s why they left you alone.
You’re different.
You wouldn’t get on with the world.
Depression is why.
Anxiety is why.
Autism is why.
That’s why you cry,
You want to be a part of an art gallery
but you’re just the frame of a painting;
you’re there, to make the painting
look nicer, but the painting is the main
attraction.
What’s wrong with you?
You should be happy!
Depression, that’s why.

Why I Love Writing Poetry

Poetry is the main thing in life that keeps me going. I’ve been through hard times and just getting it out onto paper helps. I can’t tell people about the hardest of times because they won’t understand but I can write about it. I can write about all the things that keep me up at night. Sometimes I lock away the poems, for my eyes only, and other times I share them with the world.

My mum is an artist. I always found that to be such an awesome job (even if you don’t get paid much mostly) because you can express who you are in art. I tried to do art but it just wasn’t for me. At one point, when I was a kid, I wanted to be an actress. I loved acting! But then I lost my confidence due to events and gave up on that. At one stage, I wanted to be vet. I’ve always been writing, since I was young, but never thought it was something that could become more meaningful than just a hobby. I started out writing picture books and soon turned to short stories. Now poetry is my domain.

Writing has saved me a lot, I’d say. It has helped with my depression and anxiety. It hasn’t cured them but getting words out onto paper has really helped me. I do wish I could tell people my true feelings but I fear loneliness. Once you place your burdens on people, they might leave you. It’s happened before. So I place my burdens on writing now. The paper absorbs my soul and breathes my air.

Poetry is art too; it’s just a different form of art. No one sees the world the way I see it. Especially due to me being autistic. I often find myself holding back thorns in my mouth because I want to tell people how I see the world. But they will not approve because it’s not how you’re supposed to see the world. At least poetry will always be my friend, and it will always accept me, even though I’m different. Poetry doesn’t give me bad advice or tell me things I don’t need to know; it just listens and that’s why I love it.

Thank you poetry.

The Whispers

whispers entrancing my thoughts,
seducing me into a state of confusion,
my eyes low, the floor my ally,
everyone around the enemy,
if I look up, they will know
that I’m not worth the time of day,
the whispers tell me that
they’re not my friends,
they will never like me,
because I am insane,
I am existence’s bane.
friends talk about how they understand
but they don’t,
only the whispers do,
they know my deepest fears,
my worst insecurities,
and everyone else will pretend
it’s not that bad, that it can go away
if I just tried —
but the whispers know that
it’s not something I can fix.
that’s why they’re who I trust the most,
they might be mean and harsh,
but they accept me for who I am,
with all the bad too.
they don’t silence me for talking bad,
for having a rant, for a meltdown,
for moaning, or just being me,
they’re always here.
they always have time.
Always.

Escapril: Anxiety

This was an easy subject to do because I’ve suffered with anxiety for a long time.

A rope around my throat,
A knife in my heart;
that’s how it feels.

A piece of glass in your brain,
Irreparable damage,
that’s how it is.

Constant voices,
Judging your every decision,
that’s how it works.

You cry a bit,
But not in public;
They’ll judge you.

You lie sometimes
But not too much;
They’ll know.

You want to talk,
But you can’t,
You’ll muddle everything.

That’s how it feels,
To have anxiety
destroy your mind.

That’s how it feels,
To have anxiety
destroy your life.

What is there?

I am sad at the moment. That’s why I haven’t blogged in a while. I didn’t have anything to say because nothing was happening to me, except my mind was crumbling.

Everyone I know has a future. I can see them living their life happily in the future. But I can’t see my own future.

I have autism, which makes most social situations much more challenging. I have selective mutism, which is why most jobs wouldn’t work for me. You can’t exactly blank the customers! Most people don’t understand why I’m unable to work, encouraging me to try, and telling me about opportunities, without realising how extremely anxious this makes me. In my current state of being, normal jobs just aren’t for me. I can’t do it because of my challenges. But I want to have a goal, something to strive for, to live for. Because, at the moment, I have no goal. I’m not living, I’m surviving. I can’t do a lot of things because of my problems but because no one can actually see my disability, they keep encouraging me. It’s nice, that they think I have potential, but to be honest, it’s kinda like telling a blind person to see.

I want to do something so bad but I’m tired, I’m sad, and I have no motivation. My anxieties are everywhere. What is there for someone like me to do? Someone who can’t even go out alone, someone who often can’t speak for herself. What is there?