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

 

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.

Dear Eve: Secrets

Dear Eve,

I have a secret. It’s a secret I can’t even tell you, Eve, because I know you would disapprove. I don’t think anyone would approve but my secret involves a decision I made. I am sick of other people making decisions for me so I made my own decision for once. I want to be my own person. I didn’t want to do this but I felt like I was backed into a corner, Eve, and now the decision is done. The decision I will not tell anyone about. We all have secrets, skeletons; mine doesn’t affect anyone else, just me, and that’s why it should be my decision and my decision alone. How many secrets do you have, Eve?

My family think they know what’s best for me. Sometimes they do but sometimes they don’t and sometimes I need to decide what’s best for me myself. I just want to be able to be myself again. I haven’t been myself for a while because I haven’t been able to write whatever I wanted. My mind has been riddled with nothing and that’s the scary thing. I’m a writer, so when my mind is empty, where does that put me? Without a purpose, or a goal, or anything to pass the time.

I feel scared of the future. I can’t talk to many people about my worries but I can talk to you because you’re imaginary. When I talk to real people, the vast majority of them give me the advice that I really don’t need. They try to help but they don’t and it’s always been that way… so eventually you stop going to them. Eventually you close yourself off and don’t tell them, because you know they’ll say “if you try, it will work” or “you can do it!” — and that’s people who actually try to help. Sometimes, I’m pushed to the side because people (particularly my family) aren’t in the mood. They’re never in the mood to just talk to me and they’re the people that I want to talk to the most. They’re who I really want to talk to about my problems.

When you can’t talk to people, or when they tell you to wait, eventually you want to take matters into your own hands. I am sick of people telling me happiness is a choice. Not for me, it isn’t. It has never been a choice for me. For people with depression, that’s going to make them feel worse. It’s going to make them think: “if happiness is a choice, why can’t I make myself happy?”

I have decided a lot of things recently, personal things, and I have told no one about them. They’re my secrets. If I told a single soul about them, I know that I wouldn’t get what I’m after. The point of telling people used to be just to get it off my chest, to have someone know; it was a relief. Now I feel like there is no point. No matter how close I am to the person, however much they mean to me, I am worried about their response. That’s why I’m silent.

Thank you for reading, Eve. I know this letter might seem confusing or strange, but it meant that I could at least get something off my chest, even if I couldn’t tell you the full story.

Love,

Lia

Let’s Be Honest

Let’s be honest.

I’m in a black hole

that’s sucking me in deeper,

and I’m trying to reach —

reach for the stars, as they say,

but I can never make it.

Let’s be honest.

I’ve been like this for a while,

sleep is my companion

and my worst enemy,

I don’t have the motivation

to get motivation,

I don’t have the aspiration

to get aspirations,

I don’t have the strength

to get strength.

Let’s be honest.

I’m sorry I can’t pull myself away,

from the same muddled day

I’ve been living for too long,

it’s a blurred mess.

Let’s be honest,

I’m depressed.

What My Depression Feels Like

I’ve been depressed for a long time, suffered from anxiety for most of that time too, though I think the depression started first. I wasn’t even a teenager when it started. I have been on medication for it since I was fifteen, and I’m currently trying to get it changed as I am now an adult and it’s really not working. Not so many years ago, I overdosed on iron pills and spent quite a few hours in A&E, but I had thrown up most of them already. This was my way to get away from toxicity by digesting toxicity. Not my best idea.

I usually talk about my anxiety on this blog. My anxiety is simpler than my depression, because I can understand it. I can understand why I have it and what factors contributed to me getting it. I can understand why I used to be depressed, but I can’t get why I still am.

I guess it’s because of expectations, and what everyone else is doing with their life… and the fact that I can’t just get up and do something. It’s not that simple. Depression is never that simple. I’m at home most days, lonely. I want to get out and do stuff, but I can’t. A heavy weight stops me from doing it.

I want to be distracted, to have a friend come over and distract me, but people that were once my friends are now further apart from me than ever. They’re moving on with their lives, going places. And I’m not. You can’t expect me to just get a job, or to just go to university. It’s not that simple, again. Autism and depression don’t mix. I was never good at interacting with people, especially strangers. I want to volunteer but my confidence isn’t very high. My anxiety also coincides with this. I just feel so alone about all this.

This is just how I am. I’m sad all the time, but I’m too exhausted to talk to someone, because my mouth won’t move. So I type.